Murder.  Another murder.  I was freaked out, of course.  I was scared at how this person was killing just about weekly, and almost always the victims were found in a place that wasn't too far away from where I lived.  I mean, it wasn't like the victims were in my backyard, but they were usually only about twenty to thirty minutes away from me and that was terrifying.  I thought about how even if Harry wanted to talk about people like the Night Stalker, he couldn't.  There was so much going on in Winter Haven, and since he was the host of a very popular true crime radio segment, and that segment took place in Winter Haven, people wanted to know about it.  They wanted him to cover the, I hated to say it, gorey details about the gruesome murders taking place in his hometown. 

By the time I got to my office, turned on the radio, and got situated into my desk, it was a little past nine.  I hadn't heard much yet, just that Grenadine had told me there was another murder and asked if I was being careful at my home.  She was looking out for me, and I thought it was especially sweet.  Though, I couldn't lie.  I was definitely scared.

"Good morning, Dawn FM listeners.  It is nine-ten on this Monday morning.  For those of you just tuning in, I am discussing yet another murder that has taken place in Winter Haven.  Miss Beverley Park, aged twenty-three.  I've gotten word from the Winter Haven Police Department that it looks like this was a two part crime.  I say two parts because, well, they found pieces of her at one location and another."

They found her body spread out between multiple locations? As in, she was ripped into pieces? I felt sick to my stomach.  There was no way this was true.  My heart was sinking the longer I thought about it.  How could this be happening? How could this be taking place right here and now? I got up out of my seat, knowing that there was no way I could listen to more of this.  Not when it was so close to home for me.

I tried to focus on my work, knowing that I needed to begin working on a newsletter for next week.  I wanted to keep them interesting.  My first week here I had done basics, last week I managed to come up with an idea where people sent in their funniest jokes for Mr. Huntington's segment and they could get the opportunity to go to a stand-up comedy show where he was performing.  Mr. Watson had liked that one a lot because it gave more people the opportunity to listen to Mr. Huntington.  Apparently, the little contest had shot his viewers up twenty-percent, so Mr. Watson was more than pleased.

Now, I was stuck thinking about what I should have done for this upcoming week.  I felt like with all of the murders going on, it should have probably been something with Harry, but I didn't know what would be best.  Scribbling notes on my papers, I jumped when there was a knock at the door.  Glancing at my clock, I was shocked that an hour had gone by, but, living in my head time usually went by quickly.

"Uh, come in," I called.

The door was pushed open, my eyes focusing on the admirable man.  He had on a white Led Zeppelin T-shirt with a baggy pair of jeans, there being rips in the knees.  It was such a casual outfit, even more causal, I felt, than when he had come to my house to fix up things previously.  I watched as he carefully shut the door behind him, Harry coming to sit in one of the chairs in front of my desk.  Though, per usual, he picked up something off of my desk, studying it before he glanced at me.

"How are you?" he asked, and he sounded genuinely concerned.

"I'm doing okay."

"I'm worried about you," he told me.  "They all look like you.  They faxed me another crime scene photo, and you look like every victim.  I'm scared whoever is doing this is going to find you, and they're going to hurt you.  Well, I say hurt, but we both know that's not how it would end."

I didn't like to hear it.  The thought of the person who was doing this going after women that looked like me was scary.  Or, no, it was terrifying to be honest.  However, the fact that Harry was so worried eased my nerves a little bit.  It was nice to see that someone cared so much about my safety.  Looking down at my notes, I tried to think about something to say, but I was at a loss for words.  I had nothing to say.  I felt sick.

"I know we went out on Saturday, but you didn't go out last night, right? Didn't leave after eight?"

"I didn't," I told him.

"Good, good, good," he nodded.  "If you ever want to go somewhere that late, please feel free to call me.  I would much rather drop everything I am doing to know you got somewhere safely than have to report your death."

He looked serious now.  I had never seen him like this, and while it was a bit shocking to me, I appreciated his immense feelings toward me.  It did ease my nerves a little bit that he was so willing to keep me safe, but I also felt that if I didn't go out past a certain time everything would probably turn out fine.  I mean, the real chances of someone breaking in to kill me were low, though, with people like the Night Stalker, I guess they were never zero.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Who do you think is doing this?" I asked.  "I mean, like, what kind of sick person just keeps killing young women? Or, is so angry with the young women they can kill anyone around them at the time?"

