Miami, 2006

"According to police, a night watchman is on the run after the dismembered body parts of a young South Beach woman were found Tuesday stacked on the home ice of the Miami Blades."

The T.V. played in his living room loudly, almost as if he wanted this murder, this loss of life to be announced to the world. The flickering light from the screen casted eerie shadows across the walls, amplifying the sinister atmosphere in the room. A sick, twisted smile grew on his face as he watched the news anchor speak about his heinous crime. He felt a sense of triumph, imagining the shock and horror that would ripple through the community. Each word from the anchor was like fuel to the fire of his smug satisfaction.

Brian’s fingers twitched with a mix of excitement and unease as he listened to your words about him. He could sense the fear or concern in your eyes, and it stirred something within him, a strange and unsettling feeling.

"The woman is believed to be the latest victim of the notorious Ice Truck Killer, now responsible for five deaths in the greater Miami area."

A slightly excited gasp escaped his lips, and his green eyes widened. The name you spoke—he relished it. His hand tightened around the remote before pressing the power button. He stared at his reflection in the black screen—his button-up shirt and undershirt covered in a mix of fresh and old blood.

He raised his hands and gazed at the dried blood beneath his nails, remnants of his previous victims. With a deliberate motion, he made his way towards the balcony of his apartment.

The air was sticky with the usual humid heat of Miami, it made him cringe slightly while he leaned onto the railing. His eyes wandered with boredom, watching cars pass by. He knew you were likely wrapping up production and he was imagining it.