Vanessa Reigns stepped out, into the darkness, of the night. Her long shift, at the department store, was over and she was, highly, anticipating her weekend off. After her boyfriend proposed, three days ago, they had planned a nice vacation, for the weekend. Even after a hard day, her heart still fluttered, with excitement.

The soft clicking, of her heels, filled the air, along with the rustling leaves. The chilly, late night, autumn air drifted through her hair. A shiver ran down her spine as her dark hair brushed over her shoulders. Wrapping her sweater, around her, tighter, she quickened her pace.

As the store’s manager, she was unfortunate enough, to be the last one out the door. The deserted parking lot offered absolutely no safeguard, for the young woman. She hated leaving, after hours, and tonight would be the perfect example, for why she had the right to that fear.

Reaching her car, she opened the unlocked door, oblivious to her surroundings, and not noticing the rusted truck that was parked at the far end, of the parking lot. She didn't hear the shallow breathing, in the backseat, nor did she peek over her shoulder, as she slid into the black Buick. Her nightly routine went into play, as she locked the door, before quickly sweeping her hair off her neck, and restraining it in a loose ponytail. The soft white skin, of her neck was exposed, only to be seen by the soft glow, of the solitary street light, that stood a hundred, or so, feet away.

The car’s engine came to life, and her manicured nails flicked on the bright head lights. Just like every other night, she reached into her purse, for an after work cigarette and her lighter. The radio played just loud enough that she didn’t hear the shifting, in the backseat, as she lifted the unlit cigarette, to her lips.

The man sat up, almost, silently. Tilting his head, he watched the attractive young woman light her cigarette. He licked his lips, leaning close enough, to smell the soft apple scent, of her hair. Letting his eyes drift shut, only for a moment, he thought of all the things he could do to such a fine specimen. Slowly, his hands crept up the back, of the seat, toward her shoulders.

His hands were large, and his fingers long, smooth latex covering them. He loved to watch them wrap around slender necks, just like hers. “Not tonight.” He told himself. They had given him a nickname, now. He had seen it, on the news earlier that night, and was now determined, to stick to that name. He knew the investigators were stumped and that pleased him, greatly.

A smirk crossed his lips, as he let his arm wrap around the seat, and across her neck, pinning the defenseless woman against the cold leather. With fear coursing through her veins, she squirmed beneath the man’s hold. Her eyes darted around, trying to find a glimpse or reflection, of the man, but it was no use. Hot tears nestled in the corners, of her eyes, as her fingers desperately pried, at the man’s arm. The grip he had, on her, was strong, though, lifting her up, slightly. No longer did her feet touch the floor, of the car, as her legs kicked wildly. One of her heels clunked, to the floor, as her other knee hit the horn.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. It will be over soon,” his voice crooned, with a mock sweetness. The hot breath, from his lips, brushed over her ear, and it caused her entire body to stiffen. As his other hand cupped her breast, she tried to let out a scream, but was immediately silenced when his grip, over her throat, tightened.

“P…p…pl…ea…se…” Vanessa tried to beg, but her breaths were strained and her vision was blurring. Her eyes fluttered shut, as her body stopped moving. The voices, in her head, screamed at her, to fight, but she couldn’t make her body obey. Tingles engulfed her senses, as darkness overcame her mind.

“You know…women like you use to beg me all the time…but it was for something completely different than, for me, to spare their life.” A bitter laugh escaped the man’s lips, as he climbed out of the car. Opening her door, he removed her limp body, from the car. Laying her on the ground, he observed her light breathing, and her paling skin. Stepping over her, he retrieved the cigarette, from the car’s seat, taking a hit from it. The small burn that the cigarette had left, on the leather, did not escape his sight. The gears, in his mind churned, as he held up the cigarette, to inspect it.

He wasn’t too worried, about being in the vast open. The large department building blocked the highway’s view, of the parking lot; and since it was well past midnight, now, he knew the local cops would be at the coffee shop, downtown, for their late night fill ups. The soft glow, from the lone street light, failed to illuminate much, around him, leaving them cast in dark shadows. Observing the surroundings, he knelt beside the young woman, and ran his fingers through her hair. He loved the feeling of the soft silky locks.

After taking another hit, his hand moved toward her face; then he slowly pressed the cherry, to the soft skin of her cheek. Grunts and soft moaning came from her throat, as he continued to make several lasting marks, on her porcelain-like face. His smirk grew wider, with every new burn that he inflicted, and then his satisfaction grew, as her eyes snapped open and her voice pierced the night air.

The man couldn’t deny the thrill he felt, as his fingers reached down, to grasp his jagged hunting knife that he called his ‘sidekick’. Pulling it from the sheath, strapped to his leg, he held it up, to inspect the eight inch, serrated, blade. He licked his lips, as he let a finger run over the smooth side of the blade.

Having regained consciousness, Vanessa began to fight, once again. Her body felt weak, as she tried to scoot, and crawl, away from her predator. Tears began to stream down her face, as she felt his hand grasp her ankle and pull her back, across the pavement, to him. Her frightened eyes took in the sight, of him, looking over his latex covered hands that held the knife, and the plastic rain gear that covered his body.

Leaning down, to her, his hand grasped her chin tightly; before he let his lips cover hers. Fighting against him, she tried to free herself, from his grasp. Without warning, his other hand plunged the knife deep, into her chest. Her hands flew up, again, trying to hit and grab at the assailant, as she fought, for her life. Vanessa cried out, into her killer’s mouth, as he continued to kiss her while he twisted the blade and let it tear through her heart. Only a few moments later, the woman’s arms fell, lifelessly, to the pavement.

“See, baby? I told you it would be over soon.” He broke his lips, away from hers, and sat back, on his heels, to look at his latest victim. Grabbing the hem, of her shirt, he wiped off his sidekick, before stuffing it back into its home. Taking one last look, he stood up, and walked toward his truck.

Howard Dorough’s eyes drifted open, five minutes before his alarm clock was due, to go off. Shifting onto his side, he flipped off the alarm, before sitting up. Bringing both hands up, he lazily rubbed the sleep, from his eyes. His fingers, then, drifted up, to run through his short, dark hair, smoothing it out. Looking over his shoulder, he glanced at this sleeping wife, before lifting himself off the bed. His feet brushed across the soft carpet, as he headed for the bathroom.

Each morning was the same routine…Howard Dorough was a creature, of habit, and he liked things to stay consistent. His job, however, was anything other than consistent. As soon as he stepped foot, into the office, he had to be ready for anything, and everything. Just when he thought his day would be predictable, something would come along, and throw it for a loop.

That morning, though, he had an uneasy feeling, settled in his gut. It was not an uncommon feeling, for him, so he pushed it to the back, of his mind, as he slipped into his navy blue suit. Slicking some gel, into his hair, he stared at his reflection, in the mirror.

The man had it good, and he knew it. There was the upscale home loaded with leather furniture, home entertainment systems, elegant dinnerware, outside pool, Jacuzzi, and so much more. Add in several fancy cars, designer clothes, his wife’s expensive jewelry, and the house maid; and that gives you Howard Dorough’s plush life.

Not to mention that Leigh was everything he could ask for, in a wife. She was a caring woman, smart and understanding, always supportive of his, sometimes, crazy hours. He loved her, more than anything, and would do anything she asked. Howard had given her his heart, long ago, and had had no intentions, of ever receiving it back.

Finishing his morning rituals, he made his was down the carpeted, winding staircase. Flipping on the kitchen light, he settled himself at the breakfast nook. He let out a breath, as he snatched a banana, from the wooden bowl in front of him. Watching the coffee pot kick on, he sat quietly eating his fruit. By the time he had discarded the peel, the coffee was done brewing. After filling up his mug, he grabbed his black leather suitcase and headed out the door.

Entering the garage, he made his way, to his ‘baby’. He only drove the Titan Grey, Bentley Grand Tourer, to work. It was sleek and sophisticated…and he liked how professional he looked, when he rolled up, to the office, in the luxury car. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he set his briefcase on the seat, beside him. Bringing the engine, to life, he set out, on his route, to work.

It was only 20 minutes later, when he pulled into the parking garage. He took his usual path into the large building, up the elevator, and toward the homicide department. The department was buzzing, as he walked through the door. He took in the sight of his co-workers bustling around, papers practically flying. Something was up, and he knew it.//he even had a hunch, as to what it was.

“Dorough!” The head, of homicide, came sprinting, toward him. He was much taller, than Howard, and very popular, with the ladies. The man was built well, with short, spiked, blonde hair.

“Good morning, Mr. Knowles.” Howard politely greeted, the slightly older man. Lucas Knowles was a year older than Howard, but looked a few years younger…he had that baby face, that still got him carded, in the bar. Most men, in the department, would give anything, to be Lucas Knowles. Even Howard caught himself wondering, about it, sometimes.

“I reassigned all your cases, to other detectives. I need you on the Defacer case.” Howard followed his boss, through the mass, of bustling homicide detectives. Lucas grabbed a few files, from various people, as he led Howard, to his office. “You’re the best one; I’ve got, in this department, Dorough. I need you, on this case. I’ve already re-assigned the cases you were working on, so you’ll be solely working on the Defacer, now.”

“I’m gathering that he struck again?” Howard lifted a brow, as Lucas flipped through the files. Letting out a long sigh, Lucas looked up and nodded.

“Yes. Last night.” Lucas dropped the file, onto his desk, and set to filling Howard in, on the details. “Same MO. There’s a team, still, out there, now. Once again we have no prints…no fibers…no witnesses…no leads…no nothing! And…of course, the woman’s face was disfigured, pretty, badly.”

“You think…I mean could he be like…a cop, or ex-cop, or something? He seems to know everything not to do.” Howard leaned forward, taking the papers that Lucas was, now, holding out. His eyes scanned over the papers…there really wasn’t much information, on this guy.

“We better head out. You need to take a look, at the scene.” Lucas stood, stacking the papers, neatly, on his desk. “There’s not much there, as far as evidence, but you have to see what this guy is capable of.”

“Alright.” Howard nodded, as he stood. Once again, he followed Lucas, back through the bustle, of the department. They headed out, to their vehicles, as Lucas continued to talk, about this serial killer that was preying the young woman, of the Orlando area…this murderer that they knew, practically, nothing about.

