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Something, or someone, is in your way. Whether you are a stalker about to claim your latest victim, or a lover desperately searching for your partner, or a cop on the hunt for the biggest criminal—the goal is always the same:

"I will always find you."

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by

He sat at the corner of the dimly lit bar with piercing grey eyes scanning each unsuspecting soul. He never saw me hiding in the shadows, it was the third week that I sat across him, invisible to his predatory stare. Dexter Maxwell was a powerful man, any human who can get away with the crimes he committed had to be. By now, I knew everything about my victim, his habits, his tells, his weakness and the most rewarding, I had planned exactly how I wanted to trap him too.

Dexter Maxwell spent every Saturday evening in his club, and at the end always went home with a girl. She had to be a blonde, short compared to his six foot frame and most importantly she had to be intoxicated. Now, going home with a new girl each weekend isn't too much of a surprise, it's when the girl doesn't turn up the next day, or week, or year that you'd think people would ask questions. But, that was not what happened in Mr. Maxwell's case.

I got up from the darkness I always sat in, pushed my newly coloured hair over my shoulder and went straight to the bar. I had chosen to wear a short blue dress with a halter neck and a far cry from a modest neckline. The attire in its entirety was enough to catch his attention but I had to tick every box in his list to make it to the top.

"Four shots of tequila." I ordered, winking at the bartender who in no time placed my order in front of me.

"What's a lovely lady like you doing alone?" A plan never really goes as planned, does it?

I looked over to the dark haired man who had taken the stool beside me. If it wasn't the me now, I would've actually been interested in the grinning bastard. But instead, I leaned closed to his ear and whispered sensually.

"Trying to get in bed with that hot hunk over there." I followed my words with a giggle. It was enough to believe I was completely drunk. I did just empty four glasses with him as witness. He looked taken aback, and I thought he'd make an effort to continue his pursuit but instead looked behind me and just walked away.

I straightened my face before I turned.

"That man bothering you?" Dexter Maxwell could charm a ninety year old into bed with his lopsided smile and enticing eyes.

"Not anymore." I giggled, any outsider, including the man before me would be convinced I was drunk.

"Could I buy you a drink?" Always check if the pig is over stuffed for slaughter.

"Of course." I slurred. I could carry my alcohol, a year of practice in that field. Somehow, all my practice victims loved me drunk.

The night stretched on, I knew very well where he would take me. His flashy apartment in the city, sitting on top of a tall building with his name. I internally grinned, the horror the world would face tomorrow. I was doing mankind a favour.

"Oh," I chuckled, "I think I drank a little too much." My words were muffled by laughter, I had perfected the art of being drunk for show.

"How about we continue this at my place?" With pleasure.

I leaned into him intentionally swaying a little with each step. All the muscle I felt under his shirt was probably from the intense work out sessions with his preys.

We reached his place and I scanned the space, it was exactly the way I had seen it a week back. All red furniture placed in the living room, a stark contrast to the white floors and ceilings.

"Wow." I murmured in fake appreciation. Dexter didn't waste anytime in connecting our lips, he led us to the bedroom and I knew I was a few minutes away from completing my task.

He pushed me on the bed, and made an attempt to unzip my dress, the dress that was hiding the key to the success of this mission.

I turned us over and strangled his hips and as I knelt over him to kiss him I found the handcuff he kept to cease the women in his bed.

"Oh, feisty." I felt my blood boil at his words but I continued kissing him.

I pushed the metal cuffs up near his head, he wouldn't notice, he was too engrossed in trying to unzip my dress. I heard the zipper come down, and I took his hands and pinned them down, clicking the handcuffs in their place.

"What?!" He exclaimed, "Uncuff me right now!"

I was smirking, everything had finally worked out just as I had hoped.

"Any last words?" I asked humourlessly, pulling the knife out and trailing it along his naked chest. His pants were at his ankles hindering his struggle to come free. The sound of the metal hitting against metal was like music to my ears.

I bent to whisper in his ear, "I will see you soon."

I pressed the knife against his neck, watching the vein pulse under the pressure I put on it. I felt myself hesitate. A force that wasn't physical held my hand back, I couldn't understand why. I had gone over this for two years, the picture of his still body under my bloody knife my only motivation to live.

"Julia?" He stared at me wide eyed. Of course he'd remember.

"Yes, honey?" I smiled sweetly and just as I was about to press the metal enough to break the skin, I saw the key hanging around his neck.

I took his shirt that lay beside his head and stuffed it in his mouth, his words were like poison to my ear but his cries, now that way something I could go to sleep with. The ropes he kept under his bed were easy to find, and even easier to wrap around his legs.

He was frantically flipping under me. The satisfaction I felt was no where near the one I thought I would. None of what I was going to do was part of the plan yet it felt perfect.

I got off his body with the key in hand.

"I seriously can't believe you keep souvenirs." He continued to mumble things into his shirt, "Speak up, honey, I can't hear you."

And walked around the familiar bed room, I pulled open the drawer I knew he hid all his dirty secrets in.

I saw it all, the newspaper cuttings, names and faces of various blondes. All missing with the same MO.

The most dated cutting was one I remember vividly.

Julia Maxwell missing only a day after claiming the Maxwell name.

How naïve was the girl in that photo, every feature was different than the ones I possessed now.

She thought a man like Dexter would be interested in a simple girl like her, would love a plain woman. All that changed the night of their marriage.

He looked at her just like a lion stalking his lamb. She loved that look, it brought out the sexual appeal of her "husband". He had convinced her that rough was what she liked, so when he tied a noose around her neck, she refuted but went along nonetheless.

I will see you again is what he had said when he left her choking in their honeymoon suite. I'm sure he meant in hell or something equivalent to that, I was more than happy to prove him wrong. I had managed to escape, but life with the face of someone that was murdered is quite hard. But it wasn't anything plastic surgery wouldn't change. It took me two years to reach in a position to attempt what I was about to.

"I've planned this night since the day I was officially declared dead. I still can't get myself to end you, funny, right?" I took all the papers out and placed them around the bed.

"Dexter Maxwell, finally exposed for the crimes by gruesome photograph." I laughed, trailing my knife across his cheek, breaking skin enough to draw blood.

"Nine missing girl cases connected to business tycoon Dexter Maxwell." I continued to draw on his skin, the newspaper cuttings staining with his blood.

"You left me to die in that room our wedding night. Regret not checking back, don't you?" I pulled the shirt out of this mouth and he screamed like a little girl.

I shook my head at his antics.

"The bedroom is sound proof, my love. Courtesy of yours truly." I pulled out his phone and took a step back.

"Julia. Stop this, it will not end well for you." I clicked the picture and admired my work.

"The more you talk, the more I want to kill you. And, as far as I remember, Julia is dead, right? But she'll live on in your heart." I sneered, quoting his words from my funeral press.

The door bell rang at the middle of the night and with it my heart stopped, but I didn't let it show on my face. Guess I wouldn't be able to finish my job after all.

"Well, Dexter Maxwell, looks like you're saved by the bell." I threw the phone on his bleeding torso, I had exposed him. Perhaps if my heart would've allowed me to kill him, that would've felt better.

"But, I will always find you. I want you to feel what it's like to live looking over your shoulder."