Perhaps it was a mistake to linger over the corpse a couple minutes longer. Perhaps he should've ran out the window the moment he ripped the man's beating heart out of his chest. The town militia would've never seen his shadow and he wouldn't have had that bullet poke a hole in his arm and the dogs wouldn't be snapping their jaws at his heels. Oh, and, of course, he wouldn't be stuck clinging to this tree for dear life.
His right arm was straining to keep him up in the branches, hidden in the shadows and out of the beams of lights that shone from the militia's lanterns. The dogs were barking as they followed his scent. They would find him in seconds.
"Looks like we finally got the scoundrel," one of the officers growled as he took a break to light his pipe. He must've decided to take a break since they were so close to finding him.
"He's been causing trouble for months, hasn't he? How many did he kill by now?"
"Sixteen," the first officer answered, "Seventeen, if we count tonight."
"We'll finally have him behind bars. Will be hanged tomorrow. The masked serial killer."
No way, he thought with a roll of eyes. There was no way they were catching him. This was boring. Ever so boring. There was no spark to this chase. He even let them catch up to him, yet they were taking a break and counting their chickens before they...