Sex and Murder Magazine

By J. Douglas Stephenson

It had been nearly a week since the moving-truck had pulled away from the towering Victorian next door. James Vaughn knew this, since he had been keeping an ever-watchful eye on the house since the truck’s arrival, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of who was now dwelling within. The house had been on the rental market for the better part of the year, with nothing more than a few people stopping by for a tour, never to be heard from or seen again. He assumed it was probably the price that turned them away, since his own home was roughly a thousand per month and it was only half the size of the castle that left his house in a dark shadow throughout most of the day.

James sat at the breakfast table, staring intently through the sliding-glass door at the fence that separated the two backyards. His eggs had lost their warmth and sat cold and idle on his plate, catching the attention of his wife, Claire.

“James,” she said, trying to catch his attention. “James!”

He turned to her swiftly. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to eat? I don’t cook it for my health, you know.”

James glanced down at the pile of cool eggs. “Sorry, just not really hungry this morning.”

Claire rolled her eyes and pulled the plate from the table, dumping the mound of eggs into the trash.

“Have you seen the new neighbors at all?” James said, turning his head towards her.

“Not yet,” she replied. “I don’t really know if anyone has. I actually thought about going over at some point to introduce ourselves though. You know, to be at least somewhat neighborly.”

James sighed, “I suppose so.”

He didn’t have even the slightest desire to go and mingle with anyone, let alone a stranger who had just moved in next door. Claire, on the other hand, would have no problem with it. She was more of a “people person” than he was, and always had been.

She worked as a Registered Nurse, so the whole concept of caring and helping others was something that she was more familiar with. He would rather just sit in his isolated office upstairs and read through manuscript after manuscript, getting lost in the stories that unfolded before him. It allowed him to view the world from a completely different point of view, and more importantly, it allowed him to do so without having to actually communicate face to face with anyone. It was the perfect

“Maybe tonight?” Claire asked him.

James paused for a moment before replying. “Maybe.”

She smiled at him, knowing that he had no intentions of going to meet the new neighbor, or neighbors, since no one really knew anything about who was living there. “Well, I think we should. It’d be good for you. Maybe we’ll have a lot in common.”

James gave her a half-smile, trying not to say something he would later regret. “We’ll see.”

Claire knew exactly what that meant. “Ok, I’ve gotta go to work. Kiss.”

She lowered her head to his and he kissed her lips. “Have a good day at work,” he said, as she moved towards the front door.

She canted her head to the side and smiled back at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

With the sound of the closing door, James turned his attention back to the backyard. It didn’t necessarily bother him that someone had moved in, but it made him feel at least a little uneasy that they hadn’t introduced themselves or come over to ask questions about the neighborhood. That, he thought, was what a normal person would do when they moved into a new place.

He pulled himself up from the chair and walked to the stairs. He had moved his office into the attic early last summer, mostly for the peace and quiet, but also to allow him the escape that he held so dear. Now, though, it offered another advantage to him. The window that his desk sat next to gave him a perfect view of not only his backyard, but the backyard next door as well. If there was any chance that he would be able to find out who had moved in, it would happen from up here.

James pulled the chair up to the desk and peered through the glass to the backyard. It was motionless, nothing but grass and seedlings. He turned his attention back to the collection of manuscripts, pulling one from the top and opening to the first page. The opening was both eerie and impressive to him, considering the current events next door.

It wasn’t the move that had bothered him, the man thought as he walked up the cobblestone path toward the front porch; it was knowing what he had come there to do and knowing that he had no other options in the matter. He saw the house next door in his peripheral vision and wondered if she even knew what was going to happen, wondered if she would struggle or just accept it for what it was. The man breathed deeply and fashioned his hand into the shape of a pistol, making a clicking sound to simulate the drop of the hammer, and opened the front door.

James bobbed his head up and down in acceptance of the manuscript thus far. He had read an amazingly large amount of them, and this one was going to be a keeper if it continued in this fashion.

He gazed through the window again, scanning the backyard once more in hopes of identifying even the slightest hint of life. Just as before, there was nothing spectacular about it. The only thing that had changed was the presence of a small bird perched on the fence, cocking its head from side to side in hopes of finding a meal.

