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His eyes were on her like a hawk as soon as entered the lowly lit bar located across town. She was definitely his type, most women were, but there was something about that particular beauty that made his palm itchy and sweaty for what was to come. He made it a point not to frequent the same bar twice, and if he did he made to wait enough time in going back to said bar to find his next victim. He watched men after men get turned down every time they approached and tried to talk with her or offered to buy her a drink. He couldn't help the smirk that fell upon his face. He liked a challenge and all the fun that was going to come after he successfully leave the bar with the blonde.

Gulping down the last drop of his drink in his glass and removing the wedding ring from his finger and stuffing it inside his pant pocket, he got up from his table in the far dark corner and walked over to the beautiful young woman.

"Mind if I buy you a drink?" Came his deep, soothing voice as he lean against the bar staring at her profile..

"Look. I already told your buddies over there that I'm not...," she turned her head towards the man that just asked if he could buy her a drink and was left speechless.

He was gorgeous. There weren't enough adjectives in the English Dictionary to describe how attractive she thought this man was. Dark blonde hair, blue green eyes, and he had to be at least six feet two inches. She could also tell he was very fit. It was evident in the tight fitting black buttoned down he was wearing.

"Not what?" He asked, giving her his panty dropping thousand watt smile.

"Oh...umm...never mind," she stammered while blushing a crimson red.

"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" He indicated to the bar stool next to her.

"No. Go ahead."

He sat in the bar stool and looked around at the angry faces of the men she turned down before looking back at her. "So...about that drink."

"Just one drink," she put up one finger, "I have to be up early tomorrow for work and I can't afford to have a hangover."

He signaled to the bartender, ordering himself and the beautiful lady beside him a drink. "I'm Michael by the way." He offered her his hand.

"I'm Jessica," she shook his offered hand and noticed a light circle around one of his fingers. "Married?"

"Recently divorced actually," he retracted his hand. "It's my first night out since the divorce. We tired to make it work but we just continued to drift further apart."

"I completely understand. My boyfriend and I recently broke up as well. That's why I'm here right now drowning in my sorrows."

"Well it's a good thing we found one another then." They both laughed and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip.

Conversation flowed easily afterwards, though on the outside it seemed like Michael was enjoying the company of the bubbly blonde; laughing and joking around. But on the inside he was imaging all the ways he wanted to end her life. A slow and painful death as the blood left her body from the slit in her throat? The removal of her tongue was looking the top idea at the moment because she was talking too damn much right now. Or how about dipping her entire body into a barrel of acid and watching with a sadistic grin on his face as her skin melted away?

So many choices, so little time.

"Michael, are you even listening to me?" Jessica asked laughing, playfully shoving him on the shoulder.

Fuck no! I'm thinking of ways to kill you bitch.

"Yes I'm listening." Michael took another sip of his drink.

Even though she said earlier that she only wanted one drink, that one drink quickly turned into two. Two then turned into five, and by sixth drink Jessica was already drunk. It was his golden opportunity to take her and do a multitude of things to her. After paying the bartender and driving to some rundown motel, Michael not so gently threw Jessica's drunken body on the bed. He went back outside to his car and retrieve a bag filled with all his goodies.

He made sure to put gloves on when he went back inside the room. The last thing he needed was to leave traces of his DNA behind. Seven years into doing this and not a slip up once. He just knew the Police Department were pulling their hairs out trying to found who was behind the killings in Chesterfield. Michael still get goosebumps thinking about the first time he took an unsuspecting life.

Wonderful memories indeed.

He handcuffed both her hands to the bed post and tied her legs together at the ankles after undressing her from the form fitting black dress she wore. Michael stood back and observed her in only her matching bra and panty set. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt, but she did nothing for him. He cursed the brown skinned beauty that has taken over his brother and his life. His thoughts were interrupted by the groans and moans of the drunken girl finally coming to.

"Good, you're somewhat awake." He moved about the room getting everything he needed. "I would've taken it personal if you weren't aware of what I'm about to do to you."

"W-where am I? The last I remember we were sitting at the bar drinking, talking, and having ourselves a good time." She tried moving her hands and feet but found she couldn't. "W-what's going on? Why do you have me tied up?"

Michael heard the fear in her voice, and he loved it. "Would you believe me if I said I'm into that kind of kinky shit? That having girls tied up gets me harder than you could imagine?" His back was to her.

