[ WP ] You meet a serial killer . His next target is you and the only way to dissuade him is to persuade him why he is the worst serial killer .

`` Drive, bitch.'' 
 That was the first indication that he was there. Besides, you know, the chill in the air, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. In hindsight, those signs were there too, but that happens to me regularly. 
 `` NOW!'' He pressed what felt like the barrel of a gun against my temple and I winced. I put my crappy Honda in drive and pressed my foot to the gas. 
 `` I'm not very good with directions,'' I said. The strength in my voice took me by surprise, and I think it did the same for him. `` Maybe you should drive instead.'' 
 `` Nice try,'' he snarled. He sounded congested. My curiosity got the best of me and for the first time that night I caught a glimpse of him. Some might expect him to look more like a Disney villain, all grizzled and derelict, but he did n't. He wore an oxford shirt, that was probably pressed when he put it on this morning, but was now rumpled, with a loose tie dangling around his collar. There was something in his eyes that I recognized. Some glint of confidence. No, not confidence. False confidence. But I recognized him from somewhere else. 
 `` You're him,'' I wavered, `` I saw your sketch on the news. What do they call you again?'' 
 `` The Hollow Creek Slayer. Take this exit.'' He told me his alias with a sense of pride. The news stories had been brutal. The H.C. Slayer had been abducting women for the past three months. The media tried to glamorize him as much as possible, but for a serial killer, his M.O. was rather mundane. As far as I know, he carjacks women at night, takes them to God-knows-where, executes them, and then leaves them in the drivers' seat of their own cars. 
 I'm going to die. Unless I can talk him out of it. Who am I kidding, I'm not exactly quick-witted. 
 `` Mind if I smoke?'' I held my half-empty pack up to my lips and bit the end of one. `` Lighter's in the cup holder. Help me out?'' What am I doing? Asking a serial killer to light my cigarette, that's what. Why not? To my surprise, he obliged. I kept my hands at ten and two. 
 `` Turn left at the fork. What do you do?'' Strange question from a man who is about to murder me in cold blood. 
 `` I think you know what I do. Pretty obvious choice, do n't you think? Killing whores, I mean.'' 
 `` You make it easy. Pull in here.'' He motioned towards an acre of storage facilities. 
 I did what I was told, which is actually a rarity for me. `` Which one?'' 
 He pointed and I parked my car. `` Oh, wow. Really, storage units? I thought maybe a cabin in the woods might work. Or how about an abandoned insane asylum. God, how have you made it this long?'' 
 He flinched, as if he had just gotten a paper cut. `` Get out of the car.'' 
 `` You do n't want to force me out? I could run away right now, you know.'' I saw him groan. I was making this worse for myself, but at this point I could n't stop myself. `` By the way, I'm a bottle blonde, you know. Not even sure what my natural hair color is. I know that's your target, blonde working girls. Why is that, baby? Was that mommy's description?'' 
 `` Shut up.'' 
 `` Jesus you're predictable. Come on, you can tell me. It's not like I'm going to blab after tonight, right? I'll be dead.'' 
 Without saying a word, he opened the door to the unit. I'm not sure what I expected to be in there. Severed body parts, maybe. Or at least a few pictures or trophies. But no. It was empty. 
 `` So now what? Rape me then shoot me? Shoot me then rape me? God, this is so cliche. So boring. You're boring.'' I could n't help but laugh at myself. I'm an idiot, antagonizing this killer. 
 `` Stop laughing! It's not funny!'' And then I watched one of most feared men in the country throw a temper tantrum like a little girl. He stomped his feet on the floor and yelled and jumped around and cried until he was unable to do it again. And I just laughed. I laughed because of all the people for a serial killer to pick, I was least favorable. I was n't afraid to die, and I did n't have anyone to miss me. 
 I laughed because I had been waiting for him to pick me up for weeks now. Since my sister was shot in the head and left in the drivers' seat of her own car. Since I shook his hand at dinner and she told me he was'the one.' Since I watched them leave together and never come back. I had been waiting. 
 I spit into my hand the razor blade that I had been keeping in my half-empty pack of cigarettes. My saliva was dyed pink with a few drops of my own blood from my cheek where it had been pressed against my flesh. He was crumpled on the floor, still in tantrum mode. That made it easy for me to lift his chin and slide the blade directly into his carotid. 
 I'm not afraid to die now, and I do n't have anyone who will miss me.
