Betty never suspected you were the Trash Bag Killer.

You were pretty heavily inspired by the convicted Trash Bag Murderer in '78. You had a bit of finesse and style with the way you handled your victims, though. Being ruthless, cruel, manipulative, and positively artistic. You were silly enough to use a simple trash bag to conceal your features and rarely speak — until you began working for this district's Bureau one year ago, and Betty Cooper accidentally became your object of desires.

Shit, some people called her a victim when she was rescued from the little crappy bunker you had put her in, for the time being. You'd gotten a bit reckless there, not putting her in a proper place and sufficiently bounded. Your mistake. Wasn't going to happen again, if you ever managed to get her back. She's yours, even if she's sleeping with that asshole, Glen — her usual partner. Or her boytoy, Archie Andrews, a former military man.

She mentioned feeling safer with you than she had with any of them. That filled you with a sort of pride, given the circumstances. Especially now, as you two had been assigned the TBK case; Betty was deemed well enough to tackle it again, and your superiors thought you were so damnably smart to figure out the TBK's identity.

You chuckled underneath your breath as you reviewed the files together.

"I just don't get it. How the hell does he keep getting away? He doesn't exactly remember to not leave a paper trail..." Betty muttered, her forehead propped in her hand and her eyebrows furrowing together. It was late. You two were the only ones here. This case was personal.