Watcher in the Night. (First 4 Ch.)

Ch.11

2

13

Jennifer Mayfield was death waiting to happen in red, polyester high-heeled pumps. The clacking of her treacherous 3-inch heels echoed throughout Trinity Acres’ office corridors. She grimaced as her heel coupled with a piece of gum cemented to the floor. She power walked to the bathroom, pushing open the door with an effortless flexing of her fingers. She threw her briefcase down on the counter top and braced her foot against the wall. Swaying slightly, she planted the other foot firm on the ground to keep balance. Her skirt slid slightly above her knee as she wrestled with the gum on the end of a wet tissue. Finally, she managed to pry the stubborn piece of flavored rubber off her hideous shoe and pitched the wet remains into the trash. She dug into her purse and retrieved a tube of lipstick. She applied a coat of “pretty in pink” to her lips and plunged it back into the bottomless abyss of her large, black purse.
“Dammit.” She said to herself, “Why did I even bother with this ridiculous get up?” She glared at herself through the mirror and wagged her finger.
“Who are you and what did you do to the real me?” She demanded of the mirror Jennifer. She paused to think why she had even considered a job as a psychiatrist, much less at a prestigious place such as Trinity Acres.
“So you could do something to put your college training to work, and make something of your life.” She reminded herself half-convinced.
She glanced at her watch to check the time and followed it with an obscenity. It was 8:45. She was supposed to be in Van Oliver’s office by 8:30 and had planned to be 15 minutes early, instead of behind. So much for being punctual. She grabbed her briefcase and dashed out the door, forgetting completely about the troubles that haunted her busy mind. 4

25

Jennifer crossed the thresh hold of the office room with the determination and spirit of The Little Engine that could.
“I’m sorry Mr. Oliver, but I…” She stopped in mid sentence when she saw Van Oliver smiling at her.
“Mrs. Mayfield it’s so good to finally meet you.” He beamed while shaking her hand vigorously.
His light brown eyes seemed out of place with his heavily tanned, crinkled skin and platinum blonde hair. It reminded Jennifer of one of the jubilant little men from Willy Wonka’s chocolate filled, kingdom of gluttony.
“I’m so sorry I’m late Mr. Oliver, I know this is my first time…” He held out a finger to silence her ramblings and smiled warmly.
“Mrs. Mayfield please, don’t go about apologizing when it isn’t needed.”
She shot him a quizzical look and cocked her head. “I don’t understand. I was 20 minutes late for an interview to get a job when I should have been early. That’s a good enough reason to tell me that I didn’t get the job.” She noted regrettably.
“Is that it then? You want me to dismiss you without even saying if you made it?”
“No, but I...”
“But nothing,” he interrupted her. “So what, your 20 minutes late. Though you’re right, about the not getting the job. If it had been anyone but you who had walked through those doors five minutes ago, I would have dismissed them in a heart beat.” He chuckled to himself full heartedly rubbing his slightly round belly.
“My, don’t I sound like Donald Trump. You’re fired!” He said amused with another fit of laughs following.
Jennifer looked taken aback as she brushed her hair behind one ear.
“See, I was right. You did fire me, that was just an elaborate speech to distract me from the full extent of the consequence.”
Van’s face exploded in laughter as he rapped his hand down on his wooden desk in time with his spontaneous giggles.
Jennifer glared at him. “What is so funny about this to you?” She asked not amused.
Van remaintained his composure and wiped his tearing eyes with the back of his hand.
“Mrs. Mayfield, you have not been fired.” He said sternly.
“Then why did you say I was?” Asked a very confused Jennifer.
“It was a line by Donald Trump on the TV show The Apprentice, surely you’ve heard of it.”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” She said slightly embarrassed.
“Well then, I guess the faults on me. But as I was saying before, I am very glad you made it, I was afraid you had a last minute change of heart.”
“No, just dawdled longer then usual. And I had a gum incident.” She said, emphasizing on the word gum in disgust.
“Oh, I see.” He said with an understanding nod.
She cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Is there a reason why you think so highly of me?”
He grinned revealing his cornrow straight, bleached white teeth. “I have every reason to Jennifer. Do you mind if I call you by your first name?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You had a solid 4.0 in high school and college, and that’s very difficult to maintain, it takes steadfast determination and discipline. But you over came those obstacles and excelled, you are an incredible psychiatrist. Master of the mind, curing people of their differences, as we like to call them here. And once I was presented with this information, I was overjoyed to have you working among us. Is something wrong Jennifer?”
She blotted at her tearful eyes with a tissue but the popular cloth didn’t seem to absorb the salty streams of water that trickled down her face. When the tears were dried, and her cheeks rosey, she managed a modest smile.
“Thank you. Thank you so much Mr. Oliver.”
“Van.” He corrected her.
“Thank you Van for bestowing on me your gratuitous compliments. No one has ever spoken to me like that, and I admit I’m taking this with more emotion then I probably should.”
“Not at all dear. I think you better prepare yourself and emotions for more compliments to come your way. Because trust me, they will.” He said with his brown eyes glowing like sun-reflected amber.
“I appreciate this. And thank you for allowing me to stay even though I kind of blew it.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about it.” He followed.
“When do I start?” She said with the tremors no longer plaguing her voice.
“We’re glad to have you here at Trinity Acres, and welcome you with open arms. If possible, I would like you to start by 8:00 tomorrow morning, we will have an office prepared for you so bring your things. And if you’re late, I may have to reconsider my offer.”
“That’s understandable, 8:00 it is, unless something awful happens to me.”
“Don’t be so morbid dear.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just a pessimist at heart.”
He waved, and she waved back.
“See you tomorrow Van.”
“And you Jennifer.” He continued smiling even as he closed the door.6


