He spent his days walking across the southwest, stopping only when he found a prey, and then moving on. Tall, muscle-bound with face hidden by a thic... beard, Fleck was the dark shadow of evil that flickered across the nation's imagination. He wore black jeans, a black shirt, and black cowboy boots and across his back, he carried a backpack filled with the instruments of his only passion. When Fleck slept, he dreamed the most unspeakable acts and smiled. Fleck had a thing for. She was smiling softly, but he detected a faint hint of concern in her eyes. Or am I just deluding myself? He thought. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not mad.’John definitely saw relief this time. ‘Good.’ He swallowed, trying to shore up his courage. He had to know how she felt, and the only way was to ask. ‘Rachael?’ His voice quivered – how embarrassing. ‘Yes John?’‘Why. . . why did you slap me, yesterday?’‘I told you,’ she replied, ‘you got in my way.’‘But. . .’‘But what?’ He glanced at her again and. More

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