Big thanks to my beta aka the Judge, Jury and Executioner of chapters,and a thanks as well to my readers.


I'm dangerous, I'm a dying breed
Poisonous like a centipede
I'm capable of the foulest deed
Dangerous at night
I'm dangerous like a razorback
Deadly like a heart attack
Well, I don't bend and I don't crack
Dangerous tonight
Alice Cooper, "Dangerous Tonight"

Sixty-five down, six letters.

'Nymph, in thy ------s be all my sins remember'd.'

"Orisin," I scratch out upon the newspaper, then turn it beneath the light to be able to read the next clue of the puzzle. It is a way to ease the nerves, clear the mind, and most of all pass the time.

I sit just outside of the Lazarus Theater, aptly named due to its resurrection a few months back. Its scattered lights dot along the car's window in a mockery of years long past. To look upon the building was to be transported back to the forties when Cary Grant was heating the knickers of many a girl with his dashing good looks and his suave, sophisticated screen personality.

It is no surprise that the theater plays Noir pictures every weekend, satisfying the elderly and even some youth who have come to garner a taste of the classical even if it is digitally altered for a crisper sound and picture. Strangers on a Train is the offered visual meal for the evening. Posters in their gaudy colors of overly-bright orange take up several of the windows, further heightening that sense of anachronism.

Sixty-one down, seven letters.

'Romance in a long dress was said to have finished Mozart.'

The laughter of a child too young to be out at this time of night draws my attention, and I lift my eyes from the folded paper to watch her and her mother. Dressed in a red corduroy jumper and matching P.F. Flyer sneakers, the child looks to be no more than four years of age with big, inquisitive eyes and wavy hair the color of a taffy apple. Her mother loads her into the family car and soon it is driving off to their next destination. I watch the vehicle until its break lights become lost among others.

"Salieri," I write, my attention insistently falling back to the newspaper. I tap the pencils eraser against the paper, thumping against the book just below it, then placing it aside along with the puzzle, I arch my back, grimacing at the crack that travels up my spine. I have been hunched there for far too long, but I know that it would be longer still.

The movie still has an hour left.

Hearing movement behind the car I lift a gloved hand, adjusting the review mirror and watch the passing of a couple, speaking heatedly, one of them waving around a cell phone as if it would strengthen her point. As I begin looking away, I catch sight of my eyes, and an amused smile forms. A plain brown, something inconspicuous and easily forgotten should one glance to me. My hair, too, has been changed. Just as plain in its carefully dyed hue. A pitch black that turned out more real than I had assumed it would. It was temporary. There is one thing I could not change. The mask.

With its coloring precisely equaled to the tone of my skin, and made of non-glaring cloth, barely anyone took a second glance.

Looking down to the puzzle, I consider finishing it off, though I decide I want something to do when I get home, even if it'll only take me a few minutes to complete the crossword. Lowering a hand, I tuck my fingers beneath the latch at the side of the seat and pulling it up, I recline back. I might as well relax a bit while I am sitting here.

It has been a month since I decided to go on with this plan. After the phone call, I laid upon my bed, eyes closed, thinking. I have never played this game before, but it had been in my mind more than once. There has to be a pattern, a way to catch her attention. I could leave some sort of calling card behind, but that just was not my style. Any signatures I might have left were only by happenstance. I have to make this obvious, yet obscure, and I have to make sure that she will get the case. After much deliberation, I finally came up with a plan.

It is so simple, it is almost laughable.

The sound of speaking pulls me out of my thoughts, and I glance over, watching as people of all ages filter out of the theater, some still carrying their sodas and boxes of popcorn or Ju Ju Bees. I search over the thinning group as they disperse to their separate cars, and the clunking sound of an engine is the background music to my suddenly fixed gaze. Since making this decision and choosing my first pawn, I have been following him, learning his patterns, and making a plan as to how I would get him alone.

He opens up the door of his car, glancing around slowly and I smile wryly. Do you sense me, then? Like the deer senses the wolf before it makes its attack? Look all you wish, you will not see me, not unless I wish to be seen. Just get into your car and ... yes, that is it.

