I fear that it has been days since I have written the date, and a quote that summarizes the entry. My entries have become shorter, briefly after a page, and if I’m lucky, two, I stop, for that it the end…You may wonder why it is this way, why I choose to end it so abruptly, without giving you more information as to the anecdote, and the answer is because it all ties in to The End. The end of the story where everything is supposed to be solved. But I fear that everything will not be solved for you. You may have to look beyond the book and put yourself—clean, safe, and sane—in my head. In my preserve, contradictory, and precarious mind, where nothing is truly as you think it to be. Perhaps in my head, I am logical, and perhaps to you, I am mad.

Nay, I am not mad. Quite the opposite in fact. Do I sound angry to you?

Perhaps I do. I do not know. And frankly, I don’t care.

I have begun to let my readers, my fans down. I hope you accept my apology. It may not seem sincere, who knows, perhaps it is, but it is the closest to an apology you’ll get. There will be only one other time that I will apologize for only one thing, and I doubt that it’ll come up soon.

Today is April 11, 2007 and my madness has progressed. I have already found a new victim, besides Sandra, and already, I doubt that I’ll kill Sandra. Would you like me to tell you why? For me to do this, I would have to begin this entry from yesterday. While Sandra and I talked, I did a little research on her husband and his company. Her husband has made many enemies in the past, and all of them he has earned. They would be more than willing to help his wife bring him down—after all, it was one form of satisfying their need for revenge.

We talked about Sam and Candy, and I felt their pain. Only a demented, twisted, and truly evil mad man would torture those poor college students in that way. I only kill those who wish to be killed, or perhaps deserve it. I am not a punisher, or a savior, but yes, that is what Sandra insists on calling me.

I followed her home, and stayed in the house with her, talking.

“ Why do you insist on staying with him? Is it the money?”

She shook her head, and bent over, checking the meat loaf she had in the oven. “ No,” she said picking at it, “ it is far from that. It is principle. It is vows. I made a vow before God to love my husband through sickness and health, til death do us part.” She stood up, closed the stove, and grabbed the bottle of water she had on the counter in front of me. “ And death shall do us part. It’s either me or him, and I say him.”

“ So what’s your plan? How do you plan to kill him?”

“ I have an alibi. I’ll say I stayed the night with Harry Grantham, one of Donald’s lackeys. They’ll be controversy as to if I slept with him, and if I killed him.” She gave a smile. “ Originally, I wanted to just slaughter him with the hatchet out bad. But that wouldn’t be good, I would definitely get caught.” She took another long swig as she thought about it. “ So…they’re coming home tonight, him, Jared, Kiev with new whores. You know Jared will be here, the one who bought me. He’ll think that he put me to sleep after he had his way with me, “ she gave a tiny laugh as though the thought pained her, “ but I bet even one of Donald’s mindless dogs would be better in bed.” She looked at me. “ Even you.”

I wasn’t sure if she was leaving an invitation open, so we just sat in a tepid silence. “ You know id this all blows over, and you’re interested, I would like for you to….” She didn’t finish the thought, but I knew what she meant. I would’ve never taken her as a shy woman, but with her request to an almost complete stranger, perhaps it was the thought of cheating on her husband when he openly did the same to her. Before I could say anything, she raised her hand and quickly amended it. “ No pressure, honestly. I want to be with a real man.”

“ So what would make you ask me a request like that?”

She shrugged. “ See what some don’t understand, what most men lack is what they don’t say. It’s there, bubbling just under the surface, any woman who doesn’t want you is an idiot.”

She turned away, and took the meat loaf out of the oven. Then she took out a plate, and looked at me. “ So, how many pieces?” She asked.

Dinner came and went, and her husband wasn’t home yet. I mulled over this intelligent woman, killing her husband. Though he caused her all that pain, the thought of her killing him didn’t sit right with me. As she took my plate, I closed my hand over hers. “ Sandra, you’re an intellectual woman.” I started with just a whisper.

She laughed. “ Yes, so you’ve told me repeatedly. And I also remind you of that Julie something or another.”

“ I’m serious; do not kill your husband. You’ll be free of his tyrant hold for only so long. You’ll have nightmares about this for the rest of your life. And as sure as, I’m sitting here, you don’t want them. Trust me.”