James arose from the seat and poured himself a cup of coffee, being mindful not to make the mistake of spilling it onto the pile of papers. He had done that once in the past and didn’t care much for having had to contact each writer to ask them to resubmit their work. He also didn’t care for having to make up a reason why they had to do such a thing. He couldn’t even remember what he had told them, but he imagined that it involved a fire or something along those lines.

He seated himself in the chair once again and flipped to the cover page of the manuscript.

Neighbor
By M.K. Daniels

James sat the manuscript on the desk and tapped on it with his finger. He could always tell which manuscripts were going to be the best, just from reading the opening. It had to be vague, yet thorough; elusive, yet visible; deadly, yet passionate. This one demanded a thorough reading and he would do it very slowly; allowing the words to paint a vivid display in his mind, allowing his thoughts to become trapped between the pages, allowing the world it created to encompass his soul. This one was going to be genius.

He slid the manuscript to the side and pulled another one from atop the pile, opening to the first page and reading quietly to himself. His brain moved as quickly as his eyes, making small notes as the story began to develop before him. He pulled the cup to his lips and took a sip, not even bothering to take his eyes from the paper while he did it.

James hadn’t made it through the first few chapters before the sound of a closing door caused his head to perk up and look into the backyard. Finally, this was it. He watched the man, who couldn’t have been more than thirty, walk from the back porch and out into the yard, taking care not to step too heavily upon it. His dirty-blonde hair hung just down to his shoulders and bounced with each tiny gust of wind. A pair of round-framed glasses were held snug against the bridge of his nose. He stood there, his small frame motionless like a statue, and just gazed into the distance, finally kneeling down before coming to a full sit.

James pushed his face ever closer to the glass, trying to make out anything else about the man. He began to scan him up and down, taking note of every little piece of him. His clothes, a simple pair of jeans and white t-shirt, were clinging tightly to his body. His shoes were just as simple; black loafers with no obvious logo on them. He was plain, that was all there really was to it. James continued eyeballing the man intently; so intently in fact, that he didn’t notice when the man turned and looked at him, his eyes fixed hard on James.

James jumped back into his chair, feeling a mixture of fear and embarrassment. He wanted to poke his head closer to see the man again, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing once again and quickly peeked through the window. He was gone, just as quickly as he had appeared.

He sat back into the chair, sighing and rubbing his forehead, trying to erase what had just occurred. He couldn’t help but feel slightly stupid about it, since it probably made him look like some kind of weirdo who had nothing better to do than watch his people from his attic. James shook his head and tossed the current manuscript to the side. He reached for Neighbor once more, opening to where he had left off.

The man had sat in the house for nearly a week, planning his every move thoroughly, watching her go in and out of the house. He had done this all so many times before that it was becoming easier and easier, but there was no reason to become complacent. He didn’t view all of them in the same way, the victims, that is. Each one was a special flower, different from the others, and he would lay them to rest in their own special garden and move on to another special flower.

Of course, they all had their inherent risk, which could not be taken lightly. It was for this reason that he spent so much time in planning. He could follow them to their work, but that would look suspicious and could lead to problems. He had to gain their trust in order to study them up-close, to find the subtle differences in each one. It wouldn’t take long to pluck them from the stem once he had gained a better understanding of them. The only thing that he needed now was the time, he thought, as he stepped out onto the back porch.

James closed the manuscript and sat back in the chair. It was eerie, that was one thing that he was certain of. That wasn’t the thing that drew him to this story the most though. The element that held his attention and left him yearning for more was the realistic quality, the way that this story made him feel like he was there. The idea created a chill that crawled down his spine, forcing him to shake his shoulders from side to side.

He leaned forward in his chair again and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was early for lunch, but he figured that since he hadn’t eaten breakfast, that it would probably be a better idea to consume something now than later. James leaned back toward the window once more and looked down at the empty backyard next door, shaking his head once more as he rose from the desk and proceeded down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

James fumbled through the refrigerator, finally pulling out a package of sliced chicken breast and some mayonnaise out and sitting them on the countertop. He spread the mayo thickly onto the white slices of bread and added a heaping helping of breast to the top. As soon as he was finished, it was right back up the stairs to his office. He preferred to eat there, rather than in the dining room, so he could focus more on the collection of manuscripts.

