Blood dripped from his nose again, and he wiped it away irritably. His rough leather work gloves had an earthy scent and tugged at the skin of his chapped lips.

He sat in the dark of the trees across the street from her house, at the secluded end of a cul-de-sac. The dim light from her car cut off, and was replaced by the warmer, brighter light of her porch light as she stepped past the motion sensor.

This was the fifth night he’d stood in the shadows, watching her go about her routine. When she got in she’d putter around the kitchen for a while, before she went upstairs to draw a bath and relax after a long shift at the hospital.

He’d met her at a staff party – she’d emanated confidence, and seemed almost to glow with beauty. She’d even talked to him, asked him how he liked working at St. Anne’s. He was nervous, as usual. Stammered a reply, something inane. He wanted to ask her to dance, to touch her soft blonde hair.

He fingered the knife in his pocket, and thought of her warm red bath to come.