The Admirer: The Doll Collector Sequel

Chapter 1: The Admirer

My blood covered hands were trembling almost as violently as I had tried to kill her.

But she wasn't dead.

She was staring at me, her eyes half full of life.

She was judging me.

It was as if she were boring into my soul, engraining herself into my memory. I watched warm, thick blood continue to seep from her side and drench the floor. She was holding her side, breathing raggedly.

Why the hell wasn't she dying?

Die already!

Then again, women were good at bleeding and not dying.

Maybe I should go for the jugular?

This is why I should have paid attention in anatomy class.

How did he do it? His methods had never been discussed. He was so good at hiding the bodies, presenting only bloodied mannequins as a macabre gift. Sure, there were many sites that discussed his work, but his methods were only suppositions.

Every site on the dark web, that gave instruction on becoming a serial killer, advised to develop your own touch, your own calling card. Everyone killed differently, and while he was my inspiration, I had to be my own killer.

So I spent some time crafting my own signature style, but it wasn't working out now!

She continued to stare at me, struggling to get back onto her feet. She had fought me every step of the way, covering my arms in scratches with her long acrylic nails. I'd accidentally left my knife inside of her, and she had pulled it out. Her skin gurgled as it released the blade. Blood dripped from the tip, then she fell to the floor. Now she was onto her knees and would soon be on her feet.

This was yet another difference between me and him. He chose, quiet, docile victims. I hadn't learned to read mine correctly, yet.

But now my DNA was under her fingernails. I should cut off her fingers as punishment.

I suppose I was just starting out and had much to learn.

If only he would mentor me, take me under his wing to teach me the flawless way he got away with murder. But he was a private man, he would never look in my direction, or acknowledge my presence. It would be too risky, so I would have to remain admiring him from afar.

Maybe when he saw my work, he'd be open to the prospect of taking me on as an apprentice. But I had to finish this first.

She dropped back down onto her side after another failed attempt to get up. The knife clattered and slid away from her towards me. I picked it up, feeling her slick blood slide onto the handle. The coppery smell curled into my nose and tugged at the hairs. I wiggled my nose to keep from sneezing and sucked in a breath.

I could do this. I just had to do it quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

The life was draining out of her eyes quicker than before, as she watched me draw nearer. I knelt beside her body, turning her onto her back. She didn't resist me this time and moaned when she landed. Her piercing brown eyes never left mine and instead bored deeper into the little soul I had left.

I knew that the accusing expression in her pupils would haunt me for the rest of my life, but not finishing this would haunt me much, much more.

Porcelain skin, soft brown eyes, long black hair, she was a doll. No pun intended.

When I first saw her, something inside of me lit up. I wondered what it would be like to select your first and it happened the moment our eyes met. It was like a sign went on over her head that said, 'This is the one.'