[ WP ] A murderer kills his victim , but what happens next makes him wish he had n't ...

July 4/2013 
 I saw the car again. The yellow Pontiac, rusted at at all its edges. Everyday now for this past week. I could have sworn they were onto me. I knew leaving the last one in the ditch was a mistake. There just was n't enough time and there was n't anyone around to see it happen. How could they know? If the driver is a cop, taking him out could be a bigger mistake, but getting caught again... I got lucky last time. You do n't get that kind of luck twice. If he's not a cop, it's not a problem, just make him disappear. It's time to skip town again. 
 
 July 5/2013 
 There was a knock at the door. The boxes were almost full with the things I needed to keep. My trophies. I carefully placed the last of them into the last box, the blood stained tie from that guy in Michigan. I always saw his face when I held it in my hands and in the quiet between knocks I held my breath. I was as silent as I could be. Slowly making my way over the hardwood that too often creaked with every step. I froze as his voice sounded out my name from the outside. `` Julien Sanders?'' 
 Through the peephole there was a face I did n't recognize. A young face of a dark skinned twenty-somethings boy. I waited without breathing to watch him turn and walk away. They're after me. They know who I am, where I live. If they can find me here, they'll find me wherever I go. I need to stop them. They ca n't follow me when I leave. I need to do it one more time. 
 
 July 6/2013 
 The yellow Pontiac is parked outside my house again. He must have come back during the night while I slept. The driver is still sitting at the wheel, looking at something. Papers, pictures, it's hard to tell. This needs to be quick. 
 I left the front door open, only an inch and the television on in the living room. His footsteps on the porch came slowly, but I could hear each of them gaining on me. Then the knock pushed open the door and his voice called out to me `` Julien Sanders?''. I could hear him moving past the door and stepping his way into my home. I clenched the handle of my knife and pressed my back to the wall. One last taste before I leave. One last trophy for the box. 
 `` hello?'' He said as his feet brought him closer to me. I could smell his sweat, I could see his shadow on the floor. 
 Instantly I swung out from around the corner and buried the knife into his chest and took him to the ground. My eyes went wide at the sight of him coughing out blood and syllables, his eyes watery, his hands empty. That feeling building inside me again. My cock throbbed as I twisted the blade and I came watching him spit out his final breath. 
 
 July 7/2013 
 How did I not see it in his face? How could I not know who he was? I had almost forgotten about him. Had it been that long? Looking for the right trophy brought me to the yellow Pontiac outside. On the passengers seat was the folder containing pictures of me and paperwork on the last three cities I lived in, complete with addresses. It was n't until I saw the last picture that made everything make sense. The last picture of me when I was still a young man, still married, still able to hold my baby before my wife took him away from me.