She descended the stairs and headed down the red and turquoise tiled corridor. She twisted her heel in a crack, while surrendering the part of her shoe to the steadfast pincer that lay masqueraded in the floor.
“Looks like I’m getting new shoes.” She said dismayed and somewhat relieved as she stumbled through the large entrance doors, hobbling out side.
The wind embraced her with an icy cold hug, playfully tugging at her hair and stinging her eyes, threatening to provoke more tears. She walked to her brick red Corvette and sped off out of the parking lot, the compliments of Van Oliver swarming by the dozens back in her impeccable memory.7


Ch.28

19

Ricardo Munoz opened his hardware store at precisely 8:00 in the morning. He hummed a soothing tune to himself while he polished a fine steel shovel with lustrous metal oil. He set the shovel down and looked behind him. The store was empty. He frowned in puzzlement, the store was always bustling with demanding mobs of people desperately wanting his precious hardware. Because the business was family owned, he provided all the tools and took care of the expenses. But he didn’t mind the hardships and physical labor he endured in Mexico were far worse then in the United States. He checked outside the door, standing under the block lettering of “Rick’s Tools.” He was pleased to see everything was in order. He made sure the open sign was on the door, the red neon letters of the four-letter word flashed defiantly in the shopping plaza for the nouveau rich. He liked the way it clashed with the wealth and surreal sites, and also the Gucci and Fendi stores neighboring it on both sides. The displacement of his store didn’t phase him in the least, he thrived on being different and standing out. He was a unique individual and valued his place in the world, as did his beautiful and doting wife Maria and six year old daughter Isabella. He checked his watch, it was 9:00. He had eight more hours before he could enjoy one of Maria’s delicious home cooked meals, play with Izzy, and immerse himself in a good book by the fire after he had tucked his daughter in to bed safe and sound, and assured her there were no monsters waiting to devour her in the dark. He glanced around, very few people roamed the streets and his shop was empty. He seldom worried and questioned life, but today was different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was wrong and it gave him the chills. He wiped the sweat off of his bronzed skin and scratched at his charcoal, black hair. He walked inside and stood at the counter, his hand tapping nervously on the recently furnished tile. “What’s wrong with me?” he said aloud to himself. “God didn’t make me to be like this, so paranoid.” He was always a level headed man that valued his family and work over pleasure, but now all he could think about was getting home to watch one of the Spanish soap operas he occasionally watched when he felt anxious and nervous. Which was close to never. He came up for air out of his submerged thoughts when a voice broke the daze.
“Excuse me, excuse me! Are you with me?” The man examined Rick’s nametag and smirked.
“Yo, Ricardo. Hola Mexicana!”
Rick immediately responded and starred blankly at the man.
“I’m sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a minute. What did you say sir?”
Rick almost took a step back when he saw the man’s face. Although he was only fond of women, and one in particular, he couldn’t deny this man’s beauty. His medium length, rich blonde hair brought out the cerulean in his eyes, and with green striations mixed with the blue he looked almost heavenly.
“I need a shovel.” The man said.
“Yes, of course.” Rick bent down to retrieve the polished shovel he had been working on earlier and handed it to the man.
“Here you go sir.” Rick said warmly.
“Thank you.” The man responded with a smile. “I also need a power drill.” He followed.
“Sure, I just need to see your license. The state has a rule about selling power tools with out identification and to minors.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you that sort of information, and I’m running low on time.” The man said anxiously.
“Well sir, then I’m afraid I can’t give it to you then.”
The man withdrew an L shaped, metal object. Rick knew what would come next, as he watched Maria and little Izzy’s faces flash before his eyes. He said his last prayer as the explosive sound of sub-machine gunfire filled the air. Ricardo fell through the glass tile counter and lay on the broken shards of glass motionless.
“Thanks for the drill.” The man said to the newly deceased Rick. He set the money on the shattered glass besides the bullet riddled body and walked out the door, flipping the open sign to closed10


211

Van Oliver led Jennifer to her solo office room in the corner. This time, Jennifer made sure she wouldn’t be late and arrived at ten till eight. Van beamed down on her as he opened the oak wood door.
“Here we are darling. Your own office, you can decorate it however you like, although I prefer you don’t deck the halls with half naked male models.” He winked at her while ushering he inside.
“Van lets be real here, do I peg you as one of those types?”
“Actually, you don’t strike me as one of those types of girls.”
“Well good.” she said hastily while swiping at a stray golden lock of hair. “Because I take this as a serious profession, and if I littered walls with men and cocktail drinks wouldn’t that come of as somewhat sleazy?”
Van nodded. “More then sleazy dear, it would lead me to wonder if your mind is fit enough to handle those who’s are slightly scrambled.”
“Don’t worry about me Mr. Oliver, I am as sharp minded as they come.”
“I have no reason to believe otherwise Jennifer. I’ll leave you to set up your office.”
“Thank you Van.” Jennifer said gratefully.
“Your welcome, I’ll see you at 1:00 for our lunch break. I hope you brought some crackers to tide you over until then.”
“You read my mind.” She said while fishing Ritz crackers from her purse.
“That’s it? Calorie and taste free crackers?” Van asked amused.
“Well of course. I forgot to throw up today, so I brought these.”
“Very funny.” He said with a laugh.
Jennifer starred at him, her eyes narrowing.
“You were kidding weren’t you?” He asked with worry filling his voice.
“Of course I am! It was a joke.” Jennifer said with a laugh.
“You should become a comedian.” Van said winking at her.
“Maybe I should, but then who would get this office and take my place?” Jennifer cocked her head in question.
“Never mind. Forget what I said, we need you. I’ll see you at 1:00 Jen,”
“Ok, by Van.” Jennifer said while closing the door, wondering when they had gotten close enough for him to call her Jen.12

