Perfectly Dark

By Phillip H Voss

Perfectly Dark is the story about what happens when 17-year-old Katherine Knox runs away from home and has a chance encounter with her idol, a horror writer named Kyle McLendon. Kat's world is turned upside down when she discovers how Kyle acquires the exquisite gory details that set his novels apart from all others. Kyle had been struggling

• Language: English
• Publisher: SOLID XL
• Release date: Jan 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781732950733

Book preview

Perfectly Dark

Phillip H. Voss

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Levierre

99designs.com.au/profiles/levierre

Producer/Manager: Melissa Hadley

www.techmotivated.me

Copyright © 2019 Phillip H. Voss

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles.

ISBN: 978-1-7329507-3-3

DEDICATION

For Sakura

私の美しい死

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

My grandmother used to tell me that I'm special. She used to say God created me for a reason and my life is precious. That was a nice thing to hear when I was a little girl, but now I know the truth. I'm special, all right. God created me just to have somebody to fuck with whenever he's bored. There's no other reason for my life to be so miserable.

I can't go on like this. I'd rather the comfort of a cold, dark grave before I spend another day in this hellhole. The way I see it, I have to leave this place or die! It's going to be one or the other, because I can't live another day in this fucking trailer park!

There's nothing for me here. My mother, Kandy, with a K, has never been a mother to me. She doesn't let me call her mom, or even her real name, Kandice--with a K. She's such a fucking bitch! She blames me for ruining her life by being born, even though she's the one who was probably too drunk to tell whoever my father is to use a rubber when he screwed her slutty ass. And everyday she reminds me that I'm not going to be anything more than a lying slut before I die in this backwoods town.

I don't even have any friends here. It's like that when you're the daughter of a notorious homewrecker and everyone believes that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. It doesn't matter much to me, though. I was born to be a loner. I forgot that once and I ended up betrayed and humiliated. But as bad as that experience was, it's not the main reason why I want to get out of here.

Kandy's boyfriend, Bo, is the absolute worst thing to ever happen to me. Just living alone with Kandy was hard enough for me after my grandmother died. After Bo moved in, my life has hardly been worth living at all. He considers this place his kingdom and everything in it is his, including me. As far as I'm concerned, he can kiss my ass and rot in Hell!

The curtains on my window are drawn but there's still enough light coming in for me to see the silver numbers of the clock hanging on my wall. It's only 4:48 pm. That means I'm stuck here for at least another half hour before Kandy swallows her fifth or sixth shot of Jack Daniel's, then crams a thong up her skinny ass just in time for Bo to take her to The Rebel Bar where she strips and serves drinks to rednecks.

Wednesday is Hump Day at The Rebel. It's the day when there's really nothing much going on in town, so the guys get an early start on the drinking. And drinking there, isn't as much fun without half-naked women prancing around, all willing to put up with being molested, as long as the tips keep coming. This being Hump Day is good for me because Kandy will be leaving a couple hours earlier than she normally would.

I shouldn't even be here right now, but I didn't make up my mind to run away again until I came home early today and found Kandy cussing about her car not working. Now, when Bo takes her to work, I won't have to worry about him seeing me at the bus station and stopping me like he did the last time. I should be able to get far away before they realize that I'm gone.

I've been thinking about it all afternoon. Once I leave the trailer park I'll have about thirty minutes to get to town, just in time to catch the next bus out of Bixberry. The timing for my escape should be just right. It'll take about ten minutes for Bo to drive Kandy over to The Rebel, and another ten or fifteen for him to guffaw with his buddies. If I'm lucky, there'll be a poker game going that he can't resist getting in on, and I won't have to worry about a thing. But if Bo doesn't stay at The Rebel, then I'll only have another ten minutes for him to get back home. If I leave a note saying that I went to the library, even thought it's my day off, then he shouldn't suspect anything until later on tonight when I don't come home. By that time I should be in Raleigh, riding on the 8:20 Greyhound to Manhattan. If I miss that bus, then I'll have to spend the night in the bus station. That might be a little risky, but it's better than staying here another night.

I wouldn't have to go through all this trouble if I was eighteen. But I can't wait 366 days for me to legally be on my own. I've made up my mind to leave today and that's what I'm going to do, no matter what. If something goes wrong and I end up back here again, then I will kill myself. I'll watch myself bleed to death. And as I slowly slip away, I'll smile because I'll know that I'll soon be free. It doesn't matter what God does to me after that. One form of Hell is just as good as another.

