Excerpt: A Dark Line Crossed

PROLOGUE:
He sat cross legged on the cold floor of the garage, watching as droplets of blood dripped off the end of the sharp tip of the blade tightly clasped in his right hand. The rage was slowly subsiding and a peace and harmony began to wrap itself around him, seeping into his core and offering a sedation nothing else could.

He could do nothing else but allow his body to relax. For so long he had maintained a rigid vigilance. Stretched over hours he had been nothing more than a boiling kettle, threatening to explode. Yet, he had meticulously maintained and performed his task without hesitation. He had done what he had come to do, and when he had completed his preliminary tasks, he allowed the raw carnal violence to erupt and sate his appetite.

The drops ceased and he allowed his eyes to rise and look upon the slaughtered body in front of him, no more than three feet away. It smelled like a butcher shop combined with the vile odor of human waste, an unfortunate byproduct of the act he had just committed. He felt no remorse, only disgust for the shredded corpse. It too was an unfortunate byproduct of his work, but like trash, it need only be disposed of and then forgotten.

The heap of bone and flesh stopped resembling a human even before the blade slid into the torso and the eyes went wide. To him it was nothing more than the visage disgust, a walking, talking reminder of everything he despised. A “normal” person would call it a she, but to him it was a cancer, a growth to be destroyed.

He caught himself thinking about the next one, and successfully stopped himself. The world was full of them, and he knew he would never be able to rid himself of all of them. He needed to celebrate each victory and drink in the satisfaction of the small battles won. He couldn’t allow the rage to begin building again. It wasn’t time, besides, he doubted he could show the self control necessary to wait if he didn’t first plan before he acted.

Instead he thought about the others, including the first which had started this whole thing. It had been an experiment, but it had taught him a great deal, and had taught him how to refine his methods. He felt, beyond anything, that he was getting better. Grated, it took longer doing it this way, but oh, how good it felt when the time came for his ultimate release. That is what it was all about. He would gladly wait if it meant the feeling he now wrapped himself in.

Normally he would clean up shortly after the event, but he felt different now. So tired. This had been stressful and now, late in the evening, he didn’t have the energy to break the wave of exhaustion that threatened to over take him. He grabbed the pile of clothes he had stripped it of, wadded them up and made a pillow on the hard concrete floor. Yawning, he allowed himself to curl into a fetal ball. It didn’t take but a moment for him to fall asleep. The last image he saw before his lids fell closed was the eyes of the mutilated young woman looking back at him. A smile crossed his face as sleep welcomed him.

CHAPTER 1:
I94 traffic was horrible, as it was every morning, as Trevor Watson drove his Pontiac Solstice along his normal route into work. While it was a nuisance, it didn’t stop the young executive from gunning the engine and whipping in and out of the tightly packed cars. Countless times he flipped off the anonymous horn honker behind him as he pushed his way forward through the never-ending line of cars. He was immune to the glares he got as he quickly accelerated by his fellow Detroiters.
Like always, Trevor was focused on one thing and no one else particularly mattered. He was what the white-collar world called a go getter and their blue-collar counter parts called an asshole. Part of that had to do with his upbringing and part from his perception that he was better than just about anyone. He owned the world and everyone else needed to pony up their rent or get off his planet.
Trevor was an up-and-comer in the automotive industry. He had graduated from GMI/EMI (now Kettering University) and was a young hot shot in the engineering/design area as an intern for automotive industry during his collegiate years. It hadn’t taken long for Watson to get a full-time offer following graduation.
He had bided his time, being cordial, making friends and learning as much as he could. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out who were the movers and shakers, allowing him to begin the slow, methodical process of ingratiating himself with the decision makers. By the time his third year was over, his relationship with the design manager was solid enough for Trevor to begin his push for advancement.
An issue with a new product line led to tensions between the group supervisor and the design manager. The issue arose regarding some critical specifications that were not met by the design team. Trevor had known all about the issue but failed to mention it to his boss, knowing well that there had been countless errors in the program and that the group supervisor was teetering on the edge. In the end, the supervisor requested a transfer out of the position.
Trevor, always quick to make an impression, immediately recognized the mistake, and with little prodding, took control of the design team and pushed through changes that fixed the problem and allowed the project to meet the deadline by two days. The next day Trevor was promoted, celebrating by purchasing the completely decked out Solstice he now weaved in and out of traffic.
Life was good for the twenty-five year old. He had a job that paid him six figures, a beautiful new condo in a great area outside the city and a gorgeous fiancé that was complete oblivious to the fact that she wasn’t the only woman who shared his affection. He truly believed that he was living the American dream and there wasn’t anyone who could stop him from taking it even further. He had worked his way to where he was and deserved every one of the accolades his position in professional and social life presented him.
Trevor refused to accept that he was fast-tracked for success from the day he was born. His father owned a series of stamping plants in the eastern Michigan area and raised Trevor and his brother Tim in a palatial house in the upper-class suburb of Farmington Hills. Trevor had been guaranteed a position in his father’s company, likely in purchasing or some mundane department but Trevor had decided to go to college instead. He had taken money for tuition (but that didn’t really count at least in Trevor’s eyes) and went to college so he could began earning his fortune on his own.
Seeing his exit, Trevor swerved across two lanes of traffic to get there. Ignoring the screech of brakes behind him, he turned off the highway onto the congested Detroit streets. Ten lights and fifteen minutes later he pulled into his marked parking spot in front of his building.
Stepping out of his car, he zipped up his brown leather jacket and smoothed down his pleated slacks. It had gotten chilly fast, realizing that just three weeks ago he had blown off two days in a row to play golf with at the country club with one of his associates. Trevor hated winter, stating plainly that anything that forced him to slow down on the roads and put more clothes on “his ladies” was not for him.
The day went by pretty typically. There were plenty of meetings and phone calls. Trevor had made a point of berating Alex, one of the project engineers, in front of the rest of the team. Alex was a guy much like Trevor, young, smart and very ambitious. Trevor also knew that Alex was willing to do anything to move up. So, whenever any little mistake was made, Trevor would rip loose into Alex, making sure that everyone knew who was boss, particularly Alex. Trevor wanted Alex on the defensive, fighting for his job at all times rather than fighting for a new, higher spot on the food chain.
