My second kill was, to be frank, a sloppy mess of a job.  I was all force, as I had been with my First; I lacked finesse.  Father made it clear after my second kill that He would not clean every site.  I was his child, but I was less 'Edgar' than 'Edmund.'  A bastard son.  One He would be ashamed of, were He able to feel emotions of that ilk.  The vast majority of us are like that to Him, or at least, that is my understanding of how He works.

I apologize for veering slightly off-topic.

My second kill was another neophyte to our world.  Unlike myself or my First, however, he had Father's interest from his youth, but had been left alone, allowed to mature so Father could see what kind of man he would become.  Unfortunately, he was a disappointment.  All the promise he'd shown at a young age, his inquisitiveness, his natural gift for sensing Father, was gone.  He was as blind and content as the rest of the livestock, blissfully ignorant to His presence.  So I was sent to 'remind' him.

He lasted a month before Father instructed me to move in for the kill.  The poor child was losing his grip on reality.  Or perhaps he was finally gaining it back?  Regardless, I put my brand-new blade to work on him, and soon found myself in a mess:  the parents showed up at the scene.  His father was a large man, and relatively easy for me; he thought he could crush me with his bare hands, grind my skull to dust beneath his heel.  He was a pathetic, overweight, sorry excuse for a man.  I was armed, he was not.

His mother, however, was clearly the brains of the family.  I had to chase her through the house and play a tedious game of hide-and-seek before finally putting her down in the bathroom, where she'd been trying to make her escape through a window. 

I found myself with three bodies, two rooms bathed in red, and the police on their way after the mother had dialed 911 while I was busy with her husband.  I wasn't afraid; I could feel Father's presence in the room where I had left the son and his father.  He would soon come for the mother as well.  Under His protection, I waltzed out of the house and strolled down the street, giving no indication I heard the sirens or saw the squad cars racing past.

Later, much later, I learned to control myself better.  Victims three through seven were crude jobs, though cleaner than the second.  It wasn't until number twelve that I finally developed a comfortable modus operandi.

26 days, and you will receive your special exclusive peek into that MO.  Until then, sleep tight, and pray you're not my Target.