* * *
Across town, Calvin Sweet was halfway through his shift on the crisis line. It was a quiet night, as many were, but some of his coworkers had warned him that as winter lengthened and the temperatures dropped even lower, that would change. Cabin fever would set in for some. They’d start getting depressed. Or domestic fights would break out.
He wished the lines would light up. He needed the distraction. His own thoughts kept pushing him toward the hunt, the next take, the next victim. It was almost as if seeing all his old trophies gone, he had a big hole to fill, and the sooner the better.
His hands tightened into fists until his knuckles whitened. Moving too soon would break the pattern, not necessarily bad, but it would signify a loss of control. He might make a mistake and he couldn’t afford that. Everything had to be just so, and he couldn’t risk some kind of sloppiness that could eventually reveal him.
But he was waging one hell of an internal battle.
“Calvin?” Dory called his name from the next phone over. “Are you all right?”
She was about the right size and build, he realized, although a bit plump around the middle. Her gray hair stalled him, though. Gray hair had never called to him. He liked dark hair, the darker the better, preferably a little long. As the winter went on, the boys around here let their hair grow some. He liked it. But Dory wasn’t the one. She didn’t have the glow of a chosen one. He wondered how long he’d have to wait for the right woman to appear, now that he felt a strong urge to take one.
“I’m fine,” he answered, hoping his voice didn’t sound as tense as he felt. “Just bored.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she said cheerfully. “Next month we’ll be busy enough that we’ll wish we had more volunteers.”
“Seems like a bad thing to look forward to.” Even in his current agitated state he could recognize that. He didn’t want to harm the whole world. He had nothing at all against most people. Hell, he didn’t even have anything against those boys he cleansed. With them it was necessary. Purity was important.
“Oh, I didn’t say I was looking forward to it,” Dory hastened to assure him. “Just that we’ll be way too busy next month. I don’t like it, though. So many of these people are my friends and neighbors. It’s always sad when one of them gets into trouble.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to relax.
He managed to look at Dory and smile. No, not the type he needed, not even remotely. The urge subsided a bit.
“So this killer thing,” Dory said, apparently deciding to save him from boredom. He tensed immediately. “Well, I don’t know it’s a killer but it seems so much like what happened last time. If it is, then another boy will disappear in a few weeks. Somebody told me this kind of killer speeds up. I hope folks don’t drop their guard.”
“Me, too,” he answered untruthfully. Well, maybe not untruthfully. He was still enjoying the fear that haunted the town and surrounding ranches. It might make finding his next victim harder, but that was part of the challenge. Part of the risk. Part of what heightened the pleasure for him. Some killers like him preferred easy pickings. He’d had both easy and hard pickings, and he knew which gave him greater power and enjoyment.
He needed three more to fill his web. Then maybe he would move on again. Or maybe not. He supposed he could figure that out later. As long as he kept control of himself, he was in charge of everything.
The thought passed through him like a soothing, warm drink. He was in charge. Not the cops, not the locals. Just him.