Here it is. The Introduction from 'Twisted Rage'. Let me know your thoughts;)
An Official Shay Collins Preview
Prologue
He stared at the house, thoughts of vengeance racing through his mind. Outrage filled his heart. He was only seventeen, and already he had been hurt more times than he could stand. Hurt too much by girls that made him love them, then left him. He had the red gasoline can in his hands. Had the pack of matches ready. He knew his girlfriend, well, his now ex-girlfriend, was asleep in the house. The big, towering three story house overlooking the New Chisten Bay. It would have been so easy to kill her.
He saw her with that other boy. The star quarterback from Lincoln Academy. Saw her kissing him in the backseat of his sporty little red Corsica. She had lied to him though; said she was sick with the flu. Yet, she was well enough to lock lips with some super jock from Lincoln.
What kind of fool did she take him for? He knew her parents were out of town. Knew her younger sister and older brother were away. She had spilled her guts to him. She trusted him. Trusted him a little too much.
He made his way up the flagstone path to the porch, his eyes burning red with anger. His mouth twitched with excitement. He hated her now. Hated her with all his heart. Hated her with all the strength he once used to love her. He was ruined. Ruined because she had opened her mouth to curse him. Opened her mouth to say how much she hated him. This night he knew, that if he didn’t kill her, he would never be able to love again.
It wasn’t enough for him to call her and say that he was through with her. To tell her that he had caught her red handed, cheating on him. He had to get revenge.
He was on the porch now, his hand resting on the bronze doorknob. The book of matches now lay peacefully on top of the can of gasoline. He knew she never locked the door. Never could remember to. Now, she was going to wish that she had made it a little harder for him to kill her.
Slowly he turned the knob, pushing the door open. No lights were on, except for the light over the staircase. He made his way to the steps, drenching his path with gasoline. Smiling. Pouring. Up the stairs. Pouring. Then he came to her bedroom door. It was closed. That was odd. She never slept with her door closed. He set the can down beside the door and pressed his ear to it. He could hear her laughing. What was she doing in there? He picked up the can, and slowly opened the door.
Her back was facing the door he could see, though there were no lights on in the bedroom. Atleast, someone’s back was to the door.
“Right there,” she said, the bed squeaking as someone started to move around. She wasn’t alone. She really was in bed with another guy! He was really upset now. In fact, he was furious. He frowned and ducked down, drenching the floor around him with gasoline. She was laughing again. He hated her laugh now. He hated the laugh that had once sounded so sweet to him.
Now he listened as the bed squeaked once again. Had someone seen him?
“I love you,” a male voice said, in between long pauses. Obvious kisses.
“I love you, too,” she began, “now make love to me.”
He couldn’t stand it. He hated what his ears were hearing. He had to stop it. And he had to do it now.
Angrily, he made his way back out to the hall. Struck a match. Tossed it into her bedroom. First it got the carpet. Then it got the dresser. Finally, the bed was inflamed.
He cried hysterically as he ran from the house. He didn’t stop running until he was free. Until he was back outside, in the safety of his car. He placed his keys in the ignition. Started the engine. Drove halfway down the block.
He watched through his rear view mirror as the tall house burned, filling the night air with a faint orange glow. He dropped his head and cried again. Just before he burst into laughter. It had been so easy to kill. So easy. And it would only be easier to do it again.
