He had been watching her. He had been watching her. It seemed forever ago when he first saw her. He followed her and learned her pattern. He even touched her hand once on the train. The moment he saw her he knew. She was the one... The one that would make him feel whole. The one who would relieve the pressure that had been building since last time. He imagined her blood on his hands. Fantasized about her pleas and cries. Yes, he thought, she is the one. And it will be tonight. He followed her home after work to her house. Not for the first time. The house was perfect for his needs. The house was in the woods with the closest neighbor at least a mile away. She had to drive to the train station every morning and then take the train to work. Then after work, she rode the train back and drove home to her isolated home. It was perfect. He watched from the trees as she ate her supper and prepare for bed. Now was the time... She had just turned out the lights. He knew the screen door in the back was his way in. She doesn't lock that door. He smiles, she believes she's safe, he muses. She has no idea how wrong she is. He climbs the fence and crosses the backyard to the unlocked door. Anticipation and excitement pulse through his entire body. He gently opens the door and steps inside. The house is dark and silent. Already a tomb, he thought gleefully. She'll be upstairs in bed, reading as she waits for sleep. He tiptoes his way up the stairs. Knife in hand. He slowly makes his way down the hall. The hallway is pitch black, but a light gently seeps under the bedroom door. Will have to be quick, he thought. He doesn't want to give her a chance to getaway. Not when he is so close to what he wants. He takes a breath. Pushing down his excited anticipation. He shoves the door open making it crash into the wall and rushes to the bed. His knife comes down, One. Two. Three. Four times. He struck so fast he didn't realize at first that it was not blood flying around him. He stared bewildered at the feathers floating over his head. She was not there, and he had killed her pillows. Damn it! He thought. Alright, new plan. He had to find her. He turned and re-entered the hallway. Where is she? The bathroom? No. He has not heard any movement at all since entering the house. He stepped further into the darkness of the hall, then froze. His instincts screamed at him. Something is wrong. But what? Something hit him, and everything went dark. He jerked awake. He couldn't move and everything was blurry from the blow to his head. He felt a surge of panic. "Calm down! Breath!" He scolded himself. "You cause fear, you don't feel it." "You are a predator, not prey." He calmed and his vision began to clear. He was in the basement. He became aware he was on his back on the floor. His wrists felt heavy. He looked up and saw the manacles. They looked straight out of the middle ages. Old, but sturdy. Where the hell do you get manacles? He thought He tried to pull on the chains in an attempt to sit up, but he discovered his ankles were chained too. He's not on the floor he realized. He's on a stable stretched out. His panic begins to set in again. "Calm Down!" He chides himself again. Then he hears it. The sound of metal scraping on metal. "You ruined my pillows." He strained his neck to see the source of the voice. She stepped closer out of the shadows. His target. She was sharpening an evil-looking knife. No doubt it came from the wall behind her filled with other evil devices. He continued to sharpen her knife. The sound sent pulses of fear through his spine with every strike. "I liked those pillow," She said casually, "I think I'll cut your eyelids off first as vengeance." What the hell?! He thought, How did this happen? The woman who he chose. The woman who would make him feel whole. The woman he spent time getting to know. The woman who was to be his prey... Is planning to cut off his eyelids? "No!" He shouted, his anger bubbling inside him. This is not how this works. He leaves death behind him. He causes fear in the hearts of anyone who has ever read news articles about his victims. He kills. He is not a victim. This bitch belongs at his feet, not standing over him.  "Let me go bitch!" He snarled. "Release me, and I might kill you quicker than normal!" His outburst caused her to pause her sharpening. She stared at him unflinching. "Now!" he shouted, "Or I will make your last moment the most excruciating thing you will ever feel!" She continued to stare and said nothing. She turned back towards her knife wall. Put the knife in her hand back, picked a different one, and began sharpening again. Her calmness was unnerving to him. He had never felt unnerved before. It was a strange feeling. It made him angrier that she unnerved him. "Bitch! I will not tell you again! Spittle flew from his enraged face. She turned back towards him examining her newly sharpened knife. "Ahhh!" He yelled, "Do as I say, woman!" She stared at him. Then she smiled. Her smile killed his anger and replaced it with fear. A fear he had never known before. "That's cute." She said. "What's cute?" He asked confused. "You. Thinking you're still the scariest one in the room." His screams filled the night. 
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