Trevor also made sure that he had someone to back him up if necessary. That’s why he had decided to start an affair with Candace while he was still a design engineer. Candace was a thirty-eight year old, average looking project engineer that worked on the team. Her husband had left her for a twenty-something looker, leaving her with nothing but bitterness. Trevor had struck while the irons were still hot, moving in on Candace and making her feel as if he completely understood her anger (when in fact he didn’t blame the guy for dumping her and moving on to a young hottie).
When Trevor had finally taken Candace to bed during a business trip out to New York, she had felt some kind of satisfaction that she too had found the affection of a young, good looking toy. Trevor had quickly turned that, telling Candace that he was engaged and had made a mistake. Candace felt crushed. She needed him and promised that she wouldn’t tell anyone if he would continue to see her on occasion. He agreed, explaining to her that he would make her life hell at work if she ever told anyone. Sure, it was sexual harassment, but Trevor knew that Candace needed him beyond the professional level, that when Jeremy had left her, Candace was broken, her ego crushed. Trevor soothed that ego, made her feel wonderful.
Candace went through her days yearning for the day when she and Trevor could be alone together again and he knew it. She would stay quiet and while Trevor didn’t find her all that attractive, Candace was good in bed and she would serve him where Trevor needed her: at work.
Trevor knew that if it ever came down to a fight against Alex, or anyone for that matter, that Candace would back him unequivocally. Candace may not be the greatest engineer, but she had worked in the same department for fifteen years and had a good reputation for being a good worker and an honest employee. She would back Trevor and anyone who listened to what she said would take her seriously.
At 7:00 pm Trevor told the team to knock off for the night, that they could have the rest of the night off (it was not unlike Trevor to make his team work until eleven or twelve, berating anyone who complained about the hours). “Make sure you guys are in here on time tomorrow, I want to go over the aerodynamics first thing tomorrow morning,” he reminded them as they left. It wasn’t necessary as everyone in the office knew that if anyone was going to be late in the morning, it would be Trevor. First thing in the morning simply meant whenever Trevor showed up, typically thirty minutes to an hour after everyone else had gotten their morning coffee and started with the days’ work.
While Trevor refused to recognize them as so, his team was a very talented group. He drove them hard to meet deadlines, go beyond the norm to address issues and make every draft of an assignment as polished and professional as the final product. Trevor was the driving force, refusing to accept anything less. He was a perfectionist and demanded it of his team. Once the man locked on to a project he made it his, and his team was responsible for getting it done the way he wanted it.
To a fault, Trevor also refused to give up on anything. Many times designers were given a target and if they were able to hit the target, great. If not, they literally went “back to the drawing board” and started over. Trevor was undaunted in belief that every problem could be overcome. He truly believed that time and effort could win out in the end, every time. It was this ideal that caused the most consternation for his team. Trevor had no problem forcing extra hours, including weekends in order to figure out a problem facing the team. Failure to figure out a problem was not an option. You don’t give up, you don’t give in; you only give it more thought and figure it out. No exceptions.
It had been a short day at the office, not because there was nothing to do, but because Trevor had promised Amy he would stop by this evening and spend some time with her. She was so demanding of him on the weekends that it infuriated him when she persisted on having him stop over at her place after work. He made note that he needed to have a talk with her about how things were going work once they got married. She needed to learn that he had to have his time and space. It wasn’t a whole lot for him to ask, or so he thought. There was nothing that frustrated him more than someone else dictating how he was going to spend his evening. She needed to understand that while he loved her, he had other things that he enjoyed doing and he wasn’t going to allow her to make demands that would keep him from doing them.
In actuality he didn’t have anything going on tonight. He was going to go to one of the local bars and watch the Red Wings game with his brother, but it had turned out that his brother couldn’t make it so it wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t going to tell Amy that though. For all she knew he was still as pissed off now as he was on Sunday when she had insisted he swing by. He figured he could parlay this into something he wanted from her later on. Maybe he could use this to skip out on another boring meal with his future in-laws?
Amy would be considered a real catch for just about anyone but Trevor. To him she simply served her purpose. She was beautiful, smart and independent, yet she was wholly infatuated with Trevor. He had met her at a post game party when she was a freshman at the University of Michigan and he was a senior at GMI. He had never intended on starting a relationship with her. He had spent the night trying to get her to come back to his parent’s house with him and she had resisted. The farthest he got was having breakfast with her at 3:00am at a local greasy spoon before she gave him her phone number and made him promise to call her.
Normally he wouldn’t put that much of an effort into scoring with a girl, but Amy was different. She came across as the girl next door who was just starting to explore her adult life. That appealed to Trevor’s sense of conquest and he decided then and there that he would have her.
It took six dates for Trevor to finally attain his goal. She had given herself to him in the back seat of his Dad’s Cadillac and professed her love for him the same night. Trevor had rolled his eyes as he was on top of her, thinking how sad it was that woman always had to relate love with sex. He didn’t feel any guilt telling her that he loved her too, knowing that this was just a game and he would do whatever it took to win the game.
To him this was a great accomplishment and while he normally used the women he dated and then moved on, this was different. There was a lot to gain from being around Amy. She was beautiful, but beyond that she had a charisma that made people take notice. She was the perfect accessory for Trevor and while he didn’t consider her a trophy wife that was exactly what she was. She would do the one thing he wanted her to: she would make him look even better.
He also found that she had other things to offer. She was a motivated student and had plans of her own, wanting to go into physical therapy. She came from an affluent family herself, so she had an appreciation for money. She understood the importance of hard work, being well taught by her parents and that appealed to Trevor. The most important trait however was as much a bane as it was a boon.
Amy was madly in love with Trevor and this simply annoyed the hell out of him. On the other hand, this infatuation made her completely subservient to him. He knew better than to openly exploit this however. He knew he could make demands of her (like the time he made her cancel her vacation to the Bahamas with her parents in order for her go to his five year high school reunion with him) and while she whined and fussed about it, she always gave in to his demands.
She was also very accepting of Trevor’s career. She knew that he was serious about making a good living and openly accepted it. This made it easy for Trevor to have women on the side because he could use his job as an excuse whenever he needed to and Amy never questioned him.