My stomach churns as soon as I hear a low rumble disturb the silence outside. It's the souped-up engine in Bo's pickup truck. I always hear it the moment he hits the entrance to the trailer park. The louder the rumble gets, the more I feel like a noose is tightening around my neck. Just my luck, he's home early today. That means, if he decides to bother me, I'll have to put up with him longer than I really want to.

I make sure my blanket is securely wrapped around my body as I turn to lay on my side, with my back to the door. It'll soon be over. All I have to do is stay cool until I am home alone.

My heart is thundering in my chest. I hear it beating as clearly as I hear the water running in the bathroom and Bo's truck door slamming. After a few seconds I hear the soft thumps of Bo's footsteps landing on the porch, then the front door squeaks open and slams shut.

I'm nervous but I must control my breathing. If I breathe as my body wants me to right now I'll practically hyperventilate. I need to appear natural, as if I'm out cold. I focus on a slow and steady rhythm, even though my body disagrees with it, and I shut my eyes tight as I listen attentively to what's going on. I feel a touch of relief when I hear Bo walk past my bedroom and open the bathroom door. I relax a little as the redneck bastard and his stripper-gal exchange greetings and go through the normal small talk. But soon enough, my anxiety returns with a vengeance when I hear Bo ask Kandy if I'm home. Of course, the drunk bitch tells him that I'm in my room and soon his footsteps are closing in on me again.

The hinges on my bedroom door groan softly as it opens and I hear Bo whisper my name. I will myself to stay utterly still, and to keep breathing softly. I ease the muscle tension on my eyelids a little so that it doesn't look like I'm faking sleep.

Bo whispers my name again and this time he starts walking towards my bed. My skin crawls as I smell the scent of gasoline and engine oil coming from his work clothes. I can picture him coming closer to me. I'm sure that if I turn around right now I'll see him grinning at me, with a stupid toothpick between his pursed lips. His slicked-back blonde hair will be gleaming from the thick coat of pomade he put in it before doning his cowboy hat this morning, and his grimy fingers would be itching to grope me.

Bo can make his way from the door over to my bed in the pitch black of the darkest night. It's been easier for him since I stopped leaving things laying on the floor for him to trip over or stub his toe on. And with the light shining in from the hallway light, I'm sure that he's eyeing the shape of my body under the blanket.

I can physically feel his presence as he stalks me. I already know the sick things that are running through his mind right now. I used to want to die when I found myself in this position and I hated myself because I was powerless. Not that I never tried to fight him, but Bo's a big guy. His stocky frame is mostly muscle, and he's notorious for starting and winning bar fights at The Rebel. He hits hard, and I knew that he wasn't bluffing when he threatened to disfigure and then kill me.

It took a long time and plenty of pain, but I'm not the scared little girl I was the first time he came into my room. I still can't beat him, but I'm not afraid of him anymore.

Hey, Kitty-Kat, Bo whispers, and sits on the side of my bed.

God, I hate when he calls me that!

What? I say, trying to avoid making contact with him by keeping myself balanced on the rim of the dent his weight has created in my mattress.

I heard you cut school today, he says and places his hand on my thigh.

So? I ask, as if there is nothing unusual about me cutting classes.

Jodi came to see Tyler at the gas station. She said yer math teacher reported you to the principal. You probably gonna git suspended tomorrow.

I hate Jodi and Tyler so fucking much! Every time I think about what they did to me, I want to kill them. And I think about that everyday. I'm their favorite target. It's like they live to ruin my life just for the fun of it, and the bonus of gaining more followers on Instagram.

I went to see grandma, I say, trying to hide the anger I feel towards Jodi and Tyler.

That's all right, he says. And don't worry 'bout school. I'll take care of it and I ain't gonna tell yer maw.

Talking about visiting my grandmother's grave always makes Bo uncomfortable, which is what I was banking on. But now I foresee a problem that I'm going to have to deal with.

Thanks, I say, as appreciatively as possible.

You can thank me properly when I git back. We'll work out the how.

This is what I was afraid off. I don't care if I get suspended from school. I don't plan to ever go back there again, anyway. But Bo's acting like he's going to do me a big favor by talking to my principal and not telling Kandy about it. Now I'm supposed to show him how grateful I am. At least he's not looking for me to thank him right now. I don't know if I would've been able to get out of that.

I probably wouldn't have to deal with this right now if Jodi had kept her fucking mouth shut. I can just see the glee on her face when she told Bo that I was going to get suspended from school again. I'm sure she thought she was getting me into trouble. If she only knew.

