Cynthia Freitas moved from the midwest to San Francisco, seeking some excitement in her life. She didn't realize her salary would only support her living in a rundown tenement building, nor did she expect the newspaper to reveal a serial killer preying on victims...and they're all petite blondes...just like her.
Lucky for her, she lives next door to a handsome police officer, but Cynthia is in for yet another shocking jolt. This one really changes her life! She must solve the case before her new love interest becomes the next victim.
Culture Shock
by
Ginger Simpson
He sat alone in his dim apartment and
thought about what he'd done. The tattered draperies blocked out society and
created the perfect ambiance for his dark mood. His curtains were never open;
instead he kept the floor lamp in the corner turned down low.
In his mind, he tightened the
electrical cord over and over, choking the last breath from each of his
victims. Momentarily, he warmed at the thought. In a flash of sanity he supposed
he should feel bad—but he didn't. His lips curled in the feral smile he'd seen
so often in the mirror, and a feeling of power swept over him. For now, his
hunger for death was sated.
His memory replayed the
crimes. His victims all had it coming—every one of them.
They shouldn't have fought.
He only wanted to show them love, but they wouldn't let him. He scowled. Filthy
women—playing with a man's emotions and eventually destroying his ego and
breaking his heart--and for what? He snorted. To move on and do the same to
someone else?
His fist tightened, reveling
in his quest to end man's suffering. Each of his victims had begged for mercy,
but he had none to spare.
The red tip of his cigarette
glowed brighter as he inhaled. Safe in his comfort zone, he relaxed. No one
would ever suspect him.
He passed potential victims
every day—coming and going as he pleased. Whether they lived or died all
depended on how he felt at the moment. He emptied his lungs, filling the air
with acrid smoke.
Meeting women had always been
problematic. He either wasn't tall enough, rich enough or didn't have the good
looks they preferred. But, things seemed right when he had first met her. She
acted unlike the others, or so he'd thought. Memories caused his calloused
fingers to ache, wanting to splay through her soft, blonde hair as he had when
they'd made love in the past. His lips still hungered for her kisses. She'd
been very convincing—accepting him, welcoming his attentions, and sharing his
bed. But, her actions had all been a farce.
The ancient wood beneath the
chair's upholstered arm splintered beneath the pounding of his fist.
Some days, he put the
memories behind him, forcing the hurt and anger from his mind and trying to
live a normal life. He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but there were days; dark
haunting days when her mocking laughter taunted him, and visions of her cold,
blue eyes burned a hole in his heart. Her downfall had been hurting him.
If he couldn't have her, no
man would. He started to rise, but his simmering anger boiled. His fingernails
painfully embedded themselves in his palms and he dropped back into the seat.
Didn't she know he had
feelings? Wasn't his heart supposed to ache when she told him she had no
further need of him? She had discarded him like yesterday's garbage. Her words
still resounded in his head. "I don't want to be with you anymore, and I
certainly don't want to bear your children. You turn my stomach."
A loud whoosh of air rumbled
past his lips. He'd willingly planned to devote his life to her, and she dashed
his dreams. How could she vow to love him 'til death parted them, and then
change her mind?
Death parted them all right.
He saw to that.
He curved his mouth into a
smile when he remembered how she had pleaded for another chance and vowed to
love him again. But it had been far too late for that. She'd already proven she
was a liar and a cheat. He made sure she never hurt anyone again.
Her last gasping breath
numbed his pain for a little while, but now doing away with her wasn't enough! The
others who looked like her, reminded him of her, called out to him. They were
the same; never giving him the time of day unless they wanted or needed
something. Users, all of them. He was making sure to get rid of as many as
possible.
With the help of the media,
people would soon recognize his calling card as the mark of someone doing the
world a huge favor. It might take time, but folks would know him as the hero he
was.
The already dim room went
totally dark for a moment as the lamp across the way flickered, died then came
back to light. Unfazed, he pondered what had just happened. Another electrical
surge. Living in such an old building, he'd grown rather used to them.
