The morning came quickly, eyes close and in an instant the night has escaped into oblivion and the new day has started. Jennifer woke to heavy tired eyes and a sore aching body, on top of that, a half empty crystal wine glass resting sideways on her lap. Luckily, jeans were plentiful in her wardrobe and no time would be lost washing this pair.

The San Diego sun fluttered through the blinds with each ray seemingly pounding on Jennifer's blue eyes. The pain was worth the celebration of a successful mission, it always was. This being the eighth time, it had become a tradition of sorts. A reminder that no-good deed goes unpunished.

A little secret that most people do but do not cherish is falling asleep with the television on, you always get to wake up to something new and foreign to you. In this instance, the morning news was on. The reporters looked like dolls, plastered with makeup and hairspray, blasting from the television with a vivid image.

The female reporter lowered her voice and presented it as solemn, "San Diego saw a malicious stabbing last night, Christmas Eve, in an abandoned store that resulted in the murder of recently acquitted and prominent businessman Damon Jackson."

A blurred picture of the crime scene was pasted on the screen next to a clean-cut head shot of Damon in a ten-thousand-dollar suit with an intense business-like stature to his face. The world saw this man as a victim, that argument could be made possibly, but Jennifer only saw him as a child murdering millionaire that did not deserve the time of day.

The droning of the reporter's voice broke and morphed into a more upbeat 'things are going to be alright tone', "The police have recovered numerous pieces of evidence and say they are hot on the trail of the killer and will make an apprehension shortly." The screen showed the postcard, this is the first time they have allowed this to slip out on live air.

The blood had soaked through, turning the foggy landmark bridge into more of a floating red blob over a mass of still water. The back read clearly, however. 'You're Welcome', '-J' jumped from the screen in a very bold move made by the police. Generally certain evidence is held back so they can use it to trip up any potential suspects.

The Christmas Darling barely flinched at the sight of the postcard. The mission had been planned to perfection and nothing was left behind on accident. It was all part of the plan. The Police Chief would literally have to hold up a direct face shot picture of Jennifer for her to become exponentially worried. Her time haunting the terrible people of San Diego would continue.

More pictures flashed before Jennifer's eyes as she wrestled between cleaning up the Noir or gluing her glittering eyes to the screen. That is when the Police Chief made an announcement behind his mighty podium with forty microphones taped together all vying for a juicy clip to play in the future, "This marks the eighth Christmas Eve murder in which we have the same M.O. We are closing in closely to our suspect, the noose is tightening."

Adjusting his department issue tie and glancing back at his entourage of twenty plus officers and city officials, "Your time is up Christmas Darling. Thank you for all the postcards but your ego may have gotten the best of you this time." The Chief's eyes locked on the camera. They burned through the screen and ran directly down Jennifer's pupils finally resting in the pit of her stomach.

The three-hundred and sixty-four days leading up to the extinguishing of Damon Jackson rushed Jennifer's mind, instilling a heavy dose of anxiety and doubt in her mind. What had she forgotten? What had gone wrong that the Police Chief could come out and say for a fact that he was close to an arrest essentially? The selection process had gone just as planned, just like the previous seven monsters. A high-profile case, San Diego area, followed by an unwarranted acquittal.

There were typically two to four big crime stories that happened in San Diego in a year's time. Generally, half would get sentenced to jail forever. Of the remaining two, one would be some huge financial schemer that stole millions and thought he could get away with it. The other would be a hidden in the dark monster that enjoyed preying on the weak, the unfortunate, and the poor. That person would become the next target of the Christmas Darling.

Jennifer never kept notes of any sort before, during, or after the process had begun. Many 'serial killers' obtained mementos to cherish for years and later solidify their guilt when the authorities find them and show them off to the world. The Christmas Darling did not need anything of the sort; the memories would thrive in her mind until her body ceased to exist. Until her last breath, the eight men she has killed on Christmas Eve would forever be at the forefront of her thoughts.

When the execution phase entered Jennifer's bustling mind, nothing stuck out like a sore thumb. This mission went down the same as the rest. Take the monster, deliver him to the kill sight, and open the monster's neck quickly for them so they die very slowly, in agonizing misery. Pretty, simple, and efficient. No need for an hour-long speech or some sort of torture, that's how you get caught. Just get it done, go home, and wake up knowing the world is a little better than it was the night before.

The murdered would know why, they would reflect on the misdeeds they had done in their life as every ounce of blood fought the slot in their jugular to escape into the world. That was a gift Jennifer gave to them. It was their Christmas gift.

Her number one rule when on a mission was to take as little as possible to the scene and leave with what you brought, nothing more and nothing less. Of course, you leave the body and the postcard but other than that you had gloves, a knife, and a cellphone. Some may think it is silly to take the cellphone but if things got out of hand, a simple call to 911 would do the trick.

A monstrous man attacking a little helpless woman, the police would struggle with the truth as the man tried to sell the fact that she had taken him and planned to kill him. One of the few glories of being a woman.

It did not take long at all for Jennifer to decide it was merely a bluff, a bad one at that, by the Police Chief. The only evidence she left on the scene was left on purpose.

Some families decorate the day after Thanksgiving, some people go around singing carols, Jennifer removed an unwanted guest from the face of the planet. It was a tradition.

Speaking of family, the phone call from Mom remained missed. If Jennifer did not call back in a timely manner, her Mom was the type of parent that would call the authorities. That fire needed to be put out now.

As Jennifer raised her phone from her waist it began to vibrate, 'Mom, the screen pronounced.

A weak frail voice squeaked from the speaker, seemingly trying to escape the mechanism and be free, "Honey? Jenny? It's your Mom."

Jennifer immediately welled up at the sound of her innocent Mother's voice, overwhelmed and uncertain, "Hello Mother. How are you?"

Her breathing was labored, too many cigarettes for too many years, "All is well, I suppose. Nothing new since our last talk. I did see that a rich man was killed in your area sweetie. I don't like it."

With a sigh, "Mom, tons of people are murdered around me all the time. This one just happened to be a rich guy, that is why it is on the news. That's it Mother, trust me."

"Did you see the postcard they showed on the television? Did you read it? It reminds me of your handwriting when you are really focusing and trying to show your prettiest work. Don't you think Jenny?"

Without hesitation, Jennifer recoiled, "Not at all! Are you serious? You think I killed that man because my handwriting used to look like that?"

A noticeable revolt was telling as Mom's voice increased in volume, "No Jenny. No, no, no. It just reminded me of the old days, that is all. Can't an old lady reminisce?"

Collecting herself with the skills of a professional race car driver exiting the smoke after driving through a crash, "Yes Mother, the old days. I will talk to you next week. Tell Dad I said hi."

Jennifer hung the phone up before her mother could respond. She did not really care if the delivery of her 'Hi' to her dad was performed or not. Remember, they are in the past. This is the present and the time was coming to plan for the future, Christmas Eve.