Come to think of it, Jodi would probably love it if she knew what happens between me and Bo. She's half responsible for most of the stories floating around about me being a slut. Just last week she was in the cafeteria telling people I'm the one who gave Hank Buckly a STD. She even posted it under the hashtag she made just for me: #GladIAin'tThisHo. And Hank didn't bother telling anyone that it wasn't true. After howling like an injured dog when he took a piss in the boy's room at school, everybody knew that he caught an STD. But I guess he'd rather have people believe that I burned him, instead of the prostitute he probably got it from.

Aren't you gonna have a few drinks and play cards with Billy and Grinds? I ask, trying to make my voice sound aloof, not distressed.

Nah, Bo says, and squeezes the spot on my thigh that his hand has been resting on. Since you got the day off, I figure we can spend some time together. I been thinking 'bout you all day, and I miss you. Know what I mean?

I know what he means. I've been expecting it. My best case scenario was that he might visit me tonight after Kandy passed out. I really didn't count on him wanting to be with me so early on Hump Day.

Please, Bo, not today, I groan. I don't feel good.

You sick?

It's my time of the month, I lie.

You gonna be here when I git back from dropping Kandy off at The Rebel, right?

Yeah, I'm going back to sleep.

Bo slides his hand up my thigh, over my hip and across my belly. Even though I have on a hoodie and I'm covered by my sheet and a blanket, I still feel as if his hand is on my skin and it really makes me sick.

Need me to pick you up somfin' from the store? Bo asks, then squeezes one of my breasts.

I got cramps, I say, hoping that I can turn him off, and I don't want to borrow no pain pills from Kandy.

I'll stop by Gladdy's and git somfin' fer you. Bo kisses the side of my mouth. You been a good girl lately, and you know I like it when yer good.

I don't respond, but that doesn't stop Bo from laying down next to me. I hold the blanket tight as he spoons me and kisses my neck. His hand tries to find a way through my cocoon, but he soon gives up and settles on grinding against me as he massages my breast.

I thought that telling him I was on my period would be enough to turn him off, but he's in one of his moods. I cringe at the thought of what he's going to want me to do for him if I'm here when he gets back. Things aren't going exactly as I hoped. On the bright side, though, if Bo makes a stop at Gladdy's it will add a few more minutes to the time I have to escape.

A quick series of squeaks pierces the sound of water flowing in the bathroom, followed by sudden silence. Kandy has saved me from being molested any further, even though she doesn't know it. It's the only thing that she has done for me in the past nine years that I can say that I am thankful for.

Bo tells me that he'll see me soon, and he creeps out of my room before Kandy dries off.

I keep my blanket wrapped around my body as I listen to Bo and Kandy in the bedroom next to mine. I hear them talking, and my mother does a lot of giggling. In the two years that Bo has been living here, she's been the happiest I have ever seen her. But she's still treats me like shit.

To shut out Kandy and Bo, I close my eyes and think about Kyle McLendon. As soon as I picture his face, I say to myself, Destiny will write itself until you're ready to write it for yourself.

Those words are personal and were written just for me when Kyle autographed my favorite novel, Chimera. They have helped me become a much stronger person than I would've been if I never met him. I love Kyle. My love for him isn't the same thing that girls my age feel for actors, singers and social media superstars. What I feel for Kyle is different. My heart beats for him. He just doesn't know it. I know it's silly to be in love with somebody I've only met once, but I can't deny what I feel.

Kyle is an exceptionally talented writer, but up until a few years ago he had been extremely underrated. Before he wrote Chimera and started topping all of the bestsellers lists, he only had a cult-like following of fans. Now he's known as King of the Splatterpunks because no one writes about gore as well as he does.

He always got good reviews, but his career has been hounded by criticism from religious groups and conservative politicians who insist that people like him are a big influence on the moral decay of society. All of Kyle's novels are exquisitely explicit and gory as hell, but it's unfair to blame him for the actions of other people. I love his novels! I've read each and every one of them multiple times. I also retain every piece of information that I can find on him. I'm his number one fan and I guarantee that nobody knows as much about him as I do.

I always smile when I think about the day I met Kyle in person. I was only thirteen-years-old at the time, but I had been reading his novels since I was ten. So, when I found out that he was doing a book-signing at the Barnes & Noble over in Raleigh, I had to be there. I had just saved up enough to buy his latest novel, anyway. And since he rarely makes public appearances I was determined to see him in the flesh and get his autograph.

