He was lucky. The knife had told him so. He had found his Purpose in life. A Purpose he was good at it. And 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 attraction to the knife. The pull to the power,. ” “I’m Alex. And you are…?” “Oh, I'm Rachel. We’ve exchanged some messages online.” Rachel. The name does not ring a bell at all. The only messages I’ve exchanged online were…ah, maybe Rachel is her real name. I only know her as FireBelow.” “I’m sorry…but this may sound odd…but I don’t know a Rachel. You wouldn’t be…” She interrupted me, “FireBelow? That’s me. I forgot that we’ve never exchanged real names. Or at least I haven’t given you mine.” “How did you find out where I worked?” “Do you. More

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