Disclaimer: See chapter one.
A/N: Howdy. Had a little car accident last night on my way home --there's a first time for everything, stressful, stressful, stressful-- so I decided I needed to do something thereapeutic. For me, that's writing. So here I am. Welcome to the third --and admittedly VERY short-- chapter. So I've never done this before-- another perspective and all that, so it's a new twist for my fic style, I hope you all think it works. Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed and answered my trivia questions with helpful information.
chuffy-barmed-oc: thanks so much for the info. Just a little warning that this will become every so slightly more Elliot/Olivia-centered; I tend to amp up the angst so I assure you that you will not catc Elliot and Olivia in some intimate embrace, or muttering sweet nothings because, at this point in the series, you just wouldn't find the characters doing that, now would you? But, keep reading, please, because it's going to get a little tense (think, Elliot's response when Liv was injured in the recent ep.)
trusting-what-isn't-there: thanks for the info! Really appreciate it!
TV Angel 711: thanks for the greate details about the kids ages and such-- much appreciated!
Jouliana: thanks! And yes, I'm so over the Sonny/Emily drama. At first, I thought they were cute: Emily could use a bad boy like Sonny, and I love to see Sonny being more 'human' (for lack of a better term). I'm finding the added drama from Jason way over the top-- I'm rootin' for an Em/Nikolas revivial!
Thanks again to everyone for the reviews and the help. So far, I think I'm caught up so nothing new to know. Hope you enjoy! and I'm adding the fourth chapter as soon as possible.
The view was poor, however there was no closer apartment than this so he was forced to make due. A figure enshrouded in shadow hunched at the window with horizontal blinds drawn against the warm, March day. Breathing heavily, his nostrils flared at the growing stench of a rotting corpse—it was time to move; they would come soon.
Across the busy New York street, the orange curtains were open, just as he'd left them. Unfortunately the tall figure of a man in a navy suit obstructed the view. The soft yellow walls behind the oak headboard were laced with read—just like sunset. Deep, crimson essence was splashed across the white satin pillow—he couldn't see but knew it was there. Chapped lips arched slowly into a cruel smile which made visible the few remaining, stained teeth.
The baby-pink silk nightie lay rumpled about snow-white thighs decorated with a crimson that soaked into the rich fabric. A woman's form entered the view, blocking a pair of long, still legs as the camera zoomed in; so much attention to his handiwork—so many admirers.
