He was nobody. He was an unremarkable man worthy of
little notice. He did not exist for all intents and
purposes. Tonight, say what you want, that was decidedly to his advantage. Camoflague was an essential element of success when hunting.
He wore his charcoal suit. It was his most stylish, yet least memorable. He drank sparingly and obscurely. He tipped acceptably but not lavishly. He sat and drank and waited for HER. She would be young, vapid and hopelessly self-absorbed. She would crave affirmation to feed her ego. She would be a nobody who dreamed of being somebody. Tonight he would grant her wish.
It was two hours before she approached him. His non-chalance ensnared her. She could not tolerate being snubbed. Knowing this would be so, he reeled her in until she was helpless to resist leaving with him. Her pride demanded it.
He dumped her lifeless body out the back of his van and onto the sidewalk...her legs dangling off. He found the irony of her tattoo risible. Vive Libre...Live Free. She may have lived free but she died securely bound and screaming. Tonight she was nobody, but tomorrow she would be somebody...The Butcher's tenth victim.