The relationship with Amy worked out well and Trevor found that he could certainly live with the arrangement. He lived sixty miles away from her so his independence was never really in jeopardy yet she was close enough to him that he could go down and see her when he felt like it.
Everything worked out well as Trevor graduated and got his job as a design engineer. He worked while Amy went to school while she wished they could spend more time together, he insisted that their relationship could not get in the way of her education. She cried when he suggested they take some time off because he felt that with him moving back down to Detroit, that he would take up too much of his time.
This simply cemented Amy’s dedication to Trevor. He made her a deal: he would visit her on weekends but during the week he would concentrate on his job and she would concentrate on school. “I am not a selfish person, Amy,” he remembered telling her, “I love you so much, but I could never come between you and your career. I know how much it means to you.”
With Amy out of the way, Trevor could concentrate on work and not worry about having a boat anchor like her holding him back.
It wasn’t until two years later that Charles Gant, an executive in logistics hinted to Trevor that every successful businessman had a wife. It made a person look more stable, less power hungry. Gant was a thirty year employee and told Trevor in confidence that he understood what he was doing, but that he was losing his identity.
“Find yourself a good woman and marry her,” Gant had told him in the elevator one morning. “A woman at home, a few pictures of the wife and kids on your desk, a coffee mug with ‘I love Daddy’ on it makes people think you are working hard for something other than yourself. Right now you seem to be motivated by nothing more than power. You need to quit being so damned mechanical and start showing the big wigs that there is a person under all that intensity.”
That evening Trevor drove to her apartment, took Amy to a nice Greek restaurant in downtown Detroit and proposed to her. He had been so intent on taking the advice from Gant that he didn’t even buy a ring. He gave her the excuse that he wanted her engagement ring to be perfect and that they would go out that weekend and pick one out.
“I’ve loved you since the day I met you Amy, and I realized today just how sad my life really is. I’ve allowed my job to dictate how we should live our lives and I know you’ve been thinking the same thing. I accept that you want an education, and you want a career, but I need you, and I need you to make room in your busy life for me.” He had rehearsed that speech a dozen times before he recited it to her.
Amy simply nodded and cried. When he asked her to marry him she burst into tears and threw her arms around him, repeating, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again until he had to peel her arms out from around his neck.
Since that day he had been annoyed by her constant prattle about the wedding. “What colors should we have? I’ve always wanted traditional colors but I really love a pale pink. Would you be upset if my bride’s maids wore pink dresses? I wouldn’t ask the guys to have any pink in their tuxes, although a pink rose corsage would look really pretty. What do you think Trevor?”
In the end he just gave in to whatever she wanted. This was her wedding and frankly he didn’t really care, he just wanted to get it over with. He knew he couldn’t tell her that though, so that’s how he found himself pulling in to her apartment complex tonight. She wanted him to be there when a friend of her mother came over and talked to them about wedding cakes. So rather than go to the bar to catch the Wings’ game, he was going over to Amy’s.

CHAPTER 2:
Some jobs were hard; some were almost impossible and typically were abandoned before they were even begun. Occasionally however, one came along that was so simplistic that he had to restrain himself from rushing things. This was one of those times.
The small, single story house sat on a corner lot, nestled on a lazy street. While most of the houses were close together, this particular one had plenty of room between the house situated directly behind it, and the one to it’s left had a “For Sale” sign posted prominently in its front yard. Driving past he was happy to see that the occupants had already moved out as evidenced by the absence of any kind of window treatments and a particularly scraggily yard.
The house belonging to the object of his awakening rage was in decent shape, if not a little run down. Shingles were missing from the roof, the hedges running along the front of the house and the sides were overgrown and badly in need of a good trimming. The weeds had grown up around the small tree in the front yard, the legs of the rusty metal swing set in the back and through the cracks and edges of the sidewalk leading up to the small stoop of a porch. It was evidence enough for the man to assume that the woman was alone in her life or the man she was with was hopelessly pathetic.
The man drove around the block once, then stopped in front of the house with the “For Sale” sign. He got out of the red mini van and issued a command into the rear of the vehicle. Holding the door open, a small white dog jumped out of the van and settled immediately at the man’s feet, obediently waiting for its next command.
The man reached into his pocket and fished out a leash and clasped it to eh black leather collar encircling the dog’s neck.
“Come on, Max,” he spoke, his voice kind and appealing.
This was part of his ruse, something he hated doing but knowing that it was important to his whole effort. People who walk into other people’s yards during the middle of the day draw a great deal more attention than those who walk into another person’s yard because their dog drug them there.
He had thought up this plan a couple times ago when he had accidentally been seen by a neighbor of one of the things he was checking up on. He had stumbled through a conversation with the man, and eventually came up with an excuse, but it had rattled him. He had abandoned that particular attempt and was relieved latter on when he had found out that the woman had a live in boyfriend.
As he thought about that near disaster, he calmly gave a tug at the leash and the dog set off, moving to the sidewalk, then up towards the house that was for sale. The man took his time, holding back the mutt while seemingly looking the house up and down, all the while listening for traffic. He appeared as nothing more than an interested buyer, trying to ascertain the exact value of the dwelling. He continued his ruse, ringing the door bell and when no one answered, pounding on the screen door.
Knowing that no one would answer, he walked to the nearest window and peeked in, always cognizant of what was going on around him. Even though he was in no particular danger, adrenalin was rushing through his body. He could feel the anger welling as he got closer to the place where his mark made her home. He was also filling with excitement and had to force himself to remain focused at the task at hand.
He made a show of inspecting the house by circling to the right peering in all the windows, all the while stealing glances at the house beside him. He crept along then noticed what he was looking for hidden amongst the overgrown shrubs of his marks home. There, covered with a noticeable grunge was a small basement window, unassuming and lost in the hedges.
He chanced a glance around, and when he was sure no one was looking, pulled his dog to his right and issued a command. The dog walked forward, pulling out the slack in the leash, working his way across the narrow gap between houses and into the shrubs which hid the window. Again, the man looked around, making sure no one was watching. At this time of day he was sure most people would be at work, and the quiet neighborhood surrounding him backed this up.
