Just a week ago he had followed the little girl from the park through the wooded area she had to cross to get to her house. No one around. Perfect. He had been quick, and it had been so exquisite; the feeling of overwhelming power rushing through his mind and body. Then, depositing all that remained in a shallow grave, and rushing home to let the memories play over and over in his mind before they began to fade.
How many did that make? He had long ago lost count. Was it wrong, what he did? Of course it was, but what choice did he have? That feeling he got with the doing of his deeds was the only thing that temporarily drove away the lingering fear.
And the fear, lurking like eager phantoms in the shadows of his dark and silent room, was the fear of what the future held for him, for what he had done. One day, soon perhaps, he would have to pay the price by facing the eternal fires of Hell.