I was referring to the murder that had taken place with the couple last week. Yes, it had been a young woman, but the person had been so set on killing her that they had enough energy to kill another person as well. It was crazy to think about. I was even certain I had heard or read somewhere about people who studied killers trying to test run a dummy made of the same material that would be equivalent to human flesh, and they had stabbed it seventy-four times. It was the same as a murder they were studying, but the scariest part about it was that the scientists became so tired that they to switch off stabbing the dummy. Though, there was a person out there that had killed that person and stabbed them seventy-four times—all by themselves.

"I think I've been doing this long enough to have some kind of opinion," Harry stated. "My guess is that this person is killing women that look the same for a reason in particular. The women probably look like someone that hurt the killer. As for the constant change in way of killing, I couldn't explain that because I'm not an FBI agent by any means. As for killing the person that was with the young woman, I'm sure that was just a terrible case of wrong place, wrong time."

His words made perfect sense. He was probably right. The killer was probably going after women that looked like someone who had hurt them in the past. It made perfect sense to me. Not to mention that I felt like I had heard that was usually a motive for serial killers anyway. He was just using his knowledge from what he had been doing for the past three years and made an educated guess.

"It's just weird, though, if you ask me," he started to say again. "I mean, there are honestly over nine-hundred-thousand people listening to me every day. You're telling me not one of them have seen anything?"

He was right, honestly. Even if, say, the people in California listening couldn't give helpful clues, I was almost positive there had to be a high traffic of listeners in this area. Not one of them wanted to call in with any good tips? Not one person saw the murderer? Or even anything suspicious? It just made no sense.

"It is weird," I agreed. "I don't know. What can you do?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Which sucks. I have this platform, and the most I can do is talk about what is going on. I have nothing helpful to give police. In other news, any ideas for next week's newsletter?"

No. Absolutely nothing. There was nothing going on in my mind because it was filled with radio segments about dead people and how there was a serial killer running around Winter Haven and he was stuck on killing girls who looked just like me.  Glancing down at my page notes, I tried to make anything out, but eventually I sighed, shaking my head no as I looked at him.

"That bad, huh?" he asked.

"So bad," I agreed. 

"Well, here's the thing right.  Maybe people don't want to call in.  Maybe they're scared of the serial killer finding out who they are and going after them? What if we have the fans write me fan mail, and they can include hints and stuff like that?"

A genius.  He was always so smart, and I hated it mildly.  Of course, it always worked in my favor, I just hated that I had not been the one to think of it.  Quickly writing it down, I found myself beginning to think of what I had to do by next week in order for it to work.  I needed Harry to get a P.O. Box, I needed to have the address for it, and I definitely needed to get to drafting a fun newsletter to make it enticing for people to write to.  As I continued to scribble on my pages, Harry chuckled, my eyes flicking up to his quickly.

"What?" I asked.

"Looks like my idea was good if you're writing as fast as humanly possible over there," he told me softly.  "Maybe I need to come brain storm with you more often."

"Yeah, maybe.  I think if I am going to do this, I need you to get a P.O. Box today.  I know Mr. Watson will like the idea.  He likes anything I bring him."

"Yeah, I can get that done today," he nodded.

Harry stood up from his seat then, holding his arms over his head as he stretched.  I would be committing a sin if I said I wasn't staring at his lower stomach, his skin on full display, and the tattoos I had seen once before being revealed to me once again.  He grunted softly, and just as soon as his waist had been shown to me, it was covered back up again.  Green eyes focused on my face, my cheeks flushing when he looked at down at himself and then back at me.

"I know you just got here an hour and a half ago, but I'm starving.  What can I bring you for lunch, doll?" he asked.

"No, I'm okay," I told him.

He chuckled.  "I didn't ask if I could bring you anything, I asked what you wanted."

He, as always, knew what to say.  I found myself being uncertain with him, surprised when he moved so that he was sitting on my desk.  It was so embarrassing how often I blushed in front of him, but he had something about him that just made it difficult not to.  It was like his every move was planned and calculated, and for that reason he stressed me out and made me blush unlike anyone ever had.

"Lunch.  What do you want?" he continued.

"And if I said I wasn't hungry?"

"Bullshit, you have to eat eventually," he told me then.  "No one has ever tried to reject me as much as you have."

"Someone has to humble you."

"Is that so, doll?"

