Chapter 1

Washington D.C, Virginia-1998

"Abby come on, what's it going to hurt, huh?" I looked at Bethany across the checker-clothed table and rolled my eyes for the fifth time since we had come into the tiny restaurant.

"Bridge, I just can't, okay?"

She narrowed her eyes and looked at me as if I had grown a tail or something. "Why? Because of you're stupid curfew or something?"

I twirled the straw in my cookies n' cream milkshake and traced the red squares with my pinky. "No, it's just…I just can't." I repeated.

She nodded her head as if she understood-truly understood- what I was saying. But I knew she didn't. When it came to my curfew or clubbing, clubbing came first. Always. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. "Whatever."

I sighed. Now came the guilt trip, Bethany-style. "Bethany, come on…"

"I said whatever, Abby." Bethany picked up a pair of fries with her French-tipped fingers and stuffed them in her mouth, missing the bright red lip stick that made a perfect 'M' on her face.

I continued to sit there and tried desperately to sip at the ice cream. But it refused to slide up the straw, so I just gave up and pushed the dessert away from me, not really in the mood for ice cream anymore. The radio above us blared an old Britney Spears song and I leaned back against the bright red leather of the booth's seat and started gnawing at my lower lip. I looked at my friend. She stuffed another pair of the crisp potatoes past her clownish lips, avoiding my stare and instead looking out the window at the clouds that were beginning to form over the little town.

"Beth, listen," I began, a sigh weighing heavy on my words, "I would love to go clubbing, I really would, but I promised Spencer…"

She stopped me short with a sigh of her own and the raise of her hand. "Abby, please. Even if you did have plans with Spencer, I know you would still make up some lame excuse not to go with me." She took a sip of her drink. "I mean, c'mon. You're a goody two shoes Abbs. You never did like the idea of going clubbing with me in the first place and you probably never will. Seriously, ever since that incident you've been under the weather."

I stared at her as if she were joking. Really, absolutely, honest-to-God, joking. But the look on her face signified that she wasn't; the way her brows scrunched up together and her mouth pursed in a tight, hard line. Some friend she was. I mean, sometimes, you know when you get that urge to just wring their scrawny necks or tackle them to the ground and beat their face in when they really-just really-pissed you off? Well, yeah. Bethany was definitely one of those people. I…I just really wanted to grab her nicely straightened auburn hair and rip it out by the roots; by the handfuls.

I clenched my fists in order to control myself. I couldn't take it anymore. If Bethany couldn't get it through her petty skull that I had plans with my boyfriend and had to be home by seven-thirty on a school night, then screw her. Why she even hung out with me, left me clueless. Usually, she had been one of those girls that you seen in a movie or two, putting on makeup, tripping geeks while they walked down the aisle, wrapping their arms around a tough-looking jock and making out behind the bleachers or just in front of the teacher to see if they really would get in trouble.

But, when I had been paired up with her last year in English class for a Shakespeare report that was worth about twenty-five percent of our grade, it was like she had swooped into my life and dragged me away from my old friends, my old life; basically taking me under her wing. Sadly, though, we had had our ups and downs in this newly born friendship and we hardly worked anything out. Which was why I was going to have to break this thing up once and for all before it got any nastier.

"I have to go." I stood up and climbed out of the booth, grabbing my purse and tossing a twenty on the blindingly white table.

"Excuse me?" I heard her behind me, her stilettos gouging the floor in an angry rhythm.

I shoved my way through the door, thinking that I could possibly make it to my truck with my ridiculously short legs. No such chance. I mean, I did make it to the Ford's door, but just as I opened it, it slammed closed, barely missing my fingers.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bethany looked down at me with this look that I had never seen her wear before. It was dark and dangerous, as if she were really willing to start a cat-fight out here in the parking lot of the O'Malley's Café like she had down with Jennifer Craftsman in the tenth grade after hearing a false accusation from one of her other friends from the backstabbing posse that her boyfriend was cheating on her with Jen.

And, believe it or not, it kind of scared the shit out of me, that look. But that didn't stop me from standing my ground. "Bethany, you know, instead of asking me that question, why don't you ask yourself? Because, seriously, I'm not the one being a bitch here."

I pulled open my door and climbed in, leaving with the last word for once in our friendship. As I reversed and wrenched out of the parking lot, I heard her final words to me before I was even out on the road. "You will pay for this Abby! Do you hear me! You will regret the day you ever walked away from me!"

