A Trail That Leads Nowhere

There was a pungent smell in the room, one of those smells that people hated the most. I closed the victim's eyes, as even sinners deserved a last bit of sympathy. I used to ask myself, "Why do I kill? Is it because they're sinners?" Or perhaps, "Is it because I was born to be a killer?" That doesn't matter anymore. I was always a cold-blooded person, even when I was young. Not that I'll ever complain, since being cold-blooded has helped me so much in my life, though some people might call it a path of loneliness. I never really understood that saying. If being alone meant I could live without having to depend on anyone, then perhaps loneliness wasn't such a bad thing after all.

I gazed at the table, where a book was sitting as if it had been waiting for someone to pick it up. Its title was A Trail That Leads Nowhere. What an obviously questionable name. Why would there be a trail that leads nowhere? Isn't a trail supposed to lead somewhere? Perhaps it was a trail that ended at a cliff, or maybe a road blocked by a fallen tree. Either way, the name was strange enough to make me curious. I picked it up and opened the first page. The first chapter was titled A Trail of Anxiety, and beneath it was a sentence written in a way that immediately caught my attention: "Whoever leaves traces behind them always has to worry about who will follow." I read it twice, then once more, wondering what kind of person would write something like that.

The author's name was Gilbert. I had never heard of him, though that wasn't exactly surprising. I'm a librarian, and I've come across a lot of books throughout my life, from books that nobody remembers to books that almost everyone knows. Still, this one was unfamiliar to me, and that bothered me more than it should have. I looked at the cover again and wondered why a man like the victim would have a book like this sitting on his dining table. Perhaps he liked strange books, or perhaps there was a reason he had been reading it. I could have searched for the answer, but I didn't really have the time, and curiosity wasn't enough of a reason to stay in a place where I had already finished what I came to do.

I may be cold-blooded, but at least I know what humanity is. Weird for a killer to say that, isn't it? I know what sympathy is, I know what fear is, and I know what loneliness feels like. Maybe that's why I closed the victim's eyes before leaving. Maybe even sinners deserved some sympathy at the end of their lives. I don't know if that makes me a better person, and honestly, I don't think it does. A killer is still a killer, no matter how many excuses he makes for himself. I've simply learned to live with what I am.

I may leave traces behind, but I'm not leaving them for anyone to find. For a killer who leaves one trace, he's a fool. Three traces make him a serial killer, and multiple traces make him a born killer. At least, that's how I see it. I don't need anyone to agree with me. I've spent twenty-five years learning how people behave, how they think, and how quickly they notice things that don't belong. Maybe that's another reason I've survived this long. I know where to hide, which places to avoid, where people's eyes are usually focused, and when it's better to simply disappear.

I looked at the book one last time before putting it away. A Trail That Leads Nowhere. Strange name. Strange author. Strange sentence. For some reason, I couldn't get those words out of my head. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just another book written by another philosopher who wanted people to think too much about life. Either way, I decided to keep it. I didn't know it yet, but that book would become something I wished I had never picked up.

I left the building and began to rethink something. If this building was so big, wouldn't that make them find the body a little later? The victim had no children, no wife, and no friends who would come looking for him, so killing an isolated person was actually fine since I could get away with it for two or three days before the police showed up. That gave me a huge advantage. I didn't have to worry about someone immediately becoming suspicious or calling the police because they hadn't heard from him. Time was always important, and I made sure I had enough of it.

I went to the elevator. The surveillance camera wasn't working, nor was it functioning properly either. Like I said, I know how the building works and I know the surroundings before I do my work. I'm not some clueless moron who kills because of his feelings. I opened the door and looked around, but there was no one there at that time. It was snowing outside. I looked at the snow and remembered how it used to be back then. The snow was beautiful now, perhaps even better than I remembered it. I wondered if life had always been this pretty or marvelous, or if I had simply forgotten how beautiful things could be. Snow was one of the best seasons, yet somehow, it was also my most horrifying one.

If living was sad, I would endure it until I became filled with happiness. That's how I endured winter. Especially during Christmas, when the streets were covered in snow and everything seemed quieter than usual. The engine was heating up, and I stood there for a moment, watching the snow fall before getting into the car. I started the engine and made my way to a convenience store.

When I arrived, I walked inside and approached the clerk.

"Give me a pack of cigarettes."

He looked at me and answered, "Yes, sir. Which one?"

"The blue one."

Blue wasn't even my favorite color, but it was the least hated one since the others were green and red. Blue was closer to the color of snow, so I didn't mind it. I took the cigarettes and left the convenience store, but before I completely walked away, I turned back and asked the clerk if the camera inside worked properly. He told me that it broke a lot and had only been fixed three hours ago. I mumbled, "What a bad day, I guess."

I handed the worker 100,000 won and asked him to delete today's surveillance footage. I told him I was running from a thug, and surprisingly, he didn't ask me anything else. Maybe he believed me, or maybe he simply didn't want to get involved. Either way, I gained another victory, I guess.

I will never know what will come later.

As I got out of there, I looked back one last time before continuing down the road, knowing that the night would eventually swallow me into the darkness.

And just like that, I disappeared.