Thump, thump, thump.

His steel-toed boots hit the ground with ferocity as he thundered down the alley, water erupting in large splatters as he passed. Thick, humid steam was pouring out from every air-conditioner in every window. It was a warm night. Almost enough to choke a person half to death.

But he thundered on. Now only twenty feet away was the blonde woman, whom he had watched at that bar, running for her life.

He gained on her quickly. The short breaths between each futile plea for help were now clearly perceptible. He reached out his hand and felt her smooth golden hair as it flapped wildly, frantically trying to keep up with its head. But he closed his hand and yanked and with it came a handful of hair, still very much fixed to her head.

Her body halted but her legs proceeded. The heel of her white stiletto broke as her legs came flying out from underneath her.

She screamed in burning pain as her scalp was almost torn from her skull. The man looked down upon her, a glint in his eye that would have reduced the most courageous soul to tears. Her cheeks were shining with the salty tears that made their way down her cheek before collapsing to the ground. She couldn’t see him, both because it was a dark night and because her eyes were flooded.

Again she tried to scream. This time, anger was stirred within the man and as he gritted his teeth, the woman saw a shadow fly toward her. He brought his closed fist down hard and fast upon her wet cheek and felt the bone crack beneath his strength.

She was now in so much pain that the communication between her mouth and her brain had been utterly sundered. Her mouth was wide open, as if to shriek in pain, but no sound emanated from within.

The man threw her to the ground without sympathy. As she lay there, a sad vision of vulnerability, he threw his large boot into her ribcage.

The woman juddered violently in pain, again making hardly an audible sound. A splatter of blood shot from her mouth as she curled into a ball. The man shared with himself a private smile of perverse gratification.

**********************************

He sat on a high stool at the bar, hugging a glass of scotch. He looked around, his steel-toed boots clicking against the bar as he turned. He glanced from face to face, as if looking for someone. His eyes, dark and menacing, fixed upon a woman sitting in a group of four.

He immediately recognised her as being the most attractive. She was blonde. Her table was about fifteen yards away from his location and he could clearly make out her features. Her hair was draped down behind her shoulders, a little longer than average. Her face was angelic. Her large round eyes were radiant in the dim light of the bar, bright and blue. They beckoned to him, calling him over, promising comfort.

They were much like the eyes of his mother. She had died when he was nine years old and he had been raised by a series of foster families. That had been the most traumatic period of his life. Who would listen to a boy, who didn’t do well at school and was constantly in trouble with the police, when he said he was being abused? He never knew his father.

The woman’s lips were painted crimson red and were sparkling a thousand different shades besides. She was wearing a white dress and white stilettos. She had a drink in one hand and her other arm was around her friend, who was obviously very drunk.

He paid no more attention to the others.

She was smiling, her broad lips stretched and her bright eyes shimmering. When she began to laugh he thought the vision of this angel would kill him. He took another drink of his, now quite warm, scotch and continued watching.

A few minutes later, the women got up from their seats and made their way toward the exit. The man followed, slowly.

Outside one of the women hailed a cab and they all got in. All apart from the woman in white.

"Are you sure you don’t want a ride?" Asked her friend, poking her head out of the cab window.

"No way, I only live three blocks away! It would be silly." She waved her hand in dismissal. "Anyway, you guys get Helen back to her place before she dies. I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Night Amy." Her friends called in unison as the taxi pulled away.

The man was standing ten feet away, in the shadow of the building. His mother’s name had been Amy. He missed her. Everyday he missed her. She was the most wonderful person in the whole world. Twenty years on he still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that she had been raped and slain by three men.

They had never been caught, but forensics had uncovered three different DNA samples. They were still out there somewhere. That was what kept him awake at night. That was why he had never got close to anyone. He was too afraid that they would be snatched from him.

The woman began to walk. He followed at a safe distance, making sure not to be seen. She turned left into an alley; smoke was coming from all the air-conditioners around. He stopped and let her walk on a bit, enjoying the idea that he may have to chase her. He liked to get the blood pumping and the adrenalin rushing.

"I like your eyes." He said nonchalantly.

The woman jumped. She turned around and couldn’t see him. She peered into the darkness to try and make him out.

"Who’s there?" She asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He stepped out from the shadows. He looked almost normal, a little attractive even. He was a little creepy, stepping out of the shadows like that, but otherwise okay. But, she felt a lump develop in her throat. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck and her arms stood on end.

"I like your eyes." He said as if for the first time.

"You said that already." The woman replied, slightly angry but mostly anxious of this dark stranger.

"I want your eyes." He said evenly.

The woman’s striking eyes widened and she started backing away.

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

"No." he replied walking toward her. There was a distance of about twenty-five feet between them. The woman turned around and began to run, her stilettos clicking loudly on the ground as she went.

At first the man followed at her speed, building up her fear and giving her hope of escape. Then he ran at full speed.

************************************

As Amy lay on the hard cold earth, silently weeping, the man sat on the ground and began to weep as well.

He was talking to himself. Hardly any of what he said could be heard, apart from the word "Mommy". He rocked back and forth, hugging himself, sobbing violently into his crossed arms.

Amy looked up and saw this through her tears.

"You crazy bastard!" She screamed in hate.

The man looked at her from his position, but was not angered. He only cried more violently at her remark. He began talking again, with brief pauses. It was as though he were talking to someone.

"No...no. Please don’t make me do it. Not again. I don’t want to." He pleaded.

Amy looked at him askance. She couldn’t believe it. This man was actually insane. He was talking to himself.

"Please, Mommy." He pleaded. "Of course I love you, but I don’t want to do that again!"

He looked up and stopped crying. He wiped the tears away from his eyes and gazed deeply into hers. She shuddered with fright. She could feel him inside her, feeling around, exploring.

Suddenly he stood up and came back over to Amy. He grabbed her hair and pulled her up so she was sitting on her knees.

"Who the hell are you?" She pleaded, feeling she was never going to escape this mad man.

"Johnny Blade." He replied.

Amy had heard that name! She had read about him in the newspapers for the past three months. He had been preying on women, killing them and hacking parts of their bodies off. That wasn’t his real name. A reporter for the New York Times had coined it and it had stuck.

"What the hell do you want with me?" She screamed through newly falling tears.

"I told you." He said "I want your eyes. They look just like hers."

Amy tried to pull away but this man was strong. Suddenly his grip loosened, though, and she tumbled to the ground.

She looked back up at him, his hand was pressed against his forehead and eyes were closed tightly. He was arguing with himself. Amy started to her feet but as she stood up and turned to run, that glint of excitement came back into his eyes and he reached out his long arm and caught her by her long blonde hair. She tumbled to her knees, his hand still tightly gripping the clump of hair in his hand. He pulled up so her body was stretching to accommodate the pain.

He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and waved it in font of her eyes, to let her know what her fate would be. He then turned the knife toward her neck and pushed it in.

The body fell limp.

Just another victim of Johnny Blade.