The Unseen Killer

This Novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locations is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 by Jack Parker ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be used or reproduced, in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER ONE It always started the same: a crash, followed by an expectant silence and his mother's voice, filled with surprise, anger, and fear. Jasper shoved his blankets back; the early sun was already warm as it flooded through his open window. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and held his breath to listen. He had the feeling that he should know what was wrong, that he had experienced this all before, but the déjà vu never fully materialized. Silently, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed to his door. He stepped over the squeaky board in the doorway and, with his back pressed tightly against the wall, slid down the hall. "…told you not to come back here!" Anne's voice wavered slightly with fear. He stopped; his heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all other sounds for a moment. He took a slow breath and stood at the top of the stairs. A plate crashed in the kitchen, perhaps it was a glass; either way, there was the sharp sound of something shattering on the linoleum. The harsh sound of a hand slapping against a cheek and his mother's surprised "oh!" sent Jasper running down the stairs. He forgot to be quiet. He forgot that he was eleven and skinny. The man was tall, muscular, and broad-shouldered. He was nothing but hard lines and rage. He turned at the sight of the boy in the doorway. Jasper's blue eyes were wide with fear. The man smiled at the prospect of another victim. Anne stood at the counter, her hand pressed against the angry red mark on her cheek, her eyes damp with unshed tears. She met her son's eyes and feared for him like she had never feared for her own safety. "So, this is your boy." The man glanced back at Anne. Jasper backed against the wall as the man walked towards him. He swallowed and was too afraid to take his eyes off the man. Suddenly, he knew he should have stayed hidden upstairs. Jasper was pushed back against the wall, a thick hand at his throat. Anne threw herself against the man and was swatted to the floor like an annoying fly. Her forehead hit the cupboard, and blood ran from under her fair hair. Jasper couldn't breathe. He fought and kicked, but the few blows that reached their target were easily ignored. He was too weak to break through the wall of muscle that pinned him. Without a second thought, Anne reached up and pulled a knife from the sink. The man slammed Jasper against the wall. Stars blinked in the boy's vision, the colors slowly fading until they were gone. His world was now black and white, fuzzy around the edges. He was dizzy and would have collapsed to the floor if not for the hand still at his throat. As soon as the knife went into the man's side, he slammed Jasper against the wall and spun around. He grabbed Anne by the throat and lifted her off the ground. Jasper crumpled to the floor. He felt blood running down his head, and darkness darkened his vision as he struggled to keep sight of his mother. All he could see was the man's back and quick glimpses of his mother as she struggled. There was a flash of silver, and Anne's yell sounded strangled and wet. She dropped to the floor like a marionette when its strings had been cut. Jasper blinked, and the only colors he could see were the red blood spreading out from his mother's still body like a blasphemous halo, the green of her open dead eyes, and the blue of the beautiful summer sky through the kitchen window. Everything else remained in shades of gray. He blinked again, his eyelids suddenly much heavier. He was helpless as he watched a heavy boot connect with his head. There was a flash of light, and then he knew nothing else. The shrill beeping of an alarm clock woke Jasper from the recurring nightmare. On those nights, he was grateful for his 5 a.m. wake-up call, grateful for the morning that arrived almost painfully early. His German Shepherd, Ace, looked up to make sure his master was all right. Jasper untangled himself from the blanket and sat with his elbows rested on his knees as the last few images of the dream faded from his memory. He let them go. Ace jumped off the bed and sat patiently by Jasper's feet. Even though it had been fourteen years since that day, Jasper could still recall every detail perfectly, though he didn't try to. His therapist insisted that he should, in order to "properly cope with the demons of his past," but Jasper preferred the "ignore and avoid" method. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair before standing and turning on the overhead light. The light wasn't for his sake; he had been blind since the day that haunted his dreams. The light was for Ace. Jasper's life followed a pattern of routine so strong that it bordered on ritual. He pulled on basketball shorts and a hooded sweatshirt before heading into the living room. He traced his fingers along the wall as he moved from room to room. He didn't need to touch the walls to know where