Eddie wasn't nervous. The first few times he'd been extremely nervous, crippled with anxiety. He'd only made it through because apparently his nerves were charming. Adorable, the first girl had said. She had been sweet, and almost as tall as he was, and he really hadn't been planning on doing what he did. When he'd pulled up in front of her house to drop her off, she'd looked at him in a way that made his heart race. She'd kissed him and whispered something... something crude, something foul in his ear, and suddenly it was very late at night and he was six and crying for his mother. He hurt, and he hurt so badly, and daddy was in the shower, and he was singing. She was crying too, but she told him to go to sleep. That he would feel better in the morning.

She'd make pancakes and everything would be all right, and daddy wouldn't do it again.

But he always did. And she never stopped him.

When he'd come back to himself she had been clawing at his wrists, because he was strangling her, hurting her, making her pay for everything that had ever been done to him. He had felt as though he was watching it happen, powerless to stop it. And then, when she was dead, he had been glad he hadn't stopped. He was glad that stupid whore was dead. Eddie felt sick and exhilarated, and then he'd realized he had a dead body in his car.

He was a better about it, now. More careful. The police had spoken to him the first time, asking if they'd seen her, and while Eddie had been sweating bullets, he didn't think they had anything on him. Eddie had gone on, carefully, and nothing had come of it.

So he wasn't nervous. And maybe this one would be different. Her name was Daisy, and she was everything he looked for in a woman. She was full figured and feminine, and she had even blushed when he'd kissed her hand and held the door open for her. Eddie had learned quickly what to say and how to say it, and he'd learned when to let his inexperience with women take over. Too much, and they usually wouldn't leave the restaurant with him, too little, and they'd make some excuse to leave before dinner was even over. He had nearly perfected it.

All Eddie wanted was someone to love him, to have his children, to help him live the life he'd never been able to have. He didn't think it was too much to ask. Daisy seemed to exude the qualities he liked, and his plans started to melt away as the night progressed. She talked about her family life, and he lied about his, at least by omission. His family was dead and gone, but despite what his face said, he wasn't sad about it. He'd inherited everything, even if it wasn't much, a rundown house filled with horrific memories. But he was fixing that. He was fixing it, one girl at a time.

Maybe this time he'd get it right.

They talked about their hopes and dreams and they both drank too much. Eddie usually avoided getting drunk, needing to be in control of himself, but he felt at ease around Daisy. She seemed so wholesome. She'd even grown up on a farm. Even her name suggested a soft, maternal nature. Daisy had taken care of her younger siblings growing up, and she looked forward to looking after her own some day. Eddie couldn't help but agree. By the time they realized how late it was, neither of them were in any position to drive, so they'd taken a cab back to his place to wrap things up without employees giving them the stinkeye for lingering. He liked her. Not just because she ticked off every item on his list, but because she was so warm, so gentle. She was a lot of things he hadn't even realized he'd been missing. Things he'd never even experienced.

She'd called someone, letting them know she was taking a cab and that she'd be home late, and Eddie didn't think anything of it.

Daisy looked briefly concerned by his house, but she swept it aside, probably remembering what he'd told her about it. He was all alone, he'd told her, and the house was all he had left of his family. It wasn't much to look at on the outside, but inside it was very well kept, and that seemed to ease her mind. Eddie invited her into the kitchen and started to make them both coffees, and he loved this new feeling. He loved that something warm and domestic and honest was happening in the kitchen. He wanted to overwrite every bad memory in the house. Daisy could help him redecorate in more ways than one – it did need a woman's touch, after all.

"Where's your bathroom?" Daisy asked.

"Upstairs, first door on the right," Eddie told her, "How do you take your coffee?"

"Two sugars, no milk," Daisy rose, scooped up her clutch to take with her, and winked at him, "Extra sweet."

