Nightmare

To my Dad and Mom, I love you.

Table of Contents

Synopsis

Dedication

Part One: Her

Chapter 1: Before

Chapter 2: The Trigger

Chapter 3: The First Death

Chapter 4: Failure and Its Price

Chapter 5: Graduation

Chapter 6: Training

Chapter 7: Acquiring Knowledge

Chapter 8: Knowledge Put Into Action

Chapter 9: Slowed

Chapter 10: Rebuilding

Chapter 11: Increase in Heat

Chapter 12: Enmity

Chapter 13: The Search

Chapter 14: An Appointment With Death

Chapter 15: Walking to Civilization

Chapter 16: In Sheltering Arms

Chapter 17: The Eureka Moment

Part Two: Him

Chapter 18: Before

Chapter 19: The Unfortunate Death

Chapter 20: The First Murder

Chapter 21: Failure and Its Price

Chapter 22: Graduation

Chapter 23: Training

Chapter 24: Acquiring Knowledge

Chapter 25: Knowledge Put Into Action

Chapter 26: The Transitional Period

Chapter 27: Preparations

Chapter 28: An Appointment With Death

Chapter 29: Twist in the Plan

Part Three: Him and Her

Chapter 30: Quiet Time

Chapter 31: Escape

Chapter 32: Capture

Chapter 33: The Message

Chapter 34: Anticipation

Chapter 35: Determination

Chapter 36: Interruption

Chapter 37: Confrontation

Chapter 38: Awakening

About the Author

Part One: Her

Chapter 1:Before

I started noticing something was wrong when his best friend died. Before that day, everything seemed as normal as could be. After, though, nothing was the same. Not me, not him, and certainly not my life.

But then, I’m getting ahead of myself. Childhood, up to high school, was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to me or to anyone I knew. Friends came and went. Friends became enemies only to have them become your friend again the next day. Boys were never really an issue with me, but for some of my friends, they became the end all and be all of their world. At least this was the case toward the end of middle school. Not that much changed with the move to high school.

High school. The four most important years of a person’s life. At least that’s what some of my friends felt and I similarly believed it to an extent. These were the times that mattered most and every minute counted.

Who you knew and who knew you suddenly became the most important part of everyone’s day and year. I didn’t know the right people, but then, I was weird that way. I could have cared less if I was popular or well liked. I didn’t need these people’s acceptance, at least not most of them. Everyone wants to be accepted, but I realized early into those four years that life didn’t end when you got out of high school. At least not for me.

I didn’t share this observation with my friends, though, because I didn’t want to burst their popularity bubble. They wanted to be popular and since it wasn’t hurting them, for the most part, I let them be. Plus, they seemed to be having so much fun and I knew that they would never have this fun again, so go ahead. Fight for popularity, boys, and acceptance. I won’t stop you.

Something weird started to happen, though. It seemed like this not caring, this laissez-faire attitude attracted a type of popularity that few achieved. A different type of popularity that nobody could recreate unless they were in this weird situation.

I became popular, kind of. I knew and could easily talk to most of the people in the in crowd and they talked to me, but I was never one of them. I wasn’t really part of the group and I had no urge to be part of it. This weird balance of acceptance, but not really accepted, carried on throughout these years.

Even stranger than this situation I easily found myself in, was the fact that none of my other friends were aware of this. Why? Maybe because I never flaunted it or made it obvious. Maybe because they were too busy ignoring me from their little group, they never saw me as anything but boring and not cool. Like I said, I never really needed the acceptance of anyone, including my friends and this seemed to make me stand out from everyone. I may have wanted the acceptance, even if it was just on a superficial level, but I didn’t need it.

But then here I am again, veering off the subject at hand. My or anyone else’s high school experiences aren’t what’s important. None except him. His experiences were so important that they changed my life.

Let me explain. He was one of those popular people. Good looking, he had the same girlfriend throughout all four years of high school. Not one of the goody-goody popular people, he was part of the other side of the popular kids. The one’s who got in trouble but not bad trouble. They drank, maybe smoked, could have done drugs. Crashed cars and had loud parties that attracted the police.

I don’t know exactly what they did, but like any group in school, you knew about them from what you heard. It could have been false, but by just looking at them, I could tell that it most likely wasn’t. They just seemed like the type of people to do those things.

I didn’t hang out with them, but like the others, I freely talked to them about superficial things. I also was in the perfect position to observe him because my locker was very close to his. So every day, I’d see him and his girlfriend and say hi.

All this may seem like a normal teenage experience on one level or another. But that all changed in February of our junior year of high school. Everything changed.

Chapter 2:The Trigger

That February night I don’t know what I was doing. Probably what I did every night: homework, family time, sleep. Nothing real exciting. Just a good and wholesome night. For him, though, this night was the turning point.

I later found out what happened, and even then, it was mostly from people who heard it from other people. Those involved weren’t talking and while I knew them, I didn’t know them well enough to get any real answers. Now I wish I’d tried harder, but I digress.

To give you the short abbreviated version: him and his friends were at someone’s house drinking. His best friend tried to drive home while drunk and hit a pole. Died instantly.

The long version isn’t any different so if you need to, read the short abbreviated version again.

I was shocked when I found out what happened the next day at school. Someone I knew, someone I’d talked to the day before, was dead. Gone. Never coming back.

I was sad, like most people, but I could keep going. He couldn’t, at least not for a while. I heard that night, he and his friends, the same ones from the night before, went on a drinking binge, all in the name of his best friend who had died. I think that’s stupid, but hey, it wasn’t my best friend who was gone forever.

But this is when I started to notice the change. It wasn’t something anyone else noticed, but I did. He seemed quiet, withdrawn, but not in a way his friends would be able to see. I think what really tipped me off was his eyes. Before, he had such warm, humorous eyes. Now, they were dead. Almost soulless.

