He sat on the rail of the bridge watching the people cross, waiting for his next victim.
He didn’t know that he was being watched, followed from the second he stepped out of his house. He didn’t realize that there is someone who wanted to prove his methods were not up to par, not meticulous enough. He didn’t know that during his last attack, the single slip up was the reason he was now hunted.
Once a hunter, now hunted.
Hunted because he let the girl scratch his face and the police found the evidence of his DNA underneath her fingernails.
And now, he was no longer part of the group. No longer welcomed.
Watching, he was being watched. Planning, his death was being planned, schemed.
The next day, newspapers read “the Bridge Serial Killer was Found Dead Beneath the Bridge.”