The man shifted where he sat behind the house, ensconced in the trees, and he watched as the navy sedan turned into the driveway and parked beside the small house. The woman stepped out of the car and walked to the mailbox. Her blonde hair floated behind her, glimmering in the light of the setting sun as it fell halfway down her back. She reminded him of his first, all those years ago. It’d been almost a year now since he’d allowed himself to hunt, and the urges were getting harder and harder to ignore.
Would this get the doctor’s attention? He’d been trying to get her to notice him, doing everything he could think of to put himself in her path. And she was a psychologist now, of all things. He smirked at the irony of it. He wondered what she’d say when he finally revealed himself to her. She’d run so far, tried so hard to escape her past, but he’d been right under her nose.
It had taken a little while to track her down, of course, since she’d changed her name. Her records had been sealed, and for a long time, he’d despaired of ever finding her. But things had changed a couple of years ago when he’d gotten his first lead. A different person himself now, he’d gone back to Ohio and kept his ears low to the ground. Although the tragedy had died down over the years, people still remembered it like it was yesterday. With a few well-placed questions, he finally heard that she’d moved to Texas her senior year.
He applauded her choice of name when she reinvented herself. Her new surname was Carr, which in many cultures meant survivor. And Victoria for obvious reasons. She believed she’d been the victor of their little game, escaping her fate that day. But he’d come a long way, too. No longer ruled by his impulsive urges, he was more efficient, infinitely more sophisticated. He was an exceptional hunter, always well-prepared, researching for days or weeks before making his move. He prided himself on his perfect execution, and he never rushed into anything. People who hurried made mistakes—and he never made mistakes.
A feral smile broke across his face as he watched the young nurse stride back up the driveway, head bent as she flipped through the collection of bills and junk mail. Darkness crept over the evening sky, turning it from orange to pink, then finally a dark lapis as daylight bled away completely. Lights flickered to life inside and he watched her shadow move around the small house as she settled in for the night. He’d watched her for more than a week now, and he closed his eyes, mentally tracking her movements from room to room. First, she would head into the kitchen to make dinner—typically a frozen TV dinner, judging from the containers he’d found in the trash can. Afterward, she would move across the house to the bathroom where she’d shower and brush her teeth, then finally to the single bedroom. Alone. Her routine was entirely too predictable. But that was good for him.
Opening his eyes again, he watched her shadow as she carried her dinner to the couch and turned on the TV. Last night she’d watched that horrendous show about spoiled housewives. What would it be tonight? Forty minutes later the glow of the TV was extinguished, immediately followed by the small lamp on the end table, bathing the room in darkness. The kitchen light came on as she discarded the remains of her dinner, then flicked off again as she made her way down the hall to the bathroom.
Not long now. Another hour and she’d be asleep, but he’d wait a little longer. People were unpredictable. Never knew when one of the neighbors might step outside for a late-night smoke or let an animal out before going to bed. The house two doors down had some little ankle biter that yapped at everything. It had almost ruined his recon two nights ago, tearing across the yard toward him before being jerked back by the jolt of the electric fence buried in the ground. He’d retreated then, making his way back into the trees and waiting until the owner had called for the dog to get inside. Tonight, it was quiet—so far. He continued to watch, waiting with barely restrained anticipation as night settled fully over the quiet street.
A little after one o’clock he crept from the trees and approached the house, hunkering down to blend in with the shrubs that separated her lawn from her neighbor to the left. Cutting across the narrow strip of yard, he bent down to the basement window that he’d left unlocked several days prior. He’d checked routinely to make sure that it was still open, but apparently the room was seldom-used since she hadn’t yet noticed it was unlocked.
Swinging the pane inward, he crouched down on the soft, dewy grass and slid feet-first through the narrow rectangle. Dropping swiftly to the floor, he kept one hand on the window to keep it from slamming closed behind him. He quietly lowered it into place and stood stock still as his eyes adjusted to the dark, listening for any sounds of awareness in the house. Only the soft hum of the appliances answered him, and he moved toward the stairs.
This part was trickier. The house was old, and the wooden stairs groaned and creaked with each step. He placed his left foot on the first step all the way to the left. Slowly transferring his weight, he stepped dead in the middle on the second tread. Methodically he climbed the stairs, moving from the memory of having done it dozens of times one day while she was at work.
Finally reaching the door, he turned the handle and inched it open a crack. Eyes and ears on alert he scanned the area, but all was quiet. He crept through the kitchen then down the narrow hallway to her room. The door stood open, and he watched her a moment before stepping silently up to the side of her bed.
The woman lay curled on her side facing away from him, and he stroked a finger down the length of her arm. She shivered at the feather-light touch and rolled toward him, her lashes flickering several times before opening. He could see the wheels turning as she gradually came awake and his presence registered. “Hello, Monique.”
Her lips parted on a silent scream but he covered her mouth and nose with a gloved hand, one knee pressing into the soft cavity of her stomach. She thrashed beneath him, eyes rolling in terror, and he climbed atop her, using his weight to pin her to the mattress. Incoherent sounds came from low in her throat as she tried to scream, call for help, plead for her life.
Pulling a roll of duct tape from the pocket of his sweatshirt, he glared down at her. “I’m going to move my hand now. Scream and I’ll kill you. Nod if you understand.”
Her head moved briskly up and down, and he lifted his hand. Her words came out on a whisper. “Who are you?”
Ignoring her question, he tore a strip of tape from the roll. “Lift your hands.”
She did as he asked, and he looped the strip around her hands.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice shook, and he pressed his lips into a firm line as he wove the tape in a figure eight around her wrists.
“Do you know what happens to cheaters, Monique?”
She blinked up at him, her entire body shaking with fear. “Wh-what?”
“You’re a dirty slut. Aren’t you?”
“No!” She shook her head furiously. “No, I—”
He made a tsk-tsk sound low in his throat as he pulled another strip of tape from the roll. “Come now, Monique. I’ve been watching you.” Her eyes widened, and a grim smile cut across his face. “Oh, yes, I’ve seen you with both of them.”
“N-no, I…” He placed the duct tape over her mouth. A gamut of emotions flashed in her eyes: fear that he would kill her, despair that she wouldn’t see another day, hope that he would let her go. His free hand lifted the fabric of his ski mask so she could see his face, and recognition dawned across her beautiful features.
“Yes, Monique.” A cold smile curled his lips. “It’s me.”
Reaching into his black boot, he retrieved the knife and held it up, the long blade glinting in the moonlight. Her eyes widened, and she fought in earnest, swinging her bound hands like a club. The blade slashed against her forearm and blood trickled from the wound as a thin red line appeared. Her voice was muffled as she tried to scream, hampered by the tape. She yanked her arms away and he shoved them over her head, digging the blade into the fleshy part of her upper arm before slicing into the soft skin. A strangled cry came from beneath the duct tape and he smiled.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Monique.” He smiled before pulling the ski mask down once more and raising the knife, dousing that last vestige of hope she harbored in those wide green eyes. “You must be punished for what you’ve done.”
Nearly two hours later, he picked up the woman’s phone sitting on the nightstand and used her lifeless hand to bring up the main screen. Tapping in the number he knew by heart, he placed the woman’s hand at her side on the bed and waited for the call to connect.
His heart leaped in his chest when she answered, her voice husky with sleep, but still his favorite sound in the whole world.
“This is Dr. Carr. How can I help you?”
A slow smile spread over his face. “Hello, Bekah.”