Prologue

The voice that reverberated was silently loud because after all the voice was in his head. This voice, a recently consistent presence, had never failed him in the past. It was a voice that aided him in times of fight or flight decisions, and lately its fight was much more resilient than its flight. Today the voice was telling him there was no reason for her to live.

It had already been scripted, and the time had come for her to play her part. It would be a glorious cherry on the top of a well-crafted tale.

He flipped the mental coin in his head. This was his rational side. This side, the one that many consider the angel on their shoulder, could be counted on when he was faced with moral decisions. He liked this side, since it had served him well throughout his life. He had never been in trouble with the law. Married a beautiful, wealthy woman who loved him dearly. It provided the sanity in his life. He could always count on this side to walk the straight and narrow. However, this rational side had a slightly jarring message for him this time.

“She’s already seen you, and she’s already here. Might as well finish what she was brought here for and plan better next time.”

For a moment he was frozen into shock. He mentally flipped the coin two more times. “Cherry on top” was the first response. “Finish and plan better next time” was the second.

Both palms were saturated with perspiration and shaking with the anticipation of what was to come. He knew what was next as he researched it from every angle and had already written it. He knew Dillon’s hands would not be wet, nor would they be shaking. They would be as steady as a surgeon’s hands before a triple bypass surgery. He had breathed life into Dillon only to have ice water coursing through his veins, and it was time for him to do the same. Yet when he tapped into the sensors in his body, he simply felt the warm plasma pumping from his heart to the furthest reaches of his limbs. He’d have to work on that.

The time for deliberation had come to an end. He stood up, walked to the door, and turned the handle.

Before entering he could hear or rather feel the muffled cries for help. This gave him a sense of pride. The muffle had been correctly anticipated as it had been written, as it had been scripted.

He wondered before pulling the door open. Would she have the wide, pleading, hopeless eyes that Dillon saw when he entered the room?

“Only one way to find out.”

He opened the door, and there across the room bound to the bed lay the woman of the hour. The single light that shone a triangular pattern across the room barely kissed the edge of the bed enough to illuminate her left side. He approached, footsteps echoing in the chamber. With each step he could feel her anguish as the muffled sounds grew more urgent.

Now standing at the edge of the bed the answer of his previous question was answered. The eyes were indeed wide and pleading, but he didn’t sense the hopelessness. Maybe she thought there was some bargaining chip she had that would save her life. She was attractive and he had seen her on several occasions work her charms to get exactly what she wanted. But little did she know that was one of the main reasons she lay strapped to this bed.

She was not selected at random. She was selected because she was a treacherous slut who used her good looks to barter her way through life. Dillon would not have stood for this and neither would he.

Wide, pleading, but not hopeless. He thought two out of three wasn’t bad. If he were in an academic setting, that would be a failure, however if it were a field goal percentage in basketball, he’d be a superstar. Nonetheless, he needed to determine how to properly elicit hopelessness for next time. He knew he wanted there to be a next time because the moment he stepped through the door and heard the increasing muffled cries a sense of satisfaction went pulsating through his body.

He looked down at her, mouth gagged, makeup running, eyes locked on his. He pulled the scalpel from his smock and said, “Hello, Mandy. Let’s get started, my dear.”

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