Howard knew the case pretty well, even though he was not, previously, assigned to it. Heck, the whole country was familiar with the case. It was the highlight, on the news, every day and in every newspaper’s headlines. Endless calls poured into the police departments, across the state, yet none of them gave the slightest break, in the case. Police were baffled and homicide detectives were confused. This was the most professional killer that they had come across, throughout Howard’s career, in the department.

Arriving, at the scene, Howard saw swarms, of people, filling the parking lot. Television crews were breaking their necks, trying to get a story and a good shot, of the scene. Homicide detectives and police officers scrambled around the scene; some taking pictures and scouring for any kind, of evidence, while others questioned the store’s employees and others worked at controlling the crowds that were trying, to get a look.

“Let me through, people…homicide detective…step aside.” Howard’s voice was even, but firm, as he pushed through the crowd, making his way around the masses. His eyes were fixed ahead, as he neared the yellow ‘crime scene’ tape. “Detective Dorough…homicide.” He flashed his identification, to the officers on the other side, of the tape.

“Come on through.” The younger man nodded, motioning the detective to cross the line, of tape. Howard lifted the tape, and ducked under it, making his way, toward the ugly scene. He was taken aback, noticing that the victim had not, yet, been removed, from the scene. She was covered, with a standard white sheet, of sorts. Usually, the victim would be long gone, by now and off, to receive a full autopsy. He couldn’t keep himself, from wondering why her body was, still, at the scene.

“Dorough!” Spinning, toward the voice, Howard’s eyes landed on a familiar face. Seeing as the entire Orlando area was covering this case, there were a lot, of faces, that Howard did not know, or had only seen a few times. This was one, of those, that he knew, by name.

“Morning, Bradford.” The two men nodded, at each other, and began walking toward the scene. “I’ve just been re-assigned. Has Knowles arrived, yet? He was right behind me.”

“He was here earlier, this morning, but I haven’t seen him again, no. He did mention that he was going to bring you in, on this one. It’s a humdinger, Dorough…a real doosey.” They came to a stop, next to the victim’s car.

“How can there not be any evidence? There has to be something. This is the fifth murder. It just doesn’t add up, that we haven’t found a single piece, of evidence.” Scrunching his eyebrows, he slipped on the pair, of rubber gloves that was offered, to him, by another detective.

He, slowly, creaked open the driver’s side door. Leaning down, he peered inside. It was obvious, to him, that the car had been looked over a hundred times, already, by who knows how many, officers and detectives. Evidence markers littered the interior, of the car, as well as the pavement, around the victim’s body.

“He attacked her inside the car, and then he dragged her out. He killed her on the pavement. This guy has no shame, Dorough. The bastard is sick…we can’t even establish a motive. There’s no pattern…no…no connection, between the victims. He just…targets pretty, young women.” Bradford kneeled down, beside the body, lifting one corner, of the sheet.

“Damn.” The whisper was barely audible, as Howard gasped, at the sight. He had seen his share of dead bodies, and many were in worse shape than this young lady, but something about the Defacer, made his stomach churn. The killer left his calling card, on his victims’ faces…he disfigured each woman’s face, before murdering them. The killer had been quickly named the Defacer, because of this habit.

Standing up, he drew in a deep breath, through his nostrils. The stench, of death, made a small shiver run, down his spine. Howard shook his head, and looked around, again. It sure did seem like a pretty clean scene. Any evidence would, obviously, be forensic…it was utterly disturbing. His eyes fell upon Knowles, walking toward him.

Howard knew this was going to be a long day, and, most likely, result in a long night, as well. He had a lot, of catching up, to do…files, to read…evidence and crime scene photos, to look over…autopsy reports, to review…yes, he was going to need a lot of coffee, tonight and, probably, a good headache medicine.

The news crews had been shooed off, long ago…most of the officers and detectives had already returned to their departments, satisfied with their reports. Howard, however, was far from satisfied. He continued to scour the scene, trying to memorize every faint detail. A rookie, on the police force, elected to stick around and followed behind him, snapping pictures and jotting down notes, at Howard’s instruction.

“Right here, Littrell.” The young man knelt beside Howard, on the far side, of the parking lot. “It might be nothing…but they are definitely fresh tracks. Someone was in a big hurry, to get out of here…and the tracks don’t line up, correctly, with the parking spaces.” Brian Littrell took several pictures, of the tire tracks, from various angles, making sure to get good shots of the tread patterns.

“How are you going to use these?” Bringing the camera down, away from his face, he looked up at the detective, curiosity in his eyes. He was only a couple years younger than Howard, but was very new, to the force. The younger man had a yearning, in his eyes, that Howard could respect…he wasn’t here to goof off…he was here to learn…he was there to help.

“When we catch this guy, every little piece of evidence is crucial. We may have the murder weapon from a different victim’s case, but if these tracks match those of the killer’s vehicle, it could be proof that he was on this scene…that would connect him to this murder.” Howard stood, his eyes scanning the area, for anything else unusual…anything that stood out, to him…anything, at all.

“But…aren’t there hundreds, or even thousands, of tires, that have the same tread pattern?” Brian asked question, after question, like a small child; but Howard wasn’t bothered or annoyed, by it…he knew it was part of the learning process, and he actually appreciated the younger man’s enthusiasm.

“Yes. It would, indeed, be coincidental evidence. Sometimes, though, coincidental evidence can be quite compelling, to a jury.” Howard gave him a crooked smile, before heading back toward the car.

“Oh…because the defense attorney couldn’t prove that it wasn’t the suspect’s vehicle, if the tire tread patterns match?” Following behind Howard, Brian ran a hand through his short, light brown hair.

“Precisely. However, the fact that the tracks were found in a parking lot…now that could work against us.” Titling his head, he took another look, over the victim’s car. Nothing new stood out, to him.

The victim’s body had been removed hours ago, and taken to the morgue. There would, most definitely, be a trip to that morgue, in Howard’s near future. He was not the type to let any stone go unturned…to allow any minor detail escape his view…no matter how hard the case was, Howard Dorough would barely rest, until he cracked the case wide open.

This was why he was often considered to be the department’s secret weapon. When Howard was called onto a case, it was kept under wraps…the news crews got harsh lectures, to not speak the detective’s name; and they, most often, listened. In past cases, suspects wised up, after hearing that Howard was on the case, and were more careful not to slip up.

“I think we’re done here, Littrell.” Howard righted himself and turned, to face the younger man. Reaching into the inside pocket, of his suit jacket, Howard pulled out his card. “It’s been a pleasure. Call me once you have those developed.”

“Yes Sir!” Brian Littrell nodded, taking the business card. “I will have them done as soon as possible.” After slipping the card into his pocket, he slipped the lens cover onto his camera.

“Thank you.” Giving him a polite nod, he turned, heading toward his vehicle. Both men departed the scene, going their separate ways. Once in his Bentley, he put a call, into his wife, telling her not to wait up, since it would be extremely late when he got home…if he made it home, at all.

Howard’s thoughts drifted, to his wife, as he pulled away from the crime scene. Leigh was everything, to him, and he was thankful that she was so understanding. She was always supportive and never complained, if he was late coming home. Not once, had she gotten mad, if he missed dinner…or had to cancel plans. No matter what his job threw, at them, she remained strong and encouraging. He couldn’t have asked, for a better woman, to be his wife.




Shifting in his seat, Howard drew in a sharp breath. His elbows resting on the table, he let one hand rub over his face, his fingers pausing, to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was nearing the four hour mark, amongst the five cases worth, of files and paperwork. Pictures scattered the table, before him. Slowly, his hand rubbed back over his face, coming to rest over his mouth.

“How can there be nothing?” He sighed, aloud, fiddling with a police report. Scrunching his brows, he began to read the paper, for what seemed like the millionth time.

There were so many pictures…so many police and morgue reports…so many files…so much potential evidence…yet, nothing gave him any clues or leads, to the murderer. There was nothing to go on…nothing to point an arrow at a possible suspect…no finger prints were ever left…not even a partial…forensics came up empty handed, when they poured over the fibers that had been pulled, from the crime scenes; each one had an explanation, there was nothing out of place.

The Defacer had skill, there was no doubt, about that. Eventually, though, he had to slip up…make a mistake…leave behind something…a clue, in some shape, or form. So far, though, there was nothing to go on and it frustrated Howard, to no end.

Every time his eyes drifted up, to the pictures, Howard’s stomach churned. The first victims face had been slit, from the corners of her mouth, to her ears…Black Dahlia style. Deep wounds covered the second victim’s face, rendering it unrecognizable. The third victim was worst, of all; if you asked Howard…her face had practically been skinned, exposing the raw flesh underneath. Defacer had just beaten his fourth victim’s face, and the most recent victim had incurred the countless cigarette burns. Each, and every, one turned Howard’s stomach.

Quickly, gathering the photos, Howard slipped them into their respective folders. He let out a frustrated sigh, as he neatly stacked the piles of papers, sorting them into their individual case files. He had had it, for the night…he needed a break. His head hurt…he was frustrated…and he wanted to be in his bed, next to his wife…not to mention the fact that his stomach couldn’t handle any more, of this, tonight.

Gathering everything, from the table, Howard lifted the large pile, into his arms. He hastily made his was through the empty building, dropping the pile onto his office desk. Locking up, as he left, he left the case, at the door.

As hard as it was, for any detective, to do…it was essential that your personal life was left, at the door, when you came into work…then your work life, and all its cases, were left behind, when you headed home. If your mind constantly swirled around the cases, you were working on, it could eat you alive…lives have been ripped apart…marriages have fallen apart…detectives and officers have become victims, themselves, in a figurative sense.

Howard had to be especially careful, because he was the type to, completely, throw himself into each case. Every crime became personal, to him…every victim became like family…he truly became attached to every case. Maybe that was why Howard committed himself, to cracking every one, of his cases…making sure every murderer faced justice, and every family received closure. It hit him hard; if a case went cold…he lost sleep for weeks at a time…and milled it over, as to what he had missed.

Parking the Bentley, Howard groaned and cut the engine. It was well past 3am, now, and he was exhausted. Each individual muscle screamed, at him, as he climbed from the car. Once in the house, Howard kicked off his shoes, by the door. He, then, wasted no time, making his way, up the stairs. Slowly, he pushed open the bedroom door, his eyes landing on his sleeping wife.

