Last Known Victim
New Orleans, Louisiana Sunday, August 28, 2005
4:00 p.m.
The gods were watching over New Orleans. Or so it seemed. How else could this historic city built below sea level, this beautiful jewel set in a swamp, have survived?
Survival. Of the species. The fittest. The self. An instinctual response to fight for life. To fight back.
Would she?
Walk to the door. Open it.
There she was. Lying on the bed. Asleep. Bitch! Cheap, faithless whore!
She deserves it. She betrayed you.
Broke your heart. She stirred. Moaned. Her eyelids fluttered.
Quickly! Cross to the bed. Put your hands around her throat and squeeze.
Her eyes snapped open. Pools of blue terror. She bucked and clawed.
Tighter. Tighter. Her fault. Hers. Bitch! Betrayer!
Her creamy skin mottled, then purpled. Her eyes bulged, popping out like those of some freakish cartoon character.
No pity. No second thoughts. She brought this on herself. She deserves it.
Her hands dropped. Her body shuddered, then stilled.
Halfway there. Breathe deeply. Calm yourself. Finish what she forced you to do.
A scream shattered the silence. A loud crack, like a gunshot, shook the house.
Only the wind ... read full excerpt from Last Known Victim ebook
