Unwritten Chapter 1

If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. - Toni Morrison

Christina Regan fought daily. Fought against crime, fought against the monsters that kept her employed, that kept her working. She often fought against herself as well, doubting her instincts, regretting her decisions. Today she would fight her emotions as they threatened to unravel and destroy what she had worked so hard to repair.

Christina was hot. Not in a sexual sense despite the beauty she so often found herself working around. She was furious, angry. Her vision clouded with rage, her senses soaked with a stale fear that seemed to consume her when she least expected it. Today, she expected what she felt and still she fought against the dangerous pounding in her chest.

She had arrived early, deciding on a seat in the last row, furthest from where he would sit. Where she was sure he would receive the news that would undoubtedly change his life as well as hers. He sat there years ago, months after altering both their lives. Their lives were changed then and as things seemed to come full circle, she knew their lives were about to change again.

The heavy wooden door swung open and Christina immediately recognized the older gentleman who entered. His badge displayed proudly on his belt, his gun on his hip and his eyes staring straight ahead. Detective Randy German. Christina never forgot him. Never forgot the way he pushed her, the way he pushed himself until the case was closed. She expected he would show, he promised her he would plead his case, her case in hopes of better results. All they could do was speak their mind and hold their breath. And that is what Randy German had done, to no avail.

Nathaniel Davies was brought in from the side and took his seat at the table in the front. Christina told herself she wouldn't stare, she told herself to stop staring. The expensive suit seemed out of place on his hardened body, prison life only serving to improve his already intimidating physique. It took a few minutes before Nathaniel began to scan the stuffy courtroom and it was when his eyes landed on Christina that the smile that had captured her years ago was instantly produced. She quickly looked away, but he drew her back. His gaze was heat and she burned so easily.

Christina Regan was so young, barely experiencing life when she met Nathaniel Davies. He was beautiful or at least as beautiful as any man could be with a smile that would warm instantly. Christina was immediately attracted to this slightly older man and found herself consumed with him and within a year of meeting him, married. He loved her, he would always love her. She heard him clearly and felt his words. Nobody else would love her like he did. She didn't want anybody else. Nobody else would have her. She didn't understand then. She would later learn and forever know what he meant by those words whispered in her ear.

The weight of her own gun against her hip was more often a comfort than a irritant. She often rested her forearm on the butt of it as it offered her the security she needed from day to day. She practiced often and her aim was as good or better than any other detective in Tennessee. She was informed of this each year when they were all required to re-qualify. She would never be a victim again, she had made that decision years ago. She fought daily to be able to make such a statement with confidence.

He smiled, but Christina wouldn't give. She instead looked straight ahead, refusing to look his way despite feeling his eyes rake her body. She questioned herself as to why she had come. Nathaniel had been a model inmate for the last thirteen years. He would be paroled today, of this she had little doubt. The last thing she wanted to see was him regaining his freedom, walking away from his punishment and smiling at her while he did it.

Christina forced her hands to stay still, refusing to let them rise to her chest where she felt the sweat begin to form under her tailored blazer. She knew it would be warm in the courtroom, she knew the jacket would be too much over her button down shirt. She knew she would wear her gun and she knew Nathaniel would get off on the look of her now. The power and confidence that was her in the eyes of so many of her friends and colleagues now versus the naïve fear that colored in her features then. Her chest was tight and it burned. It always did when she was nervous, anxious or angry. The deep scar that was nearly six inches in length starting from her left collarbone and traveling past her right breast to her ribs pulled at her; demanded her attention. She refused and subsequently ignored the need to at least acknowledge it was there.

Nathaniel had spent more than a decade behind bars for the attack on his wife, a young Christina Davies. Just old enough to drink legally, Christina had made a mistake. She had pulled away from her husband when his abusive ways had become too much. She was quick to seek comfort in the friendship of another and learned later than Nathaniel knew of her affair. It took years for Christina to admit that she had indeed been raped by her husband that night. He was her husband, it was his right. She knew better now but still she carried that night with her on her body; a reminder as if an emotional wound that refused to heal wouldn't be enough.

