Page 292 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
I glance over my shoulder, heart thudding against my ribs.
No movement. Just still shadows pretending to behave.
Just get to the car.
I walk faster. My heels click too loudly.
Outside, it’s worse.
The air is thick. Heavy.
The courtyard, bright this morning, is now drowned in shadow.
The nearest streetlamp is dead—perfect.
The only one out in the whole lot.
Every shadow feels like a threat. I grip my bag and move faster, scanning the dark.
Footsteps. Behind me.
Closer. Steady.
I whirl.
Judge Carter stands five paces away.
Relief punches through me.
“Goodness, you scared me, Your Honor.”
He smiles—warm, and harmless. But not tonight.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he says. “These lots are dangerous. Come. Let me walk you.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
We walk. Small talk flows—easy and empty as I nod along.
At my SUV, I open the trunk, glance back and smile, thanking him.
Then I feel it.
The shift.
The gleam in his eye.
The way he moves—subtle. Predatory.
He’s not expecting it when I spin and jam the syringe into his neck.
Quick and clean.
He sways toward the trunk.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Nice and easy.”
His hand flails—slow, clumsy—but he’s already falling.