I'll never forget the feeling that came over me the moment I first saw Kyle in the flesh. It was like a sudden eruption of warm liquid in my gut that flooded throughout my entire body. Kandy tore me a new one when I finally came back home that night, but it was totally worth it.

There is something irresistible about Kyle. He's the total package; tall, muscular and so fucking handsome. His dark-brown eyes are magnets that are hard to look away from once they lock in on you. And his shoulder-length, jet-black hair always looks wet and sort of stringy, making him look rebelliously ravishing. Kyle also posses the sly smile of a mischievous young boy. When he flashes it, there's no way to resist smiling back. But the most impressionable thing about Kyle is the energy that seems to surround him. It made me feel like I was in the presence of a powerful vampire who has thrived for centuries by only feasting on the blood of virgins.

I was too intimidated to approach Kyle that day in the bookstore. For the longest time, I just stood there watching him as he signed autographs. I couldn't work up the courage to get in line. The last thing that I wanted to do was finally meet my idol and say something stupid to him. I was still working on what I was going to say to Kyle when a voice on the store's intercom announced that he was only going to be there for another half hour. It was then that he looked directly at me. His intense gaze was so paralyzing that I could hardly breathe. And I almost had a heart attack when he got up from his table and approached me. I was so nervous when he introduced himself and shook my hand, I told him my name was Katherine, instead of Kat. Nobody had called me Katherine since my grandmother died, and Kyle made my name sound so sweet and elegant, I felt myself melting when it slid off his tongue.

After Kyle asked me if I was a fan, he took my book and gave me a twenty dollar bill. Then he told me to buy myself something to eat and drink at the coffee shop next to the bookstore and to to wait for him there. I did as he asked, and I was surprised when he actually showed up.

All of the dark clouds that were hanging over my head had cleared up before even sat down in the booth across from me. And I all but fainted when he slid the copy of Chimera that I was going to buy across the table and said it was his gift to me. I was never happier than I was at that moment.

We started talking about his novels. Then we got into a deep discussion about serial killers, demons, soul-sucking wraiths, brain-eating zombies, blood-thirsty vampires and other creatures of darkness that we both liked. And when I told him that one day I wanted to be a writer like him, he encouraged me and gave some great advice. He even gave me a little black leather binder that he kept his notepads in. Before that day I thought that nobody cared about me, but Kyle showed me that he did.

I only got to spend about an hour with him before he had to go. But that time together made the difference between life and death to me. My feelings for him grew stronger and stronger until I knew in my heart that he was the only person in this world that I could ever love.

Before he had to go, Kyle signed my book. Then he reached across the table and gently caressed my chin as he lifted my head higher. While looking directly into my eyes, he said, There is something special inside of you, Katherine. When you realize who you are, nothing in this world will be able to stand in your way.

I've felt a lot of pain in my life. Pain worse than the acidic hole that began growing in my heart when I watched Kyle and a short woman be driven away in the back of a Lincoln Town Car. But during my bleakest moments I tightly hold on to the words that he said to me, like I tightly held onto him when he hugged me and said good-bye. Now those words of encouragement are the force driving me to leave this godforsaken town.

After what seems like forever, Kandy opens my bedroom door and stares at me with pure hatred. I don't understand her at all. It's no secret that she hates me and she doesn't really want anything to do with me, but she won't let me leave on my own. The first time I ran away I got caught by a truancy officer in the next town over. When Kandy brought me home that day she beat me with a belt so badly, my entire body was covered with welts. She warned me that if I ever tried that again she would kill me, but that didn't stop me. The last time I ran away Bo spotted me at the bus station from his garage and called her. When she confronted me she tried to beat me up again but she wasn't expecting me to fight back. I would have broken her fucking face if Bo hadn't knocked me to the ground. Now I'm ready to try it again. This time without Bo having the chance to spoil my plans.

Make sure you fix somfin' fir Bo to eat by the time he gits back, Kandy says, in a stern tone.

Yeah, all right, I respond.

And since you ain't working today, you better stay in the house. I'm tired ah hearin' 'bout you whoring all over the place. I should make you work at The Rebel, but I'd git sicka looking atcha fat, little piggy ass all fuckin' night.

I don't bother defending myself. It's no use.

