Deadly Secrets *Completed*

Chapter Twenty - Caught in the Killer's Snare

AN: Just a reminder that this chapter and the next will be two pov's instead of one or the other. It is necessary for the remainder of the book. You'll see why. XoXo The-Dark-One

Chapter Twenty - Caught in the Killer's Snare

Ryder grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she approached the hidden acidic sensor spikes that jutted up from the ground. Then, once she advanced forward, a little surprise awaited her. Actually, a few surprises. She would be furious. She would curse. She would vow revenge and death upon him. He snickered quietly to himself. He knew this Doll... this Doll was a force to be reckoned with; and he was doing the reckoning.

He would never give her control of the situation, and control was something she greatly desired. He would never show her the one thing she sought out the most. Not yet. She was nowhere near done running for him yet. Once she was finished running, she would be breathless. Beaten. Bloody. Bruised. And when he'd had his fun, she'd be broken.

The chill of the wind swept across her exposed skin, and from where he sat crouched, he could see her shiver as if frigid ghostly fingers raked over pale skin. If he didn't know any better he would say she was a Vampire. Pale skin - a craving to be in a graveyard; at night. He wondered if she has a thing for blood, too. How could she not? She was all about the sinister darkness from what he gathered from the time he spent observing her daily routines.

On the outside, she wore a mask - much like himself. What would her family and friends think of her if she revealed her true face? Would it resemble the face of a true one-of-a-kind beauty, half mesmerizingly beautiful whilst the other half was malevolent, a dark, haunting beauty that was called to the dark abyss within herself?

Nightly, she was drawn to that cemetery. She has her reasons, some of which he knew. The tombstone she positions herself at is that of a famous Serial Killer. She was a magnet to the darkness like a Siren is Sailors. It pulled her in; captivated her so much so that it subconsciously came out in her drawings. He's seen them all. Drawings of mass murder. Pictures of stabbing her husband — whom by the way — paid no attention to her.

Her dreadful boring husband was what caused Ryder to draw the conclusion that her "nightly graveyard rendezvous with a dead Serial Killer" and her deliciously sinful thoughts was because of him. Night after night, Ryder diligently scrutinized her fingers as they elegantly scribbled on the paper — sketching out a midnight-black Crow that stood perched atop the chest of a corpse. The Crow pecked out the dull, lifeless eyeballs from the mangled corpse's sockets. Ryder could envision that Crow cawing (almost in pleasure) as it ate away at the decaying flesh.

For days, he watched her sit near the window that overlooked the backyard. She would read for awhile before switching to her laptop to write her creative stories. He hoped she added parts of her black heart into the creative mix, the parts that were dark and bloody, cold-blooded.

A man could dream.

He enjoyed watching Creeper Doll get lost in her fantasy world. Her face remaining hard, cold, and void of emotion. The mask was perfected. She would only show any sort of humanity when her children were around. Her eyes shined with true love and devotion - but when the husband came through the door, the mask slipped back on. As his retreating figure passed her, she glared and snarled in silence, imagining stabbing him in the back. She despised him.

What did he do to piss her off to where she's envisioning viciously murdering him? Ryder studied her beautiful brown irises as the story began to unfold in the reflection of her gaze.