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“Thanks, coach!”

“Don’t screw it up, kid. This is the one trip to the plate people will remember you for next spring.”

The coach had no idea how prophetic his words were.

Tony took some practice swings at the on deck circle while waiting for the pitcher to finish his warm-up.

He imagined Ken Griffey, Jr., standing behind him.

“Take it slow now. Heroes take their time.”

As he stepped into the batter’s box, he checked his grip to be sure it was the same as The Kid and he stared out to the enemy.

The first pitch came. He thought it was going to be a curve but mis-judged and a fastball was past him before he was ready.

“STRIKE!” yelled the umpire.

Tony felt his stomach tighten. He gripped the bat harder and took another practice swing. He was breathing harder, having trouble relaxing. He knew he was too tight and that wasn’t good.

The next pitch was a curve, but it was outside by a half foot. Tony felt his face redden as he chased it. He could hear the catcher chuckle.

“STRIKE TWO!”

He glanced over at the dugout and saw his coach staring at the ground.

A rush of anger flooded through him and he glared back out to the mound.

“Only need one good chance, you fucker.”

The pitcher took the signal from the catcher and fired the ball.

Tony tried to pull back but it was a fastball, a hard one, aimed right at his chest. When it hit him, he felt a pop and he collapsed on the ground.

He wasn’t hurt so much as he was embarrassed and angry.

“You fucking aimed at me!”

The catcher heard him and started to laugh. “Oh, Jesus, you think he’s that good of a pitcher? Yeah, that’s why he’s playing in this loser league.”

“Fucking right he did.”

Tony got to his feet, still holding his bat. Anger now controlled his body and he had no rational feelings. He ran the 60 feet to the mound, swearing at the pitcher the whole time.

The pitcher was named Mike Wesley. He was a year older and 30 pounds heavier than Tony McKay, so he wasn’t particularly worried about the savage little kid that was running his way. Like the others who’d been watching, a bit of a snicker was on his lips.

Tony saw that snicker and lost the last bit of remaining self-control he had. He grabbed his bat (subconsciously imitating The Kid once again) and hit Mike Wesley as hard as he could.

The first swing hit Wesley in his side. It was very painful and knocked him to the ground.

All the players on both teams were stunned into silence. None of them had ever seen anything like that, but there was more to come.

Tony loved the feel of the bat sinking into Mike’s side and he hit again, this time harder and this time hitting Mike in the chest.

The next blow hit him in the head.

That’s when the umpire and the coaches from both teams finally ran over, but Tony got in a good six more whacks before they could pry the bat from him.

Mike was unconscious on the ground.

Tony wanted more. He tried to kick Mike but his fat old coach pulled him back.

“Fucker threw a bean ball at me!”

“Stop it right now!” yelled the coach. “You’re going to regret anything more you do!”

The ambulance arrived in about 15 minutes, but it took several hours for Tony to hear that he’d broken three of Mike’s ribs and bruised a kidney badly enough that he’d be stuck in the hospital for a week. His brain had swollen and nobody really knew what long-term implications that might hold. It’d be many months before Mike would feel normal again.

Tony’s father was horrified. As usual, though, Tony didn’t much care what his father felt or wanted. He only cared about himself.

After that summer, Tony never played baseball again. Instead, whenever he thought of the sport, he thought of the pleasure he felt in hurting another human being, and he knew he’d found a new calling in life.

* * *

Deb Stewart had never liked the way she looked. She stared at the image in her mirror, seeing a plain-looking girl glancing forlornly back. She was 21 but sometimes felt like she was still a little kid.

Why does he like me?
She thought.
I’m not in his league
.

She brushed her shoulder-length brown hair, wondering if she would ever want to get it curled. She’d never tried, and her hair had been straight her entire life. She’d never gone to a hair-dresser, ever. Even now, when she needed her hair trimmed, it was her mom who took care of her.

One less person she had to talk to.

Deb saw her image frown back at her. She hated whatever was buried deep inside her brain that made it so difficult to talk to people.

Only Tony had been different. For some reason, she’d been able to talk to him.

Her doorbell rang, and she froze.

“Who?” she whispered. She didn’t move, hoping whoever it was would just move on, and she wouldn’t have to deal with them. Nobody who actually knew her would ring the doorbell out of the blue. They’d text or e-mail her first to arrange a time to visit. Even that almost never happened.

The bell rang again.

Deb lived in the basement of an old house. The landlord was a woman in her sixties who lived upstairs and never bothered her. Deb quietly dropped the rent check in the mail box on the first of every month and the old woman was happy to leave her alone. The old woman was scared of the world, too, and that suited Deb perfectly.

With a deep breath, Deb tried to work up the courage to answer the door. As she was tiptoeing over, the doorbell rang again, and somehow it sounded more insistent this time.
C’mon you coward. Answer me!

When she reached the door (still hoping that the damned doorbell would become silenced if she took long enough), she put her eye to the peephole and—

“Oh my God!”

It was him. Tony. Her first reaction was disbelief, since she’d never told him where she lived. But she didn’t actually care. She swung the door open, a huge grin on her face.

“Hey, babe!” he said. “Did you miss me?”

It was ten days earlier that Tony had taken her to the hotel that first time. They’d met there two other times since then.

She almost jumped into his arms, kissing him lovingly, holding him tightly to her, wanting to melt into his body. She felt safe when she was with him, and she knew that part of her wanted to be with him all the time.

He’ll do my talking for me
, she knew.

When they broke the kiss, Deb closed the door and glanced around the room. A couple of throw pillows could be better organized on the couch, and there were a few magazines on the floor, but overall it wasn’t too messy. She wondered how the bedroom looked, but she didn’t dare run over to look.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

Tony laughed and she stared at that amazing face of his, with the deep laugh lines and the wonderfully relaxing eyes.

Jeez, I’m already falling for this guy, and I barely know him.

“I’m pretty good with computers,” he answered. “And you’re not exactly hard to find.”

She wondered briefly about that but the thought left her quickly.

It was a Sunday afternoon. The other times they’d met, it had been later in the day.

“Hey, we can go do something today!”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

She felt her face turn hot and pink. “I mean we could go to a movie or dinner or something. Even a walk through the park. It’s such a nice—”

Deb stopped when she saw the smile drop away from his face.

“Tony? What is it?”

He frowned. “That’s not what we have here, Deb. We have sex. That’s what we have.” He paused and forced a smile back onto his face. “You
know
that’s what we have, right?”

Deb nodded, not able to contradict him.

“I just thought it’d be nice to surprise you here instead of going to a hotel.”

She nodded again, her voice gone.

“Babe?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

She just smiled and hugged him, wanting to hide herself in his body and not have to meet his eyes. He hugged her back and then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

* * *

For the first time, Deb faked having an orgasm. She was sore from him pulling her hair, yanking her arms, biting her nipples, and fucking her harder than he’d ever done before. He hadn’t seemed to notice that she wasn’t wet. Either that or he didn’t care.

She was hurt and she was angry and just wanted him to go away, so she faked it as soon as he came inside her.

He grunted and pushed one last time, holding his cock deep inside her as he bit her left nipple again. It almost felt like he was going to bite it off and swallow it. She wanted to scream from the pain and bit her tongue to avoid that. She tasted blood.

Then it was over. He pulled out and lay beside her, quiet.

She licked her lips and wondered how long it would take him to leave.

Next time I’m not answering the damned door
, she thought.

But then, maybe today was just an aberration. Maybe he was having a bad day, even worse than the day
she
ended up having. Maybe he just needed to keep their relationship secret one last time . . .

“What the fuck was that?” he asked.

She froze and tried to sink into the mattress.

He rose up on one elbow and she saw a look of anger in his eyes.

“You didn’t like that? That’s what you’re telling me? Can’t even get aroused for me?”

She forced the words out, “It’s just a bad day.” She knew she sounded like a faint breeze.

“Bad day? Fuck your bad day, babe.”

His eyes grew narrow and she felt fear surround her. Fear was a constant companion for her: fear of having to talk to strangers, fear of the phone ringing, fear of having to go through a checkout at the grocery store, fear of the bank, fear of her own job.

Never before had she felt this kind of fear, though. She’d never felt like her life was in danger. That’s the look he gave her. The long, deadly look that said, “You’re a pile of shit and I can do whatever I want with you.”

And he did.

He climbed on top of her and pinned her arms above her head but this time he pulled them both almost out of their sockets.

She cried out in pain, but that only got a chuckle from him.

He let her arms go, and they flopped back down to her sides. Then he pulled his right arm back and slapped her hard in the face.

The impact almost knocked her out. She felt dizzy and her face was swimming in pain. She couldn’t concentrate and didn’t notice the second hit until it landed. She was crying non-stop now, not able to talk, not even able to beg him to stop.

Tony hit her a third time. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch.”

As he hit her, she saw that he had another erection.

Oh, God, he gets turned on by this.

He laughed and grabbed her left arm and twisted it.

“OH, PLEASE STOP!”

The pain was worse than anything she’d ever felt. He twisted the arm more and more, and somehow she heard his laughter above the cries he was ignoring.

Her arm felt like it was going to snap like a wishbone. Then he lifted it with an upward jerk, after it was all twisted. The snap of her shoulder fracturing was the last shock she felt. The pain finally brought her to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she woke, the agony felt worse than ever. She was already crying when she found herself conscious. The only good thing was that she was alone.

It took her twenty minutes to be able to crawl from her bed to her kitchen, where she’d left her cell phone. She dialed 911 and collapsed again. The paramedics found her lying on the kitchen floor.

She never said who it was that had destroyed her arm and left her face looking like sandpaper.

After all, there was always a chance he’d just been having a bad day.

Cindy McKay ignored the advice she’d received to just pack up and run. She ignored advice, too, from Maria, who thought it best to just beg her parents for the blackmail money and get the damned Manipulator out of her life.

Somehow Cindy knew that neither solution would end well. If she took Avril and ran to another country, she’d be robbing her daughter of her life. What kind of future would she have in South America? And paying the $250,000 would just invite another blackmail threat. Why would the Manipulator just wander off into the sunset instead of demanding more money?

He wouldn’t, of course.