Sometimes I find it hard to believe that Kandy is my real mother. We don't even resemble each other. We both have long hair, but hers is dyed sandy blonde while mine is as black as a wet raven's feather. She's shorter than I am, but her body is much slimmer than mine has ever been. The most annoying thing about her is her crystal blue eyes. My eyes are brown, I guess I got them from my father since my grandmother's eyes were blue like Kandy's. Another big difference between me and my mother is that my breasts are two full cup sizes larger than hers. I know for sure that she detests me for that. I hate how guys stare at my tits, so I would gladly trade my D-cups for her Bs any day.

I try to put aside all of my negative feeling towards my mother and search for just an inkling of emotion that says I'll miss her, but as she turns to leave I feel nothing between us but abhorrence. She has despised me ever since I was in her womb, and now she'll never have to see me again.

I wait for the sound of Bo's truck starting up, then I listen carefully as the rumble of the engine gets lower when he pulls away from the trailer. It's kind of odd how the further away that blonde-and-blonder gets, the more it feels like a weight is being lifted off of me. It's like Bo was parked on top of my chest and now I'm no longer trapped under a ton of steel.

By the time they're at the entrance of the trailer park I hop out of bed and slowly spin around my room, scanning for anything else that I can take with me. I find nothing. The horror movie posters on my black walls are going to stay there, as well as the plastic skull on my desk along with the other macabre items that I've collected over the years. I'll miss my things, like the 6-inch model of a guillotine that I ordered from a horror magazine, my novelty vampire teeth, a rubber hand that looks like it's been severed off, and a few other nick-nacks that most people associate with evil or devil-worshiping cults. I wish that I could take everything that I've collected over the years with me but I only have room to carry things that are essential. Besides, I can always buy more cool stuff when I get settled in New York.

I take one last look at all of my books. They will have to remain on my shelves along with my Author's Monthly magazines. I begin to feel sad when I stare at the shelves holding 68 of the 69 novels written by Kyle. I can't believe that I'm going to part with them, especially my most favorites: Blood Grove, They Never Think It Can Happen To Them, Sticks and Stones, Pure Hearts, Bloody Holiday, and Evolution. I don't like eBooks. They don't give me the same joy as when I lose myself on paper pages. I'll rebuild my hardcopy collection one day, though, no matter how long it takes.

There is one book that I am taking with me. My most special copy of Chimera that Kyle autographed for me. I can't leave it behind.

I drop down to the floor and sweep my arm under the bed until my fingers hook one of the straps of my backpack. I've had to condense my whole life into this bag, and now that consists of a change of clothes, underwear, toothpaste, a tooth brush, a hair brush, deodorant, eyeliner, all of my old journals, and the five composition notebooks which holds what I think is the best story that I have ever written.

I drop my backpack on the bed and slip on my black denim jacket with the rips in it. It's my favorite jacket. I can count on the lining inside of it to keep me warm, plus it has roomy pockets on the inside. There's plenty of space in them to carry the leather binder that Kyle gave me, my copy of Chimera, an envelope with the four hundred dollars that I've saved up and a picture of my grandmother. These are my most cherished possessions and they stay on me at all times.

My heart rate is off the charts as I slip on the backpack. I'm not really nervous. If anything, I feel energized. There's only one more thing I have to do before I go.

I walk over to my dresser, pick up my lipstick and quickly apply a fresh coat. Now I'm ready. My hair looks a little poofy, but it doesn't matter because I always keep my hood pulled over my head. What's more important to me is that my eyes are encompassed by broad strokes of eyeliner, black lipstick on my lips, black clothes cloaking my pudgy body, black nail polish on my nails, and black rubber bangles cover my arms from my wrists up to my forearms. This is my look. It's not about fashion. This is the only way I feel comfortable.

I stuff my lipstick into my pants pocket, then I go to scoop up my stack of composition notebooks and the velvet Crown Royal bag that I keep my razor blades and a bloodstained handkerchief in. But before I grab them my eyes are drawn to my birth control pills next to my phone.

I've thought about the things I might have to do when I run out of money, but I can't stand the thought of swallowing another one of those fuckin' pills. They'll remind me of Bo, and I don't want to ever think about him again after I'm gone. Besides, pregnancy will be the least of my worries if worse comes to worse. And if that happens, then a condom will be the only thing that can provide the kind of protection that I'll need.

I knock the pill case onto the floor and start stomping on it, the way I wish I could stomp on Bo's head. I don't stop until my boot has shattered the pink plastic and reduced most of the remaining pills to fragments and dust. I feel much better now. I smile as I pick up my notebooks and the Crown Royal bag, leaving my phone behind as I say good-bye forever to my room.

