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PROLOGUE
A sliver of moonlight sliced through the thin curtains, casting a pale glow on Mrs. Jenkins's face as she lay in her bed, deep in slumber. The quilted blanket rose and fell with her shallow breaths, each one slow and steady like the ticking of a clock. Her silver hair framed her face in wisps, her wrinkled hands resting atop the blanket, their veins tracing intricate patterns beneath her skin.
The small bedroom was modestly decorated, filled with antique furniture and knickknacks that spoke to the long life she had lived. Shadows danced on the walls, shifting between moments of silence and the distant hum of a passing car outside. It was an ordinary night, but not for long.
Suddenly, Mrs. Jenkins gasped, her eyes snapping open. Her heart pounded against her chest like a caged animal, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't shake the eerie feeling that had settled over her like a shroud—the unnerving sensation that she wasn't alone.
Her gaze darted around the room, searching for any sign of disturbance, any clue that might explain her sudden awakening. And then, she saw him.
He stood near the foot of her bed, a shadowy figure so still he could have been mistaken for another piece of furniture. But this was no ordinary man; his presence radiated a sinister energy that set her nerves on edge. A chill ran down her spine, and she clutched the blanket tighter to her chest, her knuckles turning white from the intensity of her grip.
"Who are you?" she croaked, her voice barely more than a whisper as fear constricted her throat. "What do you want?"
The man didn't answer, but the air around him seemed to grow colder and heavier, suffocating her with its weight. Mrs. Jenkins could feel her pulse quicken, her mind racing with thoughts of what he might do, what he might be capable of. And yet, despite her terror, a small part of her refused to succumb entirely to fear.
She was no stranger to hardship, having lived through wars, recessions, and the heartache of losing loved ones. Her life had been one of resilience and determination, and she would not let this intruder take that away from her.
"Answer me!" she demanded, her voice shaking but defiant. The man remained silent, his shadowy form unmoving in the moonlight. But Mrs. Jenkins knew, deep in her bones, that whatever he wanted, it wouldn't be good. And if she had any hope of escaping this nightmare, she'd have to confront this mysterious figure head-on and face the danger with all the courage she could muster.
"Mrs. Jenkins," the man said in a calm, almost soothing voice that sent chills down her spine. "I am here to offer you a choice."
"Choice?" she managed to choke out.
"Indeed." The intruder's shadowy figure took a step forward, allowing moonlight to illuminate his features for the first time. "You can cooperate with me and avoid harm, or you can resist and face the consequences. It's up to you."
Mrs. Jenkins hesitated, her heart pounding like a jackhammer against her ribcage. This wasn't supposed to happen, not to her, not here. She wanted to scream, to fight, but the rational part of her mind knew it would only make things worse. She had to think, to consider the gravity of the decision before her.
"Is this about money? Because I don't have much," she stammered, desperation creeping into her voice. "But if it's money you want, you can take it. Just please, don't hurt me."
"Money is not my concern," he replied, his tone remaining disturbingly serene. "My objective lies elsewhere. Your cooperation may be required, but rest assured that your safety will be guaranteed if you comply."
As he spoke, Mrs. Jenkins' thoughts raced, her mind grasping at straws as she tried to understand what he could possibly want from her. Was he working for someone else, or was there something more sinister at play? And what would happen if she refused?
"Please," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Just tell me what you want."
"Your decision must be made without full knowledge," the intruder said, his voice devoid of emotion. "That is the nature of the choice I present to you. But know this: once made, there is no turning back."
His words echoed in her ears like a death knell, and as she stared at the man before her, Mrs. Jenkins felt the weight of her decision bearing down on her fragile shoulders. To cooperate meant surrendering her autonomy, placing her life in the hands of this enigmatic stranger. To resist was to risk everything – but would that not be preferable to a life lived in fear?
"Decide," the man urged, his gaze boring into her soul.
"And if I refuse?" she asked, her stomach knotting with anxiety.
"Then you must accept the consequences," he answered, his voice devoid of emotion once more.
The room suddenly felt suffocating, and the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Mrs. Jenkins' breath hitched in her throat, her heart pounding like a jackhammer against her chest. In that moment, the choice before her became unbearable – the weight of the decision too great for her fragile frame.
"Help!" she screamed, her voice cracking as it tore through the darkness, desperate for someone to hear her cries. "Somebody, please help me!"
The intruder, however, remained eerily composed, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her with an unsettling calm. "Mrs. Jenkins," he said softly, each syllable dripping with menace, "if you continue to scream, I assure you that you are sealing your own fate."
Her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to buckle at any moment, but she refused to be silenced. Fear had taken hold, and there was no turning back now. "Please," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, "I don't want this."
"Ah, but I do," he replied, his tone unnervingly calm. As he took a step toward her, his demeanor shifted; the once collected intruder was now a menacing figure, eyes darkened with a sinister intent. "This is going to hurt."
CHAPTER ONE
The sun glistened over the calm waters of the lake, casting a warm and inviting glow on the sandy shore. FBI Special Agent Morgan Cross walked alongside her loyal Pitbull, Skunk, as he happily pawed along the ground. In truth, there was no one else Morgan would rather have by her side—no one else who had been so loyal.