At 1:00 Jennifer headed down to the lunchroom. With her stomach threatening to cave in, she could eat a whole cow, hoofs and hide included. But when she came to the lunchroom with a Turkey and Swiss BLT on her mind, she found the room deserted. She stood in silence while surveying the ghostly cafeteria while an invisible tumbleweed rolled across the tiled floor in her mind. She almost thought she saw dust clouds churn into mini tornadoes but that was also in her head. Lately, her imagination was growing much to vivid for her liking and she was starting to wonder what was wrong with her. Jennifer Mayfield’s memory loosing screws? No, impossible, not at 26. Her mind was as sharp as a stainless steel butcher knife. She shook her head in disagreement with herself while she walked to Mr. Oliver’s office. She rapped her knuckles on the door while Van came to open it.
“May I help you Jennifer?” He asked smiling.
“No, it’s nothing really. I was just wondering why no one is down in the cafeteria, you did say 1:00 was lunch didn’t you?”
His smile made way for puzzlement while he knitted his brows together.
“Jennifer, you and I went out to eat during our lunch hour, don’t you remember dear? It’s 5:00, almost time to finish up your work for the day.”
Jennifer could feel herself being sucked into an endless tunnel in her mind while the scenery of the room began to swirl into the dark abyss forming pools of color. Her trance was interrupted by her name being repeated.
“Jennifer are you okay? You look a little pale.” Van asked with growing concern.
“Yes, I think I’ll be fine.” Jennifer said, wondering where seven hours of her time could have gone with out her knowledge. If she and Mr. Oliver went to eat with out her remembering, what else happened during that time that escaped her knowledge?
While she packed up her brief case and headed towards the parking lot, Jennifer Mayfield wondered if she, world famous psychiatrist would end up on the same end of the room where patients she was treating sat. This time with her on the receiving end of advice and recommendation instead of the one administrating it.13

314

Like red and white shooting stars speeding through the charcoal emptiness of space, the ambulances emerged. Angry and urgent wails pierced the late morning hours while angels masquerading as officers of law followed close behind uttering their own signature cries letting it be known that help was on its way. Officer Randy Buton was fired up to go, the thickset hands of the young cop already burning with eagerness. He flexed his thick neck suitable to that of a NFL line backer and progressed towards the entrance of “Rick’s Tools.” It wasn’t a shabby place, not in any comparison with it’s neighboring rivals, but nonetheless pleasant. It had a distinct surreal uniqueness about it that Randy obliged. He reached a leather-clad hand towards the knob and admitted a painful screeching from his touch.
“I guess oiling should be next on the list.” Randy muttered to the imaginary shopkeeper. He walked inside, searching for the owner of the store. He found him resting upon shards of broken glass. But on closer inspection it was clear as the glass he was laying on that he wasn’t resting temporarily, but permanently. He reached out to check the pulse on the man’s ice cold wrist. Dead as the squeaking door knob. Randy squatted down and wiped his sweaty brow. After all the years of cop work, he still felt squeamish at the sight of