Eddie watched her go before he resumed filling the filter with grounds and leaned on the counter while the coffee brewed. He couldn't help it and he hugged himself, squeezing his eyes shut. She was different. Daisy wasn't like the others. He'd just put it all behind him. How he was going to get rid of the bodies was going to be a problem, but he'd figure it out. They'd have beautiful children, and they would love them and never hurt them, and he would forget all about what happened. It would stop hurting. Everything would be perfect.

The coffee machine beeping stirred him from his reverie, and Eddie frowned, looking upwards. He didn't hear much movement. What was she doing up there? Fixing her make-up, maybe? He was immediately suspicious, but then kicked himself. Daisy wasn't like that. She was perfect. If she was snooping, he'd hear more footsteps. Maybe some shouting.

And she was coming downstairs. Eddie exhaled the breath he was holding and started to mix two spoons of sugar into her coffee, crossing over to the fridge to get the milk. He didn't even like coffee, but he drank it because it was what couples drank together at the kitchen table. Daisy returned to the kitchen, but Eddie's smile for her faded into a concerned frown when he saw her face. She looked pale, and maybe even a littlegreen. Like she was going to be sick.

"Daisy? What's the matter?"

"N-nothing," she said. He put his hands on her shoulders to guide her to her seat, and she shivered. Not at his touch, of course. Because she was sick, "I just... I think that steak disagreed with me. I'm sorry to... I called a friend to pick me up. I should go home before I ralph all over your house."

Eddie sat down next to her, dragging his chair closer, and he tried not to get angry. Maybe if she'd had the chicken dish he'd silently thought she ought to eat, she wouldn't be so sick. She was ruining the night with her selfish decisions. It was a struggle not to tell her so, but Daisy was different. She wasn't going to end up in the basement with the others. He could fix her without killing her.

"That's all right," he said after a pause that might've been too long. She didn't seem to notice, so he didn't worry about it, "I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Do you want a glass of water?"

"Oh, no thank you," she said. She kept flicking looks at him. Was she ashamed of being sick? Maybe she was ashamed of her behaviour. It was a good opportunity to show that he was accepting of her, even if she did have some flaws.

"It's not your fault," he said kindly, trying a bit of friendly teasing to cheer her up, "I did suggest that chicken dish, though, didn't I?"

She smiled, and it was wan thing, but that was to be expected.

"I guess I should have listened," Daisy said. Eddie beamed at her. He had high hopes for her, "I... I really enjoyed our date, Eddie. I've had such bad luck with online dating. Nobody ever gives me a chance. I just didn't want to be alone on Valentine's Day."

"You don't have to be ever again," Eddie said. He was pleased when she started to cry. Of course he didn't want her to, but she could obviously feel what he was feeling. She wanted what he wanted, "We'll be beautiful together, Daisy. You'll see."

The knock at the door made Daisy jump to her feet and Eddie frowned. She was suddenly spry for someone who was sick. Spry and running – running for the door. Sprinting. She couldn't have seen anything. She couldn't have. He hung the bodies downstairs-

-after he finished fixing them in the only place he could discreetly let blood drip down the drain: the shower stall in his bathroom. Had he cleaned up after the last one? It was hard to keep track, lately, of what was real and what he wanted to be real. Time had been difficult for him to grasp these past few months.

The door opened, and suddenly his kitchen was swarming with police. Eddie rose to his feet and threw scalding hot coffee in the face of the first man who came at him, smashed the mug into the head of another, and tried to barrel through the rest, trying to run Daisy down. Eddie could only see red. He could only see blood. Her blood. Whore's blood, swirling down the drain.

"You shallow bitch! You're like all the others!" he shrieked. How could she!? She had tricked him! He'd been nothing but a perfect gentleman and she hadn't even tried to understand him, "Cunt! Whore!"

His screaming was cut short when someone jammed a tazer into his side. Someone else maced him for good measure. Vaguely, Eddie was aware of being kicked in the ribs, and more people poured into his house, down into the basement, up into the closed bedrooms and the gory bathroom. Everything he was laid bare and naked, violated.

Eddie wept.