He hadn’t initially intended to be an editor, but had aspired for a career in writing originally. After a bout of returned manuscripts and utter disappointment, he stopped writing and began working for a publishing company, editing and reading in hopes of gathering ideas for his own work. What first began as just a job became a hobby, which became a passion, which became his life. When he was writing, he thought that editing was merely for failed writers who had either lost their touch or never acquired it in the first place. Later, he realized that there was something very dramatic about the task, something beautiful. The way that he felt when he read these stories, possibly as the first person who had ever done so, was a feeling that he adored.

James sat down at the desk and tore a hunk of the sandwich off in his mouth. He pulled Neighbor forward on the desk and opened to the last segment. There were so many words that James could have used to describe this piece of literary genius, but he was beginning to feel that his vocabulary couldn’t even fathom words for a story like this. He felt almost as if he were a child, sitting in his room and playing out the fantastical world that was being created just for him.

The man sat there in the grass, thinking about how he was going to do it. He imagined his hands wrapped tightly around her throat, watching the spirit leave her body as she took her last gasping breath. Or perhaps, holding her head under the crystal-clear waters until all movement had ceased. To be honest, he wasn’t quite certain how he would do it quite yet, and he probably wouldn’t know that part until the time came. Making a plan was highly important, but he didn’t want to ruin the ending.

The man’s thoughts were short though, as he began to feel a presence around him. He could feel the sting of eyes falling on his figure. He looked around, looking for even the most insignificant sign. Finally, he saw the other man, her husband. He stared at the window at him, stalked him with his eyes. The man stared at the husband, who was clueless that he had been found out, studying him simultaneously. All at once the husband saw the man’s eyes returning a stone-like gaze at him and shot backwards.

The man continued staring at the window momentarily. There were reasons that this would be easy, reasons that he wouldn’t divulge at this time. To many, the husband would have posed a problem, but not to the man. He had a plan and the plan was all that mattered. The husband would take care of himself in due time.

“What the…” James started to say, before dropping the manuscript from his hand.

It landed with a slight slapping sound against the hardwood floor and became the object of James’s stare. His earlier thoughts of the story being eerie were erased now, substituted by the word horrifying. That was the only way that James could describe a story that would cause him to react like that. He had never read something that was able to reach this level of vividness.

Even as he sat and stared at the manuscript, his mind was begging for more. He was well aware that the story was similar to the events of that day, but that was what intrigued him the most, because almost anyone could relate to it. It was dark and it was chilling, and that is the reaction that James wanted to give to the readers. He wanted them to feel the same sensation that he was feeling right now. There were very few stories that had stuck out to him in this manner and this one was, by far, the most amazing of them to date.

He knelt to the manuscript and picked it up from the floor, wiping off the cover page and sitting it on the edge of the table. He repositioned himself in the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and yawning. He thought hard about the story that had found him and what it might possibly mean. Something of this caliber could easily make a small fortune; maybe even make the Bestseller’s List. James grinned at the thought of it. He would take Claire and they would leave the city, maybe do some traveling and see the world. He knew that she would enjoy that.

He could feel the weight starting to increase in his eyelids and poured another cup of coffee from the pot. James looked again at the manuscript that sat silently on the floor and hesitantly picked it up and opened it again.

It frightened him, to some extent, and he wondered if it wouldn’t be wiser to just close it now and offer the author an advance for it. The fact remained though, that he had to read it. Not only because that was what he was paid to do, but because he felt as if he had to venture further into its pages. He wanted to see if the rest of it was as good as he had hoped, or if it was more like a shallow pond; water that was good for a short swim, but there was no sense in attempting a deep sea dive.

The man sat in the living room of his new home, his mind running in violent circles. It was nearly time for her to arrive and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to wait like this. He had studied her intensely over the past week, day in and day out; until he knew every movement that she was going to make and every word she was going to speak. She was a special flower, just like he had said, and he intended to treat her as such. The man peered through the front window. She would come over tonight, he was certain of it. After all, it was the neighborly thing to do.

The only thing that stood in the way at this point was her husband, but the man was sure that he would be no bother; they never are. The only thing he had to do was stick to the plan. That was all that mattered in this moment. He would stick to the same plan that had worked so many times before and afterwards, he would celebrate with her in ways that only he knew. It was going to be glorious.

