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“Our top story tonight: The Defacer strikes again, coming up next.” The large, theater style screen illuminated the oversized room. No lights were on, in the mansion sized, two story house. He liked the darkness…it reflected how he felt, in so many ways.

His eyes wandered, from the useless automotive commercial, and scanned around the room. From his position, on the large leather sofa, he could see into the foyer. His eyes were the only ones that saw the entryway, now…no one ever bothered to stop by or visit, anymore…no family...no friends…not a single soul. He had been abandoned…forgotten…cast out of minds and memories…well, aside from the news. He got plenty of attention, from the news, but yet, no one knew it was him and he still felt alone. It was The Defacer that got the attention, now, not the real person.

Looking into the lonely foyer, his eyes settled on his faithful ‘uniform’, as he called it. Sure, he wasn’t the brightest bulb, in the box, but he was no dummy, either. Each time he went, for his gruesome nights out, he adorned the dark green rain suit…that snapped up the front. His accessories included high rubber boots, that would have the rain suit’s cuffs tucked into them; thick latex gloves, that protected his fingers from leaving unwanted prints; a matching green ski hat, that covered his scruffy locks, of hair…the man was careful…he had all his bases covered and all the authorities fooled.

The piercing eyes that used to melt the hearts of more women than he could handle, were now filled with heart wrenching anguish. Turning back, to the television screen, a smirk tugged at the corners, of his lips. Officers talked about the newest crime, and the camera showed a shot of the crime scene. Part of him hated what he was doing, but part of him felt he was seeking revenge, for himself. He was a torn soul…one the so desperately wanted to be loved…to be accepted, like he once was.

His large palm rested on the remote control, as his slender finger pushed the channel button. Flashing repeatedly, the screen flipped channels, until it came to rest on a “Behind The Scenes” type show. No attention was paid to which channel it actually was, just to the story that was being told.

It was a cold story, that he watched, one that hit a way too close, to home…one that tore him, from the inside out, making his guts churn and palms sweat. Nickolas Gene Carter, was at the peak, of his career…he constantly had movies, in the theaters, women around the world adored him, he had money to burn, and lived in the fast lane. He was only 29 when tragedy struck the poor man’s life. Foolishness, some say, caused it…others beg to differ, that accidents are inevitable…yet others say it was the luck of the draw or just being in the wrong place, at the wrong time…while some say it was karma or fate, that was giving him his just due, for the things he had done, to others. Either way you slice it, his career was over…his image ruined…his life had come screeching to a devastating halt.

“It’s too bad that poor son of a bitch is still alive!” The words were so softly uttered, that he barely heard them himself, as he saw the disturbing picture, before him. Clicking the power button, the young man stood, throwing the remote, to the floor. Feeling like his feet were made of lead, he trudged up the stairs, murmuring to himself. The hallways were pitch black, not a ray of light to be seen, as he heavily climbed the stairs. Making it to his room, in the utter darkness, would have been a challenge for anyone else, but to him, it came naturally, now.

Once to his bathroom, he leaned over the sink’s edge, staring into the mirror. He hated mirrors…he hated to look, into them…he despised the reflection that always stared back, at him. All his dreams and prayers went to hoping he would wake up and not see that reflection…everyday he was disappointed.

Reluctantly, his finger tips rose, to graze over the scarred skin, upon his face. The physical pain, caused by the wounds, was long gone…but the emotional turmoil continued to haunt his heart and soul. The flesh looked like that of a zombie, or monster, of sorts…he was ashamed and embarrassed. His entire face was, once, so perfect, but then one day it adorned third degree burns, all over its surface…now, the wounds were healed and his face was terribly disfigured.

Tears nestled in his eyes, as he squeezed them shut. There was a time that he looked at others, judging them according to their looks…now it was his turn. People loved to stare at him, gawking at the sight of his obvious scars…laughing and poking fun. He had, long ago, come to his own conclusion that yes…karma had come back to bite him, in the ass. Now, with each murder, a part of him hoped that karma would show its face again, because, although he was fully capable of taking the lives of others, he was too chicken shit to take his own. He didn’t really want to die, but yet he surely did not want to live his life with this pain.

Sighing heavily, he debated on going out, but he knew he wasn’t properly prepared. There had been no research done, for a new victim and the last one was still too fresh. As already mentioned…he wasn’t the brightest bulb, in the box, but not a complete moron, either. Each murder had been carefully plotted, with no room for error.

Settling into his enormous bed, the young man cried himself to sleep…begging the heartache to stop and the pain to subside.