"Yes.  I think so."

He looked interested, glancing over his shoulder as if to check that the door was shut.  I felt the anxiety build up, not knowing what his next move would be.  He wasn't really scary to me, but the thought of not comprehending what his next move would be was always something that I didn't enjoy thinking about.  Though, I was surprised when he smirked down at me, his thumb pressing to one side of my cheek while the rest of his hand gripped the other side of my face.

"You be good and tell me what you desire most.  I will get a P.O. Box, buy you what you desire, and bring it back to you."

"Harry, no."

His hand held my face just a little tighter, as if to tell me I had not made the correct decision.  If anyone else were to put their hands on me like this, I probably would have smacked him.  But there was something different about the way he always touched me.  It was as if it were needed, he was supposed to be putting his hands on me in such a way.  One of my hands wrapped around his wrist, and I could see his eyes questioning what I was going to do.  It was as if he couldn't read me even though I felt like he certainly could.

"What if what I desire most is you leaving my office?" I asked.

He was off of my desk in seconds, my eyes widening when he quickly moved so he was standing in front of me.  His hand was still gripping my face, and my hand was still wrapped around his wrist, but he now had made it so that he was standing between my legs, my skirt riding up my thighs a little more than I would have wanted.  Harry must have noticed I was glancing down because when I glanced back up, he looked down as well, green eyes locking with mine as a small smirk etched its way onto his face.

"You know how I feel about that attitude, doll," he stated lowly.  "It's going to get you in trouble with me.  But maybe that's exactly what you want."

I didn't know what to say.  This was the first time since I met the guy that I truly considered him hot.  Before, he was just an attractive guy with a nostalgic air to him—a man who looked and acted like men didn't any longer.  It drew me in.  But this? This was unlike anything I had ever experienced.  He had his hands on me in a way I would not have allowed anyone else, his words lit a fire not only on my face, but somewhere deep within me, and I couldn't stop staring at him, my heart racing way over the average rate in my chest.

"A donut," I mumbled.

"What?" he asked.

"A donut, I want a donut."

"Good girl," he nodded, letting go of my face and stepping back.

Suddenly I felt entirely exposed.  He had barely done anything, and my whole being felt as if the soul had been sucked out of me.  Quickly pressing my thighs together, I could tell by the look on Harry's face he noticed, but I was even more surprised that he didn't address it the way I thought he would.  Taking a deep breath, I tried to write down what Post Office he should go to, my body jumping when I could feel him behind me, leaning over my shoulder to see what I was doing.  The usual essence of lavender, mint, and something cozy attacking my senses in the best way possible.

"What are we writing?" he asked.

"What you need to do at the Post Office for me," I told him, continuing to scribble notes down until I added what kind of donut I wanted.  "And the donut I want."

"You like vanilla frosting with sprinkles.  I wouldn't forget, Magdalina."

I was immediately flustered at the fact that he remembered something so insignificant from over a week ago.  Pulling back from my desk, I felt my shoulder hit his chest, Harry chuckling when I profusely began to apologize for knocking into him.  He didn't seem to care, my face burning even more when he covered my mouth.

"Relax.  It didn't even hurt," he chuckled.  "Give me your little note, I'll be back."

I folded it up, handing it to him.  He smiled at me before placing it in his front pocket, green eyes searching mine.  I could tell he was thinking about something, and I found myself faltering slightly the longer I stared at him.  He was still so intimidating to me, and yet the longer I sat there, the more I couldn't decide how I felt. I mean, how could I be so quick to challenge him one minute, and afraid to speak the next? Then again, I was certain it had a lot to do with me wanting to see exactly what he was going to do anytime I did challenge him. As he went to walk out the door, he pulled it open, Harry nearly out the door before he paused, his eyes locking on me.

"There's a lock on this door. You know, just in case you want to finger through some personal files of yours or something."

"Harry!"

"Bye, doll."

Before I could get another word out, he was leaving, pulling the door shut. Yet again, he had phrased his words perfectly in a way that sounded completely normal to anyone else, but due to the context I knew exactly what he had meant. Groaning softly to myself, I was absolutely embarrassed with everything that had happened, but I knew this was only going to continue to escalate. Or, maybe not escalate, but I definitely knew he was getting very comfortable around me. Of course, I didn't think it was a bad thing. I just had no clue what else to expect from the curly-haired radio personality.