A/N: ************PLEASE READ**********

Two days ago my bestie sent me a gif set of Mac on Tumblr and I was like I fucking love him and have been playing around with an idea for a Mac story. Mind you I had only the title at that point. Well, she egged me on as she usually does which is wonderful and I love her for it. (This was written for her and actually wasn't supposed to be seen by anyone but her. But stuff happens and she said post that, so I'm posting it cause I trust her opinion.) So two days later I have written a seven chapter depraved smut show. It's finished people. Now you know that's not how I roll. It just wrote itself. That being said, This is Mac. Y'all know how he is. Read or don't read but I'm just warning you and just going to say all trigger warnings apply cause This. Is. Mac. This is Red Canyon, it is not my fluffy Dary/Carol or Daryl/OC stories, it's not even half dark like "Transference" it's dark and twisted and I loved writing it. Thank you, Magenta. I love you for always challenging me and for all your love and support. This story is for you.

I am smitten,
You know me, yeah you know me,
I could be your Frankenstein,
My crush with Eyeliner.
Crush With Eyeliner by R.E.M

He watched her for months, that was the way he did things, it wasn't his first rodeo. He watched her so much that he knew her routines, what she did and who she saw. He knew where she went and on what day and why she went where she went.

He knew she was a nurse, drank too much coffee, was a vegetarian, didn't have a boyfriend and that she spent most nights at home reading. Mac knew that she went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings twice a week and she had been sober for ten years.

Miranda was thirty-four and had gotten clean when she was twenty-three, the year she graduated nursing school, he knew everything about her life, that was what he did. His job so to speak.

She worked from 7-3 four days a week at a nursing home and was in bed by ten pm every night. She had no pets and no family that he knew of. She kept to herself and had one friend that came to see her once in a while on a weekend. No one would look for her if he took her on a Thursday night and he would have her for four days before he would have to get rid of her. Four glorious days before someone noticed she was gone.

The thought made him giddy with anticipation and hard as stone.

He'd touched her once in the street as they passed by each other, by his design because he followed her almost every day. Another time she dropped a book and he'd picked it up and handed it to her so casually; she never knew his intentions toward her and had said thank you to him. Thank you; and her voice was sweet to his ears, he'd make her scream and beg for mercy one day soon and that sound would be sweeter still.

The book had been The Great Gatsby and later he went to the library and checked it out.

He read it in a day and the next night he stood at the foot of her bed watching her sleep. That was the first time he broke into her apartment.

He identified with Jay Gatsby, a man who couldn't have what he really wanted. Gatsby was envious of others and greedy, lustful, and so was Mac. But there was a difference between him and this fictional man. Mac could have whatever and whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

He would have Miranda too, in good time, he was a patient man and he enjoyed the chase as much as he enjoyed the capture.

He went to her apartment a few times while she was at work and touched her things.

Mac touched her books, her makeup, and perfume in the bathroom. He went through her closet and drawers with care, so that she would never know anyone had been there. He went through her personal papers and read her diary, he read the poetry she sometimes wrote and committed it to memory.

In her bedside table, he found condoms, it was reassuring that she was careful, because he was not. He also knew she hadn't used any in quite some time, he had never seen Miranda with a man.

Between her mattress and box spring, he found her vibrator, and he made a mental note to come around more at night with the hope of seeing her use it on herself.

Maybe when he took her he would reach down under the mattress and take it too, it would be useful. He was not a stupid man, in fact, according to the IQ test he took in high school before he dropped out he had an IQ of 155.

He was not stupid and he never made mistakes and he knew the value of a vibrator if someone wasn't exactly willing.

There was a t-shirt in the hamper in the closet and he took it, he wasn't any panty thief; the reality of what he was did not go un-thought of though.

He knew all to well who and what he was.

The Nirvana t-shirt smelled like her and knowing that she wouldn't be home for hours he laid on her bed. He placed the shirt over his face and breathed in her scent like the finest perfume.

The smell of her made his blood boil in his veins and he stroked his cock thinking about her, thinking about his plans for her and it was all he could do to get off of the bed and leave.

Today was not the day, tomorrow was Thursday.

Before he left he stopped in the kitchen and drank from the open jug of orange juice that was in her refrigerator. He'd done that a few times now, the thought of her drinking something that had his lips, his mark on it almost made him cum right there. Mac replaced it just where it was; she would never know he had been there until he wanted her to know.

/

Miranda opened her eyes and was aware of a headache right away. Her vision was cloudy and she was dizzy. She could hear that song playing somewhere in the house, the music was too loud and she didn't remember turning on the stereo.

(((((((Big shake on the boxcar moving
Big shake to the land that's falling down
Is a wind makes a palm stop blowing
A big, big stone fall and break my crown.))))))

The last thing she remembered was opening her front door at nine pm on Thursday after her AA meeting. She didn't remember going to bed at all and was acutely aware that she had to pee. She felt like she was hungover, but she knew there was no way. She didn't slip, she wouldn't.

Miranda attempted to wipe her hair out of her face, and could only get her hand halfway to her face and there was a clanking noise. She held her hand out and that was when she realized she was tied down to the bed somehow. Her right hand had a handcuff on it that led up to the post of the bed, and then she saw it was the same with her left. She lay there for a minute trying to catch her breath.

It was a dream, that was all, she closed her eyes, then opened them again and it was the same, she pulled her feet up as panic started to rise in her chest. Her feet were bound the same way.

Here Comes Your Man, that was the fucking song she could hear, god dammit what had happened to her. The Pixies blared through this place she was in as she shook her head in denial. Her hands and feet were chained to a bed, she could move a little bit but not much, she pulled her hands and feet in an attempt to get free and it was useless. The noise of her struggles made her head hurt anew, and she looked around the dingy room in a full-blown panic now.

((((((Outside there's a box car waiting, outside the family stew,
Out by the fire-breathing
Outside we wait 'til face turns blue)))

The reality of her situation slowly surfaced in her addled mind from the head injury she sustained and then she started to scream.

(((((((((There is a wait so long (so long, so long)
You'll never wait so long.
Here comes your man,
here comes your man,
here comes your man,
here comes your man))))))))