Howard lazily opened the dresser drawer, sifting through for something to sleep in. Grabbing a pair of silky pajama pants, he made his way, to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he slipped on his pants and shuffled back into the bedroom. His eyes were already drifting shut, while he pulled back the comforter. Sitting down, he clicked on the alarm, letting out a long yawn. He leaned over, giving his wife a gentle kiss, before settling under the covers.

His alarm would sound off, in only a few hours…that gave him just enough time, to catch a fairly descent power nap. It only took moments, before his eyes drifted shut and soft snores came from his throat.

“Our top story tonight: The Defacer strikes again, coming up next.” The large, theater style screen illuminated the oversized room. No lights were on, in the mansion sized, two story house. He liked the darkness…it reflected how he felt, in so many ways.

His eyes wandered, from the useless automotive commercial, and scanned around the room. From his position, on the large leather sofa, he could see into the foyer. His eyes were the only ones that saw the entryway, now…no one ever bothered to stop by or visit, anymore…no family...no friends…not a single soul. He had been abandoned…forgotten…cast out of minds and memories…well, aside from the news. He got plenty of attention, from the news, but yet, no one knew it was him and he still felt alone. It was The Defacer that got the attention, now, not the real person.

Looking into the lonely foyer, his eyes settled on his faithful ‘uniform’, as he called it. Sure, he wasn’t the brightest bulb, in the box, but he was no dummy, either. Each time he went, for his gruesome nights out, he adorned the dark green rain suit…that snapped up the front. His accessories included high rubber boots, that would have the rain suit’s cuffs tucked into them; thick latex gloves, that protected his fingers from leaving unwanted prints; a matching green ski hat, that covered his scruffy locks, of hair…the man was careful…he had all his bases covered and all the authorities fooled.

The piercing eyes that used to melt the hearts of more women than he could handle, were now filled with heart wrenching anguish. Turning back, to the television screen, a smirk tugged at the corners, of his lips. Officers talked about the newest crime, and the camera showed a shot of the crime scene. Part of him hated what he was doing, but part of him felt he was seeking revenge, for himself. He was a torn soul…one the so desperately wanted to be loved…to be accepted, like he once was.

His large palm rested on the remote control, as his slender finger pushed the channel button. Flashing repeatedly, the screen flipped channels, until it came to rest on a “Behind The Scenes” type show. No attention was paid to which channel it actually was, just to the story that was being told.

It was a cold story, that he watched, one that hit a way too close, to home…one that tore him, from the inside out, making his guts churn and palms sweat. Nickolas Gene Carter, was at the peak, of his career…he constantly had movies, in the theaters, women around the world adored him, he had money to burn, and lived in the fast lane. He was only 29 when tragedy struck the poor man’s life. Foolishness, some say, caused it…others beg to differ, that accidents are inevitable…yet others say it was the luck of the draw or just being in the wrong place, at the wrong time…while some say it was karma or fate, that was giving him his just due, for the things he had done, to others. Either way you slice it, his career was over…his image ruined…his life had come screeching to a devastating halt.

“It’s too bad that poor son of a bitch is still alive!” The words were so softly uttered, that he barely heard them himself, as he saw the disturbing picture, before him. Clicking the power button, the young man stood, throwing the remote, to the floor. Feeling like his feet were made of lead, he trudged up the stairs, murmuring to himself. The hallways were pitch black, not a ray of light to be seen, as he heavily climbed the stairs. Making it to his room, in the utter darkness, would have been a challenge for anyone else, but to him, it came naturally, now.

Once to his bathroom, he leaned over the sink’s edge, staring into the mirror. He hated mirrors…he hated to look, into them…he despised the reflection that always stared back, at him. All his dreams and prayers went to hoping he would wake up and not see that reflection…everyday he was disappointed.

Reluctantly, his finger tips rose, to graze over the scarred skin, upon his face. The physical pain, caused by the wounds, was long gone…but the emotional turmoil continued to haunt his heart and soul. The flesh looked like that of a zombie, or monster, of sorts…he was ashamed and embarrassed. His entire face was, once, so perfect, but then one day it adorned third degree burns, all over its surface…now, the wounds were healed and his face was terribly disfigured.

Tears nestled in his eyes, as he squeezed them shut. There was a time that he looked at others, judging them according to their looks…now it was his turn. People loved to stare at him, gawking at the sight of his obvious scars…laughing and poking fun. He had, long ago, come to his own conclusion that yes…karma had come back to bite him, in the ass. Now, with each murder, a part of him hoped that karma would show its face again, because, although he was fully capable of taking the lives of others, he was too chicken shit to take his own. He didn’t really want to die, but yet he surely did not want to live his life with this pain.

Sighing heavily, he debated on going out, but he knew he wasn’t properly prepared. There had been no research done, for a new victim and the last one was still too fresh. As already mentioned…he wasn’t the brightest bulb, in the box, but not a complete moron, either. Each murder had been carefully plotted, with no room for error.

Settling into his enormous bed, the young man cried himself to sleep…begging the heartache to stop and the pain to subside.

His hands grasping the large brass handle, Detective Dorough opened the heavy glass door, leading in to the department store. It was early afternoon, the day after the victim’s body had been found, and there were plenty of associates, to the young woman, that he would need to question. The memory, of a fellow worker, may hold a tiny piece, to this obscure puzzle…and in The Defacer case, any piece, no matter how tiny, was crucial.

Straightening his tie, and suit jacket, Howard stepped out of the warm afternoon air and peered around the lobby. It was a slow business day, by the looks of it, and that would surely work in his favor. His black dress shoes made hardly any noise, upon the tiled floor, of which he walked. Within moments, an employee stood before him, ready to welcome him.

“Good morning!” The cheery woman greeted him, with a warm, yet saddened, smile. “How may I help you Sir?” Her eyes seemed dull, as she met his gaze. He gathered that this employee had been greatly affected by the horrific events…it seemed obvious, to him, that she was close to the victim.

“Good morning Miss….Rose.” Taking note, of her name tag, he greeted her, in return. “My name is Howard Dorough, I’m with the Homicide Department. I would like to speak with a manager or supervisor, on duty, please.”

Several hours, and more questions than imaginable, later, Howard exited the building with no more information than what he had gone in with. None of the employees had seen anything unusual, or known of any enemies the victim may have had. Everything seemed in order…nothing stood out, to anyone. He was, at the least, discouraged and he hadn’t been on the case for a whole two days, yet…but he was no where near ready to give up. Running his fingers through his hair, he made his way to his car, and slipped into the plush interior.

Little did he know that the man he was ultimately looking for was boarding a bus, a mere ten miles away. His jeans were tattered and his worn ball cap pulled low, as he hung his head trying to conceal his face, from the public. He absolutely hated going out, into the public…he hated the stares and the stifled giggles…he hated how people looked at him. Finding an empty seat, in the middle of the bus, he discretely surveyed the other passengers, looking for his next target.

It was an hour later when he saw a young woman, no older than he, step onto the bus. He looked at her from the distance, taking in her appearance. She was a little different than the others, he had selected…not quite as skinny, but yet still very pretty. Allowing his eyes to roam over her body, he took in the sight of her curves, and shoulder length black hair. Her black jeans were paired with a black and red shirt, and clung to all the right places, making him decide she would be the one…the one that would be another number on his list. The woman was soaked, to the bone; he hadn’t even noticed that rain had started coming down in sheets, outside, nor had he paid attention to the lightening that streaked across the sky.

”She’ll do just fine.” he thought, as she drew closer. He let his head drop back down and he made sure his ball cap was pulled low, helping to hide his face. Now that he had chosen his next victim, he would have to do his research on her and…

“Excuse me…” Without thinking, he let his head pop up, to take a look at the woman that now stood next to his seat. “..is anyone sitting here?” She looked him straight in his eyes, giving him a warm smile.

“Uh…wh…what?” He stammered with his brows furrowed, in confusion, surely she couldn’t be talking to him! No one ever did, unless they had to. Inside of him, his stomach flipped around, doing summersaults, as he quickly dipped his head back down.

“I was asking if I could sit here.” The tone, of her voice was so warm…so friendly…so unlike anything he was used to hearing, these days. Making no verbal response, he scooted his body as close to the window, as he possibly could. “Thank you so much!” Out of the corner, of his eyes, he watched the woman slip into the seat beside him, taking notice of the small red purse that she placed on her lap. Red polish adorned her fingernails, and he couldn’t help but think of how well the color looked, on her.

“Y…yeah…sh..sh…sure…” Refusing to look up at her, again, he nodded his head before turning to stare out the window. He used to be so good with women, now he couldn’t even form a sentence around one…he couldn’t be sure if it was because of the way women treated him now or if it was just because he had never associated with a victim before they became…well….his victim. No matter what the cause, of it, his nerves were getting the best, of him.

“I just can’t believe how quickly this storm rolled in! I decided to walk, to the store today, since it was so nice out…and I mean, I knew there was rain coming in today, but I thought it would be later in the evening!” Was she talking to him? There had to be someone else, on this bus that she knew…yeah…she was surely talking to someone that she knew. He felt her shift in the seat and cautiously glanced over, at her, again, to find that she was looking right at him.

“Looks bad.” Turning his head, slightly, he unintentionally locked eyes with her. ”The prettiest light brown eyes.” His thoughts drifted, only for a moment, before they were interrupted, again, by her soft voice.

“A man of few words, I see.” A light chuckle bubbled from her throat…the very throat he had thought about wrapping his hands around, only a few minutes before. “Well, I’m hoping the weather will be nicer tomorrow…I have the day off from work and I was hoping to spend some time outside. The sunshine is so much nicer than the rain, don’t you think?” She sent him another smile that caught him by surprise…maybe she was blind, because she sure didn’t seem to notice his face.

“Uh…y…yeah…I…guess.” His shoulders shrugged, as he broke the eye contact, to stare at his fiddling hands. This woman was being so kind, and he couldn’t understand why, unless…it was pity! Inside, his blood temperature began to rise, when he thought about this woman taking pity upon him. He hated being alone, but he didn’t want pity either!

