orley Munson sat at his desk staring into the guts of an unfinished sandwich. He had gone into the local diner in hopes of seeing the young waitress again but there was something in his stomach that told him he would never see her again. She had found out about his past or decided he was too old for her or something of a sad and pathetic nature and she had fled town by night. Run away from him so that she would never have to face saying ‘goodbye’ or ‘I don’t like you’ or the things that people say to other people (when they try not to hurt them).
Morley Munson was feeling extremely low. Somewhere inside he felt that the grisly trail of murders he had performed was somehow meant to lead him to a new life, some sort of better life where he and the young waitress from the diner could love each other and have children and all would be right with the world (or at least his part in the world). This made no real sense and Morley Munson knew that, but even a serial murderer can have hopes and dreams and this young woman’s face made him feel all these things (and more).
Morley Munson snapped the (local) paper open with a loud pop. He often read the paper after his lunch as a way of calming himself and keeping up on the activities
of the people he lived with in this little community. Occasionally one of his own killings would make the news and the ‘hunt for suspects’ never failed to bring a smile to his lips.
Morley Munson sat up as a photo of the young woman’s battered body caught his attention. He recognized the tattered waitress uniform immediately. She was dead.
