Average

He stood on the top of the hill, eyeing his phone with anger. There was no service; not even one bar. Not that it even mattered; the battery was dead anyway. The man was almost certain it was approaching sunset, but with the overcast sky, it made it impossible to tell what time of day it was, much less in which direction was north or south. There were two directions to go; one being a seemingly never ending two lane road way that disappeared into some trees in the distance, and in the other direction, the road snaked its way through lumpy hills. He could hear what sounded like a two-stroke chainsaw in the distance, though he could not be sure in which direction it was coming from.

At this point he might as well have thrown out his cell phone; it didn’t matter, anyway. As soon as he found his way to the next town, he would have to get a new one, like he often found himself doing. With a sigh, he decided to weigh his options and look in both directions. First, in the direction of the trees, which seemed to send chills down his spine. Despite it being daylight, the dullness in the sky overtop of the forest seemed to give it a little creepiness that he could not explain. Next, he looked towards the lumpy hills. Visibly, it looked like the more logical way to go, but from past experiences the most logical was not always the safest; he knew which way he was to go.

He made his way towards the dark forest, remarking the deafening silence around him. The longer he walked, the longer he was stuck thinking about the events that had just transpired. He often found himself in this situation; walking, alone, with nothing but his thoughts shouting at him.

It seemed he was notorious for making bad decisions. Regardless of how much he thought ahead, how much preparation he made, or how carefully he proceeded, he seemed to always end up back at square one; two different roads to follow, no service, and a dead battery. He wondered vaguely if he was ever going to get it right. That if one day, he would make the right decision that would no longer leave him in this predicament; it seemed unlikely, however.

The walk along the road was short before he found himself surrounded by trees. The forest was admittedly spooky, even for his standards. The trees looked aged, and appeared to be dying. The leaves were falling off on the road along the way, the crunching irritating his ears the more he walked. He half wished he could hear the obnoxious sound of the two-stroke chainsaw; at the very least, it would tell him if he was going in the right direction.

Slowing down in pace, he tried to slow his thoughts down to make sense of what had happened. Where did he go so wrong? He patted down his torn pants for the tiny notebook he always ensured to carry around with him for reference. Upon looking down at his pockets, he noticed a new rip in his otherwise perfect blue jeans. He tried his best to always maintain a perfectly normal appearance.

That is precisely how he would describe himself; average. He was good looking. Not too good looking to which he got unwanted attention or could be picked out of a crowd, but good looking enough for people to take slight notice. He was an average height, had blueish green eyes that did not stand out, and a smile that was mesmerizing, yet unmemorable. That was just the way he liked it; average.

With his hobby and lifestyle, it was best to be average. Nobody remembered who he was, he had no identifying features that made him stand out, and was hard to pick out from a crowd. He had worked his whole life towards creating the image he currently had, and all the success in his life he attributed to this.

Minutes had passed by. Or maybe even hours. With no watch and no phone, he had no idea the time, and his sense of it was not the greatest. The only thing he had was a vague idea of where he was; and his notebook.

Warren Duncan. He read the name from the top of his notebook repeatedly. He had sworn to himself this time would be different. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let himself be tempted by his seemingly uncontrollable urges. But who was he trying to kid? It was the person he was; it was in his DNA. He flipped to the latest entry of his small notebook.

Victim number twenty-three; Warren Duncan. Twenty-three years of age. Birthdate: unknown. Time of Death: 10:23 p.m., June 23rd, 2023. He was a nice enough young man. Charming, recently graduated from the town’s nearest community college. It was a shame really, the man thought to himself. Poor Warren simply happened to find himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

The opportunity had presented itself so quickly, before he even knew what he was doing the poor man was already dead, and he found himself on the run once more. This was the twenty third time he found himself in this position; on the run, though nobody even had suspected a damn thing.

He picked the towns he visited very carefully. They were all small towns, but not small enough that everyone knew everyone. They were the kind of small towns that were growing so rapidly, seeing new people passing in and out of town was considered normal.

