He took a red marker from his backpack and drew a circle around Diane’s head. With two quick slashes, he made cross-hatches, turning the circle into a target. He could smell the intoxicating aroma of the fresh ink. Like an artist, he scrawled a single word across her body.

Revenge.

He didn’t have time to admire his handiwork. The frame of the house thumped with the weight of footsteps. Somewhere else in the house, muffled but unmistakable, he heard breaking glass.

Someone else was there. He wasn’t alone.

He doused the lantern and stole inside, where his eyes adjusted to the shadows. The carpet was hard and worn under his boots. He listened and heard nothing, but something was different. The air pressure had changed; a window was open. He also smelled a noxious sweetness. Feces. Someone had used one of the waterless toilets.

He unsheathed a knife from a back pocket. The camouflage blade had saw teeth and curled to a fierce point. His hands were already securely covered in hospital gloves, leaving no prints.

Music filled the house with a teen-pop song by One Direction. The volume was loud enough that a neighbor might hear it and come to explore – or call the police. He traced the warbling boyband music to a back bedroom, where the door was closed. He hid the knife behind his palm and silently twisted the door knob. He eased the door open.

A candle wavered on the floor, throwing off dancing light and a strawberry scent. The room was vacant of furniture, but he could see dents in the carpet where a bed had been placed. Flowered wallpaper had begun to bubble and curl as moisture got underneath it. A broken boarded window was pushed open, and he could see waving tree branches in the backyard. Sticky air blew through the bedroom. The music came from a battery-operated iPod dock at his feet, and he squatted and shut it off. He saw a wine bottled tipped on the floor, spilling Cabernet like blood. A wine glass lay broken beside it.

As the music stopped, a young girl appeared in the doorway of the walk-in closet next to him. Her feet were bare. She wore panties and a light blue mesh camisole. Her shoulder-length brown hair was dirty and curly. Her eyes flicked to the speakers, and then she saw him there, waiting for her.

‘Oh, shit!’

She made a break for the window, but he was ready for her. He grabbed one wrist, twisted it, and yanked it behind her back. She howled in pain, but he clapped a gloved hand over her mouth.

‘Quiet.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ she begged when he removed his hand. ‘Jesus, I didn’t know anybody was here!’

He shoved her toward the bedroom wall. ‘Who are you?’