December 12th,
I saw him again today, just like yesterday and the day before and the day before and the day before. He never see's me, but I always see him. I see him when the sun stains the sky red in the morning and when it stains the sky red at night. He is always guarded by me, unlike how he never guarded me. I took some me time last night and paid a young lady back for her years of being a whore. It felt good. It felt like mom. The red took me home again. It always takes me home. It's comforting. I left a note for her, written in red ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. It had his name on it. He will pay attention to me now. He will see that I am being a good boy and doing what he should be doing. What we all should be doing. I see another one right now. She looks like she wants to paint. She is looking at me as I write. Does she know that I am writing about her? Does she know that I will be writing about her in red tonight?
There were five more murders after the Detective and his family were slain, each one done in the same fashion as the one's before him. The Sargent was made Lead Detective on the case and was trying to find a clue hidden somewhere in the book that was left for him. The ravings of a madman, he thought. Each page went deeper into a psychosis that was terrifying to say the least. This man killed for reasons that he couldn't even start to comprehend. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, trying to turn the tide on the pounding inside his head. He had been reading entry after entry for days now, and each day, the body count was growing. The killer was slick. Despite all the fingerprints around the area's, all were from the victims. He felt his body relaxing as sleep was pushing forward into his consciousness, but felt the shock of sudden alertness as the phone rang next to him. He picked it up and listened. Another murder. Another body. Another note. He froze, the blood solid and unmoving in his veins. This time it had his name on it.
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