In an ideal world, war and crime wouldn’t exist, children wouldn’t starve, and I wouldn’t be lying in a pool of my own blood. The general consensus is that women like me, who walk alone at night, should know better. We agree on the risks associated with independence. We bear the consequences of someone else’s actions; that includes shouldering the burden of murder.

My own murder, that is. The blame lies on me.

A blood-, soulless monster wouldn’t have it any other way.

No, not me. I’m not the monster I refer to. I was the genius who thought it would be a good idea to stalk a killer at night and on his turf.

We both saw how this would end. A game of cat and mouse through these winding streets, except it better resembled an uneven match between Miss Bo Sheep and a mountain lion.

Humans have many natural predators. The top contender is other humans.

But, for those ignorant of the supernatural, another kind of predator lurks in the dark, the type that can walk in daylight, attend school, and hold onto jobs like we do. They blend in; as a matter of fact, they do it so well that I dreamt of marrying one of them.

My infatuation blinded me. My ego bolstered my