And, for a moment, as I just drove. I didn't think about it at all. Bethany never kept her word on anything. That was a fact, I knew, for sure. I shuddered and turned on the heat in the truck, hoping that it would somehow warm me up from the sudden chill that seemed to hover around me.

The moment I pulled onto Star Terrace, and parked my truck in the garage, I knew something was up. Spencer wasn't waiting in his car, like he usually did when he picked me up on an important date. Maybe he went in because he was getting tired of waiting.

I considered that as being a reasonable possibility as I walked into the white town house. "Guys, I'm home!" Nothing. I slipped off my jacket and hung it up on the rack. Not the sound of a television being on prattled my ears and my boyfriend didn't even welcome me and bless me with a kiss; looking down on me with that crooked grin of his as he often did when he laughed at my mistakes. Which was very strange, for this was a fact that had been proved several times during our course of dating. As I walked around the silent mausoleum, I seen the back of Spencer's head where he sat on the dark leather couch, facing the television.

I bit my lower lip and began to walk up to him, afraid and nervous. It wasn't like Spencer to be pissed at me over something like being late on our anniversary date and ignoring me. But, then again, there was a possible chance he could be. Right? I let out a heavy sigh and flung my arms around his neck, the first step in my make-up plan. "Spencer, baby, I'm sorry I'm late. It's just…"

I stopped, just as those words passed my lips. Something was seeping through the cracks of my fingers. Something sticky and warm. When I pulled my hands away and looked at them, I screamed. "Oh my God!" Blood. Blood was painted all over them. Spencer's body fell to the floor when I had pushed myself away from him, revealing what I had missed. I only screamed louder and ran. I couldn't see him. I didn't want to. Those eyes- his eyes- were frozen in some kind of horror, a sudden surprise.

"Mom! Dad!"

I called out for them, afraid that they had possibly endured the same fate. Being frightened was the only thing I knew at the moment. Oh my God. What was going on? I stopped short in the hallway, listening for my parents' reply. Nothing. Not a single footstep or whisper alerted me. I trailed my hands along the wall, going over the family portraits that hung there, painting the bright white paint and glass frames a crimson red. Spencer's red. My breathing became ragged. My heartbeat thumped quickly like Beth's stilettos on the café's linoleum floor. I touched the door knob of my parents' bedroom, stunned that I was able to grasp it due to all my shaking. "Mom? Dad?"

I pushed open the door, slowly, and, when I seen the scene before me, I wasn't even sure my legs could hold me up anymore.

She was laying there, my mother, dead, face down on their bed…her head beat in, her blood soaking the bedspread in a small, dark pool. It was as if someone had taken a hammer and swung away with no mercy; with not a care in the world, in fact.

I clapped a hand over my mouth and pressed it hard against my face just as the tears sprung from my eyes. Dad was the worst, it seemed, out of the three. His eyes, thank God, like mom's, had been hidden from my sight. But that didn't keep me from seeing the fear and feeling it. Dad was nailed to the wall by his hands and feet, like Jesus Christ. Stabs also had been forced into him so many times, that all I could see past my tears was crimson on his abdomen. "No…" I backed up outside against the hallway, as far as possible from their room and collapsed onto the floor. I shook my head. No. No.

I let my body rock and sway as if I had really lost it. Maybe it was him, I wondered. Him from the letters…

Tears raced down my face as I shook my head again, not wanting to believe it. No. No, it couldn't be him. No, no, no.

"Abby…"

I swung my head to the right and noticed the silhouette of someone, standing in my bathroom at the far end of the hall. Oh, God. I pressed my hand harder to my mouth. I began to taste blood.

"Abby…please. I did this for you. For us."

The silhouette grew larger. As quickly and as quietly as I could, I scrambled to my feet and made my way to the stairs, my palms growing clammy. He was still here. He was still in my house.

I began down the stairs, just as his footsteps came into the hall. They were slow but sure, as if he knew I was running from him.

"Abby, sweetie, I don't want to hurt you, okay? I did all of this for you. To make you happy."

My teeth chattered against one another and I slid my legs farther than one step, stepping on the landing. If I was going to get away from him, I was going to have to stay one step ahead. Always. I skimmed across the wall and found the cleaning closet.

Turning the handle, I slipped inside and I backed up as far as I could against Mom's many brooms and mops.