The dog burrowed his way into the shrubs, seeking for a good place to relieve himself. The man obliged the dog, standing seemingly inattentively as he waited for his dog to finish. Finally, after giving the dog plenty of time, the man bent down and reached into the hedge.
“What did you do, get tangled,” the man muttered loudly, acting as if he was attempting to untangle his dog from the thick shrubbery.
During this time the man kneeled and bent over, disguising his real act, which was to take a quick glimpse into the house.
The basement was small, half the size of the rest of the house and looked to be nothing more than storage. The man was relieved to see that this particular window was situated directly over the washer and driver. This would make it much easier for the man to gain entry later on.
He couldn’t help but feel the excitement welling inside him. He knew that he was not going to have much difficultly this time around. This was looking to be exceptionally easy. He began to play out in his mind exactly when his plan was going to go into place, but first he had a bit more work to do.
Scooping up the small dog, he ruffled its head, “You aren’t suppose to go into other people’s yard Maxie.” The man couldn’t help but chuckle, realizing the irony of those words and he ran through his mind how exactly he was going to invade this very house.

CHAPTER 3:
Trevor sat on the couch in the living room of Amy’s apartment as the three women talked and laughed in the kitchen. He had been pissed when he got to Amy’s place and found out that her mother was already there. She had told him that she wasn’t going to be there, hence the reason he was needed to help her pick out a cake. He really didn’t give a rat’s ass about what the stupid cake looked like. He just wanted this whole disaster over.
At one time he had tried to convince her to elope, but neither she, nor her mother would have anything to do with it. Amy was a princess and she wanted a princess wedding.
Trevor didn’t even have to pitch in any of his money for the wedding. Lauren, Amy’s mom had volunteered her checkbook towards paying for the whole thing, even through the objections of her husband, Amy’s dad.
This offer had evidently given Lauren full control over the planning because not a day went by that she didn’t call her daughter to discuss the plans. Trevor had quickly grown tired of her and made any excuse he could to stay away from Amy, unless he was assured that his future mother-in-law would be absent.
He had hoped to get this garbage out of the way early then escape to the bar to catch the game. Instead he sat on the couch in his fiancé’s living room trying to listen to the hockey game over the constant prattle of the women in the kitchen. Occasionally Amy would pop out with a book full of wedding cake pictures to ask him his opinion. Sometimes he just shrugged, sometimes he made some remark about not really caring. Finally he just told her that whatever she picked out would be fine with him.
He really wasn’t sure why he was doing this. In truth, he really didn’t want to be married. He made himself promise to himself that he wouldn’t let her try to control his life. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was having someone else tell him what to do.
Growing up he was the second of two sons, three year younger than his brother Tim. His dad was a tough old bastard who was very controlling of both his sons and his wife. Luckily his old man was also a workaholic and was rarely home. That didn’t stop his father from having high expectations for his boys. Trevor was constantly reminded that he needed to “get his shit together” or else he would not be allowed to have any part of the day to day operations of his father’s stamping facilities when he finished college. Oh how his father raised the roof when shortly after Trevor’s graduation the youngest Watson proclaimed that his father could shove his operation up his ass.
That had begun Trevor’s quest for complete self-control. He had control of his career, his social life, and his money (to the point that he insisted that Amy signed a prenuptial agreement before he even allowed her to begin planning the wedding).
Now he found himself on the verge of relinquishing some of the control and it nearly infuriated him. He knew that this was for the best, and he really didn’t mind Amy. She was very attractive, her naturally wavy goldenrod hair a complete turn on to him. She was in great shape and completely submissive, something that was extremely important to him. Why then did he despise the fact that he was going to have to come home to her every night? That was the one question he couldn’t answer.
He pondered this, as well as various other topics as he attempted to zone out the women, still talking, still laughing up a storm in the kitchen. He watched the game, occasionally shouting out for the women to keep it down for another forty-five minutes before the three emerged and insisted he review their choices. He acquiesced, nodding and politely commenting in order to hurry the process along. Finally he pointed out that the third period of the game was about to start and Amy walked the other women out.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to our guests Honey,” she called back to him.
He waved dismissively and gave a snide little smile, never taking his eyes off the television as he watched the Red Wings clear the puck from their zone.
He didn’t hear all the hushed conversation at the front door other than Amy giving the excuse that “he is really busy with a big project at work and is a little tense because of it”. He didn’t care if she gave an excuse or not. He really didn’t care about anything right now but the game. He hardly noticed when Amy flopped down on the couch beside him.
“Why do you have to be so mean to people all the time,” she barked at him when he failed to acknowledge her.
“What do you mean by that?” he replied, his eyes glued to the television.
“You are never nice to my friends. That’s what I mean.”
“Those weren’t your friends. That was your mom and one of her friends who bakes cakes,” he retaliated sarcastically.
“You know what I mean. Why do you insist on treating my mom like that? What did she ever do to you?” she asked, her face red with anger.
He glanced at her, “Wait a second. Before you get all up in my face you better remember that it was me that made the sacrifice to come here tonight. I was the one who had to leave work early. I was the one who had to cancel his plans to come here and help pick out a cake. If anyone should be mad, it should be me!” He allowed his voice to crescendo as he turned to face her.
He didn’t allow her to begin a rebuttal, “Have you ever thought about me during this whole wedding planning thing? In case you didn’t know, I’m part of this whole thing too. Sure, I get to hear the decisions you and your mom make, but do I really have a say? Tonight I finally thought I was going to do something tangible regarding this wedding and guess who is waiting here when I get here?”
He continued his lie, “Damnit Amy, when are you going to realize that this is just as important to me as it is to you? I work sixty or seventy hours a week and all I can do is watch your mother step in and plan MY WEDDING! It’s complete bullshit. Why do you think I suggested we elope? I just want to enjoy this and you and your mother are robbing me of that opportunity. I sure hope this isn’t how our married life is going to be, because frankly, I really don’t think I can live that way.”
Amy was flabbergasted. Trevor rarely opened up to her and she was beginning to fear that he didn’t even care that they were going to get married. How could she have been so insensitive to his feelings? Tears began to well up in her eyes.
“You really mean that?” she stammered, trying to maintain composure.
He turned his head away from her and back to the game, afraid that he would crack a smile. “Damn,” he thought to himself, “she is so gullible.”