a dead body. Perhaps he felt a deep remorse about the innocent victims that departed the world, but perhaps not.When he hovered over the body, he winced when he noticed all the holes, it was if his body had been offered to subsitute for one of those chilidish games you see in arcades where the child wacks a mallot to end the life of a pack of electronic moles, each hole was administred by fury, yet precise care. One bullet hole brought his attention a little closer, he pressed a leather wound finger into the entrance wound that started it’s mark from the man’s left breast and exited through his protruding shoulder blade. A clear and clean shot to the heart, causing instant death on impact and ridding the body of all it’s normal functions. If by sheer miracle the shop owner had dodged the shot by a cm, causing the bullet to move down an inch down, it would render him paralyzed from the waist down. Either way the man would suffer from despair, just as the killer had intended. Of course, just by that one wound the shopkeeper would be prenounced dead, but not only did the killer not want to take any chances, he wanted to lead the authorities on a dummy trail, a path leading to another killer, or none at all. Just by looking at the body, he could tell this wasn't the usual way this killer would kill his victims, he would just leave it at that one hole, and maybe resort to a more creative way to disgfigure his victims. Judging by the preciseness of the one wound and small amount of blood it could be said the killer was professional and calculated about his work. Randy shook his mahogany, curly mane and pressed a finger to his throbbing temple. Whatever it took, they needed to apprehend this dangerous criminal. In a city like San Francisco, even one death would be noticed if not by the public, but by the victim’s family and the authorities soon after. Randy didn’t like the feeling that was swelling to large proportions inside of him, or the immediate urge to relieve his bowels. But what he did appreciate was the call of his Chief summoning him outside.
“Yes Chief?” Randy asked, determined not to reveal his superstitious worries.
“Did you find anything useful?” 6’5 Chief Sampson boomed down.
“A dead body, shattered glass, and a door that needs to be fixed.” Randy said smiling.
The Chief craned a cold blue eye on his officer and perfected his glare.
“You tryin’ to be funny Buton?”
“No sir.” He disagreed. “Only trying to lighten up the situation.”
“What situation?” The Chief demanded, his eyes burning holes into Randy.
“Well, I concluded by the way the wound was formed, we have a professional killer on our hands. Not just a PCP high junkie throwing a tantrum over the wrong hammer, but a cold, merciless killer.
Scratching his ear furiously, the Chief turned towards Randy.
“Get me back up.” He ordered.
“Yes Sir.” Randy said making his way to the patrol car, feeling as if Jesus himself had baptized him on the ground he was walking on. He felt immense relief that he could temporarily leave the situation. He tucked himself into the small cop car like Bozo and his friends might do in to a microscopic circus car. His hands shook while he dialed the head office. After he had told them the Chief’s order he leaned his head back, reclined the seat, and drifted off into his own peaceful world, and when he woke up it would be all over. But what Randy Buton didn’t know was it was just the beginning for what was yet to come.15


