Having walked for about an hour and a half south of his previous position, Chris was now standing on a asphalt layered road looking up towards an inclining dirt road with a white large wooden house at its end.
He was contemplating what type of story he should use to make his blood stained clothes less frightening.
However, feeling the hunger pain kicking in for the tenth time on his little journey, Chris decided to 'simply wing it'.
After barely 300 meters worth of road he stood in front of the old wooden house. It had a striking resemblance of the traditional Swedish houses.
With two stories of gleaming white wood and a peaked roof that reached toward the sky. The upper story was nestled within the roof, with small windows peering out from beneath the eaves.
A small front porch jutted out from the house, with a white railing that gleamed in the sunlight. The porch was adorned with potted plants and a cozy seating area.
Making his way up the front porch he focused on the story he cooked up on the short journey from the asphalt layered road and he began getting into his alias.
Ringing the doorbell a clear and resonant chime could be heard echoing through the house. Chris waited patiently with his gaze fixed upon the door while slowly getting into character.
Not hearing any movement he walked up to the doorbell once again pushing the polished button. Still standing there he was beginning to think of other possible ways of entering when finally, he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching from inside the house.
"I swear if you're some seller or religious preacher I'm gonna spank you down the road till you're gonna have to shit through your stomach" a loud male voice could be heard from behind the door, clearly not happy about the early wake up call.
"I'm sorry sir," Chris replied, "I've been in an accident a couple of kilometres up the road and chanced upon your house while walking to get help. I simply want to borrow your phone so I can call someone."
Chris was surprised by how believable he made himself sound. He rarely had to interact much when figuring out his kill spots and usually got most of his information through other investigators or what he could find online. It was surprisingly easy to know what people were up to, as they usually had their daily schedule linked to their phone calendar. 'With some skill anyone could figure it out,' he thought.
Anyways, now feeling quite smug about his performance, Chris stood there in anticipation, almost reaching out for the door handle himself.
"What a load of bollocks! Do you even know where you are kid? Nobody's travelling around here at these times!" with a snappy voice the old man rebutted.
'Shit, what should I say..' feeling quite stumped about his failed attempt Chris began to race his mind on how to proceed.
Killing whoever lived here had crossed his mind many times on his journey up to the house, but killing usually brought a lot of extra attention and had a way of following you so he had decided against it, though he had to admit it was beginning to feel more tempting already.
'Hmm.. let's give this a try' he thought before speaking: "It's true! I was sent out here for work, but while travelling I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my body and feinted while driving. It took some time, but when I woke up, I had a piece of the car sticking through my shoulder. As I'm working for the military I brought with me my first-aid kit which allowed to me to stabilise the wound and begin walking to whomever I could find. I didn't bring my phone with me because it got wrecked with the car." Chris answered back sounding both disheveled and slightly desperate.
Feeling even more baffled by his acting skills he yet again were eager to hear the response.
"Oh my, you must've had quite the long night haven't you?" Came the response in a much softer and gentler way, this time not belonging to an old man, but to an old woman.
"Theresa! We don't know this man, what if he's some random serial killer, remember that episode from Criminal minds? The world is basically crawling with these folks!" The old man spoke back in a pleading voice.
"Oh please, George, you watch too much shows.. he even spoke about that strange phenomena that happened earlier to us as well, which is also spreading around the news. I think we ought to give him a chance, who would bother coming out here for a couple old timers like us anyways?" She spoke back in a firm but steady voice.
The two of them continued on for a short while with complete disregard to the fact that the person they discussed was standing about 2 meters from them, with nothing but a thin wooden door in between.
Slowly the door creaked open revealing two elderly people standing there. George, in front, with his stark white hair and face etched with wrinkles, lines of someone well-lived. His green-blue eyes were scrutinising Chris as if he was the source of his never ending back pain.
Theresa, standing in the back, with hair in a patchwork of grey and white, the strands thinning and wispy. She too with wrinkles covering her face, however her brown-almond eyes gave a mix of curiosity and amusement clearly betraying the baseball bat she was carrying for protection.
"Now, do you think you're quick enough to shoot us from there before we jump you?" George asked in a provoking tone while brandishing his fists.
"Dear, please stop with this nonsense," Theresa spoke while laying here baseball bat resting on the sidewall. "You can clearly see he's been hurt, would you please come inside mister …..?", she spoke again gesturing for Chris to come inside and also to give his name.
"Thank you, mam and thank you, sir. My name is Ronald," he said with a nudge of his head to pay respects for their hospitality while keeping an arm over his shoulder and playing his part.
"Tch.. very well. Still, put away the blade and gun would you. Wouldn't want you to accidentally send us to our early graves," George said in a somewhat challenging manner.
Lightly chuckling, Chris took of his belt and vest placing them safely underneath the porch and made his way inside the house.