He savored a thought: My real life is about to begin. Am I really going to do this? Yes, I am!…
He was definitely living in the walls of the Pierce beach house. Soon that nightmarish, eerie fact would dominate the front page of every major newspaper throughout the United States. He could hardly wait to read the Boca Raton News.
THE BOY IN THE WALLS!
THE KILLER WHO ACTUALLY LIVED IN THE WALLS OF A FAMILY’S HOUSE!
A STARK-RAVING HOMICIDAL MANIAC COULD BE LIVING IN YOUR HOUSE!
Coty Pierce was sleeping like the most beautiful little girl. She had on an oversized University of Miami Hurricanes T-shirt, but it had moved up and he could see the pink silk bikini panties underneath.
She slept on her back, one sunbrowned leg crossed over the other. Her pouty mouth was just slightly open, forming the tiniest o, and she looked all innocence and light from his vantage point.
She was almost a full-grown woman now. He’d watched her preen in front of the wall mirror just a few hours before. Watched her take off her pink lacy push-up bra. Watched her as she stared at her perfect breasts.
Coty was unbearably haughty and untouchable. Tonight he was going to change all that. He was going to take her.
Carefully, silently, he removed the metal grill in the ceiling. Then he crawled out of the wall and down into Coty’s sky-blue-and-pink bedroom. His chest felt constricted, and his breathing was quick and labored. One minute he felt hot, the next he was shivering and cold.
Two small plastic trash bags covered his feet and were secured around his ankles, and he wore the light blue rubber gloves that the Pierces’ maid used for housecleaning.
He felt like a sleek Ninja warrior and looked like Terror itself with his naked handpainted body. The perfect crime. He loved the feeling.
Could this be a dream? No, he knew it wasn’t a dream. This was the real deal. He was actually going to do this! He took a deep breath and felt a burning inside his lungs.
For a brief moment, he studied the peaceful young girl he’d admired so many times at St. Andrews. Then he quietly slipped into bed with the one-and-only Coty Pierce.
He took off a rubber glove and gently caressed her perfect, sun-bronzed skin. He pretended that he was smoothing coconut-scented suntan oil all over Coty. He was rock-hard already.
Her long blond hair was sunbleached and felt as soft as rabbit’s fur. It was thick and beautiful and smelled forest-clean, like balsam. Yes, dreams do come true.
Coty suddenly popped open her eyes. They were shiny emerald green gems, and they looked like priceless jewels from Harry Winston’s in Boca.
She breathlessly said his name—the name she knew him by at school. But he had given himself a new name; he’d named himself, recreated himself.
“What are you doing here,” she gasped. “How did you get in?”
“Surprise, surprise. I’m Casanova,” he whispered against her ear. His pulse was racing off the charts. “I chose you from all the beautiful girls in Boca Raton, in all of Florida. Aren’t you pleased?”
Coty started to scream. “Shush now,” he said, and smothered her small lovely mouth with his own. With a loving kiss.
He also kissed Hannah Pierce on that unforgettable evening of mayhem and murder in Boca Raton.
Shortly after, he kissed thirteen-year-old Karrie.
Before he was finished for the night, he knew that he really was Casanova—the world’s greatest lover.
THE GENTLEMAN CALLER
Chapel Hill, North Carolina, May 1981
HE WAS the perfect Gentleman. Always a Gentleman. Always unobtrusive and polite.
He thought about that as he listened to the two lovers talking in sibilant whispers as they strolled near University Lake. It was all so dreamily romantic. It was so right for him.
“Is this a good idea, or is this too dumb for words?” he heard Tom Hutchinson ask Roe Tierney.
They were maneuvering into a teal blue rowboat that was gently rocking alongside a long dock on the lake. Tom and Roe were going to “borrow?