He read about murderers, those killers who were caught, and those who were never found. He learned the difference between them. Brandon dissected numerous animals and made detailed drawings of their organs. Over time, he'd collected all the weapons he could possibly need.
Brandon also prepared his body, running every day and lifting weights until he was as lean and muscular as a jungle cat. It was time.
Charlotte rifled through the emergency kit for a flashlight. Shoot. She'd used it a few weeks before when the furnace went, and never put it back. All she had left in the kit was a rope, a raincoat, and a box of flares.
It had been hard living alone this past year after she and Mike spilt up. Charlotte knew her parents worried about her. They'd finally convinced her to make the four hour drive to visit them for the weekend. And now this.
Charlotte slammed the hood of her car and noticed she'd somehow gotten a smear of grease on the front of her light cotton dress. "Great," she muttered, heading into the gas station. She bought a fountain Coke and a tube of Sweet Tarts. Then she noticed a man by the magazines, watching her. He was handsome and out of her league, but most definitely looking her way.
In a parallel universe, Charlotte might've been bold. She might've sauntered up to this beautiful man, rested a hand on his muscly arm and asked him if he wouldn't mind giving her some help. But on this plane of existence, Charlotte merely blushed.
Outside, she climbed back into her car. The engine started easily and Charlotte decided to keep going and pray the car would make it.
She didn't notice the man from the gas station get into his car and pull out behind her.