<div style="margin:20px; margin-top:5px"><div class="quotetitle"><input class="button2 btnlite" onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = '';      this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Hide'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Show'; }" style="text-align:center;width:100px;margin:0px;padding:0px;" type="button" value="Show"/></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i228.photobucket.com/albums/ee77/Bernstal/Dark_Stranger_by_chaoticparadox.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/>Name: Osmund Peters<br/>Age: 36<br/>Alias(es): Knox Moffet; Martin Kyles; Andrew Nicchi; Lawson Appleby; The Skinner; Gore Killer<br/>Education: Self-educated<br/>Work: Electronic repair, contracting, locksmith.</div></div></div><br/><br/>The husband would be asleep. The wife would still be awake, reading a book to the low murmur of a television in the background. The kid should have been asleep as well. His plan was to go in through the balcony door, immobilize the husband, then the wife and maybe the kid, depending on the trouble. Most kids just cried and he could ignore them until the end. Killing the man and kid wasâ€¦ necessary, but he didnâ€™t have anything against them.<br/><br/>After a few more wiggles, the lock clicked and he swung a beautifully etched glass door open silently on its hinges. He was as quiet and unlucky as a black cat. Everything he needed was in his pockets; a syringe, a few extra ampules of paralytic, a skinning knife, a scalpel, and his lock picking tools.<br/><br/>The house was silent, and that seemed a little bit odd to him. Sleeping people were rarely so silent; then again, neither were waking ones. They couldnâ€™t be goneâ€¦ The car had still been in the garage and the light at the front door was on. Six hours ago everyone had been there and as far as he knew they hadnâ€™t left.<br/><br/>He pushed open one door after another, first finding empty rooms. There was no husband snoring in bed. After a long pause, he assured himself that there was no sound from anywhere else upstairs either.<br/><br/>Still moving silently as possible, he checked the kidâ€™s room too. Nothingâ€¦ Now he was starting to get annoyed. Where would they be? He hoped that they wouldnâ€™t all be together in the house somewhere; he wouldnâ€™t get another chance to try again here and it would be a waste of two weeks of his time.<br/><br/>One step creaked on his way down and he froze, listening. There were a few sounds, and he swore silently. Why was anyone awake but the damned woman? Noâ€¦ that didnâ€™t sound like it was more than one person. Heavy breathing, but not from multiple people. No talking, no laughing, nothing. So he toyed carefully with the syringe in preparation and chanced a glance around the wall that hid him.<br/><br/>The first thing that struck was just how much blood there was. The second thing was a vague sense of disappointment. Heâ€™d wanted to make them watchâ€¦ Last, but certainly not least was the kid in the middle of the bloodshed. â€œWell, well,â€ Osmund practically purred, more amused than anything else for the moment. â€œBlood isnâ€™t easy to get out of carpets,â€ he said as he rounded the last stair, keeping a ready hand in his pocket on the needle.