When I step out of my room I entertain the idea of burning down the trailer. I would love to see Bo's 3-D TV and the rest of his entertainment system go up in flames, along with all of the other expensive crap that went into making this the most posh double-wide in the trailer park. Bo makes good money with his garage and gas station. And Kandy makes more than her fair share of tips--on top of her salary--since she's an icon at The Rebel. But for the life of me, I can't figure out how they can afford all of the high priced electronics and lavish furniture that they filled the trailer with. Their water bed and the bedroom set alone looks like it cost a fortune. So why the hell, if they can really afford all this stuff, do they insist on staying here in this trailer instead of using the money to buying a house? I have no idea. All I know is it would be nice to say a final fuck you to them by letting fire devour all of their stuff, but I don't want to give them extra incentive to come looking for me after I leave.

I hurry to the kitchen and fling open one of the cupboard doors. As soon as I spot the bottle of lighter fluid that Bo keeps in there, I snatch it up and head for the back door, stopping only briefly to pluck a book of matches from the little glass bowl that Kandy keeps in the center of the kitchen table. All of the matchbooks are white with a Confederate flag printed on both sides. Bo and Kandy brings loads of them home from The Rebel, and this is the first time that I found real use for any of them.

I hurry outside and on over to Bo's barbecue grill. As soon as I open the lid I place my Crown Royal bag and the stack of notebooks onto the gridiron. I douse the pile with a stream of lighter fluid, not feeling too bad about the stories that I'm going to burn. I spent a lot of time writing them, but they aren't really that good. Certainly not as good as the one in my backpack. Anyway, I can't take all of them with me and I don't want to leave them here. I'd rather destroy them, as well as the stuff that I keep in the Crown Royal bag. I won't need them anymore.

I light a match and use it to ignite the rest of sticks in the book. The acrid scent of the flaring match heads invade my nostrils as I drop it on the stack of notebooks and invoke a raging fire. I turn my back to the heat from the inferno, zip up the front of my hoodie and cover my head with the hood. Then I stroll out to the street with happy thoughts on my mind for a change.

Of course, the nosy neighbors in the trailer park don't have anything better to do than to stare at me as they sit on their porches or in lawn chairs set up in the spaces between trailers. Some of the women have squeezed into clothes that they have no business wearing, especially the fat bitch who lives next door to our trailer. Even the ones who still have figures that can be flattered by skin-tight clothes don't look as hot as they used to. Most of them are slowly degrading from booze and tobacco as they air out their stinky crotches until the next cock of the hour comes around. They all turn their noses up at me as I walk past. I don't have to be a mind reader to know what they're thinking. To them I'm the Devil worshipping slut who is as much a threat to them as my whore of a mother was before she landed the one guy in Bixberry that they all want to fuck.

Most of the men out here aren't any better then the women. With my jacket on, they can hardly see the humps of my breasts but that doesn't stop them from staring at my chest as I walk by. Those toothless pigs make jokes about me when they are with their buddies, but every one of them have propositioned me for sex at one time or another. I could've been sitting on a fortune if I charged them for the things that they said they wanted to do to me. I'm not the girl that guys dream about, but I'm not my mother's daughter either. At least, not right now.

As I make my way out to the road that will take me to town, or over to The Rebel if I make a left turn, I hear the laughs and comments behind me. Nothing new, just more of them branding me as the freak. Other than gossip, there is nothing to support the popular belief that I'm a slut or I worship the devil. I wish I really did worship the devil. If I did, maybe he would give me powers and I could walk through this town surrounded by dark clouds of thunder and lightning, and slowly tear the flesh from everybody's bones with my bare hands. If only that could happen. As much as I want to, I can't kill the people I hate. But I'll settle for just being able to get the fuck out of North Carolina.

I estimate that Bo and Kandy should be close to arriving at The Rebel in a few minutes. Even if he just drops her off and makes a stop at Gladdy's to pick up something for the cramps that he thinks I'm having, I should be boarding the bus by the time he figures out where I am. Just knowing that I'm going to make it out of here this time is enough for me to enjoy my brisk walk down the quiet country road that leads to town. I don't know what sins I committed in a past life that could account for the hell that I've gone through for the past sixteen years, but I've had enough of it. I'm not like anyone else here and I refuse to waste another year of my life as an outcast and a piece of ass for Bo to have his way with whenever he feels like it.

