He sat at the end of the alley, waiting for her to come, waiting for her to find him and take him back to wherever he had come from. He heard the clicking of her heels on the rain drenched concrete. He put his back to the cold, maroon-colored bricks and slid down to the ground. The clicking of the heels became louder and louder, she was getting closer, and he was closer to safety, closer to home.

How long does it take to get down here? He thought to himself. He was soon aware that the footsteps had stopped, and there was a heavy scent in the air: pure sugar. Something felt wrong. Was this not the woman that needed to find him? Was this someone else? Was he still in danger? Was this person is murderer?

“Well, hello there, little one,” a female voice drifted over to his ears, bringing the sugary scent to his nose once again. It was a calm, high-pitched voice, like that of a child.

He looked up. This was not his cousin. This was a small woman. She was wearing a dress that hugged her body. The skirt of it jutted out like an up-side-down teacup. From what he could see in the light, she had white-blonde hair pulled up into a huge, teased, and heavily hair-sprayed ponytail; her bangs shadowed her eyes. He couldn’t get over the fact that she looked like she had come from a costume party, even though it wasn’t close to Halloween (or any holiday, for that matter). She had a big, fat, maraschino cherry in the crook of her head and the ponytail. Both her ponytail and dress sported two colors of what looked to be ice cream toppings, one a chocolate brown and the other a white color that was covered in multicolored sprinkles. She had a childlike face and body, but somehow she looked older than that. She was chewing on something, bubble gum, maybe. She had heavy make-up on, bright bubble-gum pink lips and a lime green and hot pink swirl on both of her cheeks.

The girl cocked her head, “Were you expecting someone else?” She asked, popping a bubble half the size of her head, making him jump. She smiled warmly at him; he returned the gesture mechanically.

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice shaky. He reached for an old, rusty pipe about a foot away from him.

She was instantly over him, pulling him up by his shoulder and taking the pipe away from him. “Don’t you remember what they taught you in school, little one? Violence isn’t the way to solve problems!” She cocked her head to each side at the end of each sentence and smiled a smile that looked too wide for any human mouth to sustain, flashing him a set of pearly white teeth. She sounded like a Barbie doll, her voice was squeaky; she threw the pipe down the alleyway. “Oops! But that’s okay, I prefer to use my hands.” She giggled and stepped away from him; she pulled her hands to the side of her head, interlocking her fingers. She cocked her head for the umpteenth time and stared at him quizzically, like she had just noticed his immense fear. She dropped her hands and her eyebrows pulled together and her lips scrunched up.

“Wha-What?” He asked her, cocking his own head.

“Aren’t you going to play with me? I thought we could play hide and seek!” She smiled and giggled once again, popping her high-heeled foot. “Here, I’ll count!” She giggled again, bringing her hands to her eyes, “One, two, three, four, five…” she started to count.

Run! Run! Run! Move! Argh! He thought to himself. She was at ten when the thought finally had reached his feet. He was off down the alleyway, racing past a stray cat and the smelly trashcans. He was running towards the lights from Time’s Square.

I have to tell someone. I’ll be killed! He thought about what he would say to whomever he would tell, the police, maybe. Then he smelled it: the sugary scent of the girl.

He heard her giggle faintly, off in the distance, “No one will believe you, silly goose! They’ll send you to the sanitarium!” she giggled again at his stupidity, as she grew closer.

He ran faster.

He didn’t know where he was going, exactly. But he knew that he just had to get away, or hide until she gave up. She didn’t look like she was giving up anytime soon. He ran across Time’s square, speeding past (and knocking over several) people and cars. He could hear it everywhere, and smell it all around him. It was like he was in a cloud of it, like it was smoke.

Sugar.

The clicking of stilettos hitting the pavement frantically.

He couldn’t run anymore. His legs were weak; his head was cloudy. He couldn’t take this pandemonium anymore. He sprinted into a library, hoping that would give him at least a half an hour.

. . .

Jessica LaPointe got everything she wanted, when she wanted it; she didn’t care if it wasn’t for sale, when she wanted it, she got it. Her daddy would throw a man off of a building to make his daughter shut up. So whatever Jessica wanted, she got. She owned everything, too. Everything except that cute boy she saw at the mall. She asked and begged her busy father for him, for him to take her out for dinner, for her father to make him be her newest stuffed-animal. The answer was, of course, a no. The spoiled little girl went off into a tantrum, throwing her possessions across the floor and breaking every dish in the kitchen.