For him, it all came back to that word; normal. Typically, people liked to stand out; to be told they were special; not him. He smirked at the thought of his last victim; sometimes he was thinking it was becoming too easy. It was a game to him; and the more he played, the better he got.

Though it was a game he enjoyed playing, he was trying his hardest to stop. It was an addiction; one to which he couldn’t simply walk into rehab for. One that wasn’t easy enough to give up. One he could confine in nobody about. The sound of an axe hitting the trunk of a tree scared him out of his thoughts.

Hastily, he shoved his notebook safely in his right pants pocket before averting his attention to the direction of the sound. It was silent; for what felt like miles of walking through the forest when suddenly, the sounds of the axe echoed through the forest. He took a good look at his surroundings before realizing he had walked a lot further than originally anticipated.

The axe hit the tree continually. He assumed whomever he was that was trying to chop one of the presumably dead trees down, the two-stroke chain saw must now be out of commission. It now made sense to him why the sound had disappeared earlier, seemingly out of nowhere.

The forest was dark and eerie, and quite frankly, looked like a scene from a horror film. The man chuckled to himself, thinking it would be an impressive set up for victim number twenty-four. He frowned immediately at the thought; he had to stop.

Though he checked the news regularly and he was almost one hundred percent certain none of the murders could be traced back to him, let alone linked to one another, did not mean that one day he might not slip up, and find himself permanently behind bars.

The issue with most serial killers was their M.O; or modus operandi. They believed in consistency and routine. They found a type; much like people when they find themselves looking for a partner. They seek out a certain type of person, commit their crimes in a certain fashion that helps lead to their inevitable capture.

Another reason he knew they typically were captured was not because the police could outsmart them; that was, more often than not, not the case. Most of these offenders wanted to be caught; they desired to be linked to their crimes, like a contest for murderers. Each one seemingly wanting to outdo the ones before. But unlike them, he had no desire to spend any of his days in jail.

He heard a sharp, shrill yell, followed by the sounds of crunching of twigs, branches and leaves, and lastly, the crash of the tree on the floor of the forest. He winced at the noise, despite expecting the fall it startled him regardless. He knew he had to be hearing things; just before the tree fell, he swore he could hear the unmistakable sob of a pleading man.

Although he did not want to be caught out in the middle of a forest by someone, he knew he had to keep walking in the direction of the noise. The darkness was surrounding him a lot faster than he would have liked; he had minimal time to find his way before it became too dark to see.

In the distance he could make an outline of a log cabin. It seemed strange; a log cabin on the outskirts of a small town. He couldn’t help but feel as if this was the perfect setup for someone of his profession. The seclusion, so nobody could hear, or desire to travel to. The woods surrounding the cabin, which was perfect for burying and disposing of bodies. By the looks of the forest, and all the dying trees, this was not a maintained forest. Perhaps whomever lived here knew that, or maybe they didn’t realize at all.

Slowly, he walked towards this cabin, his senses on high alert. He prided himself in being very perceptive and observant; right away he knew the type of person who lived in the cabin. It was run down; looked to be built about one hundred years ago. Though not maintained on the outside, no doubt the inside would have been upkept through the years. Not only would that keep costs down, but it would aide in keeping people away. Smoke came from the chimney, explaining why he had heard the tree drop in the forest just minutes previous. To the right of the cabin was a small garden, to which he could barely make out a few vegetables. Between the garden, and the wildlife in the forest, this person would not have to leave the forest. He was also willing to bet there was a small stream nearby as well.

Before he had the chance to look around any further, the door to the cabin flung open, revealing a woman looking irritated with a shot gun in her hands. A normal reaction would have been to fling his hands up in the air in surrender; but he did not. Normally, people would be afraid, but he was not. Typically, these people were more concentrated on the threat itself than the actual act. It was almost as if she could sense the lack of fear, for she pulled down her gun and eyed the man skeptically.

If there was one word he could use to describe her it was the same as he used for himself; average. She was of average height, probably about 5’3 or 5’4. She had long brown hair, which she had tied up in a loose pony tail. Even in the dim light, he could see she didn’t wear make-up, nor was dressing up her style. In fact, the clothes she wore struck a close resemblance to his own wardrobe.

