She went to the bathroom and washed the blood from her hand. The cut was shallow and she was able to easily cover it with some Neosporin and a Band Aid. With that done, she headed outside and got into her car. As usual, she felt as if some other person slid in behind the controls of her mind as she guided the car to the residence of her next victim. The night seemed thick, like sludge as she drove through it. Like always, the world felt a little different when she headed out with murder on her mind. Even if it was not the night she would be committing the act, it was as if the darkness knew.

It wasnt a very long drive to the next victims house. The drive there was like a blur, as if shed been teleported. She was aware of the road, the lines, the headlights that passed by her, but she wasnt really there at all. She could have easily been somewhere else, maybe even back at the school, waiting for her children to arrive. There was something pleasant about such a feeling of detachment. It meant she could be somewhere else, some other place where shed never killed, where shed never been raped and left without the ability to give birth to a child.

Somehow, through her darkened haze, she arrived. She pulled in front of the house, in a small suburb. She parked on the side of the road opposite the house, not wanting to seem too obvious. Shed parked in this same spot multiple times as she staked out her victimthe same way shed staked out all of the others.

It was after six, so the husband was not home. And because they had no kids, her victim was all by herself.

I could do it now…I could do it tonight.

It was tempting, but she was not in the right mind space. Plus, shed left her knife at home. Shed come to understand that she did not mind the act of killing, but she couldnt just do it at any time. She had given herself a timeline and dates to adhere to; she felt that straying from that in any way would be a recipe for disaster.

She sat in front of that unremarkable house in a flat, featureless suburb until she watched the last light go off. Without looking at her phone or the clock on the dashboard, she knew it would be somewhere between 10:40 and 11:00. When she did check the time, she smiled. It was 10:52.

Just like clockwork.

The confirmation of how well she knew the victims schedule was enough to remove the frustration of having the Facebook page taken away from her. Now, with this bit of confidence, she almost found it amusing.

They thought theyd stopped her, but she had at least one more surprise for them.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO