Watching the light fade from their eyes was my favourite part. The first time I experienced it was when I had the life of my cheating fiancé in my hands. The satisfaction of her terrified face as I ended her life was the most exhilarating feeling.
All over the world there are men just like me that are being cheated on, used and taken for granted. For a small price I will get revenge on the spouses by ripping away their lives. I move from country to country, using different passports and different aliases each time.
I always approach my clients, they never approach me. I worked for 20 years as a Private Investigator and it isn’t hard to spot a spoiled, rich housewife in a crowd. Once the husband’s see proof of the adultery they are usually more than happy for the disposal of their ‘loved one’ and avoid a messy divorce.
I always make sure my clients have a solid alibi, police always go straight to accusing the spouse. The media calls me the ‘Snapshot Strangler’, this is because I like leaving a polaroid of my victim at the scene of the crime. What they didn’t know is I also take a second polaroid with me as a trophy, I would take these with me everywhere. The police were unsure if all the murders were connected or just being imitated by a copycat killer.
My current prey ‘Veronica’ is married to a well-known London senator and has been meeting a much younger man at hotel in the city every Thursday night. After going to the senator with photos of his darling wife wrapped in the arms of an underwear model, he was almost angry enough to commit the crime himself. But I wouldn’t let him reap my reward.
The senator made plans with a co-worker, and I made my plans to dress as a bell-hop and enter the hotel room. I passed on a message to the underwear model that Veronica sent her deepest apologies and was unable to make it tonight. Once he had left, I made my way up to my victim’s room to deliver ‘room service’. Veronica let me in, I cracked the champagne bottle over her head and gripped my hands around her neck.
Unfortunately, she managed to grab a piece of the glass and stabbed me in the arm. I was angry, I wasn’t going to get the chance to enjoy this kill, I snapped her neck with rage. It was messy, but the job was done. I didn’t take a trophy and I couldn’t leave my calling card. I didn’t want this murder connected, my DNA is everywhere. I ripped off the blood smeared bell-hop uniform and used my belt as a make-shift tourniquet.
I ditched my identity and made my way to the airport. With my bag checked, I sat down at a café and ordered a sandwich and coffee. I took a bite into my salad sandwich and noticed a piece of paper hidden between the cheese and lettuce;
“I know who you are and what you do.”
I stood up and walked straight out of the airport. I had to make a run for it, knowing my trophies would now rot in a room with the unclaimed baggage forever.