Christina caught the last part of Nathaniel's fate, almost missing the decision due to her memories invading her thoughts. The anger spread through her body quickly and the pure fury that she breathed almost blinded her. She figured he would be paroled, she knew the system and how it worked. She knew he knew how to play the game. Still she hoped, still she prayed and still she fought to keep her emotions in check. She would have to if she had any hope of continuing on with her life as she knew it now.

Randy German pulled gently at her arm, suggesting she follow him from the courtroom. She stood, her knees growing stronger as her breathing evened out and followed the older detective. She could feel Nathaniel's eyes on her back, but her focus was on her colleague, her friend as he held the door for her.

"I'm sorry, Chris. I did all I could." Randy's disappointment was evident as he spoke knowing Christina knew the chances were slim that her ex-husband would remain in prison.

"I know you did. I appreciate you, Randy." Christina let her hand fall onto Randy's shoulder, her eyes holding his. She could hear his voice then as he pushed her to stand up to him, pushed her to testify, pushed her to say goodbye. She remembered how hard he worked to find Nathaniel, how many days he went without sleep. He promised her he would protect her and he did that when he finally put Nathaniel in cuffs.

"You don't need to leave." Randy pleaded with her, despite knowing when Christina made her mind up, it was made. "This is your home."

"I won't share it with him and he can't leave. At least not for awhile. I have to go." Christina moved in and let Randy's arms surround her. "I'll be okay. I'll keep in touch."

Randy loved Christina as if she were his daughter and the way he held onto her told her he would miss her in that way as well. "My brother is expecting you. He's vice, but he has assured me he's in good with Homicide. He'll pull the right strings and have you working on arrival."

Christina smiled despite her anxiousness at leaving Memphis for Boston. Randy took care of her then and continued even now. She would miss him terribly, but she knew it was time to leave her home behind. Time to start somewhere new, time to put her past away.

"You know I will make sure he is watched constantly. He will not get to you, Christina." Randy stood by as Christina stole glances back into the courtroom.

"He has threatened to kill me numerous times. The way I see it, let him come." Christina forced herself to stand tall and strong. "It really is time for me to go now."

"I understand." Randy pulled his protege into his arms, letting her rest her head against his chest. He held his hand against the back of her head, allowing for her to cry if she needed or wanted to. He knew she wouldn't, the tough persona she had formed over the years was so often used to protect her world.

Christina pulled away, offering Randy the grin he had come to love. She was indeed a beautiful woman and he knew first hand the obstacles she had conquered because of her beauty on her way to making detective. Her eyes were sharp, constantly on guard, blue against a tanned complexion. An intense contrast against an inviting smile. Her height a bit deceiving to her strength as she was not overly tall. She possessed the perfect mixture of a tough, determined cop and gentle, vulnerable woman.

The faded, older model, yellow mustang was packed full with the few belongings Christina had chosen to take with her. She wanted to travel light for the chance things didn't work out in Boston, she would move on. She didn't know where she would go, but she would not return home to Memphis. The wind picked up and the air was cooling against the bright blue Memphis sky. She would miss her home in the deep south, that was the only thing she was sure of as she pulled her windbreaker down over her gun before getting in behind the wheel.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Boston. He knew he'd make it home eventually. Boston in the dead of winter; even better yet. He always loved the cold and Boston could be brutal if the timing was right. The forecast called for snow, freezing rain, blizzard-like conditions. It was good to be home and he let the aroma of the busy city fill his senses as the cold air assaulted his lungs.

