I always thought lighting the tip of the high heel aflame was a nice touch. One could always just toss a match into the fuel-soaked dumpster, but hey… You have to have your signature.
Sticking around just long enough to ensure the flame would catch, I would swap out my blood-soaked clothes, toss them in, then get into my car and drive off.
This had become a weekly ritual for me. I don’t know why I chose Tuesday nights, but then… neither did the investigators. All they knew was that Wednesday morning some girl would be reported missing and some business owner would report a burned-out trash bin in his back alley.
It was a thrill I’d been lacking. I love my wife and kids, but I just felt the need for something more… and I couldn’t see myself doing something as risky as bunjee jumping or rock climbing.
Parking the car in the garage, I straighten my tie and grab my briefcase. Shortly after opening the car door, my daughters dive into my arms to welcome me home.
“How was your day, Daddy?”