The whole room stared at the officer, disbelief splashed across their faces. Smith’s heartbeat increased rapidly Weber? No, why…? He couldn’t…! Oh God, am I…am I sat next to a murderer!?
                          
Hyde closed his eyes, exhaled, and then opened them again. He glared at the officer, a scowl playing on his lips, “Weber. It isn’t you. You don’t have the flare, the creativity, the passion or the personality of the killer I am looking for. You are simply you. You wouldn’t qualify as an artist. Sit yourself down and refrain from talking for the rest of this meeting. If you so desperately want to prove your innocence, go and kill someone.”
                          
Weber widened his eyes in surprise, but shrugged and seated himself, “Fair enough.”
                          
Smith looked away form the officer, alarm bells ringing in the back of his head.
                          

                          
***
                          

                          
The day had finally ended, and Smith only had twenty more files to look over. He cast a tired gaze over at the window. The sun was setting, sending out a flaming glow across the sky. Even after fifteen cups of coffee, the lawyer hadn’t been able to stay awake.
                          
Chief officer Weber strode over to him, “I’m off now, I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t forget to look over those files!”
                          
Smith flinched at the proximity of them, and nodded uncertainly, “Y-yes, I will…see you tomorrow.”
                          
Weber’s thick brow raised, “What’s wrong?” his confused expression quickly morphed into a grin, “Is it what I said this morning? Ha, you see, I was simply trying to get our Hyde to confess who he suspected, that’s all, and it clearly wasn’t me! Apparently, I’m not good enough to kill people,” he scoffed. “Well, see you tomorrow Smith.” At that, the friendly chief took his car keys out of his pocket and headed downstairs.
                          

                          
***
                          

                          
The moon shone bright in a starless sky. He pressed harder on the accelerator. 30mph.
                          
40mph.
                          
50mph.
                          
His leather-gloved fingers flexed on the steering wheel. His eyes darted from side to side, looking, watching, seeking.
                          
Found.
                          
He grinned. Right by the river. Will save him a trip.
                          
His hands jolted left, swerving the car onto the next road. A traffic light flashed green. A woman began to walk.
                          
Quickly the woman turned and saw the car. She yelled in fear and tried to run.
                          
“Too slow!” he screeched, and squirmed in pleasure as the thump of the woman’s body reverberated throughout the car. He laughed hysterically and slammed on the breaks, skidding the car to a halt and throwing the man forward and onto the pavement.
                          
His body buzzed with excitement. He leaped out of the car, grabbing his knife and ran to the body. Already, ten centimeters was marked on the blade.
                          
The woman’s chest had been blown open. Blood was splattered everywhere. The lungs still inflated. The heart still pumped.
                          
So did the man’s, faster than a second before. He stared at the body in disbelief, regret and sorrow sprayed across his face and tears falling from his eyes, “No!” he cried, “No, no, no, no, no!”
                          
The body was ruined. 
                          
His body shook with anger and he fell to his knees. He clutched his head and rocked back and forth, ruined! You stupid, stupid man! Ruined!
                          
“I have to do something!” he whimpered, staring at the now still girl, “She died ugly!”
                          
He eyed her head. The head was fine. The head was bruised. The head could still be made beautiful.
                          
He leaned forward, towering over the body. With shaking hands he hacked at the neck, his face splashed with pulsing blood as he did so. Her blood soaked his hands, but that was okay. After his mistake, he needed to be made beautiful.
                          
He held the head in his arms and softly cradled it. “Too much,” he whispered, “Too, too much.”
                          
He punctured the canvas of skin on her forehead, and began to write with large, swift movements.
                          
“Too…”
                          
He finished the ‘O’ with a swirl.
                          
“Much.”
                          
The ‘H’ led on to a tiny flower constructed of circles.
                          
He wasn’t satisfied, but what could he do? He cradled the head for a while longer, “Sorry,” he whispered, “I could only make you a child’s pretty.”
                          
The clothes he wore were drenched in her blood, but that didn’t matter. They weren’t really his clothes, he was just pretending.
                          
Slowly, he placed the head on the pavement and took a running jump into the river.
                          
 _______________


                          
Again, sorry for the slow updates! I have GCSEs in seven weeks!
                          

                          
I haven't proof-read this, so sorry for any mistakes!
                          
so, who do you think the killer is now? 
                          
Or hasn't he been named yet?
                          
what are your thoughts?
                          
as a note - this story isn't going to be very long. can't see it going past 10 chapters tbh, but still, quality not quantity!
                          
don't forget to vote and comment!