THE SERIAL KILLER MIND - Chapter 18: Fracture

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It was getting harder to tell who was dreaming.

Sometimes he’d wake up with paint on his hands. Sometimes blood.

Sometimes both.

He stared at his reflection. His eyes were hollow. Pupils too wide. Something shimmered behind them.

“Are you still there?” he asked aloud.

Silence.

Then—

You’re tired. Let me take over.

Vinci slammed his head against the sink. Just once. Just enough to jolt.

“No. Not this time.”

She was going to leave you. Like the rest.

“No.”

But I made her stay.

“I never wanted that!”

Then why did you draw the rope? The roses? You started it. I just... finished.

Vinci dropped to the floor, knees to chest. He clutched his skull as if he could dig the voice out like a tumor.

He was losing time.

Losing himself.

A thud.

He blinked.

His hands were stained.

The sketchbook was open.

A new drawing: a woman tied to a chair. Gagged. Tears falling.

It was Ella.

“No…” Vinci whispered. “I would never hurt her.”

But then the voice whispered back, cold and cruel:

You already have.

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