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He watched the news on his office TV, so focused that he didn’t realize that he hadn’t blinked in several minutes.

He didn’t want to miss a single second of the report on what he’d done. The anchor talked about how a well-off West Adams district couple was the victim of an unusual home invasion.

“Strangely, nothing was stolen,” she said. “But according to authorities, James Whitaker was poisoned while his wife, Sarah, was tied up and forced to observe as her husband slowly died. The assailant then left the home, leaving Mrs. Whitaker alone. After taking several hours to free herself, she called the police. Other than suspecting that the intruder was male, authorities offered no details on his identity or motive.”

He smiled to himself as the anchor moved on to the next story. It was only then that he realized his eyes were incredibly dry, and he got up to find some drops.

Of course, that dyed-blonde anchor wouldn't have any idea why he did what he did. But he would have thought the cops would have a better sense of his motive. The fact that they didn't made him even more certain of his plans. He would need to have another go at it tonight in order to help them better understand.

After putting the drops in his eyes, he closed them tight and allowed his mind to drift back to last night. He clearly recalled seeing the Whitakers at Daddio, watching as they acted all lovey-dovey at their little table, oblivious to the impact their public display of affection might have on others.

Well, they’d learned the hard way that their actions weren’t appreciated. They were the first to pay the price for their indiscretion. But they wouldn’t be the last.