In a small, stone room of San Quentin Correctional Facility, five people sat at a long table. They were facing a man in chains and an orange jumpsuit, who looked up at the council with a penitent pout. Behind him stood a guard, shoulders squared, staring stoically off into nothing. Papers ruffled as the five flipped through his dossier, going over his criminal record. Sitting up straight, an old, rotund man in the middle finally spoke up.

"Paul Ellis Cunningham, by our count you've served 25 years of a 40 year sentence. Do you feel you've been rehabilitated?"

The man who looked up at them was not Paul Ellis Cunningham. He had, in fact, murdered Paul Ellis Cunningham by strangulation only a few weeks into his own sentence. He did this upon realizing that the two looked alike, and Mr. Cunningham was due to be released. The guards, as had everyone else, mistook the body for that of the identity he was leaving behind: The Kiss Her; Kill Her Murderer. The man who was not Paul Ellis Cunningham gave them a guilty smile.

"I know I shouldn't have done what I did. I pray everyday for forgiveness and the Lord Almighty, he done told me to be true to you folks. He said youse is good people, and that I should come clean. I knows what I did and I knows that I shouldn't have done it." Paul Ellis Cunningham's neck had been thick and muscled, his skin coarse and worn. His fingers fidgeted nervously in his lap at the thought of hos disgusting it had been to touch a neck so masculine. "I'm might sorry, y'hear? Mighty, mighty sorry."

Glances were changed at the table as the man who was not Paul Ellis Cunningham began to weep pitifully. It wasn't until the man spoke again that the weeping stopped.

"Paul Ellis Cunningham, we hereby approve your release from the San Quentin Correctional Facility and deem you fit for return to society."

"Oh, lordy lord, good God above, I knew this day would come. I said, I KNEW this day would come!" The man who was not Paul Ellis Cunningham knew this day would come, too. He had planned it, after all.

---

Several years later

Renton Trias, for what was the name he was going by now, drizzled his fingers down the leather folds and ripples of his girlfriend's jacket. He could feel every groove in the leather, ride every stitch sewn into the seam. Downward his fingers slipped until they left the jacket, exchanging the leather of her jacket for the thin denim of her cut-off shorts. Pulling thin one of the the frayed strips of fabric, he pulled his fingers back and whipped them hard against her firm, round buttock.

Tasha Elestri jumped, squeaking at the sudden strike. "You brute!" Laughing, she tugged him by the tie and walked him into the elevator after her. This was all foreplay, it always was, for what was to come once they reached his penthouse suite. What she didn't know, however, was the special treat Renton had in store for her. He'd waited many long weeks for this, and he was finally ready. "C'mere, you..." she began, tugging him in close for a kiss, her hand riding around the curve of his belt.

Renton leaned in for the kiss, savoring the sweetness of her playful innocence. Smiling softly against her lips, he wondered whether her screams of terror were anything like her screams of ecstasy. The elevator doors closed as his hands trailed back up, across the denim, over the leather, and to the warm, soft and slender line of her neck. So delightfully feminine beneath his fingertips. "Mmn... easy, girl. Save some for the bedroom." Trust me, he thought. You're going to want to save your energy.

To say that Lena Harrell was stressed would be an understatement. How she had gotten herself into this mess, she did not know. What she did know was that her rent was overdue, her kitchen was bare, and her clothes smelled more like Febreze than Tide.

She scurried around her room, leaping over a random pillow and grabbing for the hairbrush. Her tangled, dark auburn hair popped as she flattened it with the brush. It was unusual for her hair to be in such a mess but after a restless night it didn’t surprise her. She assumed that stress had led to the recent nightmares that had plagued her sleep, but she still couldn’t shake them. They had been going on for about a week when she decided to start a dream journal and every morning, she would write more and more about what she could remember. Every morning, she was more and more frightened.

The dream Lena had encountered last night had been the most vivid and most startling of the series. She was in a bed being held and caressed by a faceless man. His touch started out as smooth and inviting but slowly grew harsher and more demanding. When she turned to tell her to stop, there was no longer a faceless man by her side, but a lion. She had jolted away just before the fanged mouth claimed her.

Lena blinked hard to get the images out of her head. She didn’t have time for any of that. It was a dream, after all. She sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair still stuck up in some odd places so that would be put back in a ponytail or bun of some sort. Other than that a few wrinkles in her red silk shirt and black knee-high skirt, she looked like she was ready for the office. As ready as she would ever be.

Hours later, Lena returned back to the apartment complex with a large stack of papers in tow. With a nod to the security guard, she entered the lobby and made way to the elevators, almost rolling her ankle and tripping in the process. Luckily she didn’t take the tumble and straightened herself before noticing an elevator closing its doors. Her heart raced for a second as she cradled the papers as best as she could in her left arm and stretched out her right as if she was hailing a cab.

“Hold, please! Sorry, sorry,” she managed as she made her way to the elevator only to have it closed. The couple inside must have not heard her. With how her day was progressing, she wasn’t surprised but it would have been nice to catch the ride up to the sixth floor without having to wait.