They used to chant his name on the news like it was a movie title. Vin Mercer. Headlines loved him. “The Starstruck Slayer Strikes Again.” Every victim a celebrity. Every murder a masterpiece. He had flair, style he once strangled a pop star with her own feather boa, then autographed her mirror with her lipstick.

The world was obsessed. Not in fear no, in awe. He was untouchable. Even the cops couldn’t help but smirk when saying his name on camera.

But that was decades ago.

Now Vin lives in a quiet coastal town. Goes by “Arthur.” Wears khakis. Waters begonias. The only thing that gets murdered now is time.

Teenagers on the boardwalk have no clue who he is. They walk past, earbuds in, laughing at trending killers on podcasts.
He hears things like, “Vin Mercer? Oh, that old case? My grandma knows about that one.”

My grandma? he scoffs, stirring his tea.

He pretends he enjoys the peace. That anonymity is freedom. But in truth? He misses the spotlight. Misses being remembered. He catches himself watching award shows and wondering what he’d do to crash the stage, to make them all look at him again.

Old killers fade. Legends rot. But part of him still burns just waiting for the right moment to remind the world who he is.