He nodded, keeping up the ruse.
“Oh Sweetie,” she bawled, throwing her arms around him as he struggled to see the Wings advance the puck on a power play. “I am so sorry. I never knew you felt that way. I just thought you didn’t care one way or another.” She buried her face in his neck.
He didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t have to. She would do all the talking and all he really had to do was sit there and watch the game. Over the next half an hour she poured out her heart, promised him that she would tell her mother to back off and vowed that she would make sure that this was as much his wedding as it was hers.
He knew that she would push to have him help with the planning but he always had an excuse to get out of whatever she wanted him to do. Trevor Watson was doing what he always did, he was living in the moment and dealing with each situation as it came up.
Finally she snuggled up to him and whimpered a final apology. He continued to ignore her until her hand crept up his knee, brushing lightly over his thigh and finally resting on his groin.
“I love you Trevor,” she whispered to him.
The score was four to one in favor of the Red Wings with less than three minutes left. No way they were going to lose this one he thought as he grabbed her hand, stood up from the couch and led her into the bedroom.

CHAPTER 4:
Day Light Savings Time could really be a pain in the ass adjusting to, but for him it really was a good thing. It allowed him to move in on his target much earlier than it would had it remained darker later into the night.
He knew the woman didn’t get home until a little after six thirty, which gave him just enough time to sneak between the two houses, camouflage himself in the overgrown shrubs and pop the basement window he would use to access the woman’s home.
Everything went off without a hitch. The neighborhood seemed to be hibernating, many of the houses showing absolutely no sign of life. It took less than five minutes to access the basement, with no evidence of his passing unless someone was to push aside the hedges to see the lone broken window yawning into the dark basement.
When he entered he cleaned up the glass and walked all around the basement, making plans as he surveyed the area. He found a dark corner and created a blind, where he could see the stairs and washing machine. He hoped he didn’t have to, but if it came to it, he could surprise her down here and hold her until late, when he could make his getaway. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Knowing that he had a preliminary plan in place, the man ventured upstairs to get a look at the house’s floor plan. It always worked out best when he knew his surroundings, particularly when operating in the darkness. Glancing at his watch, he saw that while he didn’t have a great deal of time, he did have a few minutes where he could venture out of the basement.
Besides scoping out the house, this gave him something to do. The waiting part was always the worst, and he knew that unless something happened that caused his plan to unfold, he would be waiting a very long time tonight. He dreaded the internal struggle he was about to engage in. Granted, the eventual release was well worth it, but the down time, the time of the hunt, was synonymous with torture.
He remembered the last one, the one with the light hair. She had almost stumbled on him while he waited. He had forced himself to remain as calm as he could, resisting the urge to jump out and take her right there. The children were still awake and he did not want them seeing him, or worse yet, seeing what he was going to do to their mother. They didn’t deserve that, no one deserved that.
He remembered back to his own childhood when his mother would bring home any man she could wrap her filth riddle legs around. She had absolutely no regards for her son. There were days that he would huddle in a corner of the small apartment, listening as his mother screamed and laughed in the bedroom as she serviced strangers. When she did talk to him it was usually accompanied by a backhand and disparaging remarks. She called him a disease, a plague left to her by his father. She would feed him only when she felt like it, often allowing him to go for days without a meal. He remembered sneaking things from the cupboard, hoping that she wouldn’t notice.
He was found wandering around out in the street when she had absently left the door unlocked one day. The authorities arrested his mom and put him in foster care, where he stayed for the next ten years, until he was old enough to live on his own. Twice his mother attempted to see him. Both times he had resisted, but the courts had ordered the visits, refusing to deny the wretched woman her rights to see her child.
Every time he saw her he hated her more. Every time he heard her name he got physically ill, disgusted that he had spent the first eight years of his life in the presence of such a horrid wretch of a woman. When he heard that she had died of an overdose, mere months after she had been released from prison, he had rejoiced by drinking more than he ever thought possible. The next day, his head aching and his stomach rolling with hangover he made up his mind that he was going to make her pay for everything she had done to him.
His mind snapped back to the present as he stood that the top of the steps, his hand on the door know which opened to the rest of the house.
“Concentrate,” he whispered to himself. “Get your shit together Robert, you only get one chance with this.”
He turned the doorknob, but only after spending more than a few seconds listening to make sure there was no moment coming from within the house itself.
He had been meticulous with choosing this particular woman. He had watched her, along with six or seven other woman for more than two weeks, ascertaining their schedules and routines before deciding which one was best.
This particular woman was very strict with her schedule. She woke around four thirty every morning and got ready for the morning. He had spent more than a few mornings over the last couple of days verifying that she remained regimented from day to day. At six thirty the small one car garage would open and she would pull her beat up little Accord out, her son seated on the right rear seat, her daughter on the left.
Upon leaving she would drive the two children to a house approximately a mile and a half away, drop them off and then drive another three miles to a small machine shop where she stayed until six o’clock. It was apparent she was sucking up all the overtime she could because she repeated this routine every day until the weekend, when she altered her schedule and slept in until about seven.
He knew she climbed into bed around ten o’clock every night. She evidently slept with the television on because three days ago he had ventured a peek in her windows and noticed that even though it was well after midnight, the television was still on. He knew that this worked to his benefit. The noise of the TV would drown out any sound he may make. This one was lining up to be a simple one.
The house was surprisingly orderly. He never had high expectations for his chosen. This woman was exceptional however. The little house was very clean, the décor old and a bit dated, but nonetheless decent. For having two children, it was exceptionally well organized. A large toy box occupied one wall of the small living room, it contents stuffed inside, the lid unable to close because of the plethora of plastic and wooded toys placed within.
The furniture in the room looked like worn hand-me-downs but lacked any tears or stains. A small twenty inch television sat on a TV tray in one corner, various cords leading to a cheap, outdated video game system, sitting beneath the tray. The dark blue shag carpet was worn in places, but apparently she had vacuumed earlier that day because tread lines could be seen throughout. He dared not venture into the room, as he did not want to disturb the patterns in the carpet, nor risk walking past the large picture window that looked out into the front yard. He was relieved to see the heavy curtains drawn to each side of the window and knew that the woman closed them at night. When he had first arrived at the house tonight he hadn’t seen the curtains closed and hoped that by some act of faith she hadn’t removed them for cleaning or any other reason.
