Allison didn't dare move from the sofa. She kept her head down, staring at her bare feet poking out from under the scrub pants and pressed together. She continued to hug herself.<br/><br/>"He'll go away soon," she whispered to herself. "He just wants money or something."<br/><br/>Or something. The "something" is what she was afraid of.<br/><br/>How did he get in? Hadn't she locked all the doors? How long had he been there? Where did he come from?<br/><br/>All great questions. And all would likely go unanswered. She wasn't about to ask, as curious as she was.<br/><br/>She bit on her lower lip, waiting for him. She thought about making a break for it but he did the deadbolt and the damn thing was a bitch to unlock from the inside. Plus her hands were shaking.<br/><br/>He returned and flipped on the TV, acting as if she wasn't even there. She wished she wasn't.<br/><br/>Allison's face dropped and she felt the color drain from her face as the news bulletin was on the screen.<br/><br/>Man who killed his daughter?<br/><br/>Allison looked at the man, finally. She had morbid curiosity. What did a man who could kill his own daughter look like?<br/><br/>She swallowed hard through a throat as dry as the desert.<br/><br/>"It's you," she choked out. "Isn't it?"<br/><br/>Taylor-Jackson Ayles. The name was burned into the screen.<br/><br/>As if on cue, the screen then flashed a pic of the man. The same man currently in her home.<br/><br/>Allison felt like she was going to pass out.