Time was running thin. The sun began to rise. My cover of darkness was quickly fading. The whir of a helicopter passes overhead. Sirens sound from a distance. Red and blue lights bounce off my surroundings. 

I sneak out from behind the dense bush I hid behind. Way too close. I thought. Although an amateur, I was impressed with myself. New York’s finest, huh? I hurdle into the crowded city once again easily blending into the thousands of people walking downtown. Nobody in this city truly looks at you, that’s why it’s perfect. Over a thousand people, all with their own complex lives, families, children, careers, and dreams, will see my face and not bat an eye. It’s perfect. 

“Hey! You Sir! Hold up right there.”

Panic sets in. The color drains from my face. I can feel it. I turn back and look at the NYPD Officer motioning for me to stop.

“What’s the matter?” I try to respond without showing my fear. 

“Your billfold, it fell out of your back pocket.”

I struggle to stay upright as relief rushes through me like a tsunami.

“Thank you, Sir.” I grab my wallet from his hand and quickly start the other direction once more. I needed to get off the street, it wouldn’t be long before my picture was all over the billboards. 

Walking back to my warehouse, one the perks of managing a shipping depot,  I get a rush of confidence. I fumble with my keys at the deadbolt but enter. Inside the large, dark, lifeless empty room, I start for one of the only containers left. 

Our company was struggling and my business partner wanted out. I thought she would have been with me to the end, but I was wrong. I open the container and find her. Starving and scared. I throw a granola bar onto the floor and she scrambles to eat it. Pathetic. Everything about this woman disgusts me now. She killed my business, and now I would return the favor. 

I take out my pocket knife from the back left pocket. Instantly, Lacy begins screaming, although muffled by the makeshift gag from an old t-shirt, still loud enough to agitate me. I prick my finger off the end of my blade. It’s sharp. I start with her hair. Never have I met a woman who cares so much about hair. Never could you find her without a mirror and hair brush. Her hair was curled every week. Slice. The handful of hair falls to the ground. Visibly distraught, she looks to accept her fate. Next, her neck. I cleared the hair off my knife and was ready again. I press firmly against her neck. She makes eye contact with me one last time, before life fades from her light green eyes.