“Well, don’t worry…I’m not that scary, and I really don’t bite.” Another giggle escaped her throat, as she reached over, resting a hand on his shoulder. His body stiffened, and he jerked away from her delicate touch. “Oh come now! Surely you can’t be afraid of me, you look like you’re taller and obviously in better physical shape than me…and I know I’m not pretty enough to make a man get all tongue tied.” His head tilted, to glance at her…his eyes full of surprise. He could agree that she was no super model, but she was most certainly a pretty woman. The light brown eyes staring back, at him, had a slight twinkle to them that caused an uneasy feeling within him. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure about her being his next victim.

“I tend to be…quiet…uhm…people don’t…they don’t like to…talk to me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. Like he needed to explain himself, to this woman…like she would even care. Why would he bother to her anyone that…let alone a stranger, on a bus?

“Well…my stop isn’t for another half hour, and I would like it, very much, if you’d talk to me.” For the first time, he lifted his head, fully, sitting up straight and pushing up his cap slightly. He figured she would get up and switch seats, now, after seeing the disfiguration, from his scars. Wearing a frown, on his face, he waited a moment, preparing for a crude comment, before she left. “Now, see…you look much better when you sit up straight, like that.” Once again, her eyes remained on his. Realizing that she wasn’t going to move, he quickly pulled his cap back down, and turned to stare out the window.

As the bus came to a slow stop, at a red light, he noticed a gorgeous grey Bentley outside his window. Letting out a sigh, he let his mind drift back to what the woman beside him was talking about. There was no way for him to know that the driver, of that Bentley, was thinking about him.

Howard turned down the side street, as soon as the light turned green. After the long day, of questioning people who knew nothing, he was headed back to the office. He would go over the audio recordings, in hopes of finding something he hadn’t picked up on during the actual interviews…those hopes weren’t high, though. It was going to be another long night, and it was barely eight o’clock.

Only a few minutes later, the detective was pulling into the parking lot, and slipping out of his luxury car. His feet slightly dragged, as he slowly made his way through the entrance. The elevator seemed to take forever, just to go up a couple of floors. When the bell dinged and the doors opened, Howard stepped into the office. Most of his co-workers had left, for the night, already, but there were still a few bustling about. Making his way, to the office, he let out a heavy sigh, setting his items on the desk. He let his fingers run through his short hair, as he plopped into his chair.

Letting his eyes drift shut, for a moment, he tried to collect his thoughts, before setting to work. There had to be something…somewhere. There was no such thing as a perfect murder, but this serial killer was as perfect, as Howard had ever seen. He tried not to allow himself to become discouraged, but it was hard not to, with this case. Opening his eyes, he saw the clock hit 8:45, as he then set himself to work.

On the other side of town, the bus came to another slow stop. The young woman said a soft good-bye to her travelling companion. One more, warm smile and a wave were sent his way, before she stepped out, into the evening air. Luckily, for her, the rain had ceased…however, she had failed to notice that her wallet slipped out of her purse, and onto the bus floor, when she stood up.

After watching the woman’s figure fade into the night, something small, red, and shimmery caught his eye. Leaning down, his long fingers grasped the small wallet. Holding it in his hands, he just stared down, at it. This could be his key…surely it would have not only her name, bet her address and many other key pieces of information, about her. Trembling slightly, he let his fingers pop open the tiny metal clasp. Once his unsteady hands had opened it, he saw her staring back at him.

“Theresa.” His voice, no louder than a whisper, he uttered her name. Letting one of his slender fingers graze across the picture, on her license, he continued to stare. Now that he had all the information that he would need…what would he do with it?

Three days had past, since Detective Dorough had questioned the latest victim’s co-workers. He was sitting in his office, rubbing his temples, in effort to ease his stress. All the patterns showed that another victim would pop up tonight…tomorrow night, at the latest. Yet, he still had no clues, as to who, or where. A slight migraine penetrated his skull, as he looked over the case files, yet again. Why couldn’t something just pop out, at him?

“Dorough.” Howard’s head popped up, at the sound of Mr. Knowles’ voice. Seeing the man, in the doorway, he stood up. There was a younger man, standing behind Lucas Knowles, which did not escape Howard’s sight.

“Yes, Mr. Knowles?” His eyes traveled from his boss, to the younger man. Looking him over, he noticed many things about this kid…his neck and hands adorned distinctive tattooing…his nails were painted black…his eyes were covered by lightly tinted sunglasses…and his clothes screamed ‘punk’.

“This is Alexander McLean.” Lucas gestured a hand, toward the kid. Certainly he didn’t appear much younger, but Howard still formed an opinion of him being nothing more than a punk kid….he, undeniably, looked the part. “He will be assisting you, with the case, from here on out. He’s a transfer from a Los Angeles department. By all means, don’t let his appearance throw you off…he’s the best they’ve got and between the two, of you, I’m sure you’ll be able to crack the case.”

“Alright.” Howard nodded his head, not believing his ears. This punk kid was now, in essence, his partner. Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. McLean. I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.” The young man stepped forward, extending his hand and gave a slight nod. Howard was impressed with the firmness, of his grip. This McLean kid surely had a confidence about him, and Howard was pleased with that. Maybe working with him wouldn’t be as bas, as originally thought.

“Fill him in Dorough. I’ll be checking in often.” With a nod of his head, Lucas Knowles exited the office, and weaved back through the bustle of the homicide department.

“Well, ain’t he the sociable type.” Alexander McLean rolled his eyes, stepping closer to Howards desk. “May I?” There was a small smirk across his face, as he motioned toward the chair that sat in front of Howard’s desk.

“By all means, please.” Nodding his head, he, too, sat back down. The two men stared, at each other, for several minutes. Howard continued to scan his eyes over the younger man, taking in his unusual appearance.

Alexander knew what the older man was thinking; he was quite used to people putting him into certain classifications. He also knew that he did good work and, not to sound smug, but he took pride in being a ‘kick ass homicide detective’. His left knee bounced, ever so slightly, as he gazed at the man before him. He figured Howard would underestimate him and he had full intentions of proving himself.

“So this Defacer guy…pretty sly one, is he?” Alexander finally broke the silence, raising a brow, in Howard’s direction. He was pretty familiar, with the case, but knew he was far from having all the details.

“Oh yeah. He’s thrown us all, for a loop.” Shaking his head, Howard pushed the files across his desk, toward Alexander. “He’s given us nothing, to go on. The evidence is minimal and hasn’t given us any leads. With no survivors, and no witnesses, we’ve got practically nothing. He’s due to strike again…he averages a hit once every four to five days. Unfortunately, it looks like some more murders have been linked, to this guy…but, we’re still at a loss.” Alexander listened closely, as his eyes scanned over the paperwork.

“He wears rain gear.” Letting a chuckle escape his lips, Alexander scrunched his nose and shrugged his shoulders upward. “It’s the only logical explanation for why there are never any fibers left behind. There was this case, out in LA, a few years back…the chick wore rubber waders. She was too dumb to wear the jacket, though, and we were able to retrieve some fibers from under her husband’s mistress’ fingernails. Fibers from her pants were never found, because she had the waders on.” Howard just blinked, wondering why he hadn’t thought of such a thing. Obviously this kid knew a thing, or two.

“Huh…rain gear, eh? I’ve never seen a case, like that. If that’s what this guy is using, he’s covered from head, to toe, in rubber.” Rubbing his chin, Howard thought over the case. It fit. That would explain the pure lack of forensic evidence…why no victims were ever able to scratch his skin…as well as there never being any trace, of someone even being there, aside, of course, from the victim being murdered.

“That was the only case I can remember seeing, where someone dressed in rain or fishing gear, to avoid leaving evidence. Most murderers don’t think things through logically. I’d say this guy is probably trying to prove something.” His shoulders shrugged again, quite please that, five minutes on the case, he had already contributed information that no one else had thought of. Yes, it was no doubt, this kid was good.

Howard Dorough continued to fill in Alexander McLean, on the complexity, of the case. Their minds twirled, discussing the endless possibilities, of when and where The Defacer might strike next. How could they know that The Defacer was on the way, to his next victim’s house, at that very moment?

It was early, in the evening, and the sun’s rays were still shinning brightly. Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes, as he navigated his truck through traffic. The address was burned into his memory, but her face was at the forefront, of his mind. Taking an exit, he drew closer to his destination, and his nerves grew. It was a bit of a drive, to get where he was going, but he had driven longer, in the past.

By the time he turned onto the remote street, his palms were clammy…something that usually didn’t happen. Under normal circumstances, his adrenaline would be pumping, not his nerves. The sun was lower, in the sky, when he spotted the house that he was looking for. It was quaint…white with light blue shudders, a shade of blue that he personally loved…two stories, but still small…a beautiful flower garden decorating the pathway that lead to the front door. Somehow, it was strikingly similar to what he imagined her house, to look like.

He pulled along the curb, slowing the truck until it came to an easy stop. Drawing in a deep breath, he pulled his ball cap low and stepped out of the truck. He hadn’t worn his ‘uniform’ today, because this visit was merely for research purposes. The official business wouldn’t take place until later, that night. Dragging his feet, slightly, he made his way up the path. Standing before the hard wood door, he stared at it, intently. His hand shook slightly, when it reached up, knocking softly.

Inside the small house, he heard a faint rustling, and knew that Theresa was headed to open the door. He found himself holding his breath, when he heard the lock flip. What he didn’t expect was the bright smile she greeted him with.

“I um…uh…this is…is yours.” Visibly shaking, his hand held out her wallet. His head remained hanging low, refusing to look up, at her. There was a gasp, from her lips, when she saw what he held.

“Oh my lands!” One hand flew to her chest, as the other reached out, for her wallet. “I’ve been driving myself crazy, looking for this thing! Oh thank you, so much, for returning it, to me!” Before he knew what was happening, the woman wrapped her arms around him, giving him a grateful hug. His every muscle tightened, at her touch. Why would this woman hug him?!? “I just made dinner…please, come in! It’s the least I can do, for your kindness! I can’t believe…oh wow…I thought I had truly lost it! Which, of course, I did lose it, but thankfully you were sweet enough, to return it!” Were his ears hearing correctly? She was inviting him into her home…for dinner? Theresa had already stepped back into the house, but she had left the door open.

