His subject was a redhead, different from the others, but she checked off all the boxes. She succeeded in every painstakingly researched requirement. It would be her honor to become part of the web. Not everyone qualified for the role. There had been plenty of others he liked, but something inevitably would be wrong with them.

But not her.

This woman too would rise above her station as a lowly little waitress. Maybe she would never be able to recognize her own importance, but John did. If he left her to her own devices, she would be forgotten. He would make her part of something bigger than herself, just like John. They both had their vital roles to play in the big picture.

He adjusted the aperture of the camera ever so slightly, carefully twisting rings and knobs until he got it just right.

What he had in store for her, it was eternal. John had been granted the opportunity to make his selections for himself, a level of responsibility he took very seriously. It had taken time to pick, to watch, to admire. Nothing about them was random.

It felt good to finally act on his purpose, after years of anticipation. So much time to learn how to pick victims, how to study them, the weight of a knife in his hand. The camera had been his proxy, a continual exercise in specificity and patience. If he was unfocused, the image would come out sloppy. With practice, he could seamlessly take aim and get the exact result he meant to. It had been the only tool allowed to him for so long.

John had been briefly afraid before the first kill. It had been so many years. He felt like an astronaut that had only ever studied the stars with a telescope. He could not ask for advice or affirmation now. It would be too risky. It would prove him incapable for the job at hand and there were so many others who would jump at the chance to take his place.

Once it began, there was no mistaking it. It was his calling. He had been chosen for a reason. Vincent had chosen him. He had seen his potential when even John could not see it himself.

He watched from across the street, all but invisible. So many times, he had sat across the street, watching the young woman work.

He would show her how important she could be. That was his duty, to show her, and Vallejo, and the FBI undoubtedly following his progress, just as the FBI had followed Vincent’s.

If only they weren’t hopelessly playing catch up.

He watched her as she tidied up the diner, flipping the chairs on top of the diner tables to mop up. She continued through the menial routine until she finally stepped outside and locked the door behind her.

John raised the camera once more, the waitress central within the viewfinder. The shutter snapped.