"Abby." His voice was closer now. My teeth rattled harder and tears slipped down my cheeks. Why was he here? Why couldn't he get it through his crazy, messed up brain that I didn't love him? That was when I seen, due to the crack of light underneath the door, his shadow pass in front of it. I squeezed my eyes shut and began to recite the Lord's Prayer in my head.

"Abby, honey…" I heard the sound of something sharp scratch across the door. He wasn't going to get me out that quick. No, no he wasn't.

I huddled closer in the corner and my back suddenly prodded into the handle of a vacuum cleaner. I almost gasped out in pain, but instead squeezed my eyes harder to avoid the puncture in my spine until I could see colors.

"C'mon Abby. Please. I just want us to be happy together." His voice sounded pleading. Almost…sad.

But I didn't care. I didn't want to. I didn't even know who this guy was. His name hadn't even greeted my mind, even in his letters. He never signed them.

And, now, now he was here, in my house, looking for me. I knew, most likely, if he did, that he would kill me. Just like he killed Spencer and my family if I didn't obey his twisted commands.

"Listen, Abby. I know what I did must've scared you…but you need to come out so we can talk."

I didn't make a move. I just sat there. That was all I could do.

"Damn it! Abby, I said come out, NOW!" He slammed the door with his fist and my body jumped.

He pressed himself up against the door. And then, I knew. He knew I was in here. He always had.

"Abby," he murmured against the wood, "I love you, okay? The way you make me feel…I just know what you're doing is to make me love you even more." He sighed, almost as if in ecstasy. "And it's working, Abby. It's working."

He traced whatever he had in his hand against the door, making the same scathing noise. I crunched up my body, wrapping my arms around my knees, hugging them tightly against my chest. I don't love you, I wanted to scream, I never have loved you! Now just go the hell away and leave me alone!

"Abby, please. Just come on out of there, will you? I love you. And, just think. Just think of how happy we'll be together. With them out of the way, Abby, we can do anything we want and no one can stop us." He stopped and all I could hear was the sound of our breathing. What was more disgusting was that he could hear me, and he matched his to mine…perfectly.

He sighed again. "Abby. I know this is a lot to think about. Our love being as strong as it is…" He paused, and then continued again. "I'm going to leave you to think about us, Abby. And, remember," his voice was becoming distant now, the sound of a door opening, "We'll always be together. You and I…forever."

The door then slammed closed. He was gone. The blood in my head pounded loudly and everything swirled. He was gone…and my family…

My body swayed. I had nothing to grab hold on to. Everything seemed to creep closer up to me, the dark pushed up against my body. Sleep, it seemed to whisper. Just close you're eyes. You won't remember a thing.

Manhattan, New York- 2010

My body jerked, flinging the sheets up off me. He had come again. I clenched my teeth together and ran a hand through my frizzed bed head, calming down my breathing. I had to stop remembering these things. Or else I was going to wind up in the nut house or worse…therapy. I swung my legs over my bed and leaned over, letting the blood rush to my head as I heard my spine pop.

I needed to relax. All this covering crime scenes and junk was messing with my head. I opened my eyes, looking underneath the divan. And there it was. The box. His letters were in it. They seemed to be just laying in there and calling out to me as if they had a voice of their own. Read me, read me damn you!

My stomach rumbled and grew queasy at the thought. He was gone, I reminded myself. He had no idea where I was, and it would remain that way thanks to the F.B.I. My name was Ellie Clark, journalist to the New York Times, coverer of New York's many crimes. Abby St. James no longer existed. She was dead. Just like her family and the guy she had loved.

I closed my eyes and shoved those thoughts away. All that time with the therapist and crap had seemed like a total waste of both my life and my time. I got off the bed and crawled underneath the tiny structure, just until my fingers grasped hold of the cardboard.

With a sigh, I came out from underneath, pulling the box out after me.

Dr. Norma said facing my past was a good way to show that I didn't fear it. Thus, no fear, no nightmares. I guess not doing it for so long had let the murderer back into my mind, allowing him to haunt my subconscious.

I folded my legs, Indian-style, and relaxing myself, creaked open the box. And, there they were. Each one stacked upon the other; a yellowish tinge already coming at them.

"You can do this, El. You can do this." Shaking, still, I reached in and pulled out the first one. The writing, surprisingly, was legible, unlike any other male writing I had seen.

October 30, 1997

Dear Abby,

I know that you don't know me. But, when I seen you, I almost stopped breathing for a moment and I wanted to go up to you; embrace you if I could. I know that it can be possible if we both try to help the other one understand, we can be together…forever.

