This town had one of the highest homicide rates in the world. Which wouldn't be unusual if the crimes atleast seemed to have a purpose - during thefts, or after drunken arguements. But they didn't - they were nearly all done by serial killers or angry mobs seeking said killers. It was perfect, but he would need to be very careful. They could never find out the truth.
*******
It hadn't quite worked out how he'd planned. One of the killers was dead, murdered by an angry mob. That wasn't how it was meant to happen. As he sat on the bench, waiting for nothing in particular, he knew tonight would be the night. Someone else would be murdered. And then someone hit him so hard he thought he'd been shot. As he faded out of consciousness, he stared at the teeth that had ejected themselves from his mouth. Someone really wanted him dead.
*******
"We know it's you. You want to know how?"
Mission failure. He had rolled the dice and lost.
"We're always suspiscious of the new guy, see. You slipped through the net - till last night anyway."
"You don't understand..." he murmered, the blood in his mouth making speech difficult.
"Oh we understand. Phoned the head of police from your old town. Told us all about your wife. Murdered in her sleep, just like the others. Butchered, he said. So certain it was you, but no proof. Then you disappear, turn up here and people start dying again."
He could feel the anger rising from his chest. Nobody understood. She told him it was okay. It didn't matter now.
"So then we come to find you, and you're sitting on that damn bench, waiting for a victim. We knock you out, and look what we find."
A member of the mob stepped forward and threw the contents of his backpack on the floor. The map of the town. The locations where the victims had been killed, marked with neat X's in a red marker. Some rope. His 9mm pistol. But there was one that didn't belong. One that wasn't his.
"Now we killed you, okay? You die, murders stop for awhile, and we can all relax until some other murdering douchebag turns up. Just the way it works."
It was only at this point that he recognised the smell. Gasoline...they were going to set him on fire, like a witch. These people really were from the dark ages.
*******
At the back of the baying mob, a figure stood with a grin spread widely on its face, the type of grin reserved for evil clowns and the insane. Planting that item, the item only the killer could have, had been a masterstroke. The idiot had done the rest to bury himself in evidence. As the flames grew higher, a final shout erupted from the dying figure.
"I needed to know why. Why her? Why..."