It was time.

He could hardly contain the excitement coursing through him. He’d been planning this for a long time, and now it was finally time for all his plans to come to fruition.

The Wilson bitch would pay tonight. He was going to make her pay for all the pain she’d caused him three weeks ago. He intended to enjoy every minute of it, too.

Just like he’d done to those three men, he was going to carve little pieces out her, enjoying her cries until she begged him for mercy. Until she bled to death.

He allowed himself a quiet, evil laugh.

He was going to kill Tricia Wilson.


Detective Terrence was panicking.

No, that was too mild a phrase. He was going out of his freaking mind!

He’d broken a hundred road laws tonight. He was driving like a bat out of hell towards the Wilson mansion. Tricia Wilson was not in her apartment and Terrence was praying to every god that she was with her parents.

If she wasn’t, everyone involved was screwed.

The car was still moving when he jumped out of it. He ran up the regal front steps of the mansion and pounded the heavy wooden double doors with every vestige of strength he possessed.

“Dear God man!” William Wilson yelled when he opened the door. “Where’s the fire?”

“Mr Wilson, where’s your daughter? Where’s your daughter, sir?” Terrence panted.

“What is it, Detective?”

“Goddamnit, where is she?”

Mr Wilson looked startled. He was just about to put this common peasant detective in his place for speaking to a Wilson that way. But the desperate urgency in Terrence changed his mind.

“She’s at her apartment.”

“Shit!” Terrence swore violently. “She’s not there. Oh God, he has your daughter, Wilson.”

A cold fear gripped William Wilson. He couldn’t bear the thought of his precious little girl in the hands of some crazy sonovabitch.

“Martin!” Wilson screamed.

“No. It’s not Martin, Mr Wilson.” Detective Terence said hurriedly. “Martin Smith killed himself the night your daughter dumped him three weeks ago. He wrote a suicide letter in pink paper, blaming Tricia for breaking his will to live. His half-brother found him hanging from a ceiling beam in his house.”

William Wilson felt sick. He wanted to bend over right there on his front steps and just puke his insides out.

“Now guess who Martin’s half-brother is,” Terrence said. “Ben. Ben the bodyguard.”


Tell us what you think: Will the police find Tricia in time?