A/N: Maybe I'm being hasty, trying to write two fics at once.[smiles] I commend those who can write more than two at one time. [bows]

Disclaimer: Nothing that belongs to good old Stephen King

Enjoy. (

Maria Santiago sat at her kitchen table, reading the newspaper and eating a bowl of cinnamon Life. It was mid-April, and her ceiling started to leak rain. She pushed a bucket with her bare foot under the location of the dripping water. She skipped past the entertainment section, and paged through advertisements. She was in dire need of a job.

She sighed and pushed the bowl of cereal away from her. Although it was April, it was muggy. She lifted up her hair and pulled it back in to a secure pony tail. She was thinking of cutting it, her red-brown hair gave a new definition to the word long.

She already had a job. She worked at a small diner, Jabob's Diner, to be exact. The pay was little, and she owed money to the apartment, to her school, and to her friend who lent her well over $100 to pay some bills.

She sat biting her dark blue fingernails and reading the ads over and over. Nothing. Nothing she could do, anyway. She turned the page, and her eyes fell on an ad that made relief flow through her veins.

Like Cleaning?
Need house cleaned every Tuesday and Thursday
Approximately $20.00 every two hours
Morton Rainey
23987 Palm Drive
Tashmore Lake, Maine 55234

Morton Rainey. The name sounded familiar. She heard it recently, on the news or something. She knew he was a well-known writer, but he was known for something else. What was it?

She thought maybe the guy was pretty old to want his house cleaned. Old rich people usually gave money away like free napkins. She looked at the ad again, and realized there wasn't a number. She sighed, at least the outing would do her good, and she could meet her future boss.

Maria stood up, stretched and dumped her cereal in the garbage and placed the bowl in the sink.

"23987 Palm Drive" Maria's Spanish accent rolled of her tongue in coherent syllables. She sat back in the leather seat. The steady rolling of the cab urged her to fall asleep. Tashmore Lake wasn't far, about twenty minutes away. She looked down and double checked to see she was at least presentable. She bit her lip. She was in too much of a hurry to get out of her apartment; she didn't even see what she threw on.

She almost laughed at her appearance. She was wearing a wrinkled "The Distillers" shirt. Her black Converses stuck out of underneath the low flare of faded blue jeans she had on. She reached into her bag and brought out a compact mirror. At least her makeup wasn't running down her face. She licked her lips and stared out the rain-patterned window. Before she could see where she was, the car stopped. They were already there. She looked at her watch. Eleven minutes. Not bad.

She watched the cab driver leave and almost wished she asked him to stay. She was standing on Morton Rainey's porch, staring at the front door. There weren't many other houses around the area. She didn't like the idea of a twenty-six year old girl standing on a stranger's doorstep. After a few minutes, she worked up the courage to knock.

She didn't hear anything. What if he wasn't home? Better yet, how would she get home? She didn't have a cell phone, and it was raining. She wasn't about to walk back to her apartment in the rain. She knocked again, more urgent this time. Instantaneously, the door opened.

Maria took a step back. Her employer was far from old.

"I- I, uh-"Maria reached into her pocket and brought out the ad and shoved it into the stranger's hand. It wasn't the ad, it was a page out of a magazine she meant to tape to her wall. It was a poster of Kurt Cobain, her hero. Her face flushed a violent red. Even through her olive-toned skin, you could still see the shade of red. Mort Rainey only smiled.

"You came for the job," Maria nodded, she looked at his deep brown eyes and her heart stopped. She remembered now.

Murder. The man was known for murder.