“I…I really…I…can’t.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “You’re uh…you’re welcome for...the wallet…though.”

“Nonsense!” Flinching, he was shocked by her sudden presence, right in front of him. There was a weird feeling that coursed through him, when she lightly grabbed his arm, gingerly pulling him into the house. “I absolutely refuse to take ‘no’ for an answer. I’ve made a home cooked meal and there is more than enough, for you to join me.”

“But I…I shouldn’t…I…I don’t…” As soon as she let go of his arm, and closed the door, his hands disappeared into his pockets.

“Pish posh. Just slip your shoes off, on the mat. You can hang your jacket and ball cap on the hooks there.” She waved a hand toward the wall, before turning and heading down the short hallway. “Don’t be shy, now. Just come on in the kitchen, when you’re done!” Before heading through the kitchen doorway, she sent him a warm smile.

Don’t be shy? That was easier said, than done. Letting out a soft sigh, he took off his shoes and jacket, but left his ball cap on. He couldn’t take it off…after taking of the sunglasses; it was the only thing he had left, to help conceal his face. Looking around, he moved further into the house. Being invited in, for dinner, was the very last thing he had expected, to happen. He nerves were through the roof, now, as he stepped onto the cool tile, of the kitchen floor.

“Oh no, no, dear. I’m sorry, but I don’t allow ball caps, at the dinner table…it’s a very strict rule that I grew up with. Please, put your cap with your jacket. Dinner is ready!” If it weren’t for the sweet smile, that adorned her face, he would have felt like a scolded puppy. Reluctantly he trudged back, into the foyer. Briefly, he thought about quickly making an escape, but he figured she would catch him and insist, again, that he stay. So, he hesitantly took of his hat, and placed it on the hook, with his jacket. As soon as his hands lifted, from it, he turned to see her standing there.

“Thank you.” Her voice was so light…so soft…so…caring. Giving her a slight nod, he followed her through the kitchen and into a small dinning room. “It’s nice and hot. I hope you like tacos…it’s one of my personal favorites…made from scratch, of course, and with my mother’s recipe. The meat is delectable and we have all the fixin’s for them, too. Come on, now, don’t just stand there. Sit down.”

“I uh…um…” Swallowing the lump that settled in his throat, he glanced up at her warm brown eyes. They were so welcoming and so unlike what he was used to seeing. People didn’t look at him, like that, anymore. He found it slightly…comforting. “Th…thanks.” Quickly taking the seat, he ducked his head. The sound of silverware hit his ears, and he knew she had begun to eat, but he just sat there, staring at the plate before him, with his hands resting on the lace table cloth.

“Aren’t you hungry?” The feeling of her soft hand, being placed over his, almost made him jump. “You don’t look like you’ve had a good meal in a while, why don’t you dig in and help yourself. There’s plenty, you know.”

Staring at the food, he realized just how hungry he was. She had been right; he hadn’t had a home cooked meal, like this, in ages. Not having the will, to resist the smells, he began to dig into his plate. With his fork and hands flying, he devoured the food, at lightening speed. If he would have looked up, at her, he would have seen that she was watching him…a satisfied smile, upon her lips.

His eyes were trained on the young woman’s figure, as she immerged from the convenient store’s front door. The grip he had, on the steering wheel, was tight enough to make his knuckles turn a ghostly shade, of white. The beating, of his heart, steadily drummed against his ribcage; and sent a pounding rhythm into his ear drums. His body shook with a slight tremble, as his eyes trailed over the woman’s body, when she slipped effortlessly into her cherry red sports car.

“What am I doing here?” he asked himself, feeling the clamminess, of his palms, and the nervous twitch, in his knee. Ever since dinner, the night before, his emotions and nerves had been frazzled, beyond his own comprehension. Theresa had shown him a kindness that he wasn’t used to, and his brain screamed at him, that there must be something she wanted…probably his money, but he kept that under tight lock and key. His thoughts continued to drift, as he watched the little car pull out of the parking lot.

“Just follow her.” The rough voice had an icy cold harshness, to it, that pierced him. The voice belonged to Daemon…a man he found to be quite annoying, and very demanding…but also a man who he could never get to go away. When Daemon showed up, there was no getting rid of him, until he left on his own accord.

A new wave of frustration hit him, as he forced his truck into drive. His teeth clenched and his heart rate increased dramatically, as he maneuvered the truck, to follow the sports car. Goose bumps suddenly sprouted up, all over his body, when a cold shiver slowly traveled down his spine.

Trying to keep his thoughts under control, he continued his pursuit of the car, as it turned down a dark alley. “Oh, no. A dark alley? Really? Come on….haven’t you seen the horror movies?” He shook his head, knowing what was surely coming next. “A pretty woman should never…under any circumstances, go down a dark alley…by herself…in the middle of the night!”

“I can hear you, you stupid idiot! Shut, the fuck, up and pull over…don’t get to damn close, this time! Last time you nearly blew our cover…that Veronica chick almost saw the damn truck.” Daemon was never one for kind words and always had a harsh tone; but that was only one thing he hated, about Daemon. Slowly bringing the truck to a stop, he gazed around the pitch black alley…not a single street light, to be seen.

“Her name was Vanessa…and she didn’t even come close, to seeing the truck.” His eyes narrowed, thinking about the look in her eyes, when the life faded from them. Just the thought…the image…gave him nightmares. Hell…every victim’s face popped up, in his worst dreams, from time to time.

“Veronica…Vanessa…Shit Bitch…call her whatever, the fuck, you want…does it really look like I…give a shit…what her name was? I didn’t think so. Now focus!” Turning his eyes away from Daemon, he saw the woman, straight ahead, slipping out of her car. His breath caught, seeing her perfectly white heels hit the pavement. Her heels matched her outfit…which matched her purse…which matched her earrings…what, in God’s name, was a woman like that…doing here?

“I…I…I can’t….do…this.” His voice trembled, in almost a whisper, as he stared at his hands, which still gripped the steering wheel, so tightly, that his blood couldn’t reach the tips, of his fingers. Swallowing hard, he lifted his ocean blue eyes, back to the woman. She was entering a small house now…and he knew what was coming.

“God you are so weak! What the fuck?!?” Daemon’s voice was louder…harsher…colder…and it cut him like a hot knife, being stabbed through his chest. “Do I have to do everything for your sorry ass? You get the fucking shit burnt out o’ your face…people treat you like the shitty ass monster that you look like…and you can’t even take a stand for yourself? Are you fucking serious?!? How come we have to go through this…every…damn…time? You’re pathetic!”

His hand, unwillingly, opened the truck door and his lengthy legs stretched out, into the darkness. Standing up, he felt his stiffened muscles groan, as they were forced to stretch. Every ounce, of his being, screamed at him, telling him to just get back in the truck, and drive away. However, he found…as usual…his body refused to abide, by those wishes. Frustration and despair were only a few words, to describe the emotions that twisted through him, at that very moment.

“Jesus!” Daemon’s voice was in a low growl, now, but was nowhere to be found. Looking around, he tried to find Daemon, with no avail…but this was how it always went. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep, but ragged, breath, of the warm night air. When he felt his stomach suddenly knot, his eyes popped open, and the feeling was gone. His frustration dissipated, and his eyes were now a much darker blue than usual, like a treacherous tornado had just twisted into view.

His stride radiated confidence, as he made his way over, to the car. Crossing his arms, to conceal his gloved hands, he allowed his weight to lean back, on the car. With narrowed eyes, that caused little creases in the corners, he tilted his head…waiting. It was several, adrenaline pumped, moments, before the woman reemerged into the darkness. A cocky, satisfied smirk graced his lips, as she walked toward him…she was oblivious, to his presence.

“I can’t believe…of all the nerve…!” The woman’s voice flowed softly, like that of smooth silk across your skin. It was airy…carefree…and surely happy. Soon enough, her voice would change…drip of fear and plead in helpless desperation.

“Awfully late, for a sweet little honey, like you, to be out and about…don’t you think?” The voice that flowed from his mouth was harsher, and rougher, than his usual timid, soft tone. One brow shot up, as he stayed firm, in his position. He couldn’t keep his eyes from traveling over her every curve once more…there sure was a lot to appreciate, on this one.

“Oh my god!” Her gasp filled the air, as her hand flew to her chest. The startle didn’t detour her from advancing, toward him, though. “Is there something you needed from me? I have to get to work…so make it fast.” Reaching for the door handle, she didn’t seem worried about his presence there…nor did she seem frightened, like she should have.

“Oh, you won’t be going to work baby.” That cocky smirk crossed his lips, again, as he stepped to the side and positioned himself in front of her. His arms remained crossed, over his chest, as he stared down at her.

“Excuse me? What is your problem?” Flipping her hair, as beautiful women, so often do, she shifted her weight, to one foot. Her freshly manicured fingers gripped her hip, while her dark expectant eyes stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Beauty isn’t everything, darlin’.” Quickly grabbing her arms, he flung her around, slamming her into the car, making her dark curls fly over her face. The grip, his fingers had, on her arms, remained firm. His head bent down, letting his eyes lock onto hers. Once again, the very same smirk became obvious, when she let out a startled gasp.

“Wh….what…do you…want…from…me?” Ragged breathing broke her words, and her eyes now reflected a fear that should have been there, from the start. To say that he was satisfied, would have been an understatement…that fear only fueled his adrenaline.

“Can’t you come up with a more original fucking question? Why do you women always ask the same damn things?” Growing even harsher than before, his voice dripped with agitation. One hand lifted, releasing the rough grip on the woman’s arm, and shot up to conform around her tender throat. The feeling of her skin burnt like fire, even through the latex gloves that covered his hands. A strong desire, to jump backwards, coursed through him…yet…his body would not react.

“I….I can’t….” For that single moment, his voice returned to that of a fragile broken man. It was quickly replaced, though, with the harsh tones, that make his skin crawl. Once again the storm raged through his eyes, and his fingers wrapped tighter around the delicate flesh, cutting off the woman’s breath.

“P….pl….ple…ase…” One strangled word was all she could force out, but it was not enough. It was so very far, from being enough. Horrible thoughts ran through his mind…what would be done to this one? There were so very many possibilities…so many options…but which one would be selected?