He walked, he loved to walk the streets of his city; his home, as he watched. He watched the children in the schoolyard, never for too long. They were so innocent, not yet having been exposed to the harsh realities of life. They will, in time, but for now he watched as they laughed and played like their life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The sounds of hot tires skidding on iced roads and the subsequent horns made him smile. Not too many people appreciated the elements like he did. It really was a shame for the elements are what set the scene. You've got to tell it like you see it, share it like it can be felt and read it like your life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He walked. Soon he would begin here in Boston. Soon they would know he was home; if only they knew who he was. He loved this time of year, having pulled down his ski mask to cover his face. The wind was beginning to show and the way it pulled at his body told him he was right on track. His timing was indeed perfect and he was so very glad to be home.

The sun setting in the west excited him to the point of nervousness. He forced himself to take a deep breath, allowing the frigid air to burn as it inflated his lungs. It hurt, but it felt good to hurt in such a way. He was alive and his heart pounding against his chest only reminded him of how alive he really was.

Boston. Such a beautiful city with beautiful women and tonight he would find him one. He watched as he walked, smiling at those he saw knowing they could not see him. He loved this time of year, he loved this kind of weather, he loved like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He watched as she struggled for air, struggled to breathe, struggled to live. Her hands grasped her own throat and her eyes were locked onto his. He only smiled as she begged him through those eyes, begged him to help her, to save her. She begged the very person who had so effortlessly slit her throat with one single motion. So easy. He watched her until she was finished; finished dying and then he kissed her. He wasn't surprised when she didn't respond; they never did.

He found death fascinating. Watching death come was fascinating to him and he loved how it was a little different for everyone. Some women were so calm as if they wanted to die; as if he was doing them a favor by ending their life. There were some who kept their composure as if begging would be below dying in some way. Humiliating or undignified. He often laughed at those for it wasn't like he would ever see them again. Then there were the ones that fought with all they had and all they had left as if there would be a chance. A chance they would survive. They never did. He figured those were the one that weren't ready. The ones that still had unfinished business to tend to. Something to erase, something to hide. They were so screwed on all accounts.

He loved to look into the eyes of the women that had trusted him at least some. He loved how they maybe thought that they would be the one he spared, like there was any hope that he would let them live; let them survive. He wondered if he had let any one of them live, if she would have a different take on life. A different perspective or even a healthy respect for the preciousness of such a gift. He never led any of them to believe they were the lucky one. As luck would have it, perhaps they were just that; lucky. He didn't think it was fair to let them believe they weren't going to die, so he told them. He told them with a clear, steady voice that they were going to die. Those that believed could start praying, those that didn't...well it gave them time to start believing.

He stared at his latest, his first since coming home. Such a beauty and even in death she turned him on. The power that he had over life was just incredible and the way she looked at him threatened to be too much. Her eyes stayed fixed on his, she wouldn't move. He had never seen anything more beautiful, each woman that much more appealing to him. He supposed every human being had this power, but he knew only a few chose to use it. He had the ability to make the ultimate decision for this woman. He held her future in his hands and now he marveled at how little blood was actually on his hands. He was good; so good.

The first minute after death was his time; to reflect, to relive, to remember. He remembered the first woman he killed and he remembered wondering if he weren't some kind of monster. It was then that he realized he held the power and the responsibility that came with that power. It had been a bit disturbing the first time he watched a woman beg him for life. The surge of excitement as her soul left her beautiful body was unexpected and erotic in a way he couldn't recognize then. Now he craved such a release and each woman managed to feed a need that kept him going, kept him performing; kept him living. Killing in this way made him feel alive and tonight he was living hard.

He had found himself addicted to death, but managed to keep his addiction in check. He had to be in control and the ability to control his urges is what kept him going. He wondered briefly early on if he weren't some kind of freak, but like any addict he found comfort in numbers. There were many that killed to satisfy something deep within, that held the same power as himself. He blended in and was just a ghost for when they were close he was gone. He was good; so good and now he would prove just how good here at home.

The wind picked up and the temperature dropped with it. He covered her for the cold would surely burn her skin. He wrapped her tight in her own knee-length coat as if her life depended on it. It didn't.