Harry Smith wished the bus driver would have waited a few more seconds before leaving. He always wished that his parents had bought him a car. Walking around Arcadia was a bad idea. There was a serial killer who raped teenage boys and left them in the park. None of the teenagers were safe in this town. The cops found the third boy last week: Kyle Forte, the quarter back for the football team.

They should have called the FBI in or something. This was going downhill. Everybody was blaming everybody in town. Here, people know everybody and thought their neighbors were the rapist. Harry covered his eyes, squinting through the rain as he waited on the front steps underneath the roof that protruded from the wall. The bus would come back for the elementary kids. They allowed the high schools to ride if they missed the bus or had after school practice. The spot lights from the glared in his eyes. Arcadia was a fishing town that sat on Lake Ontario. It had about six thousand people living in it. Not much happens besides sporting events.

Cars drove past, not even stopping for the stranded boy. Harry zipped his soccer jacket, trying to keep warm but it was useless. The high school doors were locked, so going back inside wasn't a good idea. A black pickup truck pulled into the turn around. The windows were fogged up.

"Hey kid, need a ride?" a man asked from inside. "It's freezing out here." Harry squinted and saw another boy riding in the passenger seat, but couldn't see what he looked like.

"Is there room in there?" Harry called.

"Yeah. There's a middle seat. Come on in." Harry first hesitated, thinking about the dead boys, but after a loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightening, he ran to the truck door, and yanked it open. The boy kept his face hidden underneath the hood of a huge black sweatshirt, locks of thick wavy brown hair peaking out. "Why are you out in the rain?"

"I missed the bus." The kid was probably his son. The boy kept his head down, and hadn't said a word since they left the school. Who is this kid? Did he go to school with him?

"You're Harry Smith right? Gary's son?"

"Yeah, my house is on German Street," Harry said, staring out the window. They passed the docks, past all the boats coming in before the lake gets any more truculent. Lightning flashed over head. Rain pounded against the windows shield, coming down faster than the windshield wipers can clean it. Then he looked out the other window.

Police cars were parked on almost every street and parking lot. They thought they could handle this themselves. They hoped they be able to catch the pervert that was raping the boys.

The other boy hadn't said a word in over ten minutes. He just sat there, head down as if praying. The cuff of his sweatshirt was wet. The boy brought it up to his head and whipped off his face. Was he crying? Yes he was crying. Harry heard him sniffle. Why was he crying? The thunder tore the sky open. There was a news paper on the dash board, the headline reading:

Third boy found in Green Park rapist.

Yesterday, the third body of the Green Park Rapist was found. It was that of Kyle Forte, the eighteen year old senior and Quarterback for the Arcadia High School football team. He was found lying in the brushes naked.

The FBI should really come. They can't handle this without them. How came are going to die? This began some three weeks ago when a soccer player named Morgan Tyler was found covered in mud underneath a tree. A week later, Alex Cameron, another football player, turned up, naked, under the same tree. Last week Kyle was found. All three were good friends of mine. If I find whoever did this….

"Uhh, we just passed German Street. Excuse me." Suddenly, the boy lifted his head and pulled down the hood, thrusting a pale hand inside his sweatshirt. "You." Something covered his mouth. It smelled weird. Harry struggled against the boy. The boy's weight pressed harder against his body, pushing him against the truck door, keeping the cloth against his mouth.

Soon he stopped, slumping against the door, breathing softly and unconscious. The truck pulled off to the side of the road, far from anybody who would see. The truck was parked beside a forest that surrounded the small town and in an empty parking lot. The store was close, so nobody would come out and yell at them to get out.

"Good job. Go inside and grab some towels or something. And be fast," the man said, and pushed the other boy out, not even caring the boy tripped and sprained his wrist. The boy sprinted inside the store, gingerly picking the lock. It was easy. The store was empty without any cameras. The towels were in the back. He grabbed two and ran back out, protecting the blankets from the rain. Inside the truck, the coconscious boy lay sprawled on the seat, pants and boxers to his ankles. The man lay onto of him, hands wrapped around the boy's throat, grunting. "Good. Watch for the cops." The boy didn't make eye contact and climbed in the truck bed, soaked from the heavy rain fall. He quivered, the rain stealing the warmth of his body.

The truck shook back and forth. The boy hated doing this. But he had no choice. Seconds later, the man got out, whipping blood of a knife. "Grab the boy and put it in the back." Harry was heavy, at least forty pounds heavier than him. He dragged the body by his shirt, and hoisted him up onto the truck bed, took a blanket, and covered the dead body. "Good. Get back in the truck." After securing Harry's corpse, the boy sat leaning against the car door, shivering uncontrollably. The heat only blasted cold air. The man drove carefully, making sure to drive the speed limit so the cops won't pull them over. Nobody would question seeing something under a tarp. They knew he was a hunter and used this truck to move them. But deer wasn't the only thing he moved. The rain kept everybody inside and the cop's numbers were stretched thin already because they had so many out looking for the killer.

They stopped just outside the park edge, waiting until a patrol car sped by. The man unstrapped the body, threw it over his shoulders, and disappeared inside the park. He found some bushes that would provide some cover. He ripped off the jeans and boxers, then the shirt, ignoring the rain. He disposed of the clothes and raced back to the truck, finding the boy curled into a ball in the seat. His clothes were completely soaked through, his wavy brown hair dripping wet. Bruises formed on his jaw, chin, eye and cheek. When his sweat shirt sleeves fell, bruises poked through. It couldn't be seen, but tears streaked down his pale cheeks.

The man grabbed the boy's sweatshirt and punched his jaw. "Stop crying you ass!" The boy touched his broken nose, and jerked back. Blood painted his finger tips. His nose was broken. Pain radiated out from his nose. Another injury to explain to the teachers at school. "Adam, this is what you decided when you wanted to help me. You do as I say."

Adam gulped, trying to hold back the tears. Any movement caused intense pain to shot up from any part of his body. He brought his knees up to his chest, wincing because four of his ribs were broken. This was never going to end.