Writer's Cramp: The Perfect Setup

          This won't be your typical tale, dear friends, and I must, for legal reasons, caution those who suffer from hypertension and the odd heart murmur, to avert your eyes now. For your heart may fail you, leaving you lifeless. If you're ever interrogated by law enforcement, blame cannot be placed on this little story. After all, words can't kill, can they?
         This humble story begins in Germany; Berlin, to be specific, at a private residence shrouded with trees, where the colorful palettes of humanity have faded away, and the tourist attraction sounds are replaced by the twitter of birds in the trees.
         Nemo, not to be confused with the animated clownfish, was excited. The apartment he chose to rent for holiday was his most ambitious locale yet; he was to be surrounded by a sea of people in the heart of Berlin--the historical Bismarck street. And yet, the bustling nature of the location with all of its tourism, would make his task more challenging.
         As detail-oriented as he was, he had made sure to print out the specific directions the owner had sent him last minute in a hasty email. But as he approached the address given, a furrow appeared on his forehead. Ahead of him was a small, unassuming house with brown brick. It was surrounded by leafy foliage and had privacy hedges at least twice his height, lining the property. And he was not a small man. He pulled to the side of the road and dialed the owner's number on his cell phone.
         "Guten Tag."
         "Guten Tag." The voice was genderless. However, man or woman did not matter to Nemo, as long as he or she fixed his problem.
         "I'm afraid there has been an issue with your directions. I don't appear to be on the right Bismarck Street."
         "Ah," said the voice. "There was a cancellation at the last moment, and the apartment complex that I was to rent to you had a massive mold issue. I hope you don't mind. I've been up to my ears in repairs and forgot to include that detail in the last email I sent. I hope it's okay. I will add a 25% discount for your troubles."
         "Danke."
         Nemo ran a trembling hand through his dark, brown hair. He glanced up at the house again. It was, in actuality, a perfect location. He had hoped for more visibility, as the mere danger of discovery made his pulse jump, but he figured having to change his plans at the last moment would serve the same purpose.
         He sat for a moment, fiddling with his golden necklace. The necklace was a strange item; a plain cross dangled from the chain. An inscription on the back read: 1 Corinthians 10:13 in small script.
         The number of the house was '666,' and the bright red front door was already ajar. Perhaps the owner wanted to make his entry easy. Regardless, he thought that strange, but not sinister. After all, no one was more sinister than Nemo himself.
         It was a simple floor plan. Wooden floors. Not bad for removing blood stains, but since it was the original flooring, he needed to be careful about the grooves in the boards. But everything else--every single piece of furniture and carpeting, glaring in its pristine condition, was a bright, white. Hah! He needn't have worried about a challenge.
         He changed his plans. He would have to conduct his business in the bedroom.
         As he entered the small bedroom, he lifted a hand to guard his face from the sun shining intensely from the window next to the bed. Too bright yet again. With a disgruntled sigh, he flung his black duffle bag on the bed. No matter. He was a professional. He had brought supplies.
         He unzipped his large, black duffle bag, and the contents tumbled out onto the garish rose covered bedspread. At least it wasn't white.
         Plastic ties. A box cutter. A hammer. A drill. Large stainless steel cutters for cutting up animal parts. A professional camera. A large bottle of bleach. Blackout curtains. Plenty of plastic covering to guard from splatter. And latex gloves. At that last one, he smiled. Bonus if there was a latex allergy.
         The door behind him closed abruptly. He instantly whipped around. A dark figure stood in front of the closed door, covered from head to toe in black elastic clothing with only dark eyes and pink, moist lips showing from its mask. A strange, unpleasant but thrilling sensation crept into his chest cavity--one of his favorite cavities. He just wasn't used to the sensation being in his own.
         Somehow, Nemo was not surprised. Perhaps he had known in his deep subconscious that this was the only path for his story to take. He had heard of this creature. He, in fact, admired its work. Clean, meticulous. Just like Nemo.
         "I like your necklace," the figure said.
         "You've heard of me, then?" Nemo couldn't help but be pleased and couldn't hide the small smile on his face. The necklace was a token from his first kill--his dearly departed mother who had beaten him badly for each animal he had brutally murdered and dissected. And he had killed quite a number of them.
         This earned a small chuckle in response. "Of course. I have followed your kills for years. When I received your email, it seemed like a dream come true. You might call me, your biggest fan."
         Nemo paused. "You know there is only one way this can end."
         It is here that the screen turns to black and I can no longer offer any information on that scene in Germany, but I can tell you the last bit of juicy (pun completely intended) dialogue.
         "It's a shame that only one of us will make it out alive."
         But who said it?
         What happened?
         I pray that you'll never know, for if you do, you won't have any jewelry to wear.