One Step Ahead

Late-Night Visitor

      Looking at his phone , as the obnoxious jackass who fancied himself a "journalist" blathered idiotically, it was all the man could do not to fling his phone across the room, screaming with rage. Someone had found his journal, and his trophies, wherever Kirke had hidden them, and now they actually thought they were going to stop him.

      Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he managed to calm himself a bit, and sat down to think. He had always been aware, on some level, that there was a possibility that someone would eventually make the connection between some of his works, but he doubted seriously that anyone would ever connect them to him. He had worked diligently to build a solid reputation for himself in the community; he was the hard-working, clean-cut, respectable neighbor and co-worker, the good son who regularly visited his aging father, the coach for his nephew's ice-hockey team, and usually one of the first to volunteer for a charitable effort. So who would ever suspect that he was the one doing the work that everyone else was too lazy or indifferent to do? So far, the biggest annoyance that he usually had to deal with was the stream of running jokes from some of his co-workers, comparing him to an old sitcom character with whom he shared both a name and some personal habits. But he accepted these with good humor, inwardly chuckling as he realized how little they actually knew.

      But now, things were getting a bit too close for comfort, so he needed to start tying up the loose ends. But where to begin? Turning his attention back to the sight of Elton Keel emoting to his "public", acting as if he actually gave a damn about the people he was ranting about, he considered his options. Sorting through the information he had available , he concluded that the easiest option was also the most practical to begin with. If he was lucky, it might even stop the investigation before it really got started.

      He exited out of the website, cutting Keel off mid-sentence, and started scanning through various social media accounts. After only a few minutes, he found what he was looking for, and chuckled to himself. "This is going to be easier than I expected," he thought. "In fast, out fast, and I don't have to worry about anybody getting in my way."

      Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he spent the next few minutes organizing his work station, before getting up and walking toward the door. He exchanged goodbyes with several of his co-workers on his way out, and stopped briefly to converse with another in the parking lot, whose son was also on his hockey team. Forcing himself to be patient, he finished the talk about strategies for the next game, then excused himself, and finally made it to his car.

      After closing the door, he allowed himself a deep sigh, and then pulled out of the parking lot, aiming the car toward his sanctuary. After the incident with Kirke, he had realized the risks he was taking by keeping any evidence of his work in his home. A typical burglar like Kirke wasn't a real problem, to his way of thinking, but the burglary had forced him to consider what might happen if he ever became unexpectedly ill, or had an accident. Having his trophies at home left too much risk that his brother, or perhaps a co-worker, might stumble across them while looking for clothing or important paperwork if such an event occurred. And Leland was such a stickler for rules that there was no question that he would instantaneously turn over anything he found to the police, despite their relationship. No matter that he should understand better than almost anyone why his work was necessary , he would still not be capable of ignoring what "society" told him was right .

      After driving several miles, he pulled his car into an isolated parking lot and got out of the vehicle. Opening the trunk, he unzipped the gym bag which sat next to several pieces of hockey equipment, and retrieved a wig from underneath the clothes inside. He placed it on his head, glancing into the side mirror to be sure that it was situated properly, and then removed his coat, replacing it with a battered leather bomber jacket. Once he was satisfied that he wouldn't be recognized if he were seen, he locked the car and began walking.