The children’s rooms were at one end of the house. The boy’s room was straight down the hall, the daughter’s through a door on the left. He spent more than a few moments in each room, knowing that if the woman chose to fight back that this would be where she would do it.
Leaving the boy’s room the man was alarmed by the high pitched squeak that accompanied the door as he closed it. He quickly retreated to the small one car garage, rummaging around in cabinets full of paint and half filled containers of oil, kerosene and other chemicals until he found a rusty, half filled can of WD40. He returned to the house and with a quick squirt, oiled the squeaky hinge. Rocking the door back and forth the scream of the old rusting metal worked its way out until the door swung silently. The man smiled to himself, knowing that careful planning was what made him exceptional.
Leaving the boy’s room the man checked out the little girl’s bedroom. It was pretty typical, painted pink and purple with plenty of stuffed animals, dolls and toddler toys. The children slept in a toddler bed in the far corner of the room. As he left the room he was sure the little one would be no problem at all.
The rest of the house was unremarkable. A small bath was the only other room in the main hallway connecting the mother’s room to those of her children. The man entered the small lavatory and glanced around. He chuckled at the pattern of clowns and circus attractions that adorned the walls. This was certainly nothing he would decorate the main bath of his house in.
At the other end of the hall was the master bedroom, and adjoining bath. It too was nothing spectacular, though the bed was made and four decorative pillows were meticulously placed along the head board. Nothing was out of place. Even the bathroom was organized, the various bottles of lotions and soaps all arranged by size on the small vanity.
He pulled the shower curtain back and was rewarded with his first sign of disorganization. The wash cloth that she had used was balled up on the floor of the tub, still wet and soggy. The corner of the tub was covered in a layer of dried soap scum. There were multiple bottles of shampoo in a rack hanging from the shower head, one empty, the others in various states of fullness. It was evident that the woman’s sense of order didn’t apply to her own shower.
The sound of a garage door opening caused the man to startle. As quickly as possible, and with extreme caution, he retreated to the refuse of the basement. He closed the door just as he heard the first of the car doors slam no more than thirty feet from where he stood. As he slowly and silently made his way down the wooden basement steps he realized that the waiting had begun. This was always the worst part.

CHAPTER 5:
Stephanie allowed herself to sit on the edge of her bed and do what she did every night after she had tucked the kids in and made sure they had both fallen asleep: she cried.
Her face was in her hands as she reminisced about the great times she had spent in this house with her now ex-husband, and how difficult it was now. She blamed herself for his damned infidelity, then rescinded it and blamed him.
She had thought that they had a good marriage. Sure, it wasn’t storybook, they certainly didn’t have everything they ever dreamed of, but they were happy. It was as if God had touched them when their son, Michael was born six years ago, and again three year’s later when their daughter Lilly was born. Had anyone asked, Stephanie would have said that she couldn’t have been happier. Here she was with a cute little house, two beautiful children and a wonderful husband that loved her dearly.
It was a huge surprise when he had come home from work one night eight months ago and announced that he was leaving her. He apologized and told her that he just didn’t love her anymore, that he had been feeling trapped for a long time. She remembered trying to convince him to stay, to get counseling, but in the end he revealed to her that he had been having an affair and that was simply the end.
Stephanie had tried to convince herself that she could forgive him, but she knew she couldn’t. Besides, he wasn’t coming back to her anyway. In the end he moved out and when the papers came, she simply signed them and consigned herself to single motherhood. It bothered her greatly that Steven hadn’t even tried to fight for the kids. He told her that he never really thought himself father material but he knew she wanted kids. Everything she ever believed was nothing more than a fairy tale concocted from the illusion playing out in front of her eyes. Devastated couldn’t describe how she felt.
So, now here she was, working in a filthy factory, doing a job she hated but knew she had to keep in order to continue to keep her house and care for Michael and Lilly. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to live this way very long, but something told her that she would be, that the fairy-tale was just a dream. For that reason alone she allowed herself these moments; moments when she just let herself go, eventually recomposing and consigning herself to the future.
After a good fifteen minutes, short by her normal standards, she shook off the depression that threatened to overcome her and went into the bathroom to clean up. Looking in the mirror she saw the face of a twenty-nine year old but couldn’t keep from feeling a great deal older. She had been a real looker when she was got married to Steve. She was still fairly attractive, but the last six months had been so difficult that she couldn’t help but notice more and more gray in her long brown hair, or spot a once unnoticed wrinkle forming at the corner of her eye.
“Oh well,” she said out loud to herself, “it isn’t like you are going out on dates every weekend.”
Letting out a sign, she turned away and reached into the tub and turned on the faucet, letting the water to get to just the right temperature before toggling the knob that caused the water to pour out of the shower head. She stripped out of her clothes, leaving them piled on the floor of the bathroom, unconcerned about them right now and desperate to feel the near scalding water on her work weary shoulders and back.
She closed her eyes as she allowed the heat of the water to soak into her body, feeling it as it relaxed both her muscles and spirit. She ran her hands through her hair, feeling the slick grease from the machine shop. It was a disgusting feeling, but a little shampoo and a healthy dose of conditioner could fix that. As she reached for the bottle she heard the thud of her bedroom door as it hit the wall just outside of the bathroom.
“Michael,” she called, “I’m in the shower sweetie. You need to go back to bed, you have school tomorrow.”
She listened, wondering what had brought the boy up out of bed. Maybe he had a nightmare. He’d been having more and more of them since Steve had left them.
“Michael?” she asked again, cocking her head so she could hear. Nothing. She began to wonder if she had been hearing things.
Quickly she finished with her hair, washed her body and climbed out, wrapping an oversized towel around her dripping frame.
“Michael,” she again called out, half expecting to see him lying in her bed, sound asleep. She was surprised when she saw that he wasn’t.
“Hmmm,” she thought, slightly conscientious as she padded down the hall naked other than the towel. It didn’t really matter, the lights were off and the blinds were closed. She allowed herself to chuckle at the thought of a peeping tom. “Maybe I should leave my blinds open,” she considered. “Maybe then I’ll get a date!”
