Seth Dobson, the man known as Seti to his followers, pulled into the Seven-Eleven and parked next to the door. The weight of the 9mm Glock felt comforting tucked into the belt of his jeans, covered by a loose-fitting shirt. He fought back the urge to take the gun out and clear the chamber, like they did in the movies. But no. That was Hollywood stuff and would only waste a round and possibly leave evidence behind. Real criminals didn’t do that, he thought, just like they didn’t hold the gun sideways when they shot. Not unless you wanted to get a hot shell casing in the face. That was only for the movies. And he was for real.
He knew they were watching him, ever since he’d done that stupid radio talk show. That probably hadn’t been a very smart thing to do. And now they were watching him.
But he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t tasted blood in almost two weeks now, and it was driving him crazy. The best he had done was bat around a couple of his women disciples, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to kill again and he needed it now.
It was that dream, the one that had started last June, and had brought him here. He knew it was the Evil One talking; it had told him to go east, until he had come here to this place. But now that he was here, he was lost, without a purpose. If he killed again, and bathed in the blood, then he would know.
He stepped out of the old van and went inside the store. The clerk nodded at him as he walked in. He was a young man, probably a college student, and he deserved to die. In fact, he wanted to die and he, Seti, Satan’s servant, would be happy to oblige.
He walked towards the counter and imagined the surprise on the clerk’s face when he was shot. He’d shoot him in the guts first, so he wouldn’t die too quickly. Then he could take his time with him.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asked.
Seti was about to draw the gun when he felt the presence. It was still far away, which surprised him. He thought it would be close now that he was in this place, the place where it had led him. Still, it was closer. He paused.
No. It wasn’t time. The presence made it known to him that he must wait, must be patient a little longer. He couldn’t draw attention to himself, not here and not now. His people were waiting for him back at the campsite, and they needed direction. They needed him. It needed him.
“Sir? Can I help you?”
Suddenly, Seth was aware of the clerk’s presence once again.
“Ah…. Yeah. Give me a pack of Marlboros.”
He didn’t need cigarettes, but it was all he could think of at the time. He paid for the cigarettes and left disappointed. He could have had so much fun if the voice hadn’t stopped him.