My stomach tingles when I think about how by this time tomorrow, I'll be in New York. What I'm looking forward to the most is my birthday present to myself. I'm going to be at the world premier of Chimera, the movie. When I found out that they were making my favorite novel into a movie I couldn't wait to see it. The excitement has been building up for over a year now and I want to be one of the first people to see it. I might even get lucky and see some of the movie's stars, like Savannah Harper, walking on the red carpet. It's going to be the best birthday that I've had since I was a kid.

A joyous sense of liberation increases inside of me with each step that I take down the road. I used to have fun walking through here pretending that I had to make it to school without getting caught by Jason from Friday The 13th or Freddy from A Nightmare On Elm Street. Even when I used to go down to the creek, I used to get a thrill from the fear that a monster might pop up from out of nowhere and get me. Those were the days before I found out the hard way what real monsters are like and what they really do to you.

Everything seems to be going well, but God never allows me to be happy. And why should he start today?

Something tells me to turn around and when I do my heart begins to boom in my chest. I want to believe that I'm seeing things, but the reality is that there is a red pickup truck barreling down the road, heading straight for me. I don't know how the hell Bo caught up with me so quick, but he is coming after me. If I give up I'll have to go back to the trailer with him, and I don't want to do the thing that I know he has in mind for me. I have to do something right now or my life will never change.., it will just be over. I can't be trapped here going through this hell forever. I don't care about killing myself, but I don't want to give up just yet.

There is only one thing that I can still do if I want to escape. So I run, as if my life depends on it. Because it does.

CHAPTER TWO

They say a man is only as good as his word. I'm comfortable with being a liar, but the connotation of the word word in that axiom has different applications to me. In my case, my words are my life and without them I am nothing.

If I don't get over this worst case of writer's block that I've ever experienced in my life, I might as well go home and shoot myself in the head.

There isn't much of a difference between me putting a hot slug through my skull and me standing here at the edge of the lake, skipping rocks across the water. I might as well be dead. But the thing is, I am a god among men. A mortal cloaked in immortality. When I give up the ghost, it will be of natural causes, unless I meet my demise by doing something suicidal. But never suicide itself. My legacy would be sullied if I were to ever kill myself.

When I die, my body is to be cremated and my ashes are to be mixed with the ink that would be used to print just one book: My Final Novel. That single book, the medium in which my immortality would be solidified, would be the object of mockery if the King of the Splatterpunks were to commit suicide. And I'm much too vain to allow that to happen.

My phone chimes, alerting me of a new text message. There's no need to check it. My agent has been sending me a text on the hour, every hour, since noon. It's 5:00pm, so it's only logical to assume that it is Nora's fifth message reminding me of our lunch date tomorrow. As annoying as that is, it will be much worse if I stand her up. I will have to meet Nora, even though talking to her about my overdue novel is going to be like chewing on glass to me. A great number of people have high expectations for my next novel, and Nora is going to be the first to be disappointed by me.

Standing here, doing nothing, is a bigger waste of my time than sitting in front of my computer--doing nothing. If I were home I could at least try to burn off some of my frustration by swimming laps in my pool, or workout in my gym until my body is so exhausted that the need for rest overpowers my insomnia. The activities will keep my body in stellar physical condition, but it won't do a thing for my dwindling brain function. For mental stimulation, I'll have to spend a few hours down in my dungeon. That's probably a lost cause, though. For months now, there hasn't been anything that I've done to my pets that has brought the real me back to life.

Without knowing what I'm going to do, or even where I'm going to go, I turn away from the lake and start making my way back to my jeep.

I just can't figure out what's wrong with me. There was a time when all the hours of day and night combined weren't enough for me to write the stories that filled my head. I'd kill for that again. Hell, I have killed for that again! But the only thing I got out of it was another dismembered body that had to be disposed of.

Blood usually gets my creative juices flowing, especially when there is buckets of it. By the time I finished with my last victim, there was hardly enough blood in her torso and limbs to fill my coffee mug, but I still couldn't find the right words to describe the beauty of carnage that my fans love so much. If I can't do that, then I can't write a Kyle McLendon novel. My true fans demand nothing less. And as far as I am concerned, they deserve nothing less.

Between the parking lot and the sandy shore of the lake is a picnic area. As I walk down the path that cuts through it I glance at the picnic tables and public barbecue grills. During the summer this place is buzzing with the sounds of happy people enjoying their lives. Now there is nothing but silence. I like the silence. I also like how the dead grass and dried leaves scattered all over makes me think of what this place might look like after the world thaws out from a nuclear winter. The inside of my head can't be much different from that. I create people in my head. I invent personalities for them, then send them on the adventure of their lives in the worlds that I design. But for almost a year now, my imagination hasn't been able to produce a speck of life worthy of my literary divinity.

