Harry knew that, the minute he had laid eyes on Sally, that she was one of a kind.
That pale skin. Her hair falling in waves. She was gorgeous, no doubt. Wide eyes that hinted at things he needed from her. That strange smile, a bit crooked, as if trying to hide it from him sometimes. Even tonight.
Tonight was special.
It had been a year since they had first passed each other in the park that warm summer day. In that time, he’d gotten to know the “real” Sally. She was always confident and secure to the untrained eyes of strangers. In truth, she was a wreck mentally. He had taken it upon himself to help her with that. She had been hesitant at first, but she understood it was for the best. Eventually she was coming around. And she’d be a better woman for it in the end. Just a little patience was all, and a bit of understanding. Things he would gladly provide to her anytime it was needed.
They’d benefit greatly together this way . His desire to guide and nurture. Her timidness and anxieties eradicated. A winning combination, if Harry had ever dreamed of one. Just one issue remained, however.
Sally had never met Harry, but they would get to know each other very well.
Perhaps once they did, she would ask why her wrists, bloody and chafed, were tied to a beautifully arranged table, lovingly set for two. Why the legs of the table had been cemented and secured into the cold tiles of the floor.
Or why he had arranged an oval mirror directly in front of her; the only image she could see when she raised her head, was the carefully carved phrase “Mine” resting above her eyebrows.
The time for questions would come, but that time would be after the screaming.
He knew the questions could wait just a little while longer, no matter how much she protested otherwise…