With a squeak of hinges that desperately need an oiling, the door of the Chevy finally closes, and I wait in muted anticipation for tail lights to flash as the engine is turned over. The glare of white reverse lights cause me to squint, and I pull my head back as if that will ease the sharpness of the sting. It does not wane until the car turns, driving toward the exit of the parking lot. I start up my own car the moment he reaches the street, and keeping my attention split upon where I am driving and the other vehicle, I begin to follow.

Already I can feel the steady thrumming through me; the hum of ardor and a barely-bordering impatience. Had it not been for my unerringly strong will I might have leapt from the car and chased it down by foot.

I keep the car at a moderate pace despite the acceleration of the other, not wishing to draw attention to me by the authorities. With their hidden outposts, one never knows if they will be chasing them down for being just a few miles over the speed limit. Some cops around here are sticklers for upholding the law. Or just pricks. And being pulled over by a rookie with a hard on for an arrest does not appeal to me in the least. Not when I have a job to do.

He makes a right at the next street instead of a left, and for a moment I become leery that he is changing his pattern. This will not deter me, no. It will only be a mild inconvenience. I always have next week. Pulling into a gas station I choose to park in the next door fast-food lot and continue watching his progress as he goes about the unexciting task of refilling his tank. Before too long he is out upon the street and I am a few cars behind.

The restaurant is not full at this time of night, but has enough people and a quiet atmosphere that works in my favor. The waitress greets him with a genuine smile and leads him to a seat he normally occupies. He is a regular, and so he is not given a menu. I smooth my hands over the steering wheel then give a slow squeeze against it. It is time. That thought along brings the hunter's rush over me, and climbing out of the car, I carry my paper with me, tucked beneath my arm with the pencil set behind my ear.

"Hi! Welcome to Denny's," the diminutive blond chirps as I enter the building, and I am grateful that the light is at a comfortable, slightly dimmed level that leaves my face – or, to be more precise, the mask – without too much suspicious interest. I give a decidedly charming smile, and nod lightly to her in greeting.

"Table for one?" She begins collecting the menu, not noticing that I was not looking directly at her, but just beyond her shoulder, and I nod again. "Yes, please. Smoking."

She nods this time, flashing another smile I cannot help but see as plastic and leads me to a booth seat that has me looking out upon the street. I take a passing-glance, ensuring that I can also see my quarry as I lower into the burgundy faux-leather of the booth. "Here you go, Sir. Would you like to hear our specials today?" Tugging the pad of paper from her apron after putting the menu down, she pulls her pencil from behind her ear. Think you have enough piercings there, dear?

My eyes wander from the array of silver studs and hoops to meet her own gaze and I shake my head. "No thank you. I pretty much already know what I want." When I press the menu back to her with a glove enveloped palm, she nods, taking it up. "Eggs Benedict with the eggs poached, and hot tea, please."

"Not a problem," she mumbles distractedly while scrawling down my order in a brisk short hand. Putting the paper and pencil back into place, she carries off the menu, undoubtedly to go fetch the cursory glass of water. I find myself relaxing again, or at least taking on the semblance of relaxation as I open up the paper enough to remove the crease from the middle of the puzzle.

A glass of water and two cups of tea later my meal arrives. It is not the prompt service I am expecting, but it does not matter. He is still without his own plate. I thank the woman, who leaves me alone to enjoy my meal, and I cut up the egg and ham topped muffin then start to eat. It is not one of my favorites, though it is small enough where I will not have to leave much behind. It is better than sitting here, drinking only water and tea while working on a crossword puzzle.

As I go through my meal, I glance from the corner of my eyes, watching him as he finally receives his own. With the way he is going through the water and the mugs of coffee, I will not be surprised should he be getting up soon. In fact I am counting on it.

The waitress comes by to see how I am coming along, and with the plate nearly emptied, I decide to pay for my check and order coffee; the ultimate drink for loitering. When she returns with the cup, placing a few creamers nearby, I notice him raising without his jacket and stretching. Giving her a thanks, I drink down a slow sip, careful of the heat, and watch her as she goes. He is entering the bathroom, and the moment grips me. I pull out of my seat, calmly collecting my things and give a soft nod as well as a smile to a woman that glances my way.

