Dallas Boyd sat in his cell. He could hardly contain his excitement. Today was the day he had been waiting for 30 years. It was the day he was going to be released from jail. What did he do, you ask? When Dallas was young and stupid, also known as the early twenties, he'd committed a series of murders. Because of his signature, he was known as The Rose Man. After he'd finished with the girls, he would draw a circle of chalk around them and place a single rose next to them. Only one, mind you, roses were expensive back then. Before he was caught, he'd ended up with a tally of 5 victims. He could remember their names clearly off the top of his head: Rosie Carter, Dolly Bartlett, Danielle Watson, Amelia Collins and Sarah Lightfoot. The last murder still burned in his mind, even after all these years. You see, this one was different. The girl, Sarah, had called out his name before he killed her. This seemed strange to Dallas. How could this girl have known his name? He sat in his cell thinking about it for a moment longer. All of a sudden, he was disturbed by the sound of his cell opening. Is it that time already? He only had to look at the security guard to confirm his suspicions. He was being released right now. He studied the security guard for a moment. He was a friendly chap, much friendlier than some of the other scumbags around here. He'd always been nice to Dallas, and that was something Dallas was grateful for. "Hey Dallas, today's the day! How are you feeling?"

Bloody great, was Dallas's first thought, although he did not want to say it, for fear of being rude. "I'm rather excited," he told the security guard. "I genuinely regret what I did, and I want to make it up to the community in any way I can."

"Well, come right with me and you'll be out the doors."

The security guard led the way and Dallas followed. They stopped only briefly at the entrance, so Dallas could have his monitoring bracelet removed and so the prison system could remove his name from the list of inmates. Following this, Dallas was given all he had come in with: $100 cash and his original clothes he had worn thirty years ago. He then took his first steps outside the prison in 30 years and stepped to the footpath where a taxi was waiting.

"Where are you headed?" The taxi driver asked.

God, I hope I still remember the address… Dallas thought. "17 West Side Avenue, Sacramento."

After a short while, Dallas had arrived at his old house. He smiled. It was just as he'd left it. The walls, now a faded yellow, were still neat and tidy. The grass was mowed, Mrs. Beverly must have done that, and his favourite bench was sitting just down from his porch, under the old oak tree, just as it always had. He paid the fare, stepped out of the taxi and set off towards the bench.

"My, I must be seeing things, 'cause I reckon that's Dallas Boyd!"

For a moment, Dallas was confused, not knowing who this woman was or how she knew his name, but then he could not forget the unmistakable Southern accent. "Mrs. Beverly?" He gasped. Mrs. Beverly had been his neighbor ever since he'd moved in at the age of 18. She'd been around fifty then, so Dallas guessed she was in her early eighties.

"You know it, kiddo! Now, come here and give ol' Mrs. Beverly a hug!"

Dallas stepped on to her porch and wrapped his arms around his friend. Even when he'd been found guilty, she'd lost no respect for him and still cared about him as much as ever. She'd written to him every so often and now he was glad to see her. "Was that you who mowed my lawn?" He asked her.

"You bet it was, mister! I couldn't leave a lawn that untidy, even if the place wasn't lived in!"

Dallas still had one question for her. "When did Nelly die?"

Nelly had been Dallas's cat before he was arrested. She'd been a kitten back then, and Dallas wanted to know what had happened to her.

"She died a few years ago, at the ripe old age of 17. They tried to take her away to the shelter, the poor thing, but I insisted on having her!"

"Did she miss me?"

"You bet she did! I can't count the number of times I heard her scratching at your front door and yowling your name!"

"She yowled my name?"

"Well, not exactly. In the way cats do. Now, you want to come in here and have a slice of my blueberry pie?"

Dallas smiled at the thought of one of Mrs. Beverly's famous pies, but then he remembered how much he wanted to sleep in his bed. "Sorry, not tonight," he said. Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he added, "Maybe I'll swing by tomorrow morning, okay?" He started to head in to his home.

"You'll be welcome!" Mrs. Beverly called after him. "By the way, when do you want your welcome home party?"

"I don't want one!" Dallas laughed. He closed the door.

"Oh! One more thing!"

He opened the door again. "Yes, Mrs. Beverly?"

"If you need a car, you can use my old thing. I don't drive anymore, you see. It's probably still got some gas in it, but you'll have to fill it up on your first drive."

"Thanks, Mrs. Beverly!" Dallas said.

The old woman put her hands on her hips. "How many times must I tell you? Call me 'Joy.'"

Dallas smiled. "You'll always be Mrs. Beverly to me!"

Dallas walked across to his old bedroom and flopped down on to his bed for the first time. He was looking forward to a good sleep.

Hope Cyrus was running for her life. She knew she had to outrun this man, or die. About a minute earlier, some man had tried to abduct her, but she'd fought him off and started screaming for help. When he'd chased after her, she knew he was intending to kill her. She ran in to another empty street. "Someone help me, please!" She screamed. Her screams echoed through the street. It was late at night, and everyone had gone to bed. No one was there to hear her.

"Surrender now!" The voice of her attacker boomed. "You'll only die anyway!"

"Just leave me alone, you son of bitch!" Hope screamed. She panicked even more as she began to realise she was running out of breath. I can't die! Not after all this! She thought. Her eyes glowed with relief as she spotted an alley. I can cut through here!

As she began to cut through, she realised there was no way past a brick wall. "No… No!" She gasped.

She heard the heavy footsteps as her attacker caught up with her. He laughed like a maniac. "Well, you can run, but you can't hide!" He yelled. He advanced towards her menacingly. Hope began to scream, but it was cut off by the sound of a blade going through her chest. She gasped once and then crashed to the ground, lifeless.

Stab her again! Stab her again!

That was all that went through the mind of the killer. He was having so much fun. He drove the knife in and out of her chest. In, out, in, out until he grew tired of it. He was sure he'd done enough. When he got back to his feet, he took out a piece of chalk and drew a circle around her.

Almost done…

To finish it all, he placed a single tulip in the center of the circle, next to the woman's dead body.

With that, the killer began to walk away. Before he left, he cast one last glance and the beautiful dead body of the woman he had killed.

I hope you get what you deserve, you bastard.