Xena, the woman in her cabin stared at the man skeptically. After lowering her gun, she noticed how similar they seemed. She always used one word to describe herself, and she would use the same to describe the mystery man; average. Maybe against her better judgment, she invited the man inside after brief introductions. His name was Jeff. Was about 6’1 with blueish green eyes. There was nothing memorable about him; leading her to believe nobody would miss him.

Upon meeting the woman, he felt a strange sensation in his chest. Her name was Xena, and she was twenty-four. He took in the surroundings of the cabin once inside, which to no surprise, was well maintained. There was no electricity, but the light of the fireplace and a few strategically placed candles helped him get a better look at his surroundings.

It was small, but cozy. The living room had an old, blue couch, a coffee table with matching end tables which looked as if they were homemade, and a TV, though there was no electricity that could possibly make it usable. He assumed most of the furniture within the cabin was just for appearance; to appear normal.

Jeff thought about how he could easily make her victim number twenty-four. It followed his pattern; one to which he was certain nobody would figure out. Though his victims followed no specific pattern as far as type, there was still a reason behind why he chose every victim.

His first victim was a poor lad by the name of Scott Hernandez. He was nineteen years old, and he could still remember the feeling of the knife against Scott’s skin. The man had begged and pleaded for his life, only making the desire to kill him stronger. He was only a teenager at the time, but he was unable to control his urges anymore. The rush he felt was indescribable and irreplaceable.

Next was twenty-year old Tina Green, only a mere month after his first. It was with this victim he realized he had a problem, and needed to either control his urges, or figure out a way to keep killing without getting caught. Being only sixteen put him at the bottom of the list of suspects for their murders, and since he had chosen two different methods, in two completely different areas of town, they were never linked. But he knew, if he didn’t leave town to continue, they would eventually be linked, and he would find himself on death row.

He went the next three years without committing a single murder; he had to get out of high school and move away from town. People would recognize a young man wanting to expand his horizons after graduation; they would not think about him again.

He snapped himself from memory lane when he realized what was going to happen; he was going to become one of her victims. Jeff could read the situation like a book; he had read it over a million times. Knowing begging and pleading would get him nowhere, he decided to attack the situation from a different angle.

Jeff did not have to plead the case for his life; he made a case to work together. Picture this, he had said, trying to wow her. Picture being able to have someone to talk to about all your thoughts and desires. Imagine having someone to be able to share your greatest desires and wished with. His plea seemed to work; he was, after all, still alive.

Staring at the ceiling, laying on the uncomfortable blue couch, he began to wonder what it truly would be like to have a partner. Two people would be a little harder to catch than one, but it also made it twice as easy to leave evidence behind.

She only had ten victims, but that did not make him respect her any less. The tenth victim happened to be disposed of just as he arrived. It was indeed a scream he had heard before the tree dropped to the ground. The way she lit up when she spoke about her victims reminded him a lot about himself. She could remember every detail of her crimes. Date, weather, what she was wearing, and even what the biggest piece of news of the week was.

Xena had a type, however. She only chose men as her victims; men who were average, like him. She picked men that did not stand out; ones that would not be missed. She chose low profile victims; the people who would be looking these people would either not look at all, or give up altogether. It was smart, Jeff did admit, however it lacked a challenge. This was a game to him; and what fun were games when they become too easy? Still undecided if he was going to make her or next victim or not, they had made a deal. One victim they would murder; together.

She drove an old El Dorado. It was properly maintained in the interior; it even smelled like new car. It was a nice, dull red in color; to keep from being noticed too much, she had explained. As they drove in a comfortable silence, Jeff tried to run over the plan in his head one last time. He felt a strange sensation when he thought about having a partner in crime; he knew Xena felt the same. They had spent the majority of the day coming up with what they thought, was a wonderful way to lure an easy victim. Though it did not follow his pattern, and to some degree that bothered him, he was still willing to give it a shot. Worst case scenario, he had thought on several occasions, he could spin and make her his victim number twenty-five.