“Shut, the fuck, up…and I might make it quick.” Fire stormed from his eyes, as his stare etched into her face. Traveling from her throat, his hand moved up over her mouth. A single gasp managed to reach her lungs, before his hand made it to cover her lips.

When he forced her to the side, his touch was anything but gentle. Only one hand left her body, when he yanked the driver’s door open. His eyes closed, for a mere moment, as a deep breath sucked through his nostrils and into his awaiting lungs. His eyes snapped open, hearing a blood chilling crunch and his stomach twisted, when he saw the woman’s face crushed in the door. Quickly, he re-opened the door, seeing the obvious damage to her previously perfect face. Her eyes were closed now…and her voice had been silenced…obviously, the one blow was enough, to render her unconscious.

“Again!” Harsh, and merciless, his voice rang out, into the darkness. As his voice suggested, his hand slammed the door onto her face, again, resulting in a crunch worse than the last. Blood spilled, from several areas, on her face and the smell stung his nose, like acid.

“Stop! You’re going to kill her!” Hearing such a small, fragile, voice caused his hands to pause. A quick and panicked look around, resulted in nothing. Where was the little girl he was sure he heard? “Don’t make him kill her!”

“Shut up, you little fucking runt!” There was Daemon’s voice again. Trembling, he whipped around, letting the woman’s body collapse to the pavement. His eyes scanned all around him. Nothing. No one. Darkness. Cold. Loneliness. “Finish it, you weak ass piece of shit!” He shook his head fiercely, confused by what was happening. One more vicious shake, of his head, and the fierce storm crashed through his veins, once again.

Gripping the back of her collar, his hand positioned her head back, in the door. With much more force, he slammed the door against her face. More loud, bone cracking, noises filled the warm night air. Her skull was becoming more and more disfigured as the door forcefully closed down on her head, again…and again. Once her body went limp and lifeless, he backed away and ran toward his truck, looking around for any signs of another person…specifically a child.

As he climbed into the truck, he fought the urge to lose the little bit of dinner, he had eaten hours ago. Just like usual, Daemon was no where, to be found, now. Typical. It was the same thing, every time. He saw, and fought, with Daemon before every murder, but no matter how hard he fought, he never won. The moment he got out of his truck…he could hear Daemon, but was never able to see him. It was disturbing and he didn’t understand how Daemon’s voice seemed to overtake him…as if Daemon controlled him. His own thoughts seemed to get lost amongst the harsh voice…as if his mind was no longer his own. Once the victim was dead…Daemon was gone.

With tears streaming down his face, he sped off, cursing and hitting the steering wheel. He had lost control, of himself, again. This needed to stop…and he knew it. So far, though, he had not figured out how to stop himself…and that, alone, would torture him into a sleepless night.

Dragging his frustrated fingers through his dark spikes, of hair, Detective Dorough made his way back around the perimeter, of the crime scene. It was around an hour ago, that he was called to the scene, and nearly twenty minutes, since he had arrived. His head shook, as he glanced back over the interior, of the victim’s car. There was something about this one, that just wasn’t right; and he was not the only one, on scene, that thought this may be the work of a copy cat killer, rather than the actual Defacer. But no one could be sure. It would take hours, upon hours, of sifting through any evidence, to come up with that answer…even then, it could still remain a mystery. What was so different, anyways? Howard just couldn’t put his finger on it...at least, not yet, but he was sure it would come to him.

“Alexander McLean…homicide department. Let me through.” The distinct voice of his new partner perked his ears and caused his eyes to glance up. Through the crowd of suits and uniforms, you couldn’t miss McLean…not by a long shot, even if you wanted to! Wrinkling his brows, he looked over the kid…faded jeans, black wife beater, a load of jewelry, black nail polish, and more tattoos visible, than Howard had ever seen, on anyone, other than gang members and drug dealers. No wonder the punk couldn’t get through the suits. Howard couldn’t stop the roll, of his eyes. Hadn’t this kid ever heard the concept of looking professional?

“The kid is with me.” He finally spoke, heading toward his partner. He still wasn’t too fond of that term…he felt like he should be building a case against this kid, not working with him…side by side…every day, until the case was solved…that added up to way too many hours, if you asked him!

“Kid? I resent that! How ‘bout I start callin’ ya fancy pants?” The comment was only met by a roll of Howard’s deep brown eyes, as he watched Alexander push past the police officers and suited detectives. “Sorry it took me a bit D…I was um…preoccupied.” The shit eating grin, that crossed his face, told Howard exactly what that meant. Not that he needed to know that much about this guys personal life!

“D? The name is Dorough…or Howard.” Closing his eyes, he shook his head, to calm himself. “Whatever. Look…it’s three in the morning and it doesn’t look like we are going home for at least 18 hours or so…I would appreciate it, if you didn’t start getting on my nerves, until we are at least halfway through. Now are you here to cover the scene, or not?”

“Dude! You sound like a chick on PMS…chillax, man. Stop bein’ a bugger.” Ok, this kid talks like a damn punk, too? Howard stepped aside as his partner brushed past and started scoping out the scene. “So why is everyone in a tiff?”

“A bugger? I don’t even know what that is! A tiff? We are on the scene of a brutal murder, what do you expect?”

“Whoa. First off…you have got to stop rerunnin’ everything I flap, in the form of a fuckin’ question…it’s highly vexatious. I don’t think it would look so good if I lopped my partner in the first week here. And what I meant…was…this ain’t no normal murder scene tiff. There’s something else goin’ on here that you ain’t sharin’.” The insanely tattooed arms crossed, and Howard pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Uh…” Shaking his head, he tried to comprehend the words that he had just heard. This must be they way they talk out in LA. “…we are thinking this is a copycat killer, rather than our guy.”

“Oh? And why is that?” With one brow raised, the younger man snapped on the rubber gloves that were handed to him, by another detective. Turning away, he began to look over everything that Howard had already examined.

“There’s just….there’s something different. The scene looks just as clean, as all the others. The victim’s face was…severely…disfigured.” Pausing, a little light bulb clicked in the detective’s mind. “That’s what it is…the way the victim was murdered…it’s not like the others.” At that very moment, Alexander was lifting the red stained sheet that covered the body.

“Oh….SHIT!” Howard had, pretty much, the same reaction, when he first looked at the victim. It was a gruesome murder...even more so than all the others. Wrinkling his brows, he watched as the corner was lifted, once again, by his partner’s fingers. “Sweet….Jesus! That’s…wow…you don’t catch an eye on that…too oft. What the hell…man?” He was visibly taken back, by the sight as his eyes lifted up, to the frame of the car. Howard pursed his lips, watching the less experienced man take in the scene more closely.

“It’s bad. Her purse and license were found a few feet away…right over there.” Lifting his hand, he directed Alexander’s sights, to where the purse still laid, with a small numbered, orange marker beside it. “But…they will still have to officially identify her by dental records…supposing her teeth are still well enough intact.”

“Something’s not legit. I sense it, now, too.” The corner of the sheet flopped to the ground, with a disturbing wet sound. The more they stood there, the mingling smells of the young woman’s blood and perfume, turned their stomachs. And after another moment, neither man could stand to be in that spot, and moved on to continue observing the surrounding area.

“The Defacer mars his victim’s faces…but it has never been to this extreme. Thus the possibility…of a copycat.”

“Let’s appraise this, here. The car doesn’t break news. So it’s just the offing, that’s throwing it all for a spiral.” McLean’s face was serious, as Howard’s brow rose.

“Uh…yeah?” McLean chuckled, turning back around, to face him. Their eyes met, but their brains were on completely different wave lengths. This was something that was quickly getting on Dorough’s nerves.

“We need to knuckle down, on our communication skills, man. For real.”

“It would help, if you spoke…oh I don’t know…English!” Howard’s brows knitted together in both agitation, and frustration. All he wanted was to crack this case…to get this sicko behind clad iron bars; and working with this guy, was going to make it damn near impossible.

“I ain’t flappin’ German, dude!”

“You might as well be!” Howard shot back, with a glare. “If we are going to have any hope of solving this case…we need to be on the same page. That means…speak so I can understand you!” Both men sighed, their brown eyes still locked. “You didn’t talk all…crazy before….at least, not as much.”

“Ha. It’s an old habit. My partner in LA…Q…was this big black dude. We kinda had our own language.” The tattooed shoulders shrugged upward then shook slightly with laughter. “It made things a little less…typical and added variety to the daily grind. Ya know?”

“Ah. Well…I’m only fluent in English and Spanish. But…back to the case here.”

“Right. Personally…I think it’s our Defacer. He just didn’t have the self control that he usually does. I’m going to guess a fluke…a struggle within himself, or whatever. I doubt a copycat could pull off a clean scene, like he does.”

“That’s exactly the part that I’m having trouble understanding. A copycat really only makes sense on one level. But the Defacer is a complex enough character, that it may even just be a ploy to try throwing us off.” Howard’s little notebook was open and firmly gripped within his hand, as he scribbled noted regarding the discussion.

“This dude is natty…uh…smart enough…to possibly be trying something like that. Usually, though, don’t they do that…only when they think the detectives are getting close to their trail? Why would he be yankin’ this stuff now, when we aren’t even close?” Both faces had a hand brush over them, as the men tried to hash out the potential explanations. A case like this could…and likely would…drive a man to the brink of insanity.

It was over two hours later before the men sat down in the office, over steaming cups of caffeine based drinks. Papers, files, and pictures scattered the large table, before them. It was the usual picture you would find, after the latest murder. The conference room was large and nicely decorated; but the chairs were hard and uncomfortable, which made the hours seem to drag even slower. Settling in, the men began to pour over the newest information, hoping to find something…anything.

“Yo, D, check this out!”

His eyes drifted up, to the old style wooden clock that hung on the wall, of the 24 hour restaurant. A low groan escaped his lips, seeing it was nearly 3 o’clock, in the morning. Sitting in the far corner booth, he tried to hide himself, from the other people that had been coming and going. It wasn’t easy to hide anything in the shadow less florescent lights, even with his cap pulled down low, and it made him all the more uncomfortable. Leaning his weight against the window, beside him, he thought about the events of earlier.