“ And how would you know?” She said almost harshly. “ Have you ever killed a man or something?”

I met her gaze with a hard one. “ More then enough to know what the hell I’m talking about. It’s not a man has to stick together thing. It’s an epiphany. I can’t let you go through with this. You have all your clothes packed up already. Go to the police.”

“ What if those don’t get justice?”

“ Don’t worry, they will. I know a couple of people.”

I couldn’t believe that I was advising her not to kill her husband when I’ve killed others. I was convincing her not to.

The front door opened and closed, and the sound of men voices filled the foyer along with a few whimpers. We both turned to the sound. “ They will reap what they sow. You really want to be included in on that, Sandra? Do you still want to have that on your conscious forever? Do you want to end up like them, like me? Because if you do, I’ll have to serious reconsider why I thought you clever? You’re a fool if you do.”

She stood there, clad in an apron, her short dark hair wild as it barely fit in the tiny ponytail she somehow managed to fit it in. “ This is your only chance to go.”

“ Sandra! Whose car is that in the back?” Her husband yelled from the foyer.

I walked back into the shadows of the kitchen, and open the screen door, where her suitcases filled with clothes and evidence stood. The wind picked up at that time, and the long almost transparent white curtains rose, billowing like silky hands, beckoning to her to come. “ Do you know how blood looks in the moonlight?” I whispered.

“ Sandra?!” He roared again, followed by a, “ if that stupid wench isn’t here, I’ll carve my name into her back, and lock her ass up too!”

That seemed to solve her dilemma as she rushed forward by me. I grabbed her suitcases, and we hurried along the moonlit backyard—forest—to my car. “ It’s unlocked.” I told her.

She got in the passenger seat as I stuffed the suitcases into the truck, and slide into the driver’s seat. I stared my silver Sable, and we drove off.

“ It’s not much.” I explained as I put her luggage in the extra guest room that will now serve as her room.

She nodded, not really taking in her surroundings. Her hand was over her mouth and her brown eyes were wide in shock. “ I left my husband there…I-I to think that I almost went through with killing him. Oh, god. What if I didn’t listen to you, what if.?”

“ You didn’t.” I soothe her. I sat her on the bed, and she looked at me.

She said nothing, just stared at me, before her lips sealed over my. From a glance you wouldn’t have thought them full unless you felt them, tasted them. I kissed her back, my tongue sliding along the puffy bottom lip. She opened her mouth at the unconscious request, and hers lightly brushed mine. Like she never had been kissed before. She made my loins stir, and if I thought about it, the reason I was attracted to her was because she reminded me so much of Julie. I pulled back, and held her squarely by the shoulders, looking into her pleading brown eyes. They warped into a golden-green and I blinked, clearing them away until Sandra’s was back again.

I opened my mouth, trying to form the words, trying to force my tongue to pronounce the words.

“ If I were to do this with you, you would be an imitation—a substitute—to who I really want. I would feel you, I would taste you, I would touch you, I would take you, but I would think of only her.”

She stared at me, her jaw locked. “ I don’t care.”

“ You deserve better than that. If you know what’s good for you, you would let me walk out of this room right now.”

“ As you can see from the thing that I call a husband, I don’t know what’s good for me. I’ve gotten what I deserve, what I’ve wanted. I want this.”

I nodded. Instead of resisting, of forming words to discourage her, I kissed her. We fell to the bed, and I kissed her mouth, while I tore her clothes from her like a savage. Her apron was off, then her shirt and her trouser. She wore no undergarments beneath, and I was silently thankful. She was working my clothes, my shirt, and my pants. She traced my chest before I grasped her hands in mine. It was not right for me to do this. I’ve had enough of pretend. I drew away from her.

I inhaled her scent one more time. “ Let me get you a change of sheets. There’s a shower through that door.” I pointed to the left

I rose, and left the room. I didn’t step into the shower until I heard her start hers. When I finished, I wrapped a towel around my lower body, and returned to her room with a change of sheets, and one of my old Godsmack t-shirts. She had already stripped the bed, and she laid there in the center, in just a towel. I said nothing, but placed the pile on the right corner of the mattress, and as I left the room only whispered, “ Good night.”

I faintly heard her whisper it back.