You will live in torment if you do not trust enough. — David W.

        He had hunted her like an animal. Masked in the rain that fell from the sky in tears of shattered mercy. She was his prey, small and delicate the rain droplets clung to the skin's outer layer in desperation to stay whole.

        David had his own desperation. He wanted her. He yearned for her. In the silence of his truck the windshield wipers were in only thing heard streaking across the glass.

        The memory was a blur. He remembered calling out to her, asking if she needed a ride after her car refused to start. Then there was a struggle, he had wrapped a hand into her hair throwing her face first into the cars driver side window. The web of cracks were caked with blood, missing shards were buried into her skin. Blood streamed down her beautiful face causing a horrid sight. The blood on his hands oozed through the creases—

        David opened his eyes to the sound of a stifled scream through the baby monitor that sat out of reach. Dazed in his groggy state he ran his hands over the cold sheets of his bed taking his time to gain full consciousness. His naked torso laid uncovered, he never remembered even falling asleep let alone undressing. The screams were unrelenting as were the sobs and sounds of the metal handcuffs from thrashing movements.

        Slowly he rested a forearm over his eyes. He begged his body to send him back to the darkness of sleep, though Caitlin's racket from the basement was only being a reminder of the life he had to live. A groan came from his lips as he pushed himself up onto his elbows resting back his weight. He could end this suffering he endured by his sister, but the consequences of her death would drive him into madness.

        Silence came over the baby monitor after the long half hour of screeching. David's eyes darted over to the plastic speaker device. Had she soothed herself into a restless sleep like a babe does when it is young? Whatever the meaning he sat up fully feeling the sticky bandage on the side of his face that started to itch as the wound began to heal all too slowly.

        He bit back his teeth as he used both hands to pull off the bandage that clung to his skin. David looked down to the bandage in his hold seeing the dried blood had soaked through in the night.

        "Just a new reason to stay indoors," he breathed out moving off the bed. His flannel pajama pants hung low, resting precariously across his hips showing the sharp V cut into his hips. He stiffly walked to his bedroom window cloaked behind the shut blinds.

        He stuck his fingers into a line of the blinds spreading them apart to see through. He could just make out his neighbors house that had sat empty for almost a year. No one wanted to live next to a house where two people were murdered and a child went missing. David pulled his hand from the blinds turning for the door of his room dropping the bandage in the little trashcan as he passed.

        The sound of a car door caught his attention. He tensed. No one came out here, at least no one who never called first to see if it was okay. David reached over beside him, turning the dial on the baby monitor all the way to the left until it shut off fully. A baseball bat from when he was ten-years-old rested in the corner behind the door. He reached forward wrapping his hand around the handle before going into the hall.

        The wooden bat felt foreign to him, he had not played in over nine years. His grip was firm in both hands as he moved down the steps sideways nearing the first floor. Heavy footsteps on the porch outside echoed through the silence of the house. A heavy knock soon followed.

        David kept close to the wall, bat held downward in his hands. A shadow of the figure could be seen through the white curtains. He squinted his eyes taking in the figure who could now clearly see him, the Sheriff.

        Nervously David's tongue flicked out of his mouth to dart over his dry lips. He switched the bat into his left hand as his right took hold of the deadbolt dragging it to the right, releasing the door from his hold. He dropped his right hand to the cold golden doorknob.

        The door opened enough for David to show his face, hostile towards anyone who wanted to enter without a valuable reason. The Sheriff wore his ridiculous grin whenever he saw David. So eager like a child, yet trapped in a mans body. Perhaps it was do to the information the two held.

        "Can I help you?" David asked while he pressed his shoulder against the paint chipped doorframe, body blocking the opening he allowed to be there.

        "How's a six-pack sound along with a little chat?" James, the Sheriff, lifted up the case of beer in his hand, tone lightly coated with a command.

        David had forgotten about hardly being clothed until he saw the Sheriff's eyes wandered downward. David narrowed his eyes clearing his throat.

        "Now isn't exactly the best time," he countered slowly uncomfortable under the older mans eyes.

        A frown set into James's mid-thirties aged face, "Then I'll have to ask for you to put down the bat and put your hands behind your back."

        David stood straighter the grip on the bat tightening, "You wouldn't arrest me, James. I have as much dirt on you as you do me. Question is, who'd get more time?"

        "Such a snarky little thing aren't you?" James chuckled stepping up to the door pressing his hand against the splintered wood, adding more weight for David to keep from opening further. "I'm only fooling, Davy. Now, let your only friend in."

        David tried to hold his own weight against the persistent James. James was the only man in town who knew about Caitlin and David would like to keep it like that. All knowledge comes with a price, a steep price. He never intended for anyone to know of his sister's captivity in the basement let alone the sheriff. James leaned more of his weight onto the faded red door.

        "Between you and I, I think you'd be the little punk who got more time." James chimed in his voice barely able to paint over the small slur.

        Was he already drunk? It would not bring any surprise. David gave in after a moment of thought opening the door wider stepping aside. James pulled himself through the doorway tracking in dirt on the hardwood floor past the black shoe mat.

        A low whistle came from James's lips, "Boy I think you need to hire a maid. This place is worse than the old junker man off of Peters Drive."

