Chapter uno...

Okay,

I work at the HFAC (Harrison Fine Arts Center) down at BYU. Which is actually a really sweet set up. I mean... I get to watch shows for free, even work some of them, I know the building like the back of my hand (trust me, it comes in handy, ESPECIALLY if you adore singing like me.)

Sadly, this weeks I'm going to be swamped by a show that I'm working, Cinderella. It's a ballet. It's long... and the prince is the only one in awkward tights. You'd think that the costume designer would have thought it through... I mean ... it's BYU, no one wants to see that kind of thing and isn't the Prince supposed to be drop dead gorgeous? It's kind of hard to tell when you're so busy NOT looking at the guy. I have to say though, I was impressed with his self confidence. He pranced around just like everyone else.

I have a confession to make.

I have a story practically complete... and I hate it. I mean I went through all the work of writing the darn thing and then when I get to the end I'm... rather angry. My good guys suck. I find really interesting good guys hard to write. No one in their right mind just does what super heroes do for fun. Think... Hancock. When I write a good guy they're fake. They don't make sense and are out of character. I love my bad guy though and that's the problem. So.... for the next few weeks. I'm going to throw some stuff at you. I want comments. I want plot ideas. (that's actually where I struggle most.) I want you to read it and think... "now how would I make this better?" Okay?

Awesome, hope you guys enjoy my stuff. (By the way... I FAIL at grammar. Please don't judge.)

Chapter 1 (Untitled)

The movements were smooth and well-practiced. With complete ease he mutely followed his victim, shoes noiseless on the concrete sidewalk. It had been easy to learn her schedule. Routine was dangerous; it was deceiving. It made people miss things, made them think they were safe. His target seemed to think that she was impervious to everything. He was out in the open, and she didn’t even notice. Sloppy… and rather depressing.

She pulled out her keys and began to unlock her door; he pulled out his knife and ever so carefully stood behind her.

"Natalie" he said very quietly she jumped and dropped her keys whirling around.

"James!" she laughed at her fright, and bent to pick up her keys, hand going to her pounding heart. She hadn't seen the knife yet. "What are you doing here?"

Too easy, they were always so trusting. James gave her no time to react. Swiftly he slit her throat before she could scream. Blood filled her lungs and clogged her throat making any sound impossible. Before she could collapse he was behind her and carrying her into a nearby alley. Alleys were so convenient, out of the way and in the dark.

Stashing her behind a dumpster, he went back and picked up the keys she had dropped for the second time. His dark eyes scanned the doorway and front step looking for any sign of blood.

Good, there wasn't any blood until you were close to the dumpster. A clean kill. He brought the keys back to her and laid them gently next to her.

She was still struggling to breathe, clawing at her own throat.

He watched her for a moment, feeling completely empty as she flailed her arms at him. Gurgling sounds escaped from her as she inadvertently sucked air through the gash in her throat. Her eyes were wide and crazed desperate to reject the blood in her lungs and fill them with air instead. A pang of pity shot through him and he considered finishing it quickly, stroking his knife thoughtfully.

By the time he had come to a decision, however, she had taken her last shuddering attempt at a breath. Another one gone. Frowning as his thoughts turned inward, he checked the scene twice making sure there was no sign of his appearance. Finally satisfied, he walked away.

Less than an hour later a young woman in her early twenties, stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell. In the cold she shifted from foot to foot and impatiently pulled out her cell phone, checking he time.

Nothing.

She knocked and eventually rang the bell again.

Again, nothing.

Practically hopping up and down to keep out the cold she dialed in a number and to her surprise heard the ring come from a nearby alley. She followed the sound, until she found the body.

Only in moments of extremities do we learn the truth about ourselves. Questions that can't really be answered until you are actually in the situation. Would I kill another person to save myself? Would I freeze up or fight desperately if attacked? and if I found a body... would I go into shock or calmly get help?

The young woman gasped and bent, examining the body, checking for life signs. Her hands moved expertly, clearly trained. A glance at the corpse told her that the woman had literally drowned in her own blood. It has been slow. She could see the claw marks at the throat and the dirt and skin under her nails. The body was still warm and blood was still pooling about her, so she had died recently. Very recently.

A chill of dread filled her and she quickly cast around for the murderer, he probably wasn't far away. She shivered in horror as she imagined the course of events.

The young woman stood and dialed, turning her back on the corpse for a moment, trying to detach herself from it. Empathy may be considered a good characteristic, but at that moment she didn’t want to live through death.

A female voice pulled her from her thoughts. “This is 911, what is your emergency?”

The young woman let out a long breath, out of fear or exasperation, it was hard to tell. Carefully and as explicitly as she could, she explained the situation and waited for the police.