As I follow the path to the bathroom, I let my eyes travel, taking in the different people I pass. The number is few. They seem too enthralled with their own meals or conversations to even bother paying attention to me, and once I reach the bathroom I step inside, grazing leather covered fingers against the panel. No lock. Not without a key. I had predicted this; since the rising number of births, suicides, and sexual encounters in public bathrooms, they rarely had them. This will make things chancy, though if I am swift enough I will not have to worry.

He glances back to me, then turns around to do just as almost every man does while standing before the commode; he raises his eyes to where the wall joins the ceiling, as if watching himself in his relief would stop him all together. Trust me, I know. I do the same. As I pass the sinks, I place the newspaper upon one of them, but not before moving the small, slender tube hidden among its pages. My steps are silent as I approach his back, twisting the tube between my fingers, and stretching the line of fine wire between the handle's ends.

I have the good grace to wait until he shakes and tucks himself away before I strike.

There is a split moment between the time the garrote is unsheathed and employed that I am infused with a surge of adrenaline that sends my senses reeling. My heart thunders in my ears, time stops, and sometimes I believe that my breath does too, as if it will alert my quarry that he is only a second away from meeting an inescapable fate. I have been struggled with, fought, but all it does is delay the inevitable, and tighten my grip.

I shove him forward against the front of the urinal with a force that threatens to break a rib, and it leaves him breathless. Like a rider tightening a saddle belt around an equine, that is the chance I take to twist the garrote, further cutting off his air supply, and he wriggles like a fish on a hook. He claws at the wire, successfully raking his blunt nails against his own skin, doing nothing in the way of removing the thin line that is cutting a divot into his throat. I plant my elbows into the backs of his shoulders, pulling firmly enough that I am sure if I focused – and if he was not struggling – I would be able to feel his heartbeat thrumming through the wire. He tries to cry out, to no avail, his voice is as trapped as he is.

By time instinct thinks to switch from flight to fight, it is too late. His arms are weak in their rise, and my elbows press firmly against them, keeping him from reaching back toward me. He slumps, struggling in a breath, and I grit my teeth, holding on until I feel his body go slack. He is unconscious, I still feel him trying to breathe, then he stops all together. One never to do a half-assed job, I make sure my assumption is correct and keep the hold only a moment longer before I loosen the garrote and step back, letting him sink to the floor, but not without his head connecting solidly to the porcelain.

I grimace. That would have hurt if he was still alive.

The wire is easily re-concealed, and taking up the newspaper again, I exit the bathroom without a glance back. Somehow I manage to keep my breathing steady, even if my heart is still tapping out a rapport in my ears and throat. My body hums with energy, high on a natural drug I would never wish to rid of. Casting a charming smile to the waitress at the front desk I approach, money already in hand.

"Enjoy your meal, Sir?" she questions while bringing up my order on the screen, already typing out the amount I have in hand.

"Immensely, thank you." While I could have simply left the money at my table, I did not wish for her to come chase me down and inquire where the payment was without looking upon the table itself. I hand her the money and give her a wink before I start off for the door. "Keep the change."

"Oh, thanks! Have a great night, Sir." Polite girl. Maybe I will come back again, though I doubt it. The eggs were more hard-boiled than poached. I am picky about my meals, to say the least.

There are no sounds of alarm when I exit the restaurant, nor when I climb into my car, and if there are when I start up the engine, I cannot say that I hear them. It does not matter, I am out of the parking lot and upon the street less than a minute later. My fingers are kneading against the steering wheel as I drive, and I look forward to getting home where I will submerge myself in first a scalding bath then some music. It is true that it soothes the savage beast.

Now it truly starts. While I have made my decision weeks ago, this is really the beginning. I will test her, see if she is truly as good as others believe her to be. How long will it take before she comes to realize that there is a serial killer on the loose? The third, perhaps the fourth? Most of all, how long will it take before she realizes that this killer is trying to attract her attention? I look forward to this game. It not only tests her but myself. Am I still as good as I used to be in the hunt, in escaping notice, and most of all...escaping conviction?

As I had told myself before, time will tell. I will draw this game out as long as I can. After all, I would not want it to end too soon.