It began to snow heavily as he trudged away, inspired.
///
"He's got no conscience. He's got none. None." the elderly woman turned her face to gaze out of through the window. She was seated in her rocking chair in her cabin in the woods. Visitors didn't come often. She'd lost her social grace.
"Mrs Matthews... Mrs Matthews?" A concerned voice tried in vain to capture her attention.
Her hands started working on the embroidery in her lap but still she looked off into the distance.
"When did you last see your son?"
"...he was such a clever boy. So good at pretending. But he never... he didn't really feel things." Vapour trailed after each word.
Her visitor sighed. "Thank you for your time, Mrs Matthews."
After a short while he threw some wood in the hearth and got it going. Then left.
He wet his lips and smiled as he walked out the door of his senile mother's lonely cabin; she would be no threat to him.
Yet the cabin filled with smoke as flames licked the walls.
///
Anxious types milled around outside the shopfront of an electronics store, watching the numerous televisions on display in the window. They were all tuned to the same channel. Below the reporter a title read: "Sixth victim in as many days".
'...police are still on the hunt for a serial killer wreaking havoc upon the small town of Kemp, situated 20 miles east of Balmain in the state's north. The tiny population of 200 are living in constant fear, terrorised by what police describe as a meticulous and bloodthirsty killer. Each of the victims have been found on mountaintops throughout the region, which is known for its snowy peaks and idyllic views. Police are advising the residents of Kemp to avoid travelling alone and in the dark, and to ensure doors and windows are kept locked at all times. Many have already made the decision to leave town until the killer has been caught--'
The televisions flickered off, as did the streetlights.
///
He quivered with satisfaction, an irrepressible happiness surged through his veins. The last month had been ecstasy. The town had dwindled down to less than a quarter of its original population. And he'd made such beautiful, terrifying art.
He sipped at the caramel latte he'd made and looked out into the deserted main street. The road was barely visible beneath the snow; maybe one car had driven down it this morning. He was the only person in the cafe. Packets of coffee beans were piled up beside him. He gathered them in his arms and nodded to a portrait that hung on the wall beside the window. It was a photo of a smiling Asian woman with grey hair and her grown son. He closed his eyes and flicked back through his recent collection of memories...
Mrs Kim lay on her back near the peak of Mount Edison, her eye-catching powder blue shawl stained with blood. Ribbons of red paint flung forth from his paint can, lashing at her body and the snow around her.
///