Ch.316

When Jennifer closed the door leading to the garage, she entered her luxurious four bedroom, Italian style house, with the gorgeous white stucco roof. She marveled at the work the maid had done while she was out, leaving the house spotless as usual, and with a lingering fresh pine scent. She set her brief case against the wall and walked into the living room. The large brown satin couch was set off to the side of the room with a slightly angled look and an inviting appeal. There was a mahogany leather love seat in the far corner of the hard wooded floor living room that stood in front of a large framed window. In the middle of the furniture was a see through, calico porcelain table with a rock fountain trickling on top of its glass surface. The walls were painted a pleasant shade of plum to match the brown furniture and hardwood floors. She kicked off her shoes and stretched onto the satin couch. She stretched her arms back and yawned loudly, while propping her pulsing and aching feet onto a pillow.
“Sometimes I worry way too much about looks.” she said to herself wondering why she had spent half a million dollars on a four bedroom house for only herself and the time wearing shoes that would send her to retirement faster then a job in a lion’s pit could. She turned to the side and huddled into a ball. 17

“When I get this memory loss thing sorted out, I have got to settle down.” She scolded.
She positioned herself onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, the glazed wooden blades of the ceiling fan swooshed loudly in the room reminding Jennifer of a large bird preparing to close in on it’s prey. She rested her hand on her head, her temples throbbed and it became so painful to keep her eyes open and focused on an object in the room, that she had to close them. As her lids closed, she could feel herself being lifted above the couch and out of the room as she began to hover above the city of San Francisco. She drifted lower to the ground until she had a bird’s eye view of the construction yard two blocks of her new office at Trinity Acres. She gasped when she saw herself walking along the sidewalk in front of the construction site. She remembered she had walked from the construction site to her favorite shopping plaza on one of her three-mile jogs a few days ago. She couldn’t remember why she was there, but she had a feeling that her burning question would be answered in the dream. As the ground Jennifer continued to jog she detected an odd shape behind a scraggly windblown bush. She made her way through the dirt and approached the bush. She could feel her chest tighten as all the blood began to drain from her face. A scream caught in her throat when she rounded the bush. Lying on the ground was the remains of what appeared to be a once successful businessman. She covered her mouth and almost gagged on the smell of decomposing flesh. She rubbed her sweating palms on the sides of her face and turned away from the horrific site. It was obvious that the man did not die of natural causes, but was instead murdered by a nameless, faceless killer that she had no desire to become acquainted with. Without further inspecting the body, she made a mad dash out of the construction yard and onto the pavement. She squatted, and rested her hands on her knees while she exhaled in ragged, shrill breaths. She decided that her best choice of action was to get home as soon as she could and call the police. She sprinted four blocks, until she came to the entrance of her house. She wiped her spotless Nike’s on the floor mat, and dashed into the kitchen with the intention of calling the police. But the sudden urge to reach the authorities had now left her, and she found that she was too shaken up to speak, while instead she made her way towards her bedroom. She spread out onto the large canopy, goose feathered bed and drifted off into sound sleep while completely forgetting about her troubles, and never once glancing at the shadowed figure that continued to watch her intently through her bedroom window. 18

