Storm Patterns: A Killer’s Profile

Another woman. Another downpour. Another silence broken only by forensic lights flickering on wet asphalt.

The headlines seemed to make it more real.

“Storm Killer claims fourth victim.” Another woman. Another downpour. Another silence broken only by forensic lights flickering on wet asphalt.

I sipped coffee and watched the report unfold. Her name wasn’t familiar, but her fate was. The details were nearly identical. The media had stopped speculating—they were sure now. The public was certain. A killer walked among them. A pattern had emerged. A story with rhythm. A monster with motive.

And yet… no one had found the SIM card.

No one knew about Tony.

The secret still lived. That tiny, flickering truth, trembling like a candle under a ceiling fan. Mitchell felt its breath every time he closed his eyes. The camera. The weather. The women. All of it forming a constellation of decisions and impulses that made more sense with every step he took.

Sam didn’t ask questions. She never did. She kissed his cheek when he left for work. She folded his shirts. She moved through their home like furniture—still, necessary, lifeless.

The Beast liked it that way.

Mitchell told himself he didn’t need to do it again. That the release had come. But storms never retire. They pause. Gather. Lurk.

So he waited.

And when the clouds returned, so would he.

[from SEETHINGS, downloadable and free for a limited time].