On The Second Day of Karmas
After killing Anna Bartholomew, I decided my next victim would need to be an unknown. Wouldn’t want them to connect the dots back to me. So, on December 19, I went back to the mall. It was there that I found Jarod McMasters. Jarod was standing in line outside of the Apple store waiting to buy the newest IPhone. In his hands he held the most up to date IPad and on his wrist, the Apple watch. I watched him flirt with the girl in line behind him and I saw her wedding band reflecting the light. Jarod bragged about his ability to get the newest apple device he day it came out, he told the girl he was a doctor. He called his girlfriend on his watch and ordered a double espresso from Starbucks. She was beautiful but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand and continued to covet the girl behind him, the girl who I could see was younger and bigger breasted than his no less lovely girl.
Jarod was a caricature of the asshole executive from every movie you’ve ever seen. The braggart you over hear and immediately hate while standing in line at the post office. The rude jerk who won’t put his phone down to look his waitress in the eye. The man who spent his entire life keeping up with the Jones’s. I followed Jarod home. When he fell asleep in his California King bed, I let myself in. Jarod had a state of the art alarm system, but he was too cool to need it.
I drugged him just like I did Anna. It allowed me to tie him down and remove his hands. He bled out quickly so unfortunately I don’t think he felt me gently dissect his eyes out of their sockets. I left them attached to the optic nerve. I cut his tongue out too. Lastly, I cut his head off, the eyes dangling, rolling back and forth across his cheekbones.
The following morning, several homes around town found the gifts I’d left for them. A right hand superglued to a gorgeous yellow Ferrari, A severed head staring into the bedroom window of the local (and very sexy) weathergirl—hey easy way to ensure publicity, right? The eyes stuck to her window, the mouth hanging open in a lascivious stare. I had to impale the head on a bird feeder post, but I think it turned out well.
It was a challenge to keep his apple watch on his left wrist whilst the hand pressed itself against the door to the tanners. The tongue had to be nailed to the Starbucks because my medical grade superglue just would not stick.
The detectives would have had to work a little harder to put “all the pieces together” had I not left Jarod’s body sprawled out in his speedo and boat shoes, sitting on his Brookstone massage chair, sprayed orange with his fake tan, a bottle of Dom Perignon sitting beside his headless body. He wore a sign around his neck that said “Envy me, I have it all”.