219

“Buton? Hey, are you with me? Wake up, damn you!”
Randy’s eyes shot open, revealing crusted remains of sleep in the corners.
“What did you say?” He asked sluggishly while he wrestled with his mangled curls.
Chief Sampson frowned down on him and stomped his foot in agrivation.
“How long you been asleep anyway? You look like hell!”
Randy looked at him through his drowsy eyes giving him a doped up appearance. He had sleep induced dryness in the corner of his chin and a persisting fowl taste in his mouth that tasted like rancid milk and aged garlic. He opened his mouth in hope that the bad taste would escape like a trapped animal in a cage, leaving him with a wintry fresh taste or none at all. No such luck.
He yawned and rose from the cramped seat in the back of the cop car.
“I’m sorry Sir, I’ll go wash up.”
“Just go home Randy. You’re like a nail in my cereal, a tumor in my brain, expiration in my food…”
“Sir, does this have a point?”
A shade of violet seeped through the large man’s face, as he realized his ramblings had been corrected by an inferior.
“Get out of my sight. We’ll talk about this case tomorrow. And please clean yourself up before then so you’re not an embarrassment.”
Randy nodded and wearily walked in the direction of his car.
“And Randy?”
Randy slowly whipped his head around and stared at the chief blankly.
“Sir?”
“We’ve got a hell of a lot to do before we can nail this bastard.”
Randy saluted and continued walking, thinking about the dead man in the hardware store. Who was this psycho killer, and what was his motive? Randy wondered as he sped off towards his peaceful bungalow.20


321

In a deserted parking lot, just two blocks away from the construction site, he waited. The only sound that could be heard through the cold, foggy morning was his harsh, rugged breathing. Each breath exploded into a hoarse cry, as serpents of fog found their exit through his nostrils and mouth. With each motion of the unhinging of his jaw, the entrails of icy smoke whistled through his mouth, transforming the windows of his Mercedes Benz into a murky marine tank. A cold chill crawled up the hollow of his back and ended at his neck. He swatted at his spinal cord to halt the persistent crawling sensation that the imaginary insect was leaving behind. His laughter erupted from inside the car as he reached for a tightly sealed object wrapped with the care of a Christmas present, sealed in foil. The sharp, aluminum edge of the paper rippled and quavered against his skin as he slowly peeled away the casings, eagerly awaiting the contents it held. He grasped the hard, wooden handle and brought the object into view. He grinned derisively at himself in the reflection of the gleaming surface of the butcher knife. 22

“Beautiful.” He whispered.
His voice carried in the frigid, cramped car like a pastor’s sermon echoing through the concave ceilings of a pristine chapel. He edged his fingers along the sides of the honed knife and brought fourth streams of blood. He winked at himself through the clouded, scarlet stains and licked his lips contently. 23

“Jennifer,” he said, “I’m going to give you the time of your life.”24


425

Jennifer entered Trinity Acres the next morning with a bright smile across her face and newer, more practical shoes on her feet. She had her blonde hair up in a clip, and when she walked past an open window it was transformed into fine- spun gold. She walked over to Pete Gregor’s desk and sat in the neighboring chair.26

