Beware

It was Friday the 13th .  My scream continues to ring through my ears like it was yesterday.

I try not to think about that night at the Jamaica Inn, but the blade of the memory fights its way to the surface.  The detective used words like psycho to describe him, but it was so much more.  He was the predator,  virus, the demon  trying to skin his way into my veins like poison snake venom.  I still remember everything:  The smell of the champagne and the shock that I felt when I realized what was happening.

The signs, oh the signs, were right in front of my face.  Everyone told me I was such a sucker for trusting him. The thing that bothers me the most were the two bystanders.  The only ones that tried to help.  The Lost Boys they call them, but they aren't lost at all.  I know exactly what happened to them!