Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

But the man hadn’t needed to resort to any tricks with this new girl. She had the most predictable routine of them all, which, in a way, was expected, given who she was.

The man checked his watch, powered down his computer and sat back on his chair. As he envisaged what was about to unfold in the next few hours, he felt as if his body was being pricked by a thousand needles, injecting him with some new drug that electrified his veins.

The man smiled as he caught a glimpse of his reflection on the dark computer monitor.

It was time to go work on his disguise.

It was almost time to go get the girl.

No more Mr. Merciful.

‘Don’t eat so fast, Chiquita,’ the live-in babysitter said, as she poured the girl another glass of apple juice. She always called the girl ‘Chiquita’, which meant ‘little girl’ in Spanish. ‘Why are you eating so fast?’

The babysitter, who was fifty-four years old, with short black hair and kind, dark-brown eyes, still spoke with a slight Puerto Rican accent, despite having lived in America for forty years.

The girl had one more spoonful of her chili con carne before responding.

‘Because it’s delicious... and I’m hungry.’

The babysitter frowned. ‘It’s not any different from all the other times I prepared you chili con carne.’

‘Well, it tastes delicious to me,’ the girl replied, having another spoonful. ‘It’s delicious every time.’

‘Delicious, huh?’ the babysitter said. ‘Thank you, Chiquita. Still, delicious or not, don’t eat so fast. It’s going to give you a stomach ache. You’re supposed to chew your food before swallowing it. And drink your juice.’

‘I am,’ the girl replied, having the last of her dinner before reaching for her glass of juice, which she drank down in three large gulps. ‘There... see?’

‘What’s gotten into you today, Chiquita? Do you want to feel sick?’

‘No. And nothing has gotten into me. Everything is perfectly fine.’ The girl got up from the dinner table and placed her bowl and her glass in the dishwasher.

The babysitter could easily tell that there was something different about the girl, but whatever it was, it seemed to be something good. Since that morning, the girl had this happier air about her.

‘I think I will go finish my homework and then go to bed,’ the girl said.

‘Don’t you want your dessert?’ the babysitter asked. ‘We still got cheesecake.’

‘Umm. Maybe not tonight.’

‘OK,’ the babysitter said, making a face. ‘What’s wrong, Chiquita? There’s got to be something wrong. You never skip dessert.’

‘There’s nothing wrong,’ the girl replied, shaking her head. I just need to watch what I eat. I don’t want to be a big fat balloon.’

‘What?’ the babysitter said, almost in shock. The girl was a million miles away from being overweight. ‘Did someone at school make a comment on your weight?’

‘No.’

‘You can tell me, Chiquita. Did someone tell you that you needed to watch your weight?’

‘No. Why? Do you think I need to watch my weight?’

‘Of course not, Chiquita. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your weight, but I want to know where this silly idea to skip dessert came from.’

‘Well,’ the girl replied with a shrug. ‘I saw this program on TV about eating sweets every day and how people got fat from it. I don’t want to be like that.’

‘Oh, you saw it on TV, did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Chiquita, you don’t have to worry about that. They were talking about people who eat junk food all the time — candy bars, chips, cookies, pizza, or whatever. You don’t do that, do you?’

‘No.’

‘No, you don’t. You eat healthy and you have a dessert with your meal every day, which is good for you.’

The girl just looked back at her babysitter.

‘Here,’ the babysitter said, as she opened the fridge door. ‘You’re having your dessert. There’s nothing wrong with having a dessert after a meal.’

The girl didn’t want to argue. ‘OK, but just a small slice then.’

‘A small slice it is. And don’t eat it too fast.’

The girl took no notice of the babysitter’s last few words, devouring the whole thing in three bites.

‘OK, now I’m going to go finish my homework and go to bed.’

The babysitter wanted to ask the girl if she wasn’t going to watch some TV with her, like they did most nights, but after the comment the girl had made about the program she had watched, the babysitter thought that less TV wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

‘OK, Chiquita. Let me know if you need any help with your homework.’

‘No, thank you. I’ll be fine.’

The girl practically skipped out of the kitchen and went upstairs.

There certainly was a reason why the girl felt so happy — it was Wednesday evening, which meant that she would see him again the day after tomorrow. The past Friday, at the park behind the disused school, he had held her hand again, but this time, as they said goodbye, he kissed her on the cheek. The girl had never been so happy. He had also commented on her perfume, the one she had borrowed from her mother’s room. He said that it was very nice. The girl hadn’t managed to find her mother’s sparkly earrings, but it didn’t matter because he kissed her anyway. Now, the girl just couldn’t wait for Friday to come.

‘Just tonight and one more sleep,’ she told herself.

She finished her homework, turned off her bedroom light and tucked herself into bed, but she was too excited and her brain couldn’t stop imagining scenarios of what would happen as she and the boy met on Friday — holding hands, hopefully another kiss — who knew? When the girl finally fell asleep, she still had a smile on her face.

Her eyes blinked open again when she heard the door to her bedroom being pulled open.

Oh no, she thought. Did I miss my alarm? I never miss my alarm.

But that thought disappeared almost instantly, as her eyes moved to the alarm clock on her bedside table — 00:17 a.m.

‘Lucia?’ the girl called out her babysitter’s name in a sleepy voice.

There was no reply, but the girl heard footsteps entering her room.

‘Lucia?’ she called again, as she reached for her bedside lamp.

As the light came on, the girl’s eyes went wide with shock and her muscles stiff with fear. Towering over her bed was a tall and strong-looking man, whom she had never seen before. The look in his eyes was cold, the expression on his face uncaring, but what petrified the girl was the fact that the man’s gloved hands and some of his clothes were covered in blood.

‘Hello... Chiquita.’

It was the last of Hunter and Garcia’s two days off and for the first time in years, Hunter did stay away from his desk, spending most of his time in Tracy’s company. He had spent last night at her apartment and though she had asked him if he wanted to stay the night again, Hunter had politely declined, saying that he wanted to run a few searches against a couple of FBI databases.

He had lied, which Hunter hated doing, but he wanted to take it slow with Tracy. He liked her... a lot, actually, but he had way too many demons running around inside his head to be able to simply step into a relationship in the same way a regular person would. Back in his apartment, Hunter read for a few hours before finally going to bed.

To put it in simple terms, there are essentially two types of insomnia. The first and most common one of the two keeps the subject from falling asleep. Regardless of how tired they might feel, or how dark and silent they might be able to make their surroundings, as soon as they finally lie down and close their eyes, their brains will shift into a new gear they didn’t even know existed. The body will feel exhausted, but the brain will be wide awake. No position will ever be comfortable enough and sleep eventually becomes as elusive as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.