Baggy grey sweats, auburn hair piled high on her head. Thick white face cream slathered over her features like some housewife from a vintage sitcom. She’s in for a real wake-up call.

Frank approached the front door. Fingers trembling, he pulled out a key. He had followed Chrissie Haims back to her home several times, each time growing bolder, each time getting a little closer. A week earlier he had watched her leave for work, then he’d found the spare key hidden under a stone by the door. It was a simple task to have it copied at the nearby strip mall, returning the original back to its supposed hiding place within the hour.

For a moment, he feared she had discovered his subterfuge and changed the locks. The breath caught in his throat as the key slid home. The door swung open on silent hinges. He moved inside, crouching like a sprinter on the blocks as he listened to the sounds of the house. The floor was cool to his touch through the disposable latex gloves he wore. His tongue flicked across his lips as he inhaled the aromas of the house. Coffee, flowers just a little past their best, a sweet perfume. He had been at the store when she had bought it.

As he moved through the house, staying low, an electric tingle rolled the length of his spine. The sound of the television greeted him as he pushed gently on the kitchen door, a jingle from a commercial.

The syringe that he drew from his bag felt comfortable in his hand. This wasn’t the first time he had used it. The generous mix of fentanyl and ketamine would drop her in seconds. She would be out cold until he injected her again with a powerful stimulant. That’s when the real fun would begin.

Frank listened. Her bare feet padded on the hardwood floor. She was in the living room.

Swish. Swishhh. The sound of curtains being drawn.

Too late, little piggy, the big bad wolf is already inside.

Frank crept along the hall, his hand brushing the wall with the faintest pressure. The living-room door was open, light from the television flickering an abstract pattern on the wall.

Readying himself for a quick dash into the room, Frank raised the hypodermic. She had her back to him. Tonight, she would pay dearly for her fleeting smiles and cruel teasing. He closed upon Chrissie Haims.

2

A tree branch whipped across the young man’s face, drawing blood and sending him stumbling to the ground. He landed in an untidy heap on the hard-packed dirt, losing his remaining shoe as he fell. A shock wave of pain ran up his spine.

The girl running ahead of him turned, a desperate sob catching in her throat. “Dean!”

The young man waved his hand frantically.