Chapter 4

The morning was eager apparently as it came very quickly. Things seem to work that way when you're mentally exhausted. Nevertheless, it was time for the Christmas Darling to rise from her despair and get on the hunt for the next contestant on the biggest Monster in the San Diego area.

Before she spread and filtered the papers, removing sports and the comics, Jennifer decided to get some cleaning done. Her concern wasn't the piles of clothes taking root around the living space or the leaning tower of dishes ever growing from her dual sinks, the blade needed love and care. It had taken its eighth soul and needed to be inspected, stripped, washed, and reassembled to perfection. It had to be ready for the next kill, even if that event was months away.

Jennifer shoved the pile of close from the counter to the floor ensuring the blade didn't fall with them. She laid the sports and comic sections of the papers that she had pulled earlier out on the counter and went to retrieve Q-Tips and alcohol. Unsheathing the blade dulled out the entire room, made everything in existence stop its activity.

The blade, long and shiny, serrated teeth like a tigers, a tip sharper than the spears of the Roman days, it was glorious and perfect. The grip was a dark wood sealed with a premium clear coat, the finger groves fit her hand as if it were made specifically for her. The side that the palm grasped had seven dashes on it, one for each kill. It needs to be updated to reflect the current record and to ensure it retained its significant essence and prowess.

It was always a struggle to break the lock tight free from the four screws that held the two handles to the thick hardened steel. With all of her might, Jennifer twisted and pushed as hard as she could until her face glowed red and her lungs filled with more air than they should be holding. With a pop and a slip, the blade's first handle screw loosened but that wasn't all.

With all the force, the delicate but deadly hand of the Christmas Darling slid down the serrated blade quickly and painlessly, at least for a second. The blood didn't flow for a good ten seconds but when it did, it came in groves. Careful not to repaint her apartment with her life juice, Jennifer wrapped a clean dish towel around the wound, "So that's what it feels like, huh?"

It's not often that a killer gets to feel the wrath of their own weapon and live to tell the tale.

The cut was deep, forming a wide mouth type of wound directly on the meat of the hand. As she flexed her fingers the wound would appear to talk to her and spit. Boy did it spit. Warm blood flowed to cover her cold soft skin, desperately seeking another way into her body. The towel went back on and the gaping wound remained open as the disassembly continued on.

Careful to not make the same mistake twice, Jennifer placed the blade against the wall that connected the counter top to the kitchen so that it would do most of the work for her. After straining and staining her hand towel which started off white, now a deep red, the knife was finally fully apart and ready for a bath.

After butterflying her wounded hand back together, a generous amount of alcohol was poured into a Tupperware bowl and the monster slayer was rested inside of it. It would soak for the day, ensuring each imperfection was cleared of any blood or flesh that may have remained. The handle pieces were then given a generous shower in a bath of clear coat but not before Jennifer could apply the eighth notch upon it.

With the cleaning process in progress Jennifer now had time to get back to research and trying to narrow down her next target. She picked up the magazine that had caught her eye and did a quick pass through it for any sort of obvious targets. No dice.

She sat in silence thumbing page by page carefully scanning each word. The keywords would jump from the page if they were on it. It never failed. Child, rape, murder, women, torture, anything along those lines seemingly were written in an entirely different font or at least that's how Jennifer's brain processed them.

Each page was filled with potential targets but none of them caught her eye the way they usually do. When he shows his face, it will feel exciting. The first half was all petty criminals with a rating beside them, a killer rating. This is absolutely slanderous Jennifer thought, how is this magazine allowed to publish stuff like this?

Impatiently shuffling through the pages now as the blade took its spa day with comfort and ease, Jennifer stumbled across a few decent ones.

Jimmy Sams, age thirty-four, suspected of raping twelve women, murdering three and leading to the suicide of two. Reading the article as comprehensively as possible, it seems someone may be targeting this guy. Trying to pin him for a series of rapes and murders that there truly were no suspects for. The evidence was lacking, not even a single one of the victims picked him from a photograph line-up.

Next up was Roger Dallas, age twenty-nine, suspected of the sale of children, his own children, to overseas sex traders. The evidence seemed strong but there is a chance the wife could be involved and Jennifer doesn't take on double kills. It's one of the rules. This one was too cloudy to try to decipher, it's a pass.

It wasn't until the end that something peculiar caught her eye. A small blurb tucked in between two large pieces about murder and how to get away with it. The blurb couldn't have been more than two-hundred words, but all the keywords jumped from the page pulling at Jennifer's face, pleading for vengeance and justice.

Meet Jeffrey James Dobbins, age forty-one. The Dobbins family is an international name; they owned businesses in literally every country. These folks produced plastic silverware and were working on a project to develop new types of plates and bowls that would reduce food sticking to them and improve the environment. They were all biodegradable. That wasn't the interesting part.

Little Jeffrey was into some serious stuff. Jeffrey was accused of running a local drug industry that specifically uses children as mules as to avoid prosecution. During his reign as a drug king, many witnesses, kids, have disappeared shortly after being arrested and held while they waited for their parents to pick them up. There are also allegations of Jeffrey having multiple under aged wives which live with him inside a gated mansion.

The article went on to give a date for the trial and also stated that Mr. Dobbins had the resources to obtain the absolute best attorneys on the planet, like OJ level defense. The trial kicks off in nine months and is expected to not go well for the prosecution. This is the one to watch, this is number nine.

She tore the page from the magazine and discarded all the papers as she was certain the next had been found. Pinning the article to the back of her front door would ensure it would never leave her mind. Every time she left, there it would be. Every time she looked out of the peephole, there hanging from her door was the article about number nine.

The blade had now simmered in the alcohol solution for over two hours now, clean as a whistle. Careful to not open her wound, Jennifer allowed the blade to air dry as she used a heat gun to expedite the curing of the clear coat on the handles.

While waiting for the blade to full dry, she inspected the threads on each screw to ensure that failure wasn't in their future. No mistakes, no troubles, clean kills.

After a careful and delicate inspection, the bringer of death was reassembled, lock tight and all. It was like new, better than new. Its life had collected the souls of eight evil men. It was more than just a knife now; this was a harbinger of sorrow for the wicked.

Jennifer admired her tool for a very long amount of time before placing it back in the original leather sheath it had lived in all of its life. Hidden away now, placed behind a false tile in the corner of the wall next to the only chair in the apartment, the blade still gave off a malicious but satisfying aura. It filled the apartment. The aura was intoxicating.

Jennifer sat down, closed her eyes, and soaked in the power of the blade. She had a lot of research to do and a long time to wait for the trial to begin. Rest would be essential if a solid plan was going to be derived.