"You could've asked a girl first if she was into that sort of thing, asshole. Now untie me."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he turned around and faced her. "You see, I waited all night at the bar for a girl like you to show."

"A girl like me?"

"Yes, a girl like you." He trailed his fingertips lightly against her skin, starting from the bottom of her feet until he made his way up to her slender neck. "A girl who think she's all that, turning down left and right because they didn't somehow fit her standards. I've met my fair share of girls like you. Complete and utter bitches."

"Fuck you, asshole! Now let me go. This isn't funny."

Michael laughed as he stared down at her. "I haven't you realized by now that this isn't supposed to be fun for you, sweetheart. This," he indicated to her bound hands and feet, "...this is purely for my enjoyment." He walked back over to the small motel table where is bag lay.

"If you wanted to fuck all you had to do was ask. I mean...what's the meaning behind all of this anyway?"

He laughed again. "I don't need to go out and find some random girl to fuck when I have a beautiful wife at home." He turned around saw the look of surprise on her face. "Yeah I lied, so what," Michael shrugged his shoulders.

"I-if you have a wife, why approach me at the bar and carry on a conversation then? It's obvious your wife doesn't know what you're doing, unless she's just as crazy as you are and is going to walk through the door any minute now."

"You would be correct in your assumption, Jessica. My wife has no idea what I do in my free time, but if she was crazy like me, could you even imagine," a smile came upon his face as he thought of all the possibilities. "We would be the modern day Bonnie and Clyde."

"You're sick. I don't know the girl but I feel sorry for your wife."

"Technically, she isn't my wife, but his. But since I'm apart of him and he's apart of me, that makes her my wife too, right? Yes, of course it does." Michael kept rambling. "You're a beautiful girl, Jessica but looks fade," he said approaching the bed. He reached for the pillow lying next to her.

It was evident to her what he planned on doing with the pillow. "Listen. You don't have to do this. Whatever you want I can get it for you. You name it."

"You have nothing I want. It saddens me that it has come to this." He was anything but sadden from the sadistic grin on his face.

Asphyxiation wasn't his ideal way to kill someone but with so many ideas running through his head he settle for that one. On the plus side, he didn't have to clean up any blood. As he held the pillow over her face and seeing the life slowly drain from her, he got turned on. Where was that beautiful wife of his when he needed a good warm twat to abuse. Thoughts of necrophilia ran through his head as he stared down at her lifeless body, but soon faded. Even he wasn't that crazy as to do something like that.

Or was he?

****

"...again, don't hesitate to call me if you need anything. You're not alone in this."

"Thank you so much for all you've done for me, Nia," the young woman praised on the other end of the call. "With the police not stepping in to help like they should I don't know what I would've done if I hadn't found out about you when I did."

"You're welcome, Simone, and I'll put you in contact with a good friend of mine. I know you just said the police hasn't done much to help you in your situation, but his guy is good. He's a detective of sorts, and a really good one at that. He will be able to help you also in this."

Speaking of said friend, he walked by Nia's office door and gave her a bright smile. Nia smiled back.

"Again, thank you so much, Nia."

"I'm just doing my job."

A job that she loved doing. Every since she was a little girl she loved helping others no matter the situation. Witnessing her mother firsthand go through domestic abuse and die from it, Nia knew what her calling was going to be. Helping these young women with their abusive situations wasn't always as successful as Nia would liked it to. There were some who would go back to their husbands or boyfriends after they had been promised everything was going to change and that they loved and missed them. Some guys delivered on that promise, while others didn't. Nia hated turning on the news and seeing one of the girls she failed at helping  was found dead.

"You're still here? Shouldn't you be at home. It's almost eight."

"I was just getting off the phone with a young woman who is in dire need of some help." Nia stood from her seat and began cleaning up her desk. "She says the police aren't really doing anything to help, so I was wondering, if you don't mind that is, if you could help." Nia looked over at him leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded.

God is her witness. If she were a single woman Nia would've pounced on him already. Detective Chris Santiago was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome with his Brazilian exotic beauty. And those suits he wore did wonders showcasing what he possessed underneath. Two years the two have known each other and working side by side here at the Women's Domestic Abuse Center, along side her best friend Leslie. Though it was only a part time thing for him, Chris still manage to make his presence often. With the recently killings of young women in Chesterfield he started to come less and less trying to find the culprit but to no avail. They had their share of playful and harmful flirtatious banter, but Nia knew where to draw the line. She had an equally, if not better wonderful and handsome husband to go home to every night. That is if he wasn't out of town working.

