The New Years Killer

Months. He had been watching her for months now. He knew her routine by heart. He knew everything about her by now. He knew how she liked her coffee, and her favorite genre of music. He knew how soft her long blonde hair was. After waiting and watching for months, he decided. She was the perfect edition to his collection. Tonight he would strike. 

“Serial Killer Back Again” She read, tossing the daily paper aside, reaching for the coffee pot. She poured it into her mug, and drank as she got ready for the day. She didn’t need to read the main article in the paper. She had written it. She was an investigative journalist, and tonight, she had gotten a tip as to where the mysterious killer could be hiding. As dangerous as it was to go alone at night, she respected the privacy of her informant, and when the young man said he was afraid to be spotted she immediately agreed to the discreet location.

She sat down at her desk, and began to draft the start of her story for the following day's paper. She began to think back on the past years. Every year for three years, on New Year's Day, a young woman was found dead. The columns had called him The New Year's Killer. This year was bound to be no different. The police had already gotten the same letter they had every other year. Each year, the killer sent a letter to the police department reading, “Back Again, See You Next Year!”. No matter how hard the police tried, they couldn’t pick out a print, or find any way to trace the killer. 

Most women stayed inside on New Years anymore. It was the only way to stay safe. Like it really mattered though. If the killer wanted them badly enough, he'd just go into their house. She had been studying the killer for over a year now. Her research said he had a hatred for women, and was likely out for revenge. She assumed he had a rough childhood, which was causing him to lash out. She knew he liked luring his victims into dark deserted places, and she knew he enjoyed leaving the bodies in plain sight. She added all this to the article she was drafting. If everything went well tonight, they would have the killer in police custody, and she would have the first story in the morning. She would be the one to bring him down. She drank the last of her coffee, and got up, turning her radio on, turning it down enough to be heard but not distracting.

She walked over to her cork board, where she kept everything she had access to when it came to the killer. She had crime scene photos, Names of the victims family members, and images of the bodies. She pulled down the picture from the first three murders and studied them. She selected the images she would use in the story, and grabbed her flash drive with the digital copies. Over the years, she had learned it was safe to keep physical and digital copies of everything. She added them to her story, before glazing her work over. Now all she needed was to catch the killer, and she could finish her masterpiece. She glanced at her clock and saw that it was already 9. She had to meet the man at 11. She stood up and stretched, deciding to have a sandwich and take a shower before she left. She threw on some jeans and a black hoodie. She needed to be secretive so her tipster didn’t change his mind.Finally she grabbed her camera and keys and left her apartment. She walked down to the parking garages and got into her car. It was 10:30. She typed the address into her GPS and followed the instructions. The location was about 20 miles out of the town. As she drove, she noticed the buildings getting darker and more destroyed. She realized she was about to cross over into East Harlem, which explained the buildings. It wasn’t a good part of town to be in during the day, so nighttime made it have an eerie feeling. She parked outside the abandoned warehouse and waited. At exactly 11, she saw a figure emerge from the shadows. She stepped out of her car. 

“Are you the young man who called me this morning?” She asked as he approached her. She watched as he looked all around, and satisfied with seeing her alone, he nodded.

“I didn’t know if it was safe. I don’t want the killer coming after me.” He said softly. She smiled. 

“Well, tonight I plan to have him arrested. So where is his hideout?” She asked, grabbing her camera from her bag.

“It's this way,'' he said , walking towards the back of the building. I keep seeing a man come in here, and he comes more on New Years Eve. I figure it has to be him, and this is where he does his dirty work.” He replied, walking behind the building. She watched him push a big door open, and silently followed him inside. She saw everything about the killer. She saw pictures of the victims, right before they had died. She was horrified to see a shrine of pictures of her. She turned around in time to see the man crash a bat over her head.

When she woke up, she was tied to a chair. She heard a loud ticking, and realized it was a clock. She saw it was 10 till 12. She had walked right into a trap. 

“HEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPPP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” She screamed. The man walked in.

“Oh, good you’re finally awake.” He said pulling a chair to sit right in front of her. He had a malicious grin plastered on his face and his eyes were cold. It terrified her.

“Let me go!” She cried. He just laughed, a low dangerous laugh, causing her hair to stand. 

“First, I must say, I’m a fan of your work. Every article you write about me is incredible. Thank you for giving me so much coverage.” He spoke happily, like it was a normal conversation between friends. She felt sick to her stomach. There was no way out. 

“Why are you doing this?” She begged. He chuckled.

“Because I can. You see, you’re the perfect addition to my collection. That's one thing you failed to see about me. I take the most successful, and hardest workers, and I give them a break. You work too hard, and you need some time off.” He explained. He looked up at the clock. Midnight was in 2 minutes. It was almost New Year’s day.  

“That's your version of a break?! Murder!?” she screamed. This guy was insane. He laughed and stood up, revealing the long knife he was holding.

“I like to think of it as a permanent vacation, if I may.” He stepped closer. She glanced at the clock. 11:59. She was going to die. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He stood right in front of her. He held the knife to her throat. 

“Happy New Year” He said, slicing her throat, as the clock struck 12.