Night. The time for predators and he was top of that list. It had been twenty five years since his mother's death and the killer's grin still rode the valley of his dreams.
Being no.1 on the FBI most wanted list was an achievement he didn't delight in. Killers who were placed on that list were insane; random killers. He was different, he knew why he killed and he knew who he killed.
It wasn't a pleasurable task, it was a necessary one. If the FBI had enough common sense, they would see his choice of targets. Drug dealers, rapists, and his favourite bunch...killers.
The FBI thought he killed killers because he didn't like like competition. He knew the real reason: everyone of them was responsible for his mother's murder. It was his twisted justice.
And while Kross lived, Jeff the disposable disguise wrapped around him lived too. Living the perfect normal life. Jeff and Kross were opposite sides of a mirror.
Kross looked outside the window into the far night and turned abruptly. If he didn't kill tonight, it would destroy whatever pattern the FBI thought he had. Killers with patterns were predictable. He was not predictable. There would be on patterns, no predictions. Only fear and death. Fear that evil had it's own 'twisted' hunter.
Tonight's target had been a club owner, Mr. Alan Clum. He kidnapped girls and forced them to work for him, lap dancers, stripers, sex slaves. You name it. The trampling of everything women stood for. But, Mr. Alan would have one more day to live.
Patience was his greatest 'gift'. Then, tomorrow night, Mr. Alan would die and he, Kross would watch as the FBI formulated theories and ideas on why and how Mr. Alan was killed.
Maybe he would even give a few theories, after all he was one of their best agents.
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