Chapter One
It was a crazy night on the Colorado Mesa University campus. Graduation week had been the climax of hard work, and now the student body was letting off some steam. The graduates had built a massive bonfire in the parking lot, and the dancing and singing had reached a fever pitch. The heavy metal band playing on the other side of the parking lot had the volume turned up, and the noise was incredible, but no one seemed to care. This was the end of the school year, and everyone was having fun. Over the next two days, most of the students would be packing up and moving on. Some off to travel, adventures that would take them to far-flung places; others off to summer jobs and hard-fought internships; still others heading back home for some of mom’s home-cooked meals and a free washer and dryer.
He had spent the last two hours wandering amongst the students, cheering with them, and he looked like he was having a good time, but what no one knew was that he was on the prowl. He was a predator of the highest order, walking in the midst of all his prey. His eyes searched the crowds, looking for that one perfect victim. The one who would make his year complete.
He was always fascinated to read stories about serial killers who chose their victims based on hair color or sex or some other deep-seated fantasy that behavioral scientists would grab on to when creating the profile of the killer. He never cared about crap like that. His murders would have confounded the behaviorists, except that, so far, they didn’t even know he existed. He didn’t have a type when it came to his victims. Male or female, it didn’t matter. He could kill either one without concern. There was also no sexual component to his victims. He didn’t rape them before killing them, and he didn’t choose them based on some preconceived sexual fantasy. He never had sex with his victims. He didn’t get sexually aroused with their deaths. That would come later, after the thrill of the hunt and the kill had subsided. That was the fastest way to get caught. You could never be sure that you didn’t leave a DNA trace when you were ravaging your victim sexually.
He chose his victims based on one thing. Did he have an overwhelming desire to kill that person? He didn’t stalk them for days or weeks to make sure he understood their every move. He would key on his victim, work to get them alone and then pounce. He also never worried about his DNA getting on the victims. He had never taken a home DNA test. He had no siblings who might have taken one for fun, and his parents were both dead. His DNA profile might be in his military records, but those were sealed from prying eyes. He was the perfect killing machine, having improved his craft over the years, and no one could stop him.
He had been looking forward to the bonfire all week because he knew the students would be there, and most of them would be out of control on drugs or alcohol. Their guards would be down, and they would be as friendly as they could be. Even the more reserved students he had encountered were feeling no pain. He liked them compliant, but sometimes he liked more of a challenge, and he might go for an athlete. He also knew tonight was the last night of hunting season. In two days, and for two wonderful weeks after that, he would be sitting on a beach in Mexico with his wife, looking out over the ocean from behind a margarita and sunglasses, looking for his next victim. He found that the hunting was a lot easier in Mexico. The tourists were too drunk to figure out what was happening, and the locals never considered protecting themselves since they were in a tourist environment. The local police were also notorious for not doing a great job investigating crime. He always thought that one day he might retire to Mexico and spend the rest of his life in the pursuit of his happiness.
He had reached the edge of a large group of students bumping and grinding to the music when he spotted her. The fire from the bonfire lit up her face, and from where he stood, he could tell she had a beautiful, vibrant laugh. He watched her for a few minutes and then moved away from the crowd, always keeping her in his peripheral vision.
Several students in the group offered him a beer, which he took, and he joined in the dancing for a few minutes. He was older than they were, but that didn’t stop him from having a good time while keeping an eye on the young woman.
She wasn’t pretty, but there was something about her besides her smile that attracted his attention. She was short, maybe five-two at the most, and a little on the heavy side, but not out of proportion. She had a nice chest and medium-length blond hair. He took a sip from the can of beer and poured the rest on the ground when no one was watching. He wondered who would miss her. She most certainly had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, probably the latter, the way she was hanging all over the young woman dancing next to her. He wondered who would call in the missing person report once she didn’t show up back in Muncie, Indiana, or Pittsburgh or wherever she came from.
He never knew what it was about the victim that attracted his attention, and he never questioned his decision. He always knew as soon as he saw the person that they were it. He moved away from the dancing group and stood on the periphery, watching her but never making eye contact. Now it was just a waiting game, but he didn’t have to wait long.
The opportunity came half an hour later when she handed her friend her can of beer and made a dash for the edge of the parking lot. He followed nonchalantly so as not to draw any undue attention. He found her on her knees behind a parked car at the edge of the lot. From the pile under her mouth, it looked like she had barfed up everything she had eaten that day. He walked around the other side of the car and approached from in front of her so as not to startle her. She threw up again.
“Are you all right, young lady?” he said in a soft voice.
She pushed her hair behind her ear and looked up, using the back of her hand to wipe the bits and pieces from around her mouth. She looked nervous until the parking lot light revealed his face.
Slurring her words, she said, “Oh, hi, Professor. I think I had too much to drink.”
She tried to smile but vomited again and fell sideways. He stepped around the pile, helped her back to her knees and kneeled beside her. He looked at her face.
“Aren’t you in one of my history classes?” he asked.
She smiled and nodded. He looked around and helped her to her feet. She snuggled against his side and tried to say something, but it came out garbled.
“Let’s get you home, young lady, before you fall and hurt yourself.”
He led her away from the parking lot lights and the noise from the bonfire and headed towards the dorms, making sure no one noticed them leaving. He steered her away from the dorms, towards his F-150 pickup truck parked in the next parking lot, and stood her next to the sidewall as he opened the tailgate. She looked at him and smiled, having no idea where she was but knowing she was in good hands. He helped her sit on the tailgate, looked around to make sure no one was in the area, pulled a syringe out of his back pocket and jabbed it into her shoulder. She looked up into his eyes in surprise. Confusion turned to fear, and she tried to push off the tailgate but her eyes closed and she fell over.
He rolled her into the truck bed, closed the tailgate and secured the black cover. He looked around. The sounds at the bonfire were growing louder, and he stopped to watch as the students threw more wood onto the fire, which was growing bigger by the minute. He saw four big guys throw a wooden picnic table onto the pyre, and he laughed and slid into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the parking lot, turned left onto North Twelfth Street, right onto Horizon Drive and then right onto I-70. He followed I-70 until he saw the sign for Grand Mesa Scenic Byway and exited the interstate.
