College was taxing for most, even for those as intelligent as James. The assignments, the teachers, and the limited time to do everything eventually got to people, whether it be sooner or later. James had nearly had enough of his philosophy class. His teacher was insufferable and the man made it seem as if he had it out for everyone. No one got a good grade in that class, no matter how hard they tried.

James gave up on trying to make sense of the project the teacher had assigned and closed his book. He thought that, maybe, he needed a change of scenery. Maybe he could go to the library- which was all the way across campus. He closed and locked the door behind him before making his way across the colorful, leaf covered walkway.

With the library in sight, James failed to notice that he had someone watching him. Not the typical professor or fellow student. Someone with much darker intentions.

Now, Thomas had seen James around before. He had even considered following him once or twice, only to be distracted by another before he could make up his mind. But now he knew. James was the one he wanted.

Thomas knew the name of every victim. It was the one thing that he would not kidnap them without knowing. He had learned James Madison's name several weeks earlier, when he had dropped a textbook with his name scribbled inside of the front cover.

That night, James readied himself for bed, completely unaware of the man hiding just one room away. He sighed softly, situating himself under the blanket. He laid his head on the pillow, eyes closed, and waited for sleep to come. He heard a small thump, then barely had time to open his eyes before a pair of strong hands were wrapped around his throat.

James gasped for air, trying to pry Thomas's hands off of him. He kept up this fight until his vision went black and his body stopped moving, as he had finally fallen asleep.

Thomas scooped the small man up in one arm and used the other to get some of his clothes, then cradled him as if he was a large baby.

James woke up the next morning, groaning softly as he sat up in the four poster bed. He rubbed his eyes as he took in the room he was in, finding it strangely unfamiliar.

He stood and made his way through a poorly made curtain, finding a small kitchen. The man stirring at a pot gave him chills.

"Where… Where am I?" James asked nervously.

The other man said nothing, but ladled some stew into a bowl and held it out to him.

James tried to push it away, shaking his head, but the bigger man insisted. He eventually took it and took a bite, hoping it was a kind of animal that he was eating. This man was seriously giving him a bad vibe. Seriously, nobody who breaks into people's houses to choke and kidnap them is good news.

Thomas ate out of his own bowl, saying nothing to his prisoner. He could sense the other man's discomfort. That uneasiness was the same aura that his other victims had emitted. It was almost comforting to Thomas.

James looked down at his bowl, biting his lip apprehensively. He felt a finger underneath his chin, gently pushing him to look up. He sat there, still as a statue as his eyes met Thomas's deadpan gaze.

Thomas cupped one side of the smaller man's face, using his thumb to gently stroke James's cheek. Thomas sighed breathily, pulling his hand away.

"What are you going to do to me?" James whispered, trying to sound braver than he was feeling. His strong, confident tone came out as merely a whimper.

Thomas didn't answer his question. He only took the empty bowl from James's hand and put it on top of his own, pushing them to the side.

With that being done, Thomas kneeled in front of the chair that James was seated in. He put his hands on either of James's shoulders, then slowly ran them down his chest, stopping at his hips.

James flinched away from him. "What are you doing?" He asked, sounding more like a scared child than the levelheaded man that he usually was. Then again, all level headedness tended to fly out the window when you had been kidnapped.

Thomas pulled away from James, once again ignoring his question. He stood and made his way to the other side of the room again. He pointed to that same shabby curtain.

James took this as a command to go back into that room. With how uncomfortable Thomas was making him, this was an order that James was glad to obey. He hurried back into that room, sitting down on the bed.

Thomas watched him leave, taking in the younger man's jittery body language. Really, he enjoyed it. As much as he didn't like to admit it, Thomas was obviously a sadist. He was a serial killer. He knew he couldn't deny it anymore. He liked seeing people uncomfortable or in pain. He also knew that that was absolutely sick, but he couldn't help it. He was so messed up from several things. That didn't excuse the behavior, yes, but it helped him feel a little better about committing such heinous acts.

17 September, 1876 - James Madison, aged 24, brown hair, blue eyes, Thomas began to write. He left his last spot blank, as he wasn't sure what kind of scar he should give him. He paused for a moment, then scratched out the '17'. He didn't know when he would dispose of this one. He thought it might just be more fun to keep him around for a little while.

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I was on vacation for a week and couldn't write for crap. From now on, I will try to update weekly. No promises, though. I'm awful at updating on time.