‘That was too close,’ Simon thought as he threw the last shovelful of dirt on the shallow grave. ‘If that cop had been just a little quicker…’ It didn’t serve to dwell on what might have been. What mattered was that he had survived the encounter. He knocked the dirt from his shoes and walked back to his idling car.

The cop’s service weapon, badge, and wedding ring sat on the passenger seat where Simon left them. Even though their previous owner had been disposed of, each of these items still had a function to fill. The badge would be dealt with first. It would be sent back to the police department along with a resignation letter, written by the dearly departed Officer McGeary himself, confessing to the rape and extortion of several women. It had taken Simon some time to find all of the women the cop had assaulted, but it was worth it to be thorough. And by the time the police tried to find Officer McGeary, Simon would be long gone.

The ring was the most important of the three items; it would be stored in a special box among a collection of mementos from the other monsters Simon had destroyed. He always collected something from his targets to help him remember his path, but this was the first time he had collected a wedding ring. There was normally too much risk in disappearing a married target. Fortunately for Simon, Officer McGeary was divorced and only kept the ring on as a means of making himself seem non-threatening to the women he assaulted.

He would have to wait to dispose of the gun. Perhaps he would use it as a means of dealing with his next target. If he left the serial number undamaged, it would eventually be connected to Officer McGeary and further the investigation into his disappearance. Simon didn’t mind that though. Cops like to find the simple solution to a problem, and the idea that a rapist cop on the run might turn to murder in order to protect himself was an easy conclusion to jump to. It would also further insulate Simon from either incident.

‘Seattle sounds like a good place to head next,’ Simon thought as his car bumped back onto pavement from the Forest Service road. He would head south to Boise first to mail the letter, and then turn back north towards Washington. There was no need to stop at his old apartment either; Simon hadn’t planned to return and had everything he intended to keep already with him. He reached over to the dashboard and turned on the radio. After scanning through several frequencies blasting nothing but static, the familiar voice of Roger Miller cut through the noise. “A man of means, by no means,” Simon sang along, turning the volume up as he did so, “King of the road!”

--

The motel was a seedy little place, but the desk clerk didn’t ask any questions when Simon slid the stack of bills across the counter. It would have to suffice until he could find a new apartment. Simon gagged when he opened the door to the stench of stale smoke and old urine. No amount of airing out could get rid of the odor, but it was still better than sleeping on the street. He wished he hadn’t sold the car after reaching Seattle, but it was the quickest way he could obtain some cash. Curling up in the backseat of that tiny sedan would have been far better than this dump. He pulled back the moldy bedspread to reveal dingy gray sheets and reluctantly crawled in. He needed to rest after the long drive.

Simon was awakened by shouting right outside his door. The cheap clock by the bedside flashed 12:00, so he couldn’t tell what time it actually was. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours since he drifted off though. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slipped over to the threadbare curtains, pulling them slightly apart.

“Get back here you bitch!” a man yelled at a woman as she ran across the parking lot. The woman stumbled, tripping over her too-tall high heels, and the man caught up to her. Simon watched as the man wrestled a knife from her hands and then plunged it into her over and over again. Pooled blood shone darkly around them. Eventually, the man stood up, wiped sweat from his brow, and spat on the poor woman’s corpse. He turned back towards the motel and Simon could see his full face, clearly illuminated by the lights in the parking lot. The man climbed into a car, presumably his own, and left. Simon quickly read the license plate and committed it to memory.

‘This is perfect,’ Simon thought gleefully. Judging based on the location and the woman’s attire, Simon assumed she was a sex worker. The police would only conduct a cursory investigation based on the same assumption, and the man would most likely not be found. The nonchalant manner in which the man conducted himself after murdering the woman led Simon to guess this was probably not his first kill. A little bit of investigation should reveal if that were true.

Simon couldn’t help but smile. A new city, and now a new target on his first day here. It was more than he could have hoped for. Simon pulled a well-worn notebook from his backpack and jotted down everything he remembered of the incident. He settled back into the grimy bed, now pleased with his choice of accommodations, and drifted off to sleep once more.