Ducking his head down, he focused on his cup, of hot black coffee. He would wait…just a little longer, for his brother, who was supposed to meet him over two hours ago. By now, he knew his brother was a no show, but he couldn’t make himself leave, just yet, in hopes that his younger sibling was just running extremely late. This happened often. His brother would make arrangements to see him…he would show up and wait…then half the time, his brother would never bother to show up or even give a call.

Snapping his head up, at the sound of the tinkling bell, he hoped to see the younger man walk in. Much to his disappointment, it was just another customer coming in for an early breakfast. Paying no attention to the person, a strangled sigh floated from his lips, as he turned his eyes back to his cup. Across the table sat the porcelain blue plate, still holding most of his breakfast. He never really had much of an appetite after such a night. Inside his stomach, he still felt those knots that made him feel as if he would throw up. Everything in him hated that feeling…hell…he hated everything about the night.

The woman’s face flashed through his mind. He didn’t know her name yet, for he had paid no attention to the news. It might not even be on the news yet, for all he knew. But, in time, he would have a name, to pair with the poor woman’s face. In his mind, he could see the blood pooling on the cement, and it made his stomach flip. His brain wouldn’t let go of the nauseating images, of her blood splattering, every time he slammed the door down on her. Closing his eyes, he tried to will the images to go away, but was only met with the picture of her pleading eyes.

The distinct sound, of someone clearing their throat, made him nearly jump out of his skin. With no thought, about concealing his face, his head snapped up. His eyes were wide, but grew even wider at they took in the figure standing next to him. It wasn’t his waitress…oh no…she was avoiding him like the plague and only came over when she was absolutely sure he needed her. Naturally, it wasn’t his brother…he was most definitely not showing up, this time.

“May I join you?” The soft voice was as pleasant, as the last time he had heard it. The man was in utter shock, as he just shrugged. “I just got off my shift, and stopped for a bite to eat. When I saw you tucked here, in the corner, all by yourself, I thought it would be nice, for both of us, to have a little company. You look upset. Is there something wrong? I know we don’t know each other well…ok…hardly at all…but I’m a very good listener, if you would like to talk.”

“Hello, Theresa.” He couldn’t stop his voice, from shaking, as he greeted her. When she said he looked upset, she really had no idea, just how much; and he, obviously, had no intentions of telling her, either.

“Hi…..” He watched her lean forward, resting his elbows, on the table. Her eyes just stared at him, for a moment. “Nope…I don’t think you have told me your name. How can I possibly address and greet you properly, if I don’t know your name?” Their eyes were locked, as he just sat there stunned. Was she really, honestly, asking for his name? This woman was the complete opposite, of anything he was used to, these days…and this was just another thing he never would have expected.

“Uh…” Darting out, his tongue licked over his lips, to wet them. Suddenly, and without explanation, his mouth had gone cotton candy dry. He could barely swallow as he tried, once again, to speak. “I uh…it’s um…”

“Come now, you couldn’t have possibly forgotten your own name.” A small smile crossed her lips, as her hand reached out for his. Snapping his hand away, he tucked it into his lap, a whole new feeling taking over his stomach, finally pushing away the painful nauseating knots. “We could always check your driver’s license, if you really did forget.” Her hand lifted, waving the waitress over, so that she could place her order. There was no way; he could have missed the look, on the waitress’ face, as she looked at them. She looked confused…probably wondering why a nice woman, like Theresa, would ever be caught sitting with a man, like him. Hell, he was wondering the same damn thing!

“N…no…thank you.” Whispering softly, feeling his cheeks heat up, he answered the waitress’ cold voiced question, about him needing anything. Embarrassment was a common feeling, for him, and it just seemed to be elevated, with Theresa sitting across from him.

“Now…back to your name. Hmmm. Tom? No, you don’t look much like a Tom. You do, kind of, look like a Brain or maybe a Mark.” By the sounds, of it, she was not going to give up, on this. Reluctantly, he mumbled only his first name. He saw the roll, of her eyes, as she tilted her head. “Seriously…did you expect me to hear that?” If the comment were in any other tone, he would have taken it a bit offensively, but her voice was always so sweet…like she…cared.

“Nick.” Letting out a slow shaky breath, his eyes lifted, to meet hers. Wetting his lips again, he just stared at her and to his surprise, she stared back. A light giggle floated into the air, as her smile lit up again, causing little creases, in the corners of her eyes.

“Here, by the way you were acting, I was expecting something way off, in left field. Like Donahue or Harry…maybe even some girlie name, like Jessie or Shannon.” Her laughter continued, as she shook her head. The twinkle, in her eyes, did not go unnoticed, and he found himself wondering if it was always there.

“Nickolas. With a ‘k’ not a ‘ch’.” He tried to offer her a small smile, but failed, giving her something that looked more like a grimace. Still sitting in his lap, his hands fiddled with the hem, of his shirt. The nerves he felt, that night, at her house, were back and with full force. Something about her was getting to him, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Well, even if it’s spelled a little differently, it’s still a very normal name.” Leaning backwards, she looked at him closely, like she was trying to figure something out. Shifting slightly, he began to get an uncomfortable feeling, under the intenseness, of her gaze. Wrinkling his brows, he shifted again, as his eyes fell back to the coffee cup, before him. “Yes. It suits you. Quite nicely, if you ask me. You, very much, look like a Nick.”

“Uh…” Lifting his eyes and catching her gaze, he lost his words. That was the last thing he figured she was thinking about, while she stared at him. Dismissing the depressing thoughts that had taken over his mind, he relaxed his shoulders, just a bit. “Thanks?” He was met with another one of her light giggles, as she finished eating her yogurt and fruit that she had ordered.

“You know, Nick.” He watched her lean forwards, to rest her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands. There was a different spark that danced within her eyes, as she held his gaze. “There is somewhere that I would very much enjoy taking you. If you can put just a little trust into me, I’m sure you won’t regret it.” Blinking several times, he gazed at her in utter shock, not knowing what to think. “We could go now, if you don’t have prior obligations, and we can take my car. The only thing it will cost you…is a little bit of your time. What do you say, Nick? Do you trust me enough, for that?”

He sat there, just staring at her, his eyes locked with hers. Trust was a word he become unfamiliar with, over the last couple years. No one trusted him, and he decided not to trust anyone else, either…hell, he didn’t even trust himself! But what reason did he have, not to trust her? He had been alone with her once before. Besides, he was the killer, not her!

“Um…” Swallowing the lump, that threatened to cut off his airways, he slowly nodded. “I guess.” At his words, she slid out of the booth. Once he stood, Theresa took him by surprise, once again, by linking her arm into his. Not knowing how to respond, he just headed toward the door, her arm staying securely where it was.

“Check what out?” Howard watched his partner stand, wondering if the kid had actually found something else that he had overlooked. This was not going to make him look very good, if this punk kept showing him up.

“What’s this guy’s motive?” Alexander began to shuffle through the papers, not bothering to look up at him. “What’s the style…the pattern? What links each victim, to the next?”

“We don’t know his motive and he has no clear pattern. Why do you think this guy is still at large?” He didn’t have much patience, and the younger man already knew how to wear it even thinner. “Are you actually going anywhere with this Alexander?”

“Yes, D, I am.” Howard’s eyes were fixed on him, as he started pinning up all the before pictures, of each victim…pictures that were take while they were still warm and breathing. Waiting impatiently, he watched the tattooed hands pin up a murder scene picture, of each woman. He couldn’t help but be curious, of the other man’s actions.

“Well...are you going to share, or not? And stop calling me ‘D’.” The annoyance was evident, in Howard’s voice, and he knew it. Yet, he had no desire to try covering it, as his left brow rose.

“D is shorter than Dorough and makes you sound cooler than Howard does. Besides, who doesn’t like a nickname? Everyone outside of work just calls me Alex or J. But, look at all these women, man. What links them?” Rubbing his temples, Howard kept his eyes on the kid. He was now pulling the white, dry erase board, into position between the two groups, of pictures. “Check out all the before pictures. Notice anything they all have in common…besides them being women?”

“I’m not following. There have been victims with every hair and eye color…various ethnicities…the only thing that groups them, even a little, is that they fit into the 25-32 age range.” Crossing his arms, he let out a frustrated sigh. This new partner would be the death, of him. Why couldn’t the kid quit beating around the bush, and say what he had to say?

“Wrong. Check this shit out. If you look at the before pictures…you can see a ton of things they have in common.” Howard’s eyes floated to the board, where his partner was now starting to scribble. “First you mentioned the age range…25-32…easily classified as young women. But dude…they were all hot! None of them are overweight…they all had gorgeous bodies. Their complexions…were all flawless…no traces of break outs or scarring. Overall, every victim…when they were alive…was absolutely beautiful. They appear to have all worn trendy, and tight revealing clothes…stuff that showed what their mamas gave ‘em. On top of that, they all obviously wore makeup, and spent a good deal of time, on their hair.”

“So the Defacer likes pretty women. What’s your point?” His eyes were wrinkled, and his forehead creased, as he tried to see whatever it was that the other man seemed to see. Although his brain was churning, he didn’t get the significance. Just about every man alive would have been attracted to those women…how was that a link?

“Now look…every victim was wearing high heels, at the time of their murder. Each one of them, was dressed in some kind of dressy clothing…this one was in a business skirt and blouse…” Alexander’s head shook as he started pointing to various murder scene photos. “…this one in a cocktail dress…this one in a mini skirt. Now take a peek at their tops…every one of them had on a fairly, or extremely, revealing shirt. The cocktail dress was cut so low; it’s amazing she didn’t fall out of it. Then this girl had on a slinky halter top…and this chick had on a baby doll t-shirt, that showed off her stomach. It also appears that he tends to favor the color white.”

“So the guy is attracted to a certain type of woman. Aren’t we all?” Both of Howard’s brows shot up. Granted, he could see the patterns that his partner was pointing out, but it still didn’t help get them any further, on the case. As far as he could tell, it didn’t give them any insight as to the next victim, either.

“It just seems a little crazy, doesn’t it? There is no clear pattern, as far as location. But on the other hand…his victims fit into a very specific category. Hot body. Perfect complexion. Dresses or skirts. Low cut tops. High Heels. The attire usually being tight and white. Done up hair. Expertly perfected make up. They even all have nice jewelry.” Howard leaned back, in his chair, as Alexander leaned his hands onto the table. Both men let their eyes connect, their brains taking off, at full force.