The next few days were quiet at school. It seemed like everyone was in shock over what had happened.

A week after his best friend’s death, they had the funeral. I didn’t go. Didn’t feel like I had a right because I didn’t know him as well as others had. I regret that now, I think. Whenever I think back at it, my feelings just fluctuate between thinking I should have gone and believing I was right not going. Would I go if I had the chance? The best answer for that is maybe.

From my view in school, I could see all his friends grieving and then slowly moving on with their lives. They all missed their friend, but they knew that life continued. That wasn’t what happened with him, however. Oh, he acted like he was moving on, realizing that he needed to start living again, but that’s not what his eyes told me.

His eyes, especially over those first few months, screamed dead soul. Any warmth that might have been there was gone.

Nobody seemed to notice this change except me. I asked a few people, early on, if they saw anything different about him and they just looked at me strange.

After those strange looks, I stopped asking or talking about him and his eyes. I was like a person who can see ghosts but doesn’t want to admit it to anyone. I saw the inexpressive eyes of a fellow student and acted like I couldn’t see them.

I can’t properly explain why I didn’t say anything or why I really ignored it. The looks and whispering wouldn’t have bothered me any. The only thing I can say in my defense was that I knew that I couldn’t change what was about to happen. Nobody could short of killing him and obviously that was not an option.

So like a bystander watching a car crash happen before her eyes, I watched the impending crash. Unable to stop it, but knowing that someone was going to get hurt.

Chapter 3:The First Death

Up to this point, I haven’t properly explained why he and his eyes bothered me so much. It could be that I saw something unnaturally frightening in them and realized that life would never be the same. It could be that I was like a chosen one in any book: only I could see the problem and maybe save someone or stop something.

In reality I think it was just the fact that I couldn’t believe nobody else noticed. Some days I would just ask myself, How can they not see the change? and Doesn’t his girlfriend notice the difference?. Neither of those questions have ever been answered.

But onward with my story. Junior year ended and I was relieved that I would receive a full summer away from him, and the terror his presence caused in me.

The heat of the summer sun warmed my chilled soul from the never-ending winter it had been subjected to during the school year.

Freedom was at hand if only for a little while and joy seemed to be infused back into me.

A little more than month into summer, relaxing and contemplating the future, I heard a TV news report going on in the background. I tried to not pay it any attention, for I knew by now that the news only brought the dark and sad of the world to our doorstep.

I tried to tune it out, but something kept me listening.

An elderly man, age 73, was found dead in his home today. Investigation is pending the autopsy but neighbors say that he was sickly. An early statement issued by the police indicates that this will most likely be ruled a natural death.

The news anchor kept talking but I stopped dead in my tracks. With the same sixth sense that had been on overdrive during the school year, I knew that this was no natural death. I knew that he had killed that elderly man. He, with the soulless eyes, now had claimed his first victim.

I felt a chill, a chill of unproven knowledge, slide throughout my body. He had killed. In the back of my mind I think I always knew he would, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I had the idea that his first victim would be in another town or city, after we had graduated. Who would have thought that he would kill so soon?

I followed the case of the old man’s death for the next few days, hoping that someone would realize that he was murdered. Hoping that they would dig beneath the surface and find the killer. These hopes, the first of many in the upcoming years, were dashed shortly after the death. They ruled it a natural death.

That meant that there would be no investigation. No justice. Just the old man being buried, stuck in a hole, and he would get off scot-free.

I felt angry. Angry that he wouldn’t be caught and put in jail. Angry that I couldn’t do anything. Angry.

This anger soon turned into action. I realized that I couldn’t just wait around for the police to get their act together. I couldn’t delay, giving him time to kill again. Maybe I could find the missing links and prove that he was a cold-blooded murderer. He could have made a mistake or left something behind. It was possible.

I spent the rest of the summer searching for a clue of some sort. I talked to detectives, private investigators, and lawyers. Anyone who knew the law and would be an asset if I found something. Oh, they had no idea why I was really interested in their lines of work. I gave them the story that I was exploring career paths.

They always bought my stories.

I haunted the library and the internet. Searching, always searching for some clue or connection between victim and killer.

My search was forced to go on hold when school started again. I was just too busy with school and trying to live my life to search for any connection.

I will never forget the first time I saw him that new year. It was the first day of school and the halls were crowded. Everyone was trying to find where their locker was and which rooms their classes were in.

Closing my own locker, I looked up and saw him two lockers away. We had never been that close before. My heart stopped as he lifted his face to mine and said hello. Answering him automatically, I looked into his eyes and saw that they hadn’t really changed over the summer. Still as dead as before.

But looking deeper, I saw that something was different. The coldness was still there. But now they had a gleam of almost satisfaction, almost triumph. I knew that look only could have been a result of his first murder.

The weird combination I saw scared me, but I knew he was like a wild animal, able to smell fear, so I kept it at bay. At least in his presence.

That year I watched his actions from afar. Never one to get too close to fire, I realized that I couldn’t just ignore what was going on in the school.

Pranks, normally harmless and juvenile, became more dangerous. I know he was behind the toxic gases that almost leaked into the school through the air duct, but a freshman was charged with the crime and eventually expelled. That kid wouldn’t have known the difference between oxygen and liquid mercury, but he would have.

Oh, he said all the right things after the kid was caught. Like how the kid had been stupid and could have killed everyone. But he really didn’t mean any of it. It was his best friend’s death all over again. Saying, acting, feeling the correct emotions, but it was all just a lie.

More pranks ensued, and I know he was behind them all, but just like the murder, I couldn’t prove any of it.

I tried, in a quiet way, to get evidence against him,