"Of course I'll help. Just send me her information and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Chris. I know your time is limited with what's going, but I appreciate it."

"No problem, Nia." The room fell silent as Chris watched Nia move about her office. "Your husband coming back from his trip night?"

Nia heard the pain in his voice. She kind of suspected he had more than friendly feelings towards her. "Yeah. He should be at home right now."

"How long the two of you been married again?"

"Dylan and I have been together for seven years and married for five. Why?" She looked at him.

"It's just that you've mentioned a couple of times that at times he can seem a little distance and off. I'm just worried is all."

There were times Dylan can be a little distance and standoffish to her, and would lose track of time. One minute he was the sweet, kindhearted man she fell in love with seven years ago, and the next he was the complete opposite. He did or said anything to warrant a red flag, but Nia couldn't help to feel that something was off. Maybe it was the frequent flying out of town and state for his job that had him acting so unlike himself.

"Can we not discuss this right now? You sound just like Leslie. I don't tell you guys things just so you can turn around and throw it in my face."

"That's not-"

Nia held up her hand to silence him. "I haven't seen my husband in two days because he's been away on business, and all I wanna do is go home and be with him. So stop, okay."

Chris held up his arms in mock surrender. "Okay. I'll stop talking about your husband, but if you need anything don't hesitate to call me, and I will do everything I can to help the young woman you were talking about."

"Thank you."

One more longing look at Nia, Chris left her office. He wished he didn't have these feelings for Nia and he's been trying to curb them for the longest but they simply wouldn't go away. He was never one of those guys that would go after another man's girl, but he wanted her bad. Not only was Nia Thomas beautiful but she was smart, kindhearted, and had an infectious personality that you couldn't help be drawn to. But she was a happily married woman.

****

His hands were a bloody mess when he looked down at them, and so was the knife in their grasp. There was so much blood on the bathroom floor at his bare feet and it puzzled him to know why. He noticed the blood lead out the bathroom to the bedroom. Curiosity peaked, he followed. Once inside the connecting master bedroom he saw a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed watching his sleeping wife.

"What the hell are you doing?" He dropped the knife and rushed over to the person, only to take a step back, not in fear but in complete shock. He was looking at himself.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he smirked looking his doppelganger, "and you say I'm the mean, sadistic, psychotic one."

He shook his head trying to clear away the confusion. "Had what in me? What the hell are you talking about, Michael?"

"Why the questions, brother? Just turn around and enjoy your handy work."

Dylan slowly turned towards his wife lying in the bed but was shaken to his core at what he saw. There lying in the middle of the bed was not his sleeping wife, but his very much dead wife with multiple stab wounds in her chest.

"NO. NO. NO. NO!!" Dylan rushed to his wife's side crying. "How could you do this!!"

"Me?" Michael pointed to himself laughing. "I'm not the one with blood all over my body nor was I the one holding the murder weapon. You are, Dylan. How does it feel knowing you killed your wife? A person you claim to love most in this world."

"Shut up." Dylan cradled Nia's head against his chest, slowly rocking back and forth crying.

"How does it feel?"

"Shut up!!"

Michael got inches from his face. "How does it fucking feel, brother?"

"SHUT UP!!!!"

Sharply, Dylan rose  up in bed in a sit up position drenched in a cold sweat and shaken from the dream he just had. He couldn't believe he actually killed his wife in cold blood.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Nia asked groggily, rising up in a seated position as well, rubbing soothing circles on cold and sweaty back.

Dylan turned towards his wife and the way the moonlight streaming in through the window lit up his beautiful wife's face so amazingly. How did he get so lucky as to have some like her to call his wife. He took her face into his hands. "I love you so fucking much." He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "And you know I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, right?"

"I know you would never hurt me, Dylan. I was just a bad dream," she rubbed the sides of his face in gentle caresses.

He licked his lips before saying and eyes still closed, forehead still against hers, "If I ever do try to harm you for any unspeakable reason do not hesitate to kill me."

"Dylan-"

"Nia, promise me."

"I promise," Nia placated.

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