Up to the time when he had claimed the first of his victims, there had been no reason for him to have committed murder. The girl – she was twenty-two, with a pretty face and soft skin – had wanted to dance with Ward in a backstreet club. They danced and shared a drink, and when the evening was over and too much alcohol had been consumed by the girl, he had offered to walk her home. It was on that walk to her home that something must have been said, or his advances had been refused.
He hit the girl over the back of her head with a brick and left her to die. Blood ejaculated from her mouth as he slid his right hand inside the front of her jeans. He played with his victim's cunt for five minutes until a barking dog scared the life out of him. It rained heavily that night, and as Ward calmly walked home, he occasionally arched back his head to allow the rainwater to enter his mouth.
And so that had been his first murder. It was a crime which made the news the following day, and the story lingered for a while until it faded away into obscurity. It was a crime that went unsolved, probably because at that time forensic science was not as advanced as it is today. Occasionally, Ward was haunted by the girl's face, but whenever he felt remorse he just laughed, before telling himself that no-one is immortal.
Extract taken from "After Dover" - a short story for kindle, by Luke Ryman