New novel p.8


Holden was not an investigator, though he was the one living the story. It was his life, when this serial killer came around and watched him. When the serial killer came into his home, and was in the same room. What were the chances the killer would attack? It actually seemed incredibly likely. Serial killers obviously stalk their prey, toy with them a while, and then make a move to kill them. It was many a night that Holden would awake, sweating, flustered, frightened, from a dream were he was right about to die at the hands of his serial killer stalker. In a handful of the dreams, Holden had died, and awoken after. Nothing had happened in these dreams, after he died. He had laid on the ground, where he had died, and gazed up at the killer, killing his wife, in every single dream except one. In the other dream sequence, he found himself already buried, his eyes open, looking up the coffin, unable to move, and not able to breath, before he awoke. And when he awoke he felt his breath move in and out, he felt his hands and legs moved when he moved them. And he marvelled at the fact he was still alive, when it seemed, at least in his dream, the killer had already struck. 

He was frightened every day of the serial killer who was watching him so closely. He often thought his life was hanging in the balance, it was only something he could barely choose to keep. The fear, the painful intensity of knowing someone was watching you, was almost too much to take.

But maybe, if he could find out the identity of the serial killer, if he could predict his moves ahead, and get the police on him… maybe he could save his life. Maybe he could save the life of himself, and the life of his fiancĂ©. That would mean everything to him, absolutely everything.


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