A questioning look. A first innocent meeting. He was lucky. The knife had told him so. He had found his Purpose in life. A Purpose he was good at it. ...nd better yet, he liked it. His attention was drawn back to the bloody, abused girl in his hands. He carried her by the throat back through the door and down the rickety basement steps. Her fingers were digging into his hands, nails drawing bloody furrows, her bare feet were kicking at his legs. He didn’t feel it. All he felt was the pull of. Andrews?” she asks.“I’m originally from LA, but we moved here when I was 11 years old. Have been living in New York ever since. What about you?”“I’m from a small little town in Arkansas that you have never heard of before”, she said smiling, knowingly.“Small town girl, are you? Tell me about your town”, he said, getting comfortable on the floor, so near to those gorgeous feet. She sat down as well, preparing for a long wait in this dark elevator. They started talking, as if they were life-long. More

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