Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
From her notes, prior visits and research over the past few weeks, he typically woke up early and went jogging or drove to the gym. She’d staked out his apartment many times prior, and he did in fact do those things, but she hoped that one day, just once, he’d deviate from his regular schedule. Though serial killers were often creatures of habit, if they felt pressure or uncomfortable, they were not opposed to switching things up. Or sometimes, they’d make a mistake or do something to try and get the police off their tail. Nevertheless, she had a hunch…
It might not be today or tomorrow, but it’ll happen. He’s going to switch up.
She waited another hour, and the man was running late. Some house lights were coming on as people began to stir for work and school. And then, just as she started to believe that perhaps he was sick or wasn’t home at all, the back door of his apartment building opened, and Ethan came hurrying out, dressed in a gray jogging suit, clutching a bunch of trash bags. She grabbed her binoculars and watched closely, as she was far across the other side of the parking lot. He always came this way to either get in his car or start jogging down the street, but she surmised it must’ve been trash day this time around.
He struggled a bit with the bulky black plastic bags that were filled to capacity, one bulging on the side and threatening to split open. He stood before the dumpster, then hoisted them across the front bar, into the big metal trash bin. One crashed with a thud, and the other had a much softer landing. He went back inside the apartment, and appeared with one more bag less than a minute later. This one was slightly smaller than the two prior. He erected this one higher into the air, tossed it into the dumpster, then reached down to tighten his sneaker laces. He jogged in place for a short while and after that, off he went, around the corner of the apartment building, heading to the street to get his morning exercise.
During prior stakeouts, she’d followed him for a while, careful to not be spotted. He had the same routine. Nothing unusual. This time though, there would be no following. She had a new assignment…
Opening her glove compartment, she plucked a pair of gloves she used for shoveling snow, changing flat tires and the like, and put them on. As she made her way to the row of dumpsters, she paused when she saw a couple coming out, their coffees and briefcases in hand. They were so into their own conversation, they seemed to not notice her.
When they were a good distance away, she approached the dumpster he’d utilized, turned on the flashlight of her phone with one hand, then lifted the bin bar and eyed everything, trying to find the big bags she’d just seen in his possession. She raised herself up and slipped inside the side opening, the nauseating odor of used diapers and spoiled food making her nauseous. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that rodents and roaches were running amuck in there, but she had to do what she had to do. Pushing her disgust aside, she looked around, the flashlight on her phone shining bright.
They should be right on top. He literally just put them in here… There they are.
She grabbed each of the three bags and tossed them outside to the ground. One after another. Once she had all of them, she walked to her car, drove it to the dumpster, and hoisted all of the bags into the trunk, quickly getting the hell out of dodge.
As she drove home with the rubbish, she played dancehall music all the way. Something to lift her spirits. Her muscles burned by the time she’d gotten all the bags inside her condo, and she smelled horrendous, but her adrenaline was pumping, and she hoped and prayed she’d find more than just used condoms, unpaid bill notices, and empty milk cartons.
She set newspaper sheets all over her living room floor, pulled a fresh pair of plastic gloves on, and opened each bag cautiously to remove the contents, piece by piece. She checked them carefully. Empty chip bags. Toilet paper rolls. Used paper towels. Grocery store receipts. Crushed soda cans. An invoice for computer repair. Tags from clothing that had been purchased. The harsh odor of spoiled tuna… on and on it went. At one point she paused, halting her gag reflex with mind over matter, then continued.
She finished the first bag, finding nothing remarkable inside. Frustrated, but not deterred, she persisted. The second bag yielded similar results, until she got to the very bottom.
Sliced paper. Not shredded with a machine, but a handmade job.