He continued to ponder about the husband; what he was thinking and doing. Was he still in the attic, staring down at the backyard, or had he retired for the day. It was the minute things like these that had thrown him off in the past, but not anymore. The plan was going to fall right into place. The husband would react in the same manner that they are all bred to react; through anger and violence. This would be his key, opening the door to the moment when he could lay that special flower to rest. A tiny smirk traced itself onto his stone-etched face as the thought ran through his consciousness. Soon, so very soon.

James just sat at the desk, motionless. His eyes were glued to the words. So glued to them in fact, that he didn’t hear Claire open the door to the attic.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she said, the phrase sending him reeling out of the chair and onto the floor.

He hit the floor hard, harder than he had wanted to at least, jamming his elbow into the floor like a nail. “Jesus Claire! What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you downstairs, so I thought you might be up here.”

“You could have at least knocked,” he stammered back, rubbing his now tender elbow.

“Hey, I said I was sorry,” she shot back. “And besides, what are you still doing up here, you’re hardly ever working this long.”

“A story Claire and a good one at that.”

She smiled at him as she leaned against the door frame. “Oh yeah? Is this the big one?”

James looked down at the manuscript, “Not sure yet, but it could be. It’s good, that’s for sure. Better than any of the others I’ve read lately.”

She pulled her weight from the frame and walked towards him. “What’s it about?”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Funny thing is…I don’t really know for sure yet. I haven’t been able to read all of it. It’s real though, very real.”

She looked into his eyes, “Haven’t been able to? That’s not like you. You fly through those manuscripts.”

“I know, I know” he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “This one has a different feel to it, not like anything I’ve read before.”

She nodded to him in approval. “Sounds like you may have found a winner. But for now, come downstairs and rest your eyes.”

James smiled at her and rose up from the chair, giving each of his legs, which had gradually stiffened throughout the day, a shake. From this feeling, he gathered that he had been up there much longer than he had originally thought and that she was more than likely right about him needing to give his eyes a rest, as well as his head. That was the problem with the best stories; they always had a way of making you hold on, even if deep within, you were afraid of what you were holding onto. He grabbed her tightly and held her close to him, kissing her cheek softly.

“I love you honey,” he whispered into her ear.

Claire was quick to return the kiss. “I love you too.”

James took her by the hand and led her down the stairs. The manuscript would have to wait for now, but there would be time for it later.

James had taken up residence on the recliner from the moment they got downstairs. It felt good to just sit back and relax a little. The manuscript had left him considerably shaken. For the most part, it was due to the nature of the writing itself; it was so vivid and so clear, as if it had been written just for him. On the other hand, it was too real. A few of the similarities to the current events could have been mere coincidence, but there weren’t exactly just a few; it played out every little event from start to finish, with no straying whatsoever. He closed his eyes and tried to make more sense of it, but the sense never came.

Claire, who was sitting on the couch, caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye.

“So, remember earlier, when I asked about us going over and meeting the new neighbors?” She asked him.

James opened one of his eyes and turned it to her. “Yeah.”

“Well, I thought that since we weren’t doing anything that we could probably go over there.”

James opened his other eye and turned his entire head towards her. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

He shook his head back and forth as he spoke. “I don’t know about now, can’t we do it some other time?”

“James, it’s always ‘some other time.’ Why can’t we just go over and meet them.”

James sat up in the recliner. “Look Claire, I don’t really feel like going to meet this guy right now.”

Claire sat forward on the couch and folded her arms in front of her. “And how do you know that it’s a guy? It could be a girl or a family.”

James sighed. “It’s a guy Claire, trust me. I saw him today.”

“Really? When?”

“I was upstairs writing and I saw him in the backyard.”

Claire’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, so you were spying?”

“What? No, I wasn’t spying on him. I heard the door and I wanted to see what was going on.”

“And did he see you?”

“Yeah, he saw me.”

“Ok, so then what did you do?”

“Nothing. I sat down in my chair and went back to work.”

Claire scoffed at him. “You sat down in your chair and went back to work?”

James was sitting further forward now. He didn’t care much for being questioned, and he certainly didn’t care for this specific type of questioning.

“Yeah.”

“So you didn’t wave, nod, smile, or anything?”

“No, just like I said, I sat down and went back to work.”

Claire sat back hard against the couch, her arms still crossed and her voice growing louder. “And that’s not spying? Staring at someone from the attic and hiding when they see you?”

