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To him I posed the question that I have always asked every single victim of mine, “Tell me. Have you ever wanted to die?”

He didn’t take but a moment to answer, “No, not once. I have always chosen life no matter what the situation.”

I narrowed my eyes, as his answer had pained me greatly to hear. Of course he hadn’t. Why should I have hoped for this man to understand? I would have gratefully freed the first person to tell me otherwise. It didn’t have to be a blanket statement, I only needed someone to look me in the eye and tell me what I wanted to know. I want sympathy, and was more than willing to kill for it. I am still willing. Yet, is it not foolish to expect someone to sympathize with he who would surely kill them? No. It was foolish for me to think otherwise.

I regarded him for a moment longer and then lowered my gaze to the slide of my pistol. After I had chambered a round and extended the muzzle to his chest, I bit down on my lip. I decided that it wasn’t worth speaking another word to him at this point. I would find nothing else here, save the familiar emptiness inside my heart. My search would have to continue, just as soon as this man, this infernal beast of meat, had died like all of his predecessors had. It made little difference that this man was a priest. He was a witness to my journey; he wasn’t to live and speak of it.

I am not quite sure why things happen the way they do. Fate is an interesting concept, but I am not convinced that it is measurable or cannon in nature. For whatever the reason, a very interesting turn of events was to occur in the next few minutes. I slowly applied pressure to the trigger, more and more until finally the firing pin struck.

The man fell against the cellar wall, his life blood spilt around his form and onto the floor. However, he still was breathing. The shot hadn’t been fatal. Perhaps my hand had been shaking from the adrenaline or I had clenched my muscles too much in anticipation for the recoil of the shot. Regardless, the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t dead. The shot had passed through his gut, his entrails. His death was to be slow and drawn out, which meant he possessed the opportunity to seek out help. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all would it? I watched him suffer with every breath he took, and got it into my mind that now would be an excellent time to harm him further.