The plan was simple. It was a Saturday night; a beautiful 86 degrees Fahrenheit. The sun was setting, creating a beautiful array of colors in the evening sky. The bar they would target was popular, but not where most of the town frequented on a Saturday night. It would be simple. Stake out the bar, await the arrival of a drunk man, and Xena would use her natural charm to lure the victim to his untimely demise. Though somewhat simple for what he was used to, they both had figured to start out small upon trying this together for the first time, as they both were so used to working alone.

Around 1:39 A.M., a young man had stumbled outside the bar. He was clearly intoxicated; the alcohol was evident on his breath. It was almost too easy; he followed Xena right back to the El Dorado without even so much as a second thought. Jeff admired her work as he sat in the back of the El Dorado. She made it look so simple; the way she batted her eyelashes, making herself seem innocent. Jeff smiled to himself, enjoying watching what he considered to be a show.

By the I.D on him, the man was a twenty-seven-year-old called Patrick Brown. He was of average build, had bright blue eyes, shaggy blonde hair, and bared a rather toothless grin; he was missing his two front teeth. Definitely not the target he would have chosen, but he wasn’t going to complain.

The pair chatted animatedly back to the cabin she called home. Just a mile down a hidden trail in the forest, lay hidden a small baby barn. If the outside wasn’t terrifying enough, the inside was certain to send shivers down your spine. Plastic tablecloths covered the walls, currently stained with the blood of her previous victim. In the center of the barn, was a table with a variety of tools; the two-stroke chain saw he had heard, the axe that had chopped down the tree that had fallen, multiple screw drivers, two hammers, pliers, and a tool box, that was empty. This woman was sick and twisted; there was no way around it. Before leaving her humble abode for awhile, the two stocked up on supplies; including a new disposable cell phone for the man.

Body disposal was simple; they would drive back to town, grab a light lunch before driving a short distance, and walking a few miles in the abandoned desert. Patrick was light and fairly easy to carry, proving to be no trouble for neither Jeff nor Xena. She knew the small town like the back of her hand; she knew exactly where it would be best to hide any evidence. They had tossed out any means of identifying him; his clothes, his wallet, and had burned the skin where he had a rather large tattoo of a snake that had looked aged, and like an amateur had done it.

A dead body lay in the trunk of the El Dorado, but that did not stop the pair from enjoying a nice lunch at one of her favorite small family restaurants. Jeff marveled at the taste of the hot chicken sandwich, savoring each bite, especially admiring the gravy that was easily the best he had ever tasted. Xena got something new, as she did each time she visited. She knew if she was a creature of habit, people were more likely to take notice of her. She had a delicious buffalo chicken wrap, that had just enough spice to make her mouth water.

Two crows flew over their heads as they made their way to her car, both full and satisfied with their delicious lunch. Back to the task at hand, the woman set the radio on a low volume, the pair both getting lost within their own thoughts. They both thought about the strange events that had transpired. Never in either of their wildest dreams would they have thought they would meet someone just like them. Nothing about either of them was average, as much as they both tried their best to make it appear so.

Though it was originally unplanned, the man knew it went off without a hitch. This woman was truly amazing; he was almost willing to admit she was even more talented than he was. With a nod, the woman pushed the body into the hole they had dug just moments before. Though still alive, upon awakening would be in for a grave surprise. She shoveled the dirt over his body effortlessly, throwing the shovel into the dirt when she was finished.

With a grin, the pair looked at each other gleefully. As they stood back and admired their handiwork, hand in hand, the man couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of accomplishment. He felt, as if for the first time in his life he was where he belonged. And he knew, for a great fact, this woman would not become victim number twenty-five; rather, together they could accomplish far greater. With a nod towards her, they walked the long distance back towards the town, which still was functioning as if nothing out of the ordinary had even happened. The pair both knew this was not the case. But, as much as they would love to stick around to see the results of their unplanned attack, they knew their talents were better suited elsewhere.

Author's Notes

Thank you for reading! I appreciate all the love and support. If you liked what you read, be sure to 'heart' it. Feel free to check out my profile for more stories and articles. Link here. Of course, any tips and comments are always welcomed! I hope this story was more than average!