She got to Michael’s door, situated at the end of a short hall, just past the main bath. The door was slightly ajar, just as she had left it. As she grasped the knob and gave it a gentle push she remarked at how quiet the door was. Normally it had a squeak that she always feared would waken the boy when she checked on him at night. This time it slid open silently.
The night light in Michael’s room cast shadows across the boy’s room, but the child himself was clearly illuminated by the dim bulb. There he was nestled beneath his Spiderman comforter, his mouth open, the breath of deep sleep breaking the silence of the room.
The woman stared in on her son. He was a wonderful little boy, gallant in the way he had accepted the role of man of the house. He had insisted in more responsibility since his father had left. Some things she allowed him to do, like take the trash out to the garage to throw in the trash hopper. Others, like mowing the lawn, she had to come up with compromises, like letting him clean up rocks and sticks from the yard before she fired up the old push behind mower. He even insisted on checking to make sure all the tires were properly inflated with air before they went any place. He would walk around the car, kneeling down and pushing his thumb into the black rubber. When he was sure they were properly filled he would give each a kick and announce that they were all good before climbing up into his car seat and buckling himself in.
He was her little man, and she still couldn’t believe, even six years after his birth that she found herself loving him more everyday. While her life was truly miserable, she took solace in the fact that she had her children.
Before the memories could overwhelm her, she blink the first semblance of tears away and backed out of the room, again marveling at how the door, so noisy just this morning, had inexplicably fixed itself. “Oh well,” she shrugged. “Guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
She repeated the process in her daughter, Lilly’s room. She rarely worried about the little girl who seemingly turned her never ending supply on and off at will. When Lilly settled into bed she was done. It typically took less than five minutes for the girl to drift off. The only way the little blond three year old woke up was if her mother coaxed her awake, typically with promises of pancakes or a big bowl of Lucky Charms.
She too was burrowed in her blanket, these decorated with Care Bears and rainbows. Stephanie suddenly became aware of the cool temperature and shuddered, the towel not doing much to keep her warm. She took another glance at the sleeping toddler and pulled the door closed as she left, leaving it only slightly ajar so she could hear the girl if by chance, slight as it may be, awoke sometime during the night.
The woman walked back down the hall to her room, pulling the towel off as she closed her bedroom door. She walked over, flipped on the small television sitting on top of her dresser. The ten o’clock news was on, the weather forecaster talking about how the November nights were about to dip below the freezing mark later in the week.
Stephanie ignored what the middle-aged meteorologist was saying and walked over to the mirror to exam her body. As sad as she was with the downturn her life had taken, and as frustrated she was by the signs of aging appearing in her hair and face, she was still proud of the shape her body was in. She had fought hard to regain her form after the pregnancies, exercising in the evenings, watching what she ate and slowly re-toning her stretched flesh. It was something she had initially done for Steve, knowing how attractive he had found her when she was a young twenty year old, working at a concession stand down by the beach on Lake Michigan.
Now it was a habit that she felt she needed maintain. He could go ahead and leave her for some other woman, but it wasn’t going to be because she had let herself go. In her mind she knew she would find someone else and she wanted to be ready for him when she did.
Looking at herself in the mirror made her feel good about herself. She laughed as self-consciousness overtook her. “Get dressed you idiot,” she said aloud, moving to the dresser and pulling panties and an oversized t-shirt from the drawers. She grabbed her towel and threw it on top of the pile of dirty clothes that still sat in the middle of the floor of her bathroom.
“I’ll get those tomorrow,” she promised herself, pulling back the covers and flipping off the light on the table beside her bed. She propped her head up on the pillows and watched the news, hoping she would be able to stay awake long enough to catch Letterman’s monologue. She never made it through the sports.

CHAPTER 6:
The key to getting the women to cooperate was to get between them and their children. The man knew this and played by that strategy each time he took one of them. That’s why when the woman heard him bang the door against the wall he immediately moved to the boy’s room.
He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. Never had he allowed his impatience to get the best of him. The fact that he had screwed up only made him angrier at the woman. The rage was building and he had to force himself to slow his breathing and relax.
When she had checked on the boy he had seen her wrapped only in a large yellow towel as he peered through the crack of the boy’s bedroom door. He was boy a mere six inches from her and he could practically smell her from where he hid. Had she taken even one more step into the room he would have grabbed her. He was glad it hadn’t went down that way. He was afraid he would wake the boy and in his heart he really didn’t want anything bad to happen to the boy or his sister. It was their mother, the filthy whore that he was after. The children didn’t deserve to see this. When she had turned and closed the door he continued to hold his breath until he knew she was gone. He promised himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Waiting in the basement he could only wonder what the sounds upstairs were and whom they were made by. He knew that eventually the noise would settle down as the night grew longer. He predicted that the children would be asleep by nine o’clock, but wanted to give much more time than that. A little after ten he heard the water running in the woman’s bathroom and decided to venture forth, the darkness and the doldrums of waiting just grating on his nerves and forcing that uncontrollable feeling of despair into his mind.
He had ventured towards the woman’s room, its door slightly ajar. He pulled on the knob, pulling the door open and stood in the doorway listening. The woman sang as she showered and he smiled at the happy tune she was crooning. As he listened he allowed himself to get lazy and accidently leaned on the door, causing it to bang loudly against the wall. That was when she had called out.
He had retreated to the boy’s room immediately, closing the distance between his victim and that which she sought to protect. As he hid behind the door he fought the anger that washed over him. He knew that it was a bad time, that not enough of the night had passed. He would wait, and then he would do what needed to be done.

The clock on the nightstand read two twenty-eight and the house was as still as it always was once the children had went to sleep and the calm of early morning blanketed this part of the world. Even in the normalness, Stephanie knew something was wrong. She had awoken with a start, as if someone had thrown a cold bucket of water on her. She sat straight up in bed and looked around, not knowing what it was, but knowing something was happening.
Her room was dark, the moon outside hidden by clouds so not even that afforded her any light. She surveyed the room, looking for something, even though she had no idea what it was. She closed her eyes and listened, hoping to hear something, but at the same time dreading it. The only sound she heard was the methodical ticking of an old plastic clock out in the living room.