James was good at knowing when he was losing ground, and this was one of those times. Apparently, there was a fine line between spying and observing that no one had bothered telling him about.

“It’s not spying. I told you what happened.”

“Well that’s great. So now he probably thinks that we’re some kind of psycho family that watches them constantly.”

James had begun to lose his hold on the situation. “Jesus, will you just calm down about it?”

Claire pulled herself forcefully from the couch. “I won’t calm down about it, because now I have to go make it right.”

She was moving towards the door before he even realized it. “Where are you going?”

“To meet the neighbors, and to apologize for you spying on them.”

James sat, motionless and whispered under his breath, hoping that she wouldn’t hear. “Fine, do whatever you want.”

He heard the door slam as she pulled it shut behind her. From the chair, he could see her walking across the front lawn, finally drifting out of sight and onto the porch. He lurched up from the chair, his legs still slightly stiff and gave a quick kick at the ottoman. All he could really do was wait for her now. He knew for certain that he wasn’t going to go over to the house, not after this morning.

It was at this time that the manuscript crossed his mind. If she wasn’t going to be here, the least he could do was read some more of it. He tromped through the living room, still angry from their argument and made his way up the stairs, his feet slamming down harder on each step as he moved upward.

The manuscript was still sitting motionless on the desk, opened to where he had left off. James pulled the chair back and seated himself, pulling the story towards him as he kicked his feet up onto the desk.

The man watched her as she pulled her car into the driveway, ever so slowly. He had no doubts that it would be soon now. From inside his house it was hard for him to know exactly what was happening next door, but he had a very good idea about it. It was human nature that had allowed him to work so seamlessly, and it was human nature that would allow him to do the same for years to come.

She would walk into the quiet, dark house and search for him, finding him upstairs, where he had been for the majority of the day. Perhaps they would exchanges displays of affection before retreating to the downstairs. From there, it would be only a short time before she requested for him to accompany her next door. That would be the moment that he was waiting for.

No man, especially a man like her husband, would want to do something like that. He would attempt to justify his reason for not wanting to go by saying something along the lines of “not right now”, or a similar phrase. His main slip though, would be telling her that he had already seen the new neighbor. She would become angry after finding out how the meeting occurred, and she would feel obligated to meet him now. The best part though, was that due to human nature, her husband would not join her.

James’s face had begun to turn pale by the time he had finished the segment. To Hell with coincidence, this was something different. He felt as though the manuscript was based on this very moment; dictating everything that had happened and possibly, was going to happen. He reached for the window and pulled it open, allowing his lungs to breathe a relieving breath of fresh air.

He heard the knock at the front door. The long awaited moment had finally arrived and he was ready to meet this special flower face to face. He opened the door and allowed her to introduce herself before he did the same. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and he had to be certain to make a significant first impression and to gain her trust from the start.

He asked her to come inside, inhaling a whiff of her aromatic hair as she passed by him in the doorway. The man shot his eyes back and forth outside of the house for a brief moment, ensuring that there was no one else there and promptly closed the door. He seated her on the couch in the living room and commenced to making the normal small talk, always being sure to look and sound interested in her every word. In her eyes and in her smile he knew why he had chosen her and he knew that the time was soon. Before she knew it she would be laid to rest; planted beneath the filthy soil of a beautiful garden, this special flower would begin to blossom.

James threw the manuscript, from his shaking hands, onto the desk and spoke. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but vocalizing his thoughts must have made them feel more real and helped to ease his mind. His voice was shaking as it left his throat.

“It’s a story, that’s all it is. Don’t let it get to you. It’s only a story.”

It was too late. His mind was already sifting through the day’s events, searching for a glimmer of sense. It was no use. Everything was there, clear as crystal; James, the man, Claire, his actions, her actions, all of it.

He ran to the open window and stared into the darkness that now encompassed the world outside. There was silence and nothing more, at least not until it hit him. There wasn’t a set amount of dots that you needed to connect before the picture started to become clear, but the manuscript had led him to this moment; the moment where he finally realized what was going to happen.

His eyes widened in terror, “Son of a…Claire.”

He sprinted from the attic, nearly falling on several occasions, her name spouting from his lips the entire time and steadily increasing in volume and intensity. He struck the bottom of the banister just as he reached the ground floor, sending a shocking pain through his hip, but he didn’t care anymore. He flung the door open and ran from the house, his eyes focused on the towering Victorian.

