A/N: I brought this story back so that you can continue to enjoy it and I can update. Thanks for all the well wishes and people that encourage me to stay with my writing. You all mean so much to me. You don't know how you get me through the rough days. I would also like to thank my fellow authors, some of which are on my Profile Page. Check them out

This chapter is from the mind of a serial killer. It contains rape and murder, as will the rest of this fic. It is rated M. Please do not read if these types of things offend you. I tried to deal with the sexual abuse, rape, and murder as tastefully as possible while keeping the fic realistic. Please review or PM if you have criticisms/suggestions/etc...

BETA: TwiDi (she's on my Profile Page)

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns all characters associated with Twilight and it's universe. I just tweak them for my own pleasure.


Prologue: Lullaby and Goodnight

The stalker lays in wait. He is patient. His kill is unaware of his presence. This is the way he likes it. It is easier. Easier than he ever thought it would be. Most people don't expect their life to be taken after dinner. They are complacent because they think the security of neighbors makes them safe.

He watches through his binoculars as she washes her dishes. She is smiling, because her boyfriend is out of town and will be back tomorrow. She is planning on surprising him with a romantic night out. At this moment, nothing in her life could be better.

Gacy. Bundy. DeSalvo-they are famous, but he is better.

The stalker exudes his legendary patience. The authorities have been hunting him for years, and yet he remains illusive. He is right under their noses. He is a God in a land of mortals. The prey smiles and waves at a passing car. The police patrol this neighborhood but still they are no match for him.

A squirrel scurries across his foot. He grins and continues his lurking. He does not kill innocent animals. He saves his rage for those that deserve to die: bitches, cunts, and whores; all of the female gender falls into those categories. There is not one among them whom deserves to live. If he could kill them all then he would.

His target has gone up to bed without fear. Her world is perfect; all is right in her life. Surely, nothing could go wrong. He knows she has just gotten a promotion and must work longer hours. Her sleep schedule is earlier than before.

He is happy. His kill will be asleep when he makes his move. He prefers them this way. He lives for the surprise. He rubs his member thinking of the moment when she sees him, the moment she realizes this is her last night. He does not come. He saves his release for after the kill.

The hunter is careful as he crosses the street. He blends in with his surroundings. He makes a point to casually bump into most of his victims before the act. No one suspects him. His mask is too real. He makes sure to be seen. Some neighbors smile at him. They think he is here to visit friends or perhaps a girlfriend.

He is quiet. He waits until there is no one looking before he makes his move. No one will remember him. He is too plain. His plan is perfect. He has never failed. He takes a moment to change into his costume. He is an actor, and this is his stage.

He jimmies the backdoor lock. To his chagrin, the door is already open. The prey feels she is safe in her home. She does not bother to protect herself. There are many like her, which is why he is so successful.

Quiet as a mouse, he creeps up the stairs. He has already been here when she wasn't home. He knows every nook and cranny. He is able to avoid every squeak in the old wood floor. His shoes are special-they leave no prints.

He is upstairs, watching as she yawns. Her breasts strain against the thin robe making him hard again. He curses his brain for its reaction to her. She is not pure yet. He must wait.

He stays in his hiding spot for an hour. His heart is beating out of his chest from all the excitement. Soon, he can satiate the craving which his body needs. Carefully, he creeps down the hallway. He avoids all distractions.

She is snoring lightly. Her highlighted hair is a mess around her pillow. The room is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. It is clear tonight, rare for this city.

The predator moves in on his target. She may be dreaming and he hopes he's right. His whole body is covered. He leaves no traces. He watches her breathe for a moment before he pounces.

His gloved hand covers her mouth. She wakes up instantly. She is scared. Her eyes are wide. Her breath has hitched. She tries to fight. It is futile. He has already won. He is strong. She is weak.

His weapon is already in his hand. It is a hunter's knife. He wields it professionally.

There is fear in her eyes. Silently, she pleads for her life. He has no sympathy. She must die. They all must die. They are inherently sinners. He is giving her back her innocence. She should thank him for bestowing on her such a gift.

The blade glides smoothly across her tanned throat. Red covers the pristine white sheets. It soaks through and covers everything. Her eyes are opened. His prey has departed. It is time.

