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Prologue

Blood. Warm. Crimson. Red. Everywhere. It was all he could see. Everywhere he looked - red. Looking down at the delicate redhead with the pretty blue eyes that were frozen in shock, he could only see red. The red liquid pooled around her, making intricate patterns as it traveled down the damp and sordid alleyway. The smell of her strong lavender perfume mixed in with the coppery smell of blood assaults his nose, along with the putrid stink of urine and garbage. He reaches over with his long gloved fingers to stoke the girl’s headful of long auburn tresses. Bending down he sinks his crooked nose into it, taking in the scent of flowers before quickly plucking out a lock of hair and pocketing it. The girl had been stronger than she looked, her long, lean legs fast to react as she tried to get away from him. Silly girl, didn't she know that he got everything he desired; once he picked the one, they could never get away from him. He had to admit, the chase had been quite thrilling though. She most assuredly made him work to woo her; quite a change from the others that threw themselves at him. What was the fun in getting everything handed to you on a silver platter? He liked to work for it. He loved the chase, and the excitement that he got from it. The reward was even better at the end. As he had slowly slid the knife across her silky throat, he had enjoyed seeing the determination and fear in her eyes. She tried to fight him, she really did. Damn girl had left quite a lot of scratches on his back with her long nails, but her attempts were futile at most. She had fought with him to the end; he had enjoyed that very much. It gave him a thrill to watch her thrash and fight as he watched her cheeks go pale and the life force leaving her body. It was a beautiful sight to him. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulls out a battered up digital camera. The bright moonlight shined down upon the girl, much to his advantage. Positioning himself in just the right spot, he starts snapping pictures of the scene in front of him, taking snapshots of the patterns of the blood as well. His face drops as he realizes he has to finally depart from the girl before someone sees him there. He presses his lips to her cold, freckled cheeks one last time. She really had been a fun girl to entrap in his plan. Pulling out yet another blood red rose from his pocket, he slowly lays it on her unresponsive chest and walks away, never once looking back at the girl in the back alley .

Chapter 1

Connor dug his hands into his pockets deeper, blowing out a ___ (wisp?) of cold air. It hadn’t been so chilly earlier in the evening. He quickened his pace, as he crossed the street and slung the worn out, brown bag higher on his shoulder. The faster he got inside, the faster he would be able to sit in front of his small portable furnace. There was a football game on tonight and he wanted to make it back in time to watch the kick-off. Usually, it didn’t take him this long to get home, but the blanket of snow that had come so sudden and covered the entire city as if it were Christmas day made it harder for him to walk fast. As he passed by the alleyway that always stunk of garbage and urine, he thought he heard some grunts, but he was too cold to investigate. It was probably a cat. As the shabby, old building, covered in vines came into view, Connor reached into his satchel for his keys. Unlocking the door, he was greeted by a gust of warm air and the smell of vanilla in the air. Vanilla was his favourite scent. Often, Connor bought vanilla scented candles and lit them up when he was having a date over for dinner. Cooking had become somewhat of a passion to him in his early teens, much to his dad’s displeasure, so he always brought his dates to his place for a gourmet dinner. Tonight though, he was by himself. He scurried around his grungy apartment, tripping over the pair of bowling shoes that had been sitting by the kitchen for the past few weeks now; he hadn’t had a lady over in a while. His last girlfriend, if that’s what you would call her, didn’t like to sit at home and relax. She was a little bit of a free spirit; she liked to go out to bars every night. When she fluttered her dark eyelashes at him and pouted her succulent, red lips, he couldn’t help but oblige; women were his weakness, especially the pretty ones. The florescent light bulb in the brightly painted yellow kitchen highlighted the deep scars on Connor’s forehead that he had obtained whilst in his high school years. He sang along to Wynonna Judd’s sweet voice as he moved around the kitchen, cooking a dish of penne pasta in white vine. Connor didn’t just love cooking for others, but he also liked to indulge himself with some of these delicacies as well. He could hear the sounds of the announcers overpowering the voice of Wynonna Judd on his Television, as they spoke and deliberated over the strengths and weaknesses of all the players, in his living room.