She was by far the most attractive so far and probably the one who most resembled the photos he'd seen of his mother, petite, blonde and large breasted. And like his mother, and victims one and two, she too worked in a hospital.

He was never really sure who he hated most, his mother or nurses. His mother had abandoned him at three while an inattentive nurse had rendered him impotent in a botched operation.

Number three, he never bothered to discover their names, had the misfortune to be drinking alone in a bar when he walked in. She made three crucial mistakes. She flirted outrageously, admitted to being a nurse and agreed to accompany him to dinner.

Her obvious promiscuity disgusted him. She was so like his mother. Tonight she would pay.

He slipped the drug into her drink while she was in the bathroom. It took effect as she rode in his car.

Absolute fear registered on her face when she regained consciousness. He had her where he wanted her.

*

Some days you just shouldn't get out of bed. Today had been one of those days. Jessica had fought with her mother, busted up with her boyfriend and been suspended from duty after an argument with a doctor. She was thoroughly pissed off, life sucked. She needed a drink.

She was on her fifth drink, and relaxed when he walked in. Something about him intrigued her, he exuded confidence yet she sensed a degree of doubt as if it were all an act. He was witty, good looking, a footballer's body with a model's head and intelligent, the complete package, body, brains and personality.

The invitation to dinner didn't surprise her. She thought about calling her mother but decided against. Tonight would be fun.

Drowsiness hit her as they drove. She put it down to the stress of the day and perhaps one drink too many. She drifted into sleep.

Awareness returned with a cruel vengeance; she'd been drugged. How long had she been unconscious? A glance at her watch revealed it was 4.00am. They had left the bar around 10.35. Where were they? What had she done?

She was on the ground and naked. Her arms were stretched at right angles to her torso and secured into the ground with pegs. Restraints hadn't yet been applied to her legs. He was perched above her with his gun. The smile he'd worn in the hotel had yielded to a sadistic viciousness. The smooth talking charmer had become an evil and violent rapist.

She screamed. His reaction was swift, his hand struck with a fearsome slap.

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll kill ya." He taped her mouth with industrial adhesive tape. Nothing though would silence her sobbing.

Time lost all relