[ WP ] You 're a serial killer driving down the road looking for your next victim . You pick up a hitchhiker , but little do you know they are also a serial killer looking for their next victim .

They call me Cat's Cradle. 
 
 I hate the sensationalized name that was bestowed upon me when the world first discovered two of my victims. It's too narrow and suffocating for one who takes such pride in his work, but I suppose it has helped to keep me from being caught. As far as police and the media are aware, I have only five notches in my belt; The first pair, and a trio that I arranged just to stir things up. Initially I was n't sure that a human's tendons were strong enough to be used like string, and I simply *had* to know for sure. For the record they are quite strong, though brittle after a few hours. It was just an experiment, one of many, but people seemed to think it was my calling card. 
 
 In truth I have stripped the life from nineteen men and four women, all of them a drain on our beautiful country. Vagrants, beggars, and drug addicts the lot of them, and not a one worth even an iota of mercy. Their kind suck the life from the world, tarnishing the natural grace of society and those that fight and claw each and every day to live a good life. They all deserved it. 
 
 Every weekend is a new adventure, as I take a break from the daily struggle to live comfortably and bring justice to the dregs of humanity. It helps that with my career I can write the extra miles off on my taxes. One might call it tax fraud, but I prefer to think of it as financial responsibility. I'm still working, so to speak, only at my second job. 
 
 On this particular Friday evening I saw my next mission along the side of the road before he even has his thumb out, fortune smiling on me before I even reached my destination. I would have this over and done with before the sun rose, and be in time for a hearty breakfast and a nap before catching a show. Flashing my lights once as I pulled to the side of the road, I unlocked the doors and waved for the stranger to get in. 
 
 Now as a rule, I do n't advise that anyone pick up a hitcher, especially not well past midnight. Some of them can be mentally unbalanced or dangerous, and none of them are worth any of your pity. I have experience, however, having removed many from existence for the betterment of mankind. Flashing the young man my most disarming smile, I waited patiently as he climbed in and dropped a backpack between his feet. 
 
 `` Where to?'' I asked casually, putting on the mask I force myself to wear in their presence. 
 
 `` There's an old train yard just inside the city, that's as far as I need to go tonight.'' 
 
 `` It's pretty late, did something happen to set you behind?'' 
 
 `` You could say that.'' 
 
 Something was off about this man, though it took me a moment to place it. As I pulled the sedan back onto the highway, I watched him surreptitiously. Disheveled brown hair, a day's growth on his face, and a worn out jacket with the color pulled up. He looked like any other vagabond wandering the American Midwest, but I quickly realized he did n't smell like one. 
 
 There was no scent of stale urine and dry sweat on this man, nor did he stink like an ashtray or rum can. Some other odor, sweet and very faint, drifted off of him. I knew it from somewhere, but it's origin escaped me. I drove in silence as I chewed on the scent that was so elusive, noting that the man was not jittery or sluggish. 
 
 Another vehicle had fallen in behind me by the time I reached the first stoplight of the moderately sized Nebraska town, and as I sat at the red my mind finally put the pieces together. For four of my victims I'd played around with natural and artificial toxins, observing their effects and making note of the most interesting results. Many of the poisons had a distinct scent, and even months later I could recognize them. 
 
 `` Water Hemlock.'' I said aloud, turning to look at my passenger. `` Now why on earth would your sleeves smell of a powerful natural poison?'' 
 
 As the man stared calmly back at me, he cocked his head a little to the side, and the traffic light turned from red to green. Immediately the car behind me blasted it's horn, impatient and annoyed that I did n't tramp on the gas the very moment the light changed. 
 
 `` Excuse me for one moment.'' The man said, exiting the car and leaving the passenger door open. 
 
 I turned and watched as he approached the vehicle behind us, and the driver got out to confront him. As quick as that it was over. A flash of steel illuminated beneath the street light, a splash of crimson hitting the windshield, as my passenger quickly and efficiently slashed the driver's throat. The motorist fell to the pavement in a heap, as the hitcher calmly walked back to the side of the car. 
 
 `` You did n't leave.'' He said, wiping the blade of his finely honed knife with a strip of cloth. 
 
 `` We're not at the train yard yet.'' I replied, a slight thrill running through me. 
 
 The man stared at me for a long moment, before concealing the blade in his sleeve once again and climbing back into my passenger seat. Somehow he had managed to avoid getting even a drop of blood on his clothes, which was no easy feat, and spoke volumes to me about my passenger. 
 
 `` I can not stand rude motorists.'' He said nonchalantly, sniffing at the scent of the poison on his sleeves. 
 
 `` They're just the worst, are n't they?'' I replied with a genuine smile, thinking for the first time that I might have finally found a kindred spirit in my travels. `` What's waiting for us at the train yard?'' 
 
 `` I'm not sure. No doubt there will be someone there.''