        David merely shook his head too exhausted to put up with "his only friend's" insults, laying the bat on a seat of the couch. His eyes searched over James who lowered himself on one of the loveseats dropping the case of beer onto the coffee table. For a man in his thirties he looked to be near fifty. Wrinkles known as crows-feet were burrowed deep into the outer corners of his eyes, while the plumpness of his cheeks seemed to have melted away leaving behind cheek bones jutting out of the skin.

        Their relationship was past the word complicated. James's presence taunted memories of David's deceased father. A drunk man who always had a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other.

        David grabbed his old high school sweatshirt from the rack near the front door, pushing his bare arms through the long shelves and pulling it down by the rim over his naked torso. The sweatshirt acted as a wall, he never let anyone see him clothless. He never wanted to see or be reminded of the scars that lingered.

        The sharp snap of a beer can opening made David turn towards James, "You said you wanted to talk, so make it quick."

        The freshly opened beer was roughly pushed across the coffee table towards his standing figure.

        "Have a drink Davy," James spoke evenly. "Hm, what happened there?" He asked David while pointing it his own cheek mirroring David's newest addition to the scar count.

        David ignored the man's questions wrapping his hand around the thin metal can. His grip squeezed the metal while he fantasied it to be James thick throat.

        "New hair cut too? Looks as if you dyed it also...."

        "You came here to talk about my new appearance?" David scoffed, beer held at chest level in his hold, "You know where the door is."

        James's lips puckered awkwardly to the side of his face as he chewed on the inside of his right cheek. David awaited his answer while thoughts of his own traveled to Caitlin in the basement. Carefully he lifted his free hand to rub the marks on his jaw, tilting head to peer over to the clock. A curse ran through his mind. It was past dinner time. He had slept the entire day, course he was exhausted from the nights on end of staying awake— but imagine what could of gone wrong.

        David blinked at the realization James had been rambling on, "Excuse me?"

        "I said they're renting that vacant lot next door to you."

        "How? No one has lived in that house for over a year. No one would step foot in it if they knew what they're living next to."

        James took a moment before answering, "That's the thing Davy, they don't know. Heck, they aren't even from this town."

        "You've met them?" David questioned stepping closer to the couch.

        "Just how long have you been out? The two moved in last night. I stopped by this morning, mother and daughter. Girl must be a year or two younger than you—"

        "Do they know?" David interrupted not caring how old the girl was having no interest.

        "Know what?" James scoffed. "That they live next door to a house where two murders took place and a child went 'missing?'" He waved finger quotes around, missing.

        His eyes swept over James, the fool did not take this seriously. Did he expect him to send a fruit basket to his new neighbors?

        "I want you to get rid of them, I don't want neighbors. Especially not two woman who will undoubtedly be nosy."

        "I'm only the sheriff Davy, I have no say in who lives where unless you're on the other side of the law. Even then the areas are limited to a cell or a casket in the ground." James finished off his can, his words were a mumble as he read the printed label on the side.

        "Get me security cameras," David spoke up.

        James looked skeptically towards him and David felt a need to further his words, "Incase someone comes too close for comfort, humor me."

        He hated the fact he had to ask favors from the man that was his enemy. The man who could hurt Caitlin and hurt himself. David never loved the fact he needed to be dependent, but no one in this town would hire him. They did not even need to perform a background check, just say the name, David Warren, and the door will be closed.

        "What do I get out of it?" James reached for another beer from the cardboard case that was swiftly pulled out of his reach by David's quick actions.

        "Whatever you want... as long as it's fair in price."

        David uncomfortably felt James's eyes looking over his body that stood opposite him, the coffee table between them. He had never been assaulted by James though the way the man watched him, the tension was there.

        "I want... hm, I'll think about it. How's that sound?" James stood a small smirk carved into his lips.

        David was in no place to argue. He knew for their protection those cameras were now needed. A small breath loosened the tension in his stiff shoulders as James left the beers behind slowly going for the door.

        "Tell Caitlin I said, hello. I'll be back in a couple days." James's hands fought with the doorknob repeatedly before prying it open.

        David had not moved from where he stood in the living room, a hand gripping what short hair was left on his head. Thoughts swarmed through his mind. We're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. God, pray tell we'll be fine.

        His eyes dropped down to the beers left in their box, then to the one he held. He dropped his hand from his head reaching forward taking the cases handle, moving from around the couch into the kitchen.

        The bitter taste laid on his tongue. No matter how many times he tried to swallow the taste was there. It was as if the taste grew more prominent with each new mouthful of saliva. The half drunken can was immediately held upside down, draining out the contents into the metal mouth of the sink. The sink’s mouth hungrily drank it up.

        David dropped the can into the sink and reached for another from the package pulling up the tab to open the cans lips. One after another he drained the liquor into the sink. It was one frantic movement after another, he had to rid himself of this beer. This was how his father had started. One beer here and there. One led to a bottle of vodka, so on until he was a daily drunk alcoholic.

        By the time the final can was dropped into the sink, David's eyes were red rimmed from what liquid betrayed to flow. He stared down at the sink that was filled. The only thing that reflected back in the draining liquid was an image of his father with the word, murderer, written across his forehead in red ink.