He was breathing heavily as he approached the front door, but not enough to keep him from pounding the door hard and fast with his clinched fist. He was screaming her name now, as if it would change the outcome of this situation. He could feel the metallic sound of the lock turning inside and readied himself for whatever was about to occur.

It didn’t take more than seeing the man’s distinguishable hair and glasses through the door before James was able to react. He reached through the tiny space in the door and pulled the man out by the shirt in one swift movement. James didn’t even realize what had happened until the man’s tiny frame was suspended in front of him. He looked into the man’s shocked expression and turned, slinging him down the steps and to the ground below.

The man landed on the ground hard, noticeably knocking the wind out of him, and rolled to his back. James was on him before he had the time to perform any other movement. He grabbed a handful of the dirty-blonde hair and pulled it skyward, following through with his other hand and smashing his fist into the man’s jaw. A stream of blood sailed from his mouth and left a bright red streak on the grass. He hammered his fist down again and screamed at the man unintelligibly, trying to find some kind of phrasing to sum up his rage.

Behind him, he heard the door swing open and heard Claire’s shocked voice. “Oh my God. James, stop it!”

He didn’t stop though, he didn’t even look back. She hadn’t seen what he had and she wouldn’t be able to understand that this had to be done in order to save her. He pulled his fist back again and readied himself to sink it deep into the man’s battered face. This was the only way that it could be stopped.

His arm was stopped by a heavy tug that forced him backwards, toppling onto the grass. Before he knew it, he was pinned down, his wrists clamped securely behind his back. From the corner of his eye he recognized the flashing blue lights and realized what was happening. He let out a sigh and smacked his forehead lightly onto the ground a few times, as if it would change what was happening. James felt the arms interlacing with his and with one quick pull, he was on his feet.

The man remained on the ground, stirring slightly and coughing up mouthfuls of blood. Claire had run from the porch and was kneeling next to him, tears in her eyes, trying to help him in any way she could. She looked at James with utter disgust, not saying a word, and went back to helping the man wipe the blood from his wounds.

James screamed out at anyone who could hear. “He was going to kill her! You don’t understand.”

One of the officers opened the door to the cruiser and pushed him in. “You don’t get it. Officer, he was going to kill her.”

The officer turned back to the man, who was finally sitting up. He looked at him and then to Claire. “Did this gentleman try to harm you?”

Claire whispered back to him, the tears still running down her cheeks. “No.”

The officer shook his head and put his eyes back on the man. “Alright then. We’re a little shorthanded tonight, so if you want to file a report, I’m gonna have to ask you to come down to the station.”

“That’s fine officer. Thank you for all your help,” the man replied.

From the back of the cruiser James sat, unable to make out what was being said. He watched the officer approach the car and climb in the driver’s seat. James’s eyes met with the officer’s in the rearview mirror.

“Aren’t you going to arrest him? He was going to kill my wife.”

The officer turned back to him. “Sir, you need to stop. I’m not going to ask you twice.”

“No, you don’t understand. He’s was going to kill her. The book told me he was going to.”

The officer’s voice rose impatiently. “I told you to stop. Now, let’s go downtown and let you cool off for the night.”

“No! You don’t…”

James was cut short. “Stop it!”

The officer shook his head from side to side and slid the cruiser into drive. James turned around, gazing out the back window to the porch. Claire stood there with the man, both of them staring at him. She turned from his look and walked into the house. Now, it was just James and the man, just as before. Their eyes locked on one another in what felt like an eternity. As the cruiser began to pull away, the man fashioned his hand into the shape of a gun and let the hammer drop. James could feel the sinking feeling in his chest as the image faded into the night.

In the attic, the wind slithered, like a serpent, through the window. The gust sent the pages of the manuscript into a frenzy of turning, finally stopping at the last page.

The man stared at her husband as he faded into the dark of the night, knowing that he was fully aware of what was going to happen. He had reacted just as the man knew he would, with a fit of rage and violence, just as the plan had called for. His face stung from the deep cuts that the husband had left on him. It was a feeling that he was used to now though, and it was well worth it. The only thing left to do now was let the plan play itself out. She was a special flower and he would show her how special she was. He grinned as he walked through the door, wondering again if she would fight or just accept it.