Since her father couldn’t get her the young boy, she went out and got him herself. She dressed up in her Halloween Costume and went out for a gruesome trip.

She came back with blood under her fingernails.

. . .

It was driving him insane. Her smell, that sound. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was undeniably scared. He didn’t know what to do. This paranoia was taking him over. He needed to relax. He ran into the library with two things in mind: getting away and trying to find out who is after him and why.

He instantly found an open computer and searched “New York Serial Killers.” He searched for ten minutes until he found something remotely promising.

“KILLER ON THE LOOSE

Who is she?

New York City, New York has always been the ideal place to find the weirdest of people, but this time it’s gotten a little crazy. There have been multiple reports of a small girl— we’re guessing about the age of thirteen or fourteen—who is covered and costumed like an Ice-cream Sundae. No one knows who she is, or what she is. The locals are calling her “The Candy-Coated Killer.” There’s some alliteration for you. She could just be a drunken mirage, but the string of killings of random kids has gone up by twenty-five percent in just the past few months. All of these bodies had been found a few weeks after the child went missing, but this killer is very clever, there is no DNA to track, no evidence, there is nothing for police to go by. No one has a clue what happens to the children, but we talked to a parent of a child that had been a supposed victim. She told us that, “He tried to tell us. He tried. We just laughed and thought he was imagining it. He told us she was after him. He wanted to stay in our bedroom that night. We let him, but when we woke up in the morning, he wasn’t there. He was gone. It was like he had disappeared into thin air.” The only lead they have on this killer is what had happened before the murder, and what had happened after it.

Before each death, the child tells someone that this odd-looking girl is chasing after him or her; and whispering things from nowhere. Whoever they tell thinks they’re crazy, as any sane person would.

After each death, the body is put in plain sight. It is put where someone would obviously find it. This killer likes to find very…interesting and sweet places to hide them. The Candy-Coated Killer likes to hide the bodies in any candy store in town. There doesn’t seem to be any pattern whatsoever, but the police are on the case.”

He stopped there. He knew he was completely and utterly screwed. He didn’t know how this girl’s mind worked. He knew he wouldn’t find anything about a serial killer’s mind anywhere in this library; it was an impossible request—unless you were a serial killer yourself.

“You can’t hide for long.” He heard her whisper. He almost had a heart attack. He looked around him, paranoid. But it was just his imagination. There was nothing there. This library seemed to be a very desolate place for a building that stands out like a sore thumb among the neon-lighted stores that sold cell phones and beer.

How could she find him in a place like this? Did she have him micro chipped, or something? This was a huge city, one of the tops in the world—you never saw the same face twice by simple chance. He knew he should keep moving, but he was afraid to move. He hadn’t seen her anywhere. But, then again, it was hard to see the same face in a city like this—even if it was as weird as hers. Had she only been a mirage? Was she just an illusion? Was that just some kids playing a prank on him? She couldn’t have been. It was all too real.

He had learned a lot about reality lately. About how much it really sucked. First of all, his parents had died only three months ago. After that, all the kids at school had labeled him and felt pity for him. He was tired of it. He was tired of social services. He was tired of his stupid therapist.

“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Walsh had asked.

“Fine.” He had said in a solemn tone.

“How is school going?” She had tried to put her hand on his shoulder. He shook her off violently.

He went silent.

“Would you like to talk about your parents?” She asked him, pity in her voice.

“No. Would you like to talk about your very womanly receding hairline?” He smirked. Dr. Walsh was not amused. She wrote something down on his chart. “Whutcha writing there?” He had asked, moving so he could see what she was writing. She blocked the paper from his view.

“Please go sit down.” She said softly.

“No. No! You know what, no! I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see anyone in this stupid loony bin!” He exploded. He let out a string of curses at her and stormed off before security caught him.

Secondly, he was given even more drugs that went to waste; he never took them. They never helped with anything.

So he ran.

He ran as fast as he could. He ran to New York City, where he knew he wouldn’t be found. He wanted to start a new life. New York was the right place to do it. But, as most people, he went into the city with determination, just like the other one thousand that had entered the city that very same day. In other words, he had no skills, therefore, no chance in the big city.

He had called his cousin, the only one he really trusted. She was the one he was waiting for at the end of that god-forsaken alley. She said he would come and get him; come and take her with him. He couldn’t handle this alone. But now, he was on the run; from someone he knew nothing about or had no relation to. He had to run away.

Then he heard it once again: