PhD

By Linda Glaz

(red = could be deleted, blue = my comments/additions)

PROLOGUE

A snip and a cry.

“Welcome to the world, Stacy McGrath.” His father whispered. Fifteen minutes later, ignoring the disarray of the room, John placed a sweet-smelling, swaddled baby in his wife’s arms. His heart skipped [at her blissful expression]. Her expression pleased him so.

Donna sighed. “Look at him. His fingers. His toes. He’s absolutely perfect.”

John kissed the tip of her nose and slipped a hand around his son’s fuzzy head. Twisting to face Dr. Reinholdt, he chuckled, anticipating the obstetrician’s answer. “All parents think their babies are perfect, don’t they?”

“Yes, John. But in your son’s case, he is. Look at those eyes. So bright and clear. Ah, yes, he is as perfect a specimen as I have ever seen.”

“Specimen?” John laughed.

CHAPTER ONE

Kyle Finley fixed his eyes on Rochelle LeMieux, a Christian talk show host. He hated her more than anyone else in the world. Ignoring the unusual cold that seeped through his threadbare jacket, he drew his hands from the pockets.

As the light turned from red to green and she stepped into the street, he watched her approach from his post at the corner. Black ice covered much of the road. And her boots, which he could tell were purchased for fashion rather than practicality, were going to be her undoing. Although he was almost close enough to reach out and catch her, he remembered why he was there and let her slip.

[He hated her more than anyone else in the world. Intellectually, that tells me everything. Now I have the head knowledge that he hates her. But I’d rather feel his hatred.

Kyle Finley fixed his eyes on Rochelle LeMieux, Christian talk show host. He felt his lip curl. Hypocrite. Striding across the street in her I’m-a-slave-to-fashion stiletto boots. Heedless of the black ice in front of her. Idiot.

Doesn’t that give you a feeling he’s not too fond of her? Also, you never actually show her slipping. I was wondering if she actually fell, or if he was still anticipating it.]

Brushing at her coat with muddy gloves she said, “And where’s my knight in shining armor when I need one?”

Knight? You think you know people so well, Princess. [His thought doesn’t match what she just said. The fact that she’d like a knight to rescue her says nothing about how she thinks of other people. Knight? You think you’re a princess? would fit better.]

He blew warmth into his cupped hands.

Who are you to sit on your throne behind a microphone and judge me? [Again, you need a logical thought flow. Something needs to trigger a particular thought—why is he feeling judged at that particular moment?]

Every thought rushing through his mind served to anger him further, but he kept his eyes on his prey. [Show his thoughts getting angrier, then this sentence won’t be necessary at all.] He inched closer. She was already entering the dark alley behind Krestons’ Klothing Closet and Nino’s Italian restaurant. Kyle had observed her taking the shortcut many times as he waited patiently in the shadows, devising his plan.

You don’t know what it is to be me, Your Highness. To be so poor. So alone. [To me, that makes your villain sound a little too pathetic.]

You’ve got it all. The little princess. Kyle started to shudder now; his hands trembled, his lip and eye twitched. To prevent the screams in his throat from escaping, he jammed his knuckles against his mouth. Blood bathed his chin while he pressed against the wall of Tiny Tots and Kids. There, he watched her draw near the restaurant.

Did your father come home everyday? Was your life in the castle cozy? Was your family content? Did you ever notice not everyone’s life was so hunky motherlovin’ dory as Mommy and Daddy held hands and tucked you into your little beddy-by at night? You smiled and they smiled. You laughed and they laughed. And not one of you ever turned your thoughts to the thousands of kids outside the castle walls who were freezing-so-bad-and-so-hungry-and-so-scared!

He knew he had to calm down. Had to control his emotions. Slowly, slowly, Kyle leaned forward, breathing against his numb fingers. A loud crash! brought him back. She stopped. He stopped. He couldn’t believe what he saw as she stretched over boxes of scattered garbage to help a young boy get to his feet.

[You can avoid “he knew” by saying, “He took a deep breath to regain control of his emotions. Skip the exclamation point in the middle of a sentence. And I’m not fond of “he couldn’t believe what he saw” type sentences. Just show it.]

“Are you all right?” she asked, loud enough so Kyle heard every word. [Not necessary. We’re in his head, so obviously he’s hearing it.]

“Yeah. Thanks, lady,” replied the boy. He appeared to be no more than twelve or thirteen.

From Kyle’s vantage point at the back of Krestons’, he could see Rochelle’s face twisted into what? Concern? No way, he thought. She only cares about herself.

“Would you like some help with this mess? I really don’t mind.” Rochelle offered her hand.

“Shoot, no. My dad would have my head on a platter if he thought I didn’t clean up after myself. But thanks.”

Goody Two Shoes to the rescue. Imposter!

[What’s your purpose for this part? To show the readers she’s really a good person after all? Don’t be afraid of someone seeing your main character in a negative light. This is the villain’s POV after all. It’s bound to be skewed. So if that exchange doesn’t make Kyle pause to reconsider what kind of person she is, or if it doesn’t put his plan in jeopardy (a witness, will he be seen?), then it’s not necessary.]

Kyle waited for the boy to finish jamming spoiled food and lettuce leaves into the metal container before he caught up with her again. He nearly choked on the smell when he passed the garbage cans, remembering all the times his mother had kicked him in the butt and called him “nothing but trash”.

Did your mother love you?

His eyes misted over. A cough spasm’d out of his chest while the lump in his throat threatened to choke him.

Well, did she, Princess?

Thick, heavy clouds reminded him that more snow was on its way. Hurry up! He wiped his runny nose on a sleeve, coughed, and hawked up a thick glob of mucus. After spitting, he sucked back another deep breath and willed the lump in his throat away. Willed his anger to replace the feeling of hopelessness which lived with him, his constant companion.

Or did she come to despise you? Hate your guts. Wish you were dead. No. I don’t think so, Princess. I don’t think you know as much about me as you believe you do. You don’t have a clue what it’s like to be me.

That’s right, Princess. The perfect family.

As quickly as they had misted over, he felt his eyes go dry like sand. A cold, hard determination, which would have struck fear in the darkest soul, filled his gut like nourishing manna.

For a split second he glanced over his shoulder to make certain the boy had returned to the restaurant.

You’re only going to get what you asked for every time you opened your mouth and spewed out your hateful opinions about me and people like me. People like me. People . . . like . . . me.

Rochelle’s footsteps grew fainter. After the briefest moment of hesitation, Kyle strode from the back entrance where he had lingered out of sight. She would be moving about ten feet past him, he thought. Near enough for him to overpower her. With meticulous accuracy, Tiny Tots closed at seven every night and switched off each light before locking up the daycare center; Kyle counted on their consistency.

Fifteen feet beyond Tiny Tots, parallel to the deserted alley, loomed a large gray dumpster and just beyond the dumpster, an exposed grass lot where kids from the day care center often played tag and duck, duck goose. The noisy Italian restaurant remained the only site which might provide witnesses. But the boy was gone and the supper crowd created a howling ruckus from seven to nine in Nino’s. Not a soul would hear her cries.

Rochelle could not be more than ten feet from him, when she turned. “Is someone there? Hello?”

Kyle ducked behind the Tiny Tots climbing wall and it excited him to think she sensed his presence. Did she fear what might be hiding in the dark or was she looking for the boy? He had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. To think she didn’t have any idea what was going to happen to her. He stole a glimpse of her as she quickened her steps, but he was faster.

Then, a light scent of musk floated back to Kyle as he grew closer. Three more feet and he grabbed for her hair, but Rochelle jerked free and ran without ever looking back. Kyle stared as the heel of her boot snapped and she tumbled to the ground. He wasted no time but ran to her side. “Did you see that guy? Must be a crack head. Are you all right, Miss?”

“Yes. Thank you so much,” she said and he helped her to her feet. But he could hear the fear in her voice. She knew.

[You were building momentum, but spoiled the tension with his “Are you all right?” ploy.]

“Rochelle, don’t make a sound or I’ll kill you.” He spoke through pursed lips and his fingers tangled into the curly softness of her hair.

Her wide blue eyes, darting back and forth, told him everything he wanted to know. No one was coming to help her and she knew it. “Are you happy now, Princess? You asked for this.”

I used to be happy. Just like the perfect family you’re always preaching about on your talk show. Church on Sunday, Dad home from the base every night playing games, tucking me in. Perfect. You got it? The perfect American family. One dad, one mom, and a kid. A kid who believed his life would never change.

Then, as she twisted against his hands, he summoned up memories with clarity about how life had been following his father’s death. Kyle had been an unwilling participant in his mother’s nightmare world of alcohol and strange men.

[We only need just enough of his background to show his motivation. It doesn’t seem like he’d dwell on it when he’s finally acting out his plan.]

With one hand digging into her shoulder and the other across her mouth, he looked again to be sure no one was watching. He wanted the freedom to enjoy every last minute.

“Do you know what it’s like to have a parade of ‘uncles’ moving through your front door like a turnstile, Princess? No. You don’t have a clue, do you? Makes it hard to believe God’s watching over you, doesn’t it?” He thrilled to her struggling against his grasp, but afforded her no chance to respond. He hauled her behind the dumpster, where a brown, furry something with bulging eyes scuttled over her legs and into the night with racecar speed.

At the same time, Kyle’s hand slipped from her mouth and she cried out, “Help me, someone. God, help me. Why are you doing this?” Only then did he deliver the first blow with his fist. Her head was driven against the frozen ground.

“God? Where’s God now, Princess?” [It would be more effective for this to trigger his thoughts about God watching over him. “God? Why should he watch over you when he didn’t watch over me? Do you know what it’s like…”] Without waiting to consider whether she would pass out or attempt an answer, he tugged her face closer; his breath the only air moving. Her left eye had already swelled shut, a thin line of blood streaming from the cut outside her eyelid. Bringing her head to within an inch of his own, he inhaled deeply of her perfume. His tongue flicked out, snaking to the nape of her neck just below her right earlobe, and he was pleased when he was rewarded with a terrified moan. [The fact that you mention it as a reward implies that he was pleased.]

Kyle listened and smirked. She muttered a plea to God one last time before he jerked her back and glared into her one good eye, now blinking wildly.

“Answer to your prayer, Princess.” He laughed and slugged her again and again until he could tell she had no fight left. [Seems excessive. It doesn’t appear to me that she was fighting back at all after she initially tried to get away. What’s coming is her punishment, and he’d want her conscious for it.]

Then, he whispered in her ear, “The court jester’s here. Let the party begin.”

[The end of the chapter fizzles for me. For best dramatic effect, I’d cut the scene after the icky neck licking.]