“Hello Jennifer.” Pete said, focusing on her eyes. They were exquisitely shaped into that of an almond, and encased a vibrant marble of lush green in each center. Her long, dark lashes fanned up to her eyebrows in a long graceful arch, not in the least bit clumped like the teenagers wore it. She had only minimal make-up on, with just a hint of chestnut shadow, translucent foundation, and a light pink lipstick.27

“Hi Pete, how are you?” she asked. Pete was Trinity Acres longest standing employee, and kept a record for being diligent and studious. He ran his fingers through his slicked back hair, the same shade as Jennifer’s and narrowed his baby blue eyes on the small amount of cleavage peeking through her white work blouse. She sensed the feeling she was being watched and grew uneasy, while shifting in her seat.
“I’m just great Jennifer. I made a magnificent breakthrough in my studies! I’m sure you’re aware of my field?”
Jennifer smiled politely and shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not. Maybe you should refresh my memory.” 28

“My field is hypnosis, it’s been proven to be quite effective. To put the patient into a deep trance, so that you are able to prod around their subconscious and find answers to their problems they were to afraid to reveal to you conscious.”
He tapped his fingers on his desk and crossed one leg over the other. 29

“Now that you mention it, I have heard of it. I should give it a try with some of my patients.” She said briskly.30

“You should. It really is quite successful.” Pete said, following his speech with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Jennifer glanced at her watch and involuntary jolted out of her seat.31

“Goodness!” she cried. “I’ve been sitting here with you for almost 30 minutes, I need to get to my office. We’ll have to catch up again sometime soon”32

“You name when.” He said with a broadening smile, forming a gentle wave with his hand.
Jennifer pushed the chair back to its proper place and raced back to her office, praying to God that her boss wouldn’t scold her.33

Ch.4
134

He waited behind the leafy azaleas as he watched her walk to her car. She looked angry, her eyebrows were knitted together creating the illusion of an uni-brow and her lip was curled as if a rancid odor had passed through the air making her lip quiver at the revulsion. She had come out of an office building, obviously not happy with the people or her boss inside, because she slammed the door so forcefully that he flinched in the safety of his hiding spot. As he watched, she got in the car muttering a stream of obscenities under her breath as she tightened the belt attached to her charcoal, wool coat. As her waist shrunk, her bust seemed to posses a mind of its own, threatening to break loose from the three round buttons that held the coat in place. She brushed off stray pieces of lint on her dark slacks, and grabbed the door handle forcing it to open. She slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key into the ignition, the Mickey Mouse key chain that hung below the keys waved merrily to phantoms in the wind. The car sputtered and coughed up clouds of smoke as it squealed impatiently down the road. He took down the license plate number with the spiral and felt tip pen he held. A smile played his features, as it spread across his face in a crescendo of pleasure. Now that he had the car number, Jennifer would never escape his sight. His eyes held all the secrets of the world encased in his immense blue irises flecked with green. He was not like everyone else he was different. A uniqueness that surpassed other meant that he was special, his father had told him so many times before. Salty tears masked his vision as he remembered his father, what a truly remarkable man he was. He would give anything to see his dad, even if it meant killing again.35

“You must always justify violence if it gets you to what you desire. Never in vain, will blood slaughter be if it’s to be done in the name of The Goal you struggle to strive. There are many creatures on the earth, eliminating a couple to reach The Goal will not make you a bad person, but a noble one. Once people realize that it was for The Goal they will understand.”
The words of his father’s speech rung in his ears like the sweet sound of church bells striking one another above a chapel surrounded by the serenity of the chiming.
He got into his car parked beside the azaleas and drove off, still starring excitedly at the piece of notebook paper her held.36

“The Goal,” he murmured breathlessly, “I must achieve The Goal.”
He drove off into the oncoming night, with only the company of the full moon shadowing him in the distance, smiling at him through it’s heavily dimpled face.37

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