A sudden sign of life snaps my focus over to the entrance of the parking lot.

I watch as a young girl on a mountain bike turns in from the road and squeezes the brake with her dainty fingers, bringing the bike to an abrupt stop next to my jeep. She greets me with a smile that's as bright as her pink jacket, which violently clashes with her plaid catholic school skirt and brown woolly leggins. I watch her with curiosity as she waves hello to me, then she dismounts her bike and flicks the kickstand out with one of her white cross-trainers.

During the winter none of the local teenagers really hang out here until it's dark enough to cover their activities. The police patrol this road about every thirty minutes during the day, but at night there's a wider gap in the time. Underage drinking goes on, but it isn't much of a problem. This is more of a place for making out, and if the guy is lucky he'll get a lot more than a round of petting and dry humping. All-in-all, this is the rally point for the cool kids. So I have to wonder why this girl in particular is here all by herself, especially now?

I know that her name is Veronica. Hers was much easier for me to remember than most others because it is the same as my mother's. Veronica lives about a mile down the road from me. She's a child of one of the more affluent families here in Hidden Lake. But unlike most of the other spoiled little brats, Veronica doesn't have a self-centered disposition. And I do like her. She's a straight-A student, a talented artist, and truly kindhearted person. At my last book-signing she gave a portrait that she painted of me standing in a graveyard at night. I like it so much, it's been hanging in my den since that day.

An enticing fantasy begins to brew in my head as I watch Veronica approach me. Fresh meat like her, under these optimum conditions, is so hard to come by nowadays. She could be exactly what I need for something that is almost as satisfying as sex.

Hi, Kyle! Veronica says as she gets closer. I haven't seen you in months. How have you been?

I smile, and say, I could be better. How are you?

Okay, I guess. Hey, my friends and I are going to see Chimera this weekend. Are you going to be at the theater?

No, I have work to do.

No way! You're not going to see your own movie?

It's not my movie. I just wrote the story.

Still, if I were you, I'd be excited to see it.

I shrug, and say, I'll get around to seeing it, eventually. Anyway, what are you doing out here all by yourself?

Veronica's tiny fingers pinch the zipper on her jacket. She quickly slides it down and opens the blazer that she's wearing underneath it for me to see the 35mm camera resting on her heavenly-white blouse. My eyes drift over the black nylon strap that is keeping the camera strung around her neck, and the swell of her maturing breasts under the blouse reminds me that she's only sixteen-years-old.

Photography club, Veronica says. I was at the stables yesterday, you know, for equestrian club. Anyways, I noticed how cool the sky looked against the trees when the sun sets. So, since the trees on this side of the lake have less leaves on 'em, I'm thinking it'll make a awesome shot.

Interesting, I say. I didn't know Holy Cross Academy had a photography club? Sounds more like a Hidden Lake High kind of thing.

H.L.H. does have a photography club, but this new teacher at Holy Cross, Sister Laura, started ours when she took over for Sister Elizabeth. I'm not getting credit for it, but it's fun. And Sister Laura is, like, the best teacher I ever had! You gotta meet her, Kyle. I think you'll like her.

I shake my head. I think I'll pass. Last year at the fund raiser for the firehouse, Sister Anne followed me around for an hour, trying to save my soul from eternal damnation.

Sister Laura's not like that. One the first day of class she told us that all she wanted is for us to do our best and be happy. She totally rocks! You'll see when you meet her.

I put up with the nuns at Holy Cross for the sake of keeping up appearances here in the town I live in, but I'm in no hurry to meet the newest one. Besides, Veronica's life expectancy is more interesting to me at the moment.

I look around, and ask, Veronica, does anyone know you're out here, alone?

Veronica nods her head, and jokingly says, You do.

Other than me?

I called my mom after I finished my tutoring session with Mrs. Kessler. As long as I'm home by eight, she won't worry.

I wish Veronica's mother was here instead of her. If I take Veronica home with me, the things that I will do to her should be done to her mother. The worst crimes in this town are vandalism and marijuana use, so the residents believe that this is one of the safest places on earth. The last homicide on record occurred in 1986. But off the record, it's only been a little over a year since my last murder. If my neighbors ever found out how many people I have killed here, they wouldn't let their children get more than five feet away from them without panicking.

With at