He glides his fingers through her hair. It is processed but soft. He kisses her cold lips. He likes them this way. There is no fight. There is no judgment.

The stalker pulls down his pants halfway. He sheaths his penis with a condom. He leaves no traces. He spreads her legs. She is shaved. He does not care either way. They are all evil. All must die.

Only through death is she is worthy of him. He plunges into her. The bed shakes slightly with the force of his movement. He has not hunted in a while. He has no endurance. He spills his offering.

He keeps the condom on. He does not want to make a mistake and spill a drop of his seed. He pulls up his pants. His angel is beautiful. The sacrifice's blood flows down the sheets.

He strips the remaining nightshirt off. She was a whore. She only slept in a shirt and thin underwear. A temptress, lower than Eve. He saved her soul.

A hairbrush is setting on her dresser. He retrieves it and brushes her hair. The ends are coated in blood. He leans down to smell. It is mouth-watering.

He does not bother to clean himself up. Technology is good these days. He must leave no evidence. They will not understand his ritual.

The hunter pulls the sheet down his prey's body. She is glorious, but he can not sustain an erection anymore. His plastic covered lips kiss her one last time. Her blue eyes look up at him. He smiles. She has been claimed.

He searches for her CD player. He must leave her with music. He leaves them all with the same song. It is what has given him his Profile name. They are not close. They cannot touch him. He puts his CD into the player. He does not turn the volume up too loud. He does not arouse unwanted attention. He makes sure the song is on repeat.

He opens a window. The breeze feels good to his flushed skin. Tonight he is free. He makes sure nothing is amiss. He drifts downstairs. He moves like a ghost.

As he leaves his victim, he hears the soft notes of the music. It is his favorite song: Brahms Lullaby and Goodnight. He sings along in his head.

Lullaby and good night,
With pink roses bedight,
With lilies o'erspread,
Is my baby's sweet head.
Lay you down now and rest,
May your slumber be blessed!
Lay you down now and rest,
May thy slumber be blessed!
Lullaby and good night,
You're your mother's delight,
Shining angels beside
My darling abide.
Soft and warm is your bed,
Close your eyes and rest your head.
Soft and warm is your bed,
Close your eyes and rest your head.

In this moment he is gratified. He must prepare for his next. He exits the house. He feels elated as he runs through the woods. He reaches his destination. He cleans up and changes.

He walks through the clearing until he reaches another street. His truck is on the sidewalk. No one notices. They never do. The hunter sleeps well in his soft bed. All is right.

The next day, the stalker revisits his kill site. He watches with the others as the police put out crime scene tape. They remove his prey in a black body bag. The others are shocked. This is supposed to be a safe place. Some are scared. He comforts an old woman who is crying.

They do not suspect. He is one of them. He is shocked. He is sad. Eventually everyone goes to their houses. The men speak of buying guns to protect their families. He is not worried. They are never there when he comes.

He watches the police. They scratch their heads in wonder. He almost chuckles. They do not understand how he does it. They are dumb, but he is a genius!.

Just as he turns to leave, he seems Him. The one whocame too close. The one that almost ended the game. The one that could turn the hunter into the prey. He will have to be extra careful in the future.

He watches as the tall man pulls on his penny-colored hair. He grins, because the man is frustrated. The man cannot understand why his theories haven't worked. The man scowls at a forensics expert who is no doubt telling him they have no clues.

The stalker watches for a few more minutes before pulling away. He liked this neighborhood. He has to move on. There are more kills. There are better preys. He will not rest until they are all asleep.

~~Sleep Stalker~~

In another city; far away …

A dark-haired young woman tosses and turns in her sleep. She is scared. She calls out, but no one answers. She has seen this before but yet it always shocks her. She can feel the knife. She tries to scream but a hand stops her. Her heart beats out of her chest. She is begging him not to kill.

He does not listen. He enjoys the act. Once again, she has failed. She cannot see anymore. She screams and screams.

Soon, a man runs into the room and all is black.


I enjoy watching the documentaries on serial killers and the people who Profile them. I in no way condone killing but I'm always glad to see them caught. Also the Psychology behind this type of mind is fascinating. Hold on for a bumpy ride folks.