The moment my dance with Paola ends, I give her one last kiss before searching the house. He's here somewhere; this is where he stalks his victims. Parties present him with a prime opportunity because most people won't remember what happens tonight. But his victims will, they always do.

They'll remember it like I can't forget what happened to her. For them, there will always be something dark about this night, lingering like a wound that refuses to heal. A small grin creeps across my face. I see him.

My first kill is talking to a lovely black girl named Portia. Her curly hair is in braids tonight. He's chatting her up like he usually does, but her body language says she's not looking to hook-up later. She's here to have some fun and go home. But he has other plans.

Portia isn't paying attention to her drink. And when his right hand brushes her left shoulder, she doesn't notice what his left hand slips into her drink. She has no idea that she's his prey. But the clock's ticking now. He has about thirty minutes to get her away from here. And all I have to do is stay close enough to follow.

I leave my dark corner, making my way towards the kitchen. I find a can of beer swimming in a tub of ice, crack it open and drift back to where I can watch him. I wonder if he would look that smug if he knew he was going to die soon.

His hand is back on Portia's shoulder. His hair changes from blond to bloody-red in the flashing lights. I smile and take another sip of my beer. Marked for death. He leans in to whisper something to her. That's the signal, so I set my beer down and head for the back door.

When I get outside, two people are smoking on the left side of the house. I hesitate for a moment. But they can't see my face under the shadow of the hood. I shrug off the nagging feeling of worry. I keep my cool, head around to the right side of the house and hop the fence into the woods, unseen.

My feet float over the frostbitten leaves as I move between the trees. Soon I come to where the forest meets the sidewalk. I wait for them to emerge from the house. Portia must think he's quite the gentleman for offering to walk her to the train. But she won't make it that far, and he knows that.

The streets are empty at this hour, the windows across the way are dark, and the sidewalk is lonely. The dense trees of the park keep many secrets. Her perfume lingers in the air as they pass by. Already, her steps are becoming more unstable. She's holding on to him for balance.

Portia's probably wondering how this is possible. She doesn't remember having that much to drink. And of course, she didn't. I move between the trees as Portia begins to stumble. The pig's scanning the area. He thinks no one can see him taking her into the woods. Normally, he'd be right.

But tonight, he's dead wrong.

The leaves rustle as a cool breeze blows. I slide my gloves on as I approach them. Overhead, a murder of crows fuss and caw. A single black feather falls from the darkened canopy as I bend down and pick up a large stone. He doesn't hear me coming. The stone makes a satisfying sound when it crashes into his skull.

Portia is unconscious as I bind and gag the pig. After making sure he's secure, I pick her up and carry her to the edge of the park, near the sidewalk. I place her hand where the streetlight shines down. Someone will find her soon. That's the best I can do. There's another matter I have to deal with.

I drag his limp body towards the rushing river and wait. I want him to wake up. I want to see the fear in his eyes before ending his sorry excuse for a life.

Eventually, he begins to stir. I sit on a large rock across from him, my knife glints in the light of the clouded moon. I get up and stand over him, my hood still hiding my face. His eyes widen as they catch sight of the steel blade.

I smirk. "Not the way you were planning on spending tonight, eh?"

Muffled sounds come from his cloth-tied mouth.

"What's that?" I say "I can't make out what you're trying to say."

I've never seen him look so scared. He looks like a child as he trembles. In seconds, all the bravado he wears in the locker room melts, flowing out of his eyes in fear-soaked tears.

"There's something I've been struggling with. But don't worry, it's not about whether I should kill you or not," I smile, "because I will."

He starts whimpering.

"Oh, come on, man. Relax."

But he continues, trying to be as loud as possible. I kneel beside him, resting the blade against his exposed neck.

"Relax!" I grit my teeth. "I wasn't done telling you about my internal dilemma. In the past, executioners masked their faces. And I'm debating whether or not I should show you mine. Thoughts?"

I wait for a minute, hearing only muffled sobs.

"You're right," I grin, "times are different. We're modern men. You should see my face. I want it to be the last thing you see before I send you to hell."

I pull my hood back, letting the moonlight wash over my face. The look of terror in his eyes is perfect.

"Didn't expect me?" I lean down, "No one will."

The light fades from his eyes as the knife's edge takes on a crimson glow. He even bleeds like a pig.