Rose Perry struggles to see through the thin blindfold covering her eyes. In the background, water drips rhythmically from a pipe onto the floor. The air inside the room, wherever she is, is damp and rank. The humidity causes her skin to crawl, as if tiny insects are scrambling across her flesh.

  She can make out the sounds of her captor's labored breathing. He has been breathing that way for quite some time. Every once in a while, Rose can make out other noises. She is sure he is painting something. What, she can only guess. If she really cared to.

  After a few more minutes of straining against the ropes binding her, Rose gives up. She allows her head to loll onto her chest and tiredly goes to sleep. Her slumber is full of nightmares.

  Rose is awakened by a hand under her chin. To her surprise, the blindfold has been removed. She yelps as she catches sight of the face hovering above her. The man holding her chin tilts his head to one side and studies her.

  "What? Do not like what you see?" the man questions in a high-pitched nasally voice. "That's alright. Neither do I! That is why I make new faces. New faces for all of my darlings. You will have a new face too! It will be beautiful. A face worthy of my collection. So beautiful. My darling."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Rose barely has time to react before the horrid man lashes out with a large knife, slashing her face. With both hands bond, Rose is unable to stem the bleeding. She whimpers softly, tears mixing with the blood on her cheek.

  The man's cruel eyes bulge in his pallid face. He uses a gnarled finger to wipe at the blood on Rose's cheek. Licking the blood from his finger, the man chuckles maniacally.

  "Yes, my darling. You will become part of my collection. You are already one step closer. Yes. Yes. My work of art. The art of Aquarius. You should be proud."

  Raising the knife a second time, the vile man prepares to make another downward stroke.

  Another time....

  Deputy Newsome climbs heavily down out of his department issued Ford pickup truck. He pats the sturdy grill guard as he rounds the front of the heavy duty truck. He loves that damn grill guard. It's saved his ass more than a few times during a long chase. If this case shapes up like most he's worked on lately, he'll probably be glad that grill guards there again.

  Newsome's stomach lurches as he catches sight of the body. He covers his graying moustache with a large hand and glances up at the darkening sky.

  "Oh god! Yeah, it's him. He's struck again," Newsome mutters to himself. "Oh man. We have got to catch this bastard."