Chapter 1A

Silent darkness blanketed a small suburban neighborhood, lined with endless rows of identical houses, filled with sleeping families. Their burglar alarms set, just in case some inner city kid dares to challenge the force of a secure community. Streetlights pinched through the night, providing the people with a higher sense of safety. A defiant footstep shattered the stillness as it crept through the winding streets. His path was deliberate, he knew his way around, for he had traveled through this particular neighborhood more than once.
Left, right, left, left, straight then your first right and you’re there. The directions were burned into his memory, leaving his brain free to think of other things, like the actual target. Gary Patriz, 35, married with three children, a solid man with good intentions and a steady job at a car dealership. Every Friday night he went out with some co-workers, but it was always good, clean fun. Saturday was date night, and he left the kids with the same naïve, over-paid babysitter. The thought of such a structured life sickened the stranger, and drove him on faster to the man’s home, where he lay in his queen sized, four-post bed, beside a lovely wife, who put up with his intolerable snoring.
The stranger slipped quietly into the protective shadows of a large oak, looming over the sleeping house. He checked his watch, 12:34, perfect timing. He watched as a gray cat ran past the WELCOME mat, which secretly held a spare key. “Original,” the stranger thought to himself as he snatched up the golden key, mischievously grinning. He then inserted it carefully into the brass doorknob of the back door, and watched satisfied as it swung open, inviting the stranger into such a forbidden place.
Each foot cautiously stepped, one in front of the other, making their way up to the stairs. A small night-light glowed in the still kitchen, and a loud clock ticked noisily, setting the rhythm of the night. One foot in front of the other, the stranger climbed the stairs and straight into the master bedroom.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn to hold back the light of the moon, dirty laundry and shoes lay scattered in the far right corner, and the vanity was covered in jewelry. The father’s wallet lay open on a dark, bedside table, but the stranger paid no attention to the invaluable objects, he was here for blood, the only thing to hold back his eternal hunger.
A long, silver scalpel snaked its way from the strangers coat pocket, guided by the man’s cold, pale fingers. Evil surged through his body, igniting his heart with blind hate, spreading from the depths of his soul to the tips of his fingers. Fingers that held a deadly weapon, inching itself closer and closer to the sleeping man’s throat.