“Hello, Carolina.” His speech had that same perfect vernacular. My name rung in my ears and I almost backed out. My hand was on the doorknob behind me holding on for dear life. Shards of pain radiated from the doorknob poking into the small of my back. “Come here, Carolina, have a seat.” He motioned with his eyes to the empty seat. He hands reached for the table, but only his fingertips touched the edge. Pensively, I sat down, placed my palms...

The show was over, the balloons had risen, and the landscape was a dull brown with floating toys above us. The surprise was gone, the package opened, but it was a beautiful sight forever burned into memory. We walked back to his motorcycle and I picked up the helmet with duct tape crisscrossed against the visor. “You’ll have to take it off if you want to see.” He got on his motorcycle and revved it up. Guess the   romantic moment just ended.  ...

After changing clothes, I went back out and gingerly picked up the rolled up newspaper out of its cavernous hole and unrolled the Albuquerque Journal. Splashed across the headline, in bold, black letters were the words SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!   Alisha Myers, thirty-eight, was found murdered in   her Albuquerque, NE Heights home today. Her   boyfriend, Carlos Martinez, who found the body, is   currently being questioned. Police would not...