And I want you like that, Abby. I want to love you, to kiss you, to do anything for us to stay in each other's arms. I'll be waiting for you Abby, my angel.

Sincerely,

Your Prince Charming

November, 2 1997

Dear Abby,

I saw you today at the café. You were so very beautiful, almost enchanting. The curves of you're body… the smooth, textured look of your skin. And that was when I reminded myself of how much I loved you. You were like Aphrodite, playing with my emotions with your looks and the movement of your body, how it swayed when you walked. And I loved it. How I just wanted to touch you, to smell and caress your skin and hair. But I didn't. I knew you would probably shy away from me, since you always seemed to be that way with other people.

I decided to give you time. Maybe, if I did, I could prove how much I loved and wanted to be with you forever and always.

I thought of you again last night, while I laid in bed. I couldn't sleep. Just because you seemed to haunt my dreams like a ghost was the reason, so it seemed. I could almost feel you, right there in bed with me, curled up next to my side, whispering in my ear how much you loved me. Oh, how I long to make that I reality. To have you next to me at every moment. I wish you happiness, my goddess, my love.

Sincerely,

Your Prince Charming

November, 5 1997

Dear Abby,

I seen you at your school today. The way you walked and laughed made me feel as if I couldn't breathe anymore. You were so intoxicating, like a drug, like a habit I couldn't shake. And, then, that was when you seen me, next to the large elm on the corner of the school. Something happened then, Abby. I could feel the electrical charge between us, that chemical bond only true lovers feel. I could see it in those perfect sea green eyes of yours that you felt the same.

But you shied away from me and ran off to join your friends as if you had been embarrassed. This made me feel much more human, Abby. Like I knew we would now be together always.

I began to think about how close we would be once we thoroughly connected. Maybe we could leave this place and be together. Your beauty, your youth, and your happiness. I knew it would make me happy to have that in my life.

Still, like an innocent school boy, I found I still did not have the courage to come up to you. So, I drove past your house while you were still in school and looked up at your window, the one that I've been looking up to for years. And that was when I felt your skin. Your flawless dove-like skin under my touch. I knew if I could just touch you the way any man can touch a woman, I knew you would love me forever and always. I knew you would let me touch you. To let me hold you close. How I wish I could make you mine as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Your Prince Charming

December 15, 1997

Dear Abby,

You never answer my letters and it is beginning to worry me. Are you not well? I know I must've sounded a little forward in my last letter, but there is no denying the feelings we have for each other, my dear. We deserve, we need to be together. Please answer me as soon as you can, my love. I miss you as each day goes by. I hardly see you anymore. I never see you walking to school the same usual route. You're never outside when school calls you out in the courtyard for lunch.

I hope I'm not making you feel this way Abby. I don't want to make you feel this way. I don't want you to be scared of me.

Sincerely,

Your Prince Charming

January, 2 1998

Dear Abby,

How could you hurt me like this? How? I mean, did I do something wrong, my angel? If I did, please, let me know. I want to change for the better, Abby. For the both of us. But, my dear, you are like a poison now. You have taken my heart and pierced it and, each time you kiss him, I feel like a blow is being clobbered on my skin, leaving a bruise.

Still, as I watch the both of you, I can see you don't love him. Behind that mask of holding hands and laughing with your friends and kissing as you walk to his car, I know you don't have the same feelings for him as you do me. Seeing as it's for the best, my Abby, I want you to break away from him as soon as possible. He's not good for us and what we have. He doesn't understand the feelings we have for one another, the chemical bond we share.

When I watched you again, thinking this, I began to trail away, thinking of what it would be like to be in his shoes. What would your mouth taste like? How would you laugh at my jokes as I drove you in my car? What smell would linger on your skin after we had made love to one another in my bed? And, for a split second, I could almost feel it, almost savor it.

I knew the sooner you broke away from him, the sooner we could be together and keep this monster from ruining whatever we could salvage of our relationship. I'll be waiting for you.

Sincerely,

Your Prince Charming

January, 16 1998

Dear Abby,

You spiteful wretch! I see that I am the only one that supports this relationship, more than you ever could! You disgust me, Abby, with how weak and spineless you are! I thought you loved me. I thought you truly cared for me. I know what we have is real. Much more real than anyone else in this world has ever experienced before.

I know you love me. I know you do. Why can't you just tell me? Why do you hide your true feelings from yourself, ashamed to admit them to me or anyone else? I know you are shy, my dove, and are scared away easily. But, as I see you do not listen and love me as a woman should her lover, then I guess I will have to reason to you in some other way. I will make this work for us, my dear. I'm terribly sorry for the things I have said, and if they have hurt you. I promise we will be together soon, whatever it takes. Whenever things have been taken care of-ended permanently- I will find you. You belong to me.

Sincerely,

Your Prince Charming

I stopped there. There was no point in even going on. I knew what happened. Even when he wrote me poems and words of praise and devoting promises, I ignored him. He had disgusted me, whoever this guy had been. And, when I had seen him, I had only glimpsed him. Nothing more but the flash of his dark, ebony hair. The police didn't even find his DNA anywhere in the house when he…

I tossed the letters back into the box, refusing to crunch them in a ball, and shoved it under my bed. Dr. Norma was wrong. Dwelling in the past hurt. Even when you could hardly remember it at all.

I got up and walked through my well sized studio apartment until I got to my kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. I leaned up against the counter and folded my arms, letting the scent of the morning brew surround me in a warm blanket. Looking over at the clock on my stove, I was surprised to see that it was only three in the morning. I rubbed at my eyes, making them smart.

I needed sleep. Badly. This was the fifth time this week that I had been jolted awake by that…that thing. Damn him. I reached into one of my cabinets and pulled out a small mug announcing that I was the number one best friend. Slowly, I turned it around in my hands, being careful not to drop it; not to let it hit the floor and shatter. "He came again," I whispered, "He was back." I blinked. Great, now I was talking to a freaking coffee mug. I sat it down and turned off the pot. Taking the solid black liquid, I poured it into the container.

Adding a bit of sugar and frothy cream, I grabbed a spoon and stirred. "Well, coffee, since you're the only one I can talk to…let's sit down shall we?"

I picked up the warm cup and walked across the hardwood threshold to the plushy couch facing the largest window in the apartment, one that looked out at the city, at the building across from me and down into the street.

Sitting comfortably and resting my arm on the couch's armrest, I faced the city and sipped at the foam. The nightmares were back, there was no doubt about that at all. And they had gotten worse over the past several days, each one growing darker and more gothic. I shook my head and took a gulp of the brew. I blame my job. During this whole week, from five in the morning to midnight each and every day, I had been covering a story on a massacre of twenty people at the Elm Hotel Lobby. Blood was everywhere and many people believed that it was the act of a cult roaming about somewhere in the slums of Manhattan.

And it had been my job to write about it. I had sent it in to the Big Man (as I like to call him) after I had finished earlier yesterday morning, my bones and brain aching.

Yeah, it was defiantly my job. Too much blood and gore and all that other shit. I continued to sip at my drink again and felt it warm my body. I was going to have to call my psychiatrist and set up an appointment as soon as possible. Whenever that would be.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, totally relaxed. I was focused. I was strong and dedicated.

Abby…

My eyes opened abruptly and my body jolted, spilling drops of hot coffee over my silky pj's.

Abby…I know you're there Abby. I quickly sat down my cup on the side table and got up off the couch.

"Where are you?!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the empty space. "I know you're there you bastard!"

Nothing.

Abby. Come here my angel.

"I'm not your angel you freak! Now leave me alone!"

And that's when I seen him, standing there in a dark corner; a blindingly white smile was the only thing I could see. Grabbing my cup, I flung it with all my might at him, hoping to strike him. Only when it crashed and shattered into tiny pieces did I realize I had imagined it all. He wasn't standing there in my apartment. He wasn't even anywhere near me. And, now, I had a broken cup and splattered coffee all over my freshly painted walls.

"God, Ellie, get a hold of yourself." I then began turning on as many lights as I possibly could until my whole apartment was bright like the day time. "He was no where near you. And…and you don't even exist anymore. Abby is dead."

I went back to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels and a broom. When I walked back into the living room, the phone began to ring. I sat down my cleaning things and went over to the long table standing in front of the window, yanking the ringing thing off of its platform.

"Hello?"

"Wow. I didn't know you'd be awake this early in the morning." A guy voice I knew only so well answered.

"Good morning to you too Nathan." I looked out my window again. Lights were beginning to turn on in the buildings opposite mine.

He laughed. "Sorry. Good morning. Anyways, guess what I just got a whiff of?"

I rolled my eyes. "Knowing you, Nathan, it could be anything. You haven't been sleeping outside in Johnny Depp's garbage again have you?"

"Ha ha. No, but seriously. A little birdie…now get this… has just told me that the Big Man upstairs loved the story you did and he's just got you an interview."

My ears perked at that word. "He got me a what?"

I could practically see him smirking on the other end. "You heard me. Interview. I-N-T-E-R-V-I-E-W. I knew you would love it."

And he was right, I did. "Oh my gosh! Nathan, this is amazing!" It was like nothing had happened. Everything in these last few minutes never existed.

My friend chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"Nathan, I owe you one. Big time."

"Well, can we start with a date and see where it goes from there?"

I smiled. "Nathan, please. You are the last person I would go on a date with."

A sigh. "Dear Ellie, you know my charming witticisms are irresistible to any woman. Including you."

I shook my head and began to beg with him, as if I were really under the spell of a man and his non-humorous jokes. "Nathan, you're so amazing, with your witty charm! Please come to my apartment so you and I can talk about this so -called 'charm' and all the positions you like women in." I let my voice take on a sexier edge. "I'll even model them for you if you want."

"Is that an offer?"

I laughed. "No."

I heard him snap his fingers. After that, I knew he probably pushed back a strand of his golden hair; the one that always kept falling into his eyes. "Darn it." He coughed several times, slightly embarrassed of himself, and continued on. "But, yeah, anyways… the interview, I heard, is a good one. Jaime was even complaining of why she didn't get it herself."

I snorted and began to examine my non-existent nails . "Jaime just needs to get laid. She's been PMSing for weeks on end about how lame her job is."

I traced my fingers along the cool glass, tracing smudges into hearts. "So, Nathan, what is it about this interview that makes it so out of the ordinary?"

"Well…I don't know if I should tell you…"

"Nathan…"

"Fine, fine."

I heard him clear his throat.

"Well, from the rumors going around and everything, the interview is at the Barnum Institute."

"You mean the one where they hold the whack jobs?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Anyways, you're meeting one of those so-called whack jobs who's been put in there for stalking and raping young women half his age."

"Oh God." I leaned against the large window and ran a hand through my hair, catching it in a ratty tangle.

"That's what I said. But, you know, I'm not the one going there to meet him."

"Nathan, shut up."

"Well, anyways, I'll see you at work."

My smile faltered a bit at the sound of his departing. I was going to be alone again if he left. "See you too."

I hung up the phone and looked around my place. Everything had its shadows here. They always seemed to follow me wherever I went, no matter how much light was shining. I closed my eyes for a moment and I could almost imagine myself in the closet once again, his shadow slipping past the door.

I shook my head. Nonsense. Pure, absolute nonsense. I went over to the mess I had made with my broom and paper-roll. Tearing off several sheets, I began to wipe down at the walls, leaving smudges of brown on the white. The white…

The brown immediately turned to red. Red was everywhere. Running down the walls; dripping like rain on a window. I blinked and was soon faced with my wall. My white wall with coffee stains.

"Jesus Christ, you're seeing things El." I crumpled the sheets and tossed them into one of the many wastebaskets I had in my apartment. All of them landed softly on the pieces of paper that had fallen victim to my cursed writer's block.

With a huff, I bent down and swept up the pieces of the cup into a pile. When I stood up, my face met with a picture. A picture that I had kept with me after many, many years.

Bethany. Bethany and I were sitting in front of the Abraham Lincoln Memorial, arms over the other one's shoulders, grinning wildly, hair blowing in the wind. Just like any other BFF pair would look like in the day.

I touched it gently and just as easily flinched away. I wonder if she still hates me up to this day? I bent down again and scooped the piles into the pan that had been on the handle of the broom. I needed to calm down. It was just a stupid dream and I was making a big fuss out of nothing.

With a clatter, I dumped the pieces into the waste bin that resided in the kitchen. My craziness and lack of sleep had cost me my much needed caffeine, a birthday present, and my living room wall. I tossed the broom into its tiny closet and stopped as I closed it shut. Is this what he must have seen that night? I sat the paper towel roll back on the counter and picked up the largest knife I had from a drawer. I walked over to it.

"Abby…" I murmured, trying my best to mimic him. I ran the knife over the wood, hearing that same eerie sound as the blade peeled away the wood, leaving a thin tan line of dried pulp. He had blood on his though. I had seen it after the cops had managed to pull me screaming from my hiding place.

I closed my eyes and remembered what the detective and chief of police had been discussing at the station when they thought I had been asleep.

"How bad was it?"

"It was like walking straight into the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie." I heard the detective light a cigarette as he spoke.

"Damn. Have you found anything yet that may, you know…help?"

The detective blew out a puff of smoke and sighed. "We didn't find anything but blood and guts. But there was something though."

"What?" The chief sounded eager at that moment and, I had to admit, my ears perked at the sound of this kind of news too.

"I received some information from her school counselor a couple of hours ago that she was having some…problems."

"Problems?"

"Yeah. Some really sick shit. She kept on saying how this man was stalking her and that he stopped writing her letters when she refused to break up with her boyfriend. All that crap."

"Why didn't she tell anyone?"

"No one believed her. Her parents said that she just had an overactive imagination and her friends said she was just wanting attention."

"What about her so-called boyfriend?"

I winced at how the man talked about Spencer; like he was the one that had killed everyone…the murderer. I bit my lip to keep from crying again. I was so tired of crying.

"Don't know. The counselor told me she didn't talk about him much."

They went silent for a moment.

Finally, one of them cleared his throat. "We couldn't find any DNA in the house either."

"What do you mean you couldn't find anything?"

"My team looked everywhere. This guy obviously knew his shit better than any one of those fucked up pervs out there."

I opened my eyes. And I then rammed the knife straight through the door, as if it were him; wishing it to be him. "You ruined my life you son of a bitch! You ruined it!" I stabbed the wood several times through, screaming like a madwoman. As I did, I felt all of the rage I had kept bottled up inside of me release.

This was for every time he wrote me those letters. This was for all the blood that he shed in my house. I stopped and let the knife drop to the floor sending a series of clatters echoing about the few rooms.

There was only one thing to do at a time like this. I had to stop.

I walked to my bathroom and looked into the mirror. Looking back at me was this pale faced woman, her knotted hair falling over her eyes and down past her shoulders to the middle of her back. What was laying in those deep hazel eyes? Was this young woman hiding something that her twin didn't know about? I shook my head and opened up the cabinet mirror. Pills, pills. I found the orange bottle and twisted off the top, tossing three, white round tablets into the palm of my hand.

I tossed them several times and then clutched them in my fingers. Did I really want to go back to sleep?

I weighed them in my hand for a slight moment before taking the glass I had on the sink and crushing them to a fine white powder that almost resembled heroin.

Taking the cup, I filled it with water and took the pills, spilling the grains down my throat and pouring gulps of liquid after them.

I made it to my bed just in time before I crashed.

He touched the faded photograph again and smiled. "Abby…"

The paper felt almost as smooth as her skin. If only he had had the chance to actually, truly, touch her; to actually truly hold her close to him and feel her heartbeat. But they had been there. Her family and that thing she had called her boyfriend. But he was nothing like me, he thought, I bet she loved me more than him.

His smile grew broader at that thought. Watching the boy bleed had been bliss enough. Knowing that he would never be able to touch Abby ever again had been pretty damn great too.

And her family. They had just been keeping her from him, never allowing her to see him; to be with him. They needed to die too, he thought, They were in the way. All of them were in the way. She belonged to me.

The thought of her in the closet, hiding from him, came back. She just needed some time to think. I knew it would take some time for her to get used to the fact that all she had was me and nobody else. But, then…

Then, he had almost died himself when he heard on the news that his precious Abby had killed herself. Hanging herself in her aunt's attic. It had almost seemed unbelievable, but…when he had watched the news that night…he did.

They were rolling her tiny body on the stretcher, covered in that blank white sheet. She was gone. He had almost gone crazy. He wrote for days on end in his journals how the love of his life was gone. Vanished from the face of this world. Just because I got rid of the problem.

Then he remembered, that night. He had written to her, calling her spineless and weak. That and the extermination must have sent her over the edge.

But I did it for us. "I did it for us Abby. I did it for us."

He touched the photograph again, running his fingers over her pretty little face. "You were always so scared to be with someone Abby. Especially me. What was wrong with me, huh?"

He stopped for a moment as if pondering that question. "I loved you, Abby." He shook his head. "No. I love you. I always will."

A tear slipped down his cheek as he shoved the fragile picture under his pillow. "I always will."

As he laid down his head and went to sleep, that was what he thought.

"I did it for us Abby. I will always love you. Always. You belong to me. Forever."