She forced herself to relax, slowing her breathing as she told herself that nothing was wrong, that maybe she had had a bad dream that had simply disappeared with her waking. She laid her head back down and stared at the clock on the night stand. She watched for a few minutes as the red numbers ticked up for each passing minute. She refused to accept that everything was all right, it had all seemed so real.
“Don’t be stupid,” she told herself. “Everything is okay. You are just paranoid. Admittedly she had been a bit more sensitive to noises, strangers and just about everything else ever since Stephen had left her. She just needed to convince herself that everything was all right, then she could get back asleep.
She laid there for another ten minutes watching the clock until she closed her eyes and attempted to convince herself it was okay to relax. It took her about a minute more before she realized what was wrong. She could hear the clock ticking in the living room, but when she went to bed her door was closed and she could hear nothing.
The man spoke as the woman reached for the light on the nightstand beside her bed.
“Do not touch the lamp or Michael will get hurt. Hurt very, very bad.” His voice sounded menacing in the dark, the deep baritone resonating through the room, finding the woman’s ears.
She jumped, even though he was sure she had figured out that he was there. Typically people just went back to sleep, but the man had watched enough people to know when their instincts had kicked in. This is exactly what was happening here.
“What are you doing in my house?” she proclaimed defiantly.
The man did not like the tone she had taken, she came across as confrontational and right now, with the man on edge, it was nothing he could really handle. The man knew how to leverage what he had in his favor.
“Right now the one thing you should be asking is ‘are my children still breathing’ you wretched bitch,” he insulted her.
Evidently that was enough to convince the woman that he was serious. He heard her inhale quickly, gulping at air before she spoke again, her voice now pleading.
“Please, you didn’t hurt my children did you?” she now questioned, suddenly understanding the seriousness of the situation.
“Just listen and the kids will be all right,” he commanded. “Right now they are sleeping, completely oblivious that I am here. You need to keep it that way, otherwise they will be having some terrible nightmares for the rest of their lives. Now, you need get up.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked, crawling from the bed, trying to get a good look at the intruder. His voice didn’t sound familiar and the shadowy form he took in the darkness was impossible to tie to any individual.
She could tell that he was tall, maybe six three or four and had a thick build, though that could have been attributed to the heavy coat he was wearing. She couldn’t make out a weapon, but it was dark and she didn’t know if his hands were in his pockets or not. She watched as he slid toward the bedroom door, blocking off her path of escape, had she attempted to make a run for the children.
“Now, you are going to do exactly as I tell you, otherwise Michael and his beautiful little sister are going to have an experience that no child should live though. Do you understand?” he asked.
She nodded in agreement, though the faint sobbing was a better sign of her acquiescence.
“You need to get dress and put some shoes on. You can just wear these,” he ordered as he tossed the dirty clothes that had previously lain on the floor of the bathroom.
They hit her square in the chest and fell to the floor. She picked up the grungy jeans, smelling the odor of oil and coolant. She pulled them on over her bare legs and quickly buttoned them, tucking in the oversized gray t-shirt she had worn to bed. There was no way she was changing her shirt in front of this monster.
“My shoes are by the front door,” she stammered.
“That’s fine,” he replied. “Now, get over here and make sure you stay quiet. I need not remind you the importance of your children staying asleep.”
She made her way across the bedroom until she stood in front of him. She could see his face faintly in the dark. He was a bit rough looking, a couple days worth of scraggily hair on his chin and cheeks. His eyes were dark, but she could feel a scowl as he peered down at her. His hair was cropped short and a bit disheveled as if he had ran his hands through and ruffled it.
He grabbed her wrist and she instinctively pulled away from him. She could feel the gloved hand tighten pulling her back to him.
“Listen to me you little whore,” he growled, his tone changing, causing a surge of panic to well up inside her. “Don’t fuck with me because I am not going to tell you this twice.”
Stephanie wasn’t sure of where it came from, but a knife appeared in the stranger’s left hand and pressed against her throat.
“You are going to do exactly as I tell you, or I’m going to go in and gut your son like a fish. You don’t believe I’ll kill him, just try me. I’m not screwing around,” he said through clenched teeth.
All she could do is nod, panic threatening to overwhelm her.
He continued, the feral sound in his voice not diminishing, “I’m going to let go of you. You’re going to go to the front door and slip on your shoes. Then you’re going to open the door. Don’t take anything with you. You won’t need you jacket, or your fucking purse. I’m not taking you shopping.”
He continued, “About fifty yards up the street there is a dark green Ford Taurus parked on the street. You need to go and open the back passenger side door. It’s unlocked. Just open the back door and get in. You’ll find along the back seat a latch that will fold down the seat and give you access to the trunk. I want you to climb into the trunk and latch it behind you.”
In the darkness the man saw her stare at him in disbelief in what he was asking her to do. Then she glanced over his shoulder towards the end of the hallway where her children slept. He knew all of her resolve had melted away when she finally nodded in unspoken resignation.
He walked her to the front door, his thick fingers gripping her elbow through leather gloves she just now noticed. “Do not run to the car, do not do anything that will call attention to yourself. I will be watching, and if I see a neighbor’s light come on, if I see a window blind open up, if I hear a dog bark, I will kill your son. You need all the luck you can muster right now bitch, you need to be invisible.”
He released her arm and twisted the door knob, swinging the door open and taking a step backwards.
Stephanie was almost trancelike as she walked out the front door and into the chilled night. She slowly closed the door behind her as quietly as possible. Up the street she saw the Taurus and slowly moved towards it.
Her biggest fear right now was that a neighbor’s light would come on or some random noise would rouse the people from their sleep.
The air was chilly on her bare arms, but she hardly noticed. Her focus was on the sedan parked down the street. Glancing side to side, to make sure no one saw her, she crept down the steps. Rather than walk along the sidewalk, Stephanie quickly cut across the grass. The lawn was dewy and cold, chilling her physically to go with the bitter cold of the terror she was current living.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached the car parked unobtrusively on the side of the street. It was a dark green Ford Taurus, just like her captive had described. Stephanie grabbed the handle of the passenger back seat door, just like she had been told when she ventured a glance back at her little house. From where she stood she could see the window of Michael’s room and what she saw chilled her to the bone. Standing in the window was the man, watching