Nowhere to Run. Nancy Bush

      Prologue

      Then . . .

      He stood outside the house, staring at it from the backyard. They didn’t know he was there. They didn’t know that he stood in the backyard of many houses, watching, thinking, plotting.

      He could see her outline through the kitchen window above the sink. Her figure was hazy beneath a dress, but he smiled to himself as he watched her. He knew what she was like, what they were all like.

      A yellow square of light from the window set in the back door fell onto scraggly grass. As he watched, she moved from the window above the sink to the one in the back door, peering out. For a moment his heart squeezed with the thrill of the hunt. Could she see him? Could she know?

      But no. She couldn’t know. She didn’t know about the others though the newspapers and television reporters were squawking about the missing women whose bodies had yet to be discovered. She didn’t know about him. How close he was . . . how she was in his sights . . .

      His eyes burned and he wondered if she could feel his desire and fury, but she turned away, her back to him. The curve of her white nape was beautiful as she tilted her head as if listening.

      Do you hear me, bitch? Do you?

      He felt himself harden as he thought of her, and his cruel smile widened as he reached down inside his pants and began rhythmically stroking himself, part of the ritual, part of the beginning . . .

      Do you feel me?

      I’m coming for you . . . now. . . .

      Livvie Dugan looked in the mirror and said, “I’m six years old today.” She was missing one of her front teeth and she dragged her lips back in a snarl and stuck her little finger through the hole, just to see what it looked like. Pulling her pinkie back out, she next stuck her tongue through the space, squinted one eye and said, “Arrrgh, me mateys!” Just like pirates did.

      It had been a grand day. Mama had gotten her a big cake with pink roses on it, and she’d blown out all the candles at once! Her brother, Hague, who was only two and a half and didn’t know diddly-squat, according to their dad, tried to blow them out first, which made Livvie so mad that she’d stomped her foot. Livvie knew Hague was special; Mama said he was even though he seemed like he couldn’t do diddly-squat but that didn’t mean he got to blow out her candles! No way! She’d pushed him out of his chair and he’d toppled to the floor, and started crying like a big, big baby and Livvie kinda thought that’s what he was, anyway, a big, big baby. But Mama had scooped him up and soothed him and then shot Livvie that look—the one that said she was really mad but would hold it in till later.

      Then Mama sat Livvie in front of the cake and she sucked in tons of air and blew with all her might. The candles had flickered and gone out. All of them at once! It was grand, Mama said. Grand. But she’d still been mad about Hague, though, so she didn’t smile too much. She got Livvie and Hague each a paper plate with a slice of the white cake with the pink filling and a small cup of milk. Livvie had asked for apple juice but Mama hadn’t seemed to hear her, so she’d said it louder and Mama got it for her, kind of like one of those robots, like Mama didn’t know