“Now we have to figure out why. Why this specific type of woman? Where does the motivation lie?” Breaking the gaze, he looked over the board, where the younger man had scribbled each point. The list was obvious, but had been over looked. The department, Howard included, was looking everywhere for some kind of connection, but never thought to look at the clothing or accessories. Connections between murders usually are more about location, or a more direct connection between the victims…he had never seen a connection to be based around what the victims wore. But Howard would warmly welcome any possible connection.

“We have to get inside this fucker’s head...think like a damn serial killer. Break down this ass hole’s mentality.” Looking back up, he saw Alexander plop into the seat across from him. Their eyes locked, once again, as Alexander continued. “Why would I kill only hot chicks that dress sexy as hell?”

“Maybe you hate them.” Howard’s shoulders shrugged slightly, not able to think of another answer. So the game began. Howard only resorted to this path, on a rare occasion. It was a last resort method, for him, and it only worked if you had the right partner. He didn’t even like stooping to this level, but to catch this killer, they had to pull out all the stops. It was time to think like a murderer. Get down to the scum level, on which the Defacer lived. The only mind that could solve this case…was the mind of a cold blooded, heartless killer. This was why Howard hated this game…he had to be the low life that he was searching out. He had to demote himself from the hunter, to the hunted.

“But why would I despise a goody…uh, woman…like that?” The two men were escaping into another world…and alternate universe, if you will. Everything around them faded, as they tuned into each other’s minds. For just a brief moment, Howard realized that maybe this punk kid was, actually, the perfect partner, for this case.

“Maybe…” Leaning forward, Howard looked deeper into his partner’s eyes. “…you have been screwed over, by a woman like that. But, why wouldn’t you just kill that woman?” Their voices were picking up speed, causing their sentences to run into each other, yet they were surprisingly able to keep up, with each other.

“Perhaps I haven’t been fucked over by any one specific woman, but women, like that, in general.” Alexander’s raspy voice didn’t seem to be getting on his nerves, as much, right now. It may have been because he was accepting the kid, as his partner, or maybe it was just because he was so focused.

“You could be the type that gets rejected or ignored by women, like that.” He countered, keeping his eyes locked, with the younger man’s. This game could stretch on forever, but it was all they had, at the moment; and any progress, was good progress.

“But then what would spark me to suddenly start offing them, now? We’ve already calculated me to be in my twenties, or thirties…why now? Why not in high school?”

“Something caused you to finally snap.” Howard’s stomach was starting to flip around. Maybe this would really lead to something. Maybe they would actually stumble across a clue, hidden amongst the craziness, of this case.

“I might have developed a hang up…a mental disorder. What could be big enough to suddenly spark that though?” By the seriousness and the tone of his voice, Howard could feel the dedication that Alexander had, for the case. There was intenseness, in Alexander’s gaze, that Howard had not seen, until now, and it was changing his opinion of the man. The kid had only been, officially, on the case for a few days, yet he had the determination, of a detective that was mentally attached to it.

“You haven’t always been rejected by the ladies.” Pursing his lips, Howard continued the exchange, growing more intrigued, with every passing moment.

“Something happened, to where I am being treated differently, by them?”

“You have a physical handicap?”

“Eh. Any physical handicap that would make me snap, and provoke me to commit the murders, would likely clog...I mean hinder me…from being capable, of actually accomplishing murders that are this clean.”

“Point taken. Maybe it is on the mental level…uh…what did you call it?”

“A hang up. Don’t tell me you’re gonna try learnin’ my language. It could still be physical…maybe just not an actual handicap. Something changed.” Neither man missed a beat, as they spoke, at high speed. Anyone outside of their focused little game would have had trouble keeping up with them.

“Or something didn’t change, that should have.” Howard’s eyes broke from his partner and drifted to the second set of photos. Within just a moment, Howard jumped from his seat, with a concentrated look. Alexander followed suit, and followed his eyes, landing on the same photos. Both men stood staring at the pictures, and then suddenly whipped around to meet each other’s gaze. The same thought, clicked in both minds, at the exact same moment.

His nerves were hitting full tilt, and he felt like he was going to lose the contents of his stomach. Agreeing to this little field trip was proving to be a very bad idea, on his part. From the moment he slipped into her car, he couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands. The nerves floated up and down his body, in a manner that was oddly different than anything he had ever felt. That alone was enough to make the knots, within him, tighten.

“Well, here we are.” She pulled the car into the parking lot, and his eyes grew big, as he looked up at the massive building. He knew damn well where he was, and he didn’t like it one bit. What if she knew? How could she have figured him out? Looking up at the hospital building, he felt his knee, involuntarily, start to bounce. Did the woman survive? Was she here? How the hell could Theresa know it was him that put her there?!?

“Um…w…why…” Letting out a shaky breath, he twisted his fingers around each other. The pit of his stomach was beginning to feel like a gurgling volcano that was ready, to blow, without warning. “…are…we…h…here?” His mouth was beyond dry, as he stared at the building. He felt the car stop, and knew she had parked the car. There was no way she could force him to go inside. He made up his mind…he wasn’t going in there!

“You agreed to put a little trust in me, Nick.” She was now turned, in her seat, and her eyes were locked, on him. The feel of her gaze, was really getting to him. His nerves were starting to fade, only to be replaced by a strong sense, of paranoia. “Come on. It’s not bad…I promise.”

“Uuh…” Despite the extreme feelings that were coursing through him, he found that his hand was reaching for the door handle. Taking a quick glance, at her, he found immediate relief in the warm smile she was offering him. How could this woman work up the nerves in him, yet calm him so easily? “O…o…kay.” With his brows wrinkled, he slowly opened the door, and slid out of the car.

“This is where I work.” Her voice seemed so close, and his suspicion, of that, was confirmed when he felt her hand slip into his. The touch sent a shock through him that made him flinch slightly. Whatever the cause, of it, this woman had some sort of unexplainable power, over him.

Not another word was uttered, as she led him into the main entrance. His stomach was still flipping uncontrollably, and his heart was pounding loud enough that he was sure she could hear it. When she led him in the opposite direction, of the emergency room, he felt some of the panic lift away. Although it only took minutes, to ride the elevator, and reach the right floor, it felt like forever, to him.

Her hand held his tightly, as she led him down a colorful corridor. Curiosity was kicking in, as his eyes looked over the walls, adorned with hundreds of colorful pictures. Some of them were painted with water paints…others colored with markers…more that were crafted, using crayons…all, of which, were obviously created by children. His nerves seemed to disappear, as he became lost among the cheerful, yet somehow sad, hallway.

“RESA!!!” The small voice caught his attention, as he felt her hand leave his. Tearing his eyes, from the walls, he looked down at the little girl. He couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped his lips, as he took in the young girl’s appearance.

“Nick…this is Sarah. Sarah…this is my friend, Nick.” The smile on Sarah’s face, made the hallway seem even brighter, than before, despite the fact that her lips could only lift into a small, deformed smile. He felt his heart jump, realizing she couldn’t have been any older than seven.

“Um…h…hi…Sa…Sarah.” The tightening, in his throat, made it hard for him to breathe...let alone talk. He lost all control of his body, and found himself kneeling to her level. The small framed girl only had half of her dark curls left, but she didn’t seem to care as she greeted him, with another smile.

“Hi Nick!” Suddenly, he felt her small hand grasp his and lightly start to tug. “I like to make new friends! Are you going to come play with us? Robert is awake too, but everyone else is still sleeping. You could play games with us! Or color! Do you like to color Nick? I like to color!” Her voice seemed so small…so fragile…but still so full of hope and life. This little girl did nothing other than simply, and completely, amaze him.

“I uh…I haven’t….colored…in a long time.” Finding it only slightly easier to talk, he let Sarah pull him down the hallway and into a large room. The room was even brighter than the hallway, and cluttered with toys. When they stepped further into the room, he was suddenly bombarded by the older boy, who looked to be around the age of eleven.

“Holy schmoley! You’re Nick Carter! I’m Robert! I just watched one of your movies last night!” Robert was smiling widely, up at him. He swallowed down the lump, in his throat, and sat in the little chair that Sarah had led him to.

“It’s…nice to…um…meet you…Robert.” Licking his lips, he looked from one child, to the other, completely baffled by their happiness. When he looked over his shoulder, Theresa just smiled and motioned that she would be down the hall. The idea of being alone with the kids, both intrigued him, and frightened him.

“Wowee! A real movie star! That’s so cool!” Sarah’s voice was filled with even more excitement, which he couldn’t understand. He was washed up…his career was over…he was nothing…a nobody…how could anyone, no matter the age, be excited to meet him?

“Yeah he is! He was the voice of the funny penguin, in that movie we watched last night…remember?” Robert rolled his eyes, at the younger girl. Looking over the boy’s face, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until he offered a toy, that the damage became obvious.

“Yeah. I was Martin, the Martian penguin.” Nodding his head, he began to feel a little more at ease. In all honesty, he felt like he belonged…like he was accepted…and welcomed.

“So Nick.” Sarah’s little arms leaned on the table, as she continued to stare at him, in awe. “How did you get your scars? I got mine when our house burned down. A fireman saved me, cuz I couldn’t get out, all by myself.” Her fragile smile faded, but only for a moment, as she picked up a crayon and began to color in a princess coloring book.

“I got mine when I tried to stop my sister, Lisa, from pulling a pot of noodles off the stove. The water was boiling, and it spilled all down my arm and side.” Robert shrugged his shoulders, like it was no big deal. “But my sister is ok, and I get to go home soon.”

He sat there, listening to the children chatter, not knowing what to say or how to respond to their experiences. They never stopped talking, long enough, for him to get a word in, anyways. After a little bit, he found himself coloring, right along with them. The sound of their voices had, long ago, melted his nerves away. It wasn’t long before he found their smiles to be contagious…he was smiling, too…really, actually smiling.

Completely unaware that over two hours had passed, he found himself on the floor, in the midst of building blocks, and cracking goofy little jokes. He pulled out all the jokes, from his childhood memories…ones he would normally deem as lame…and found that both of the kids loved them.

If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to explain how, or why, he had loosened up so much in that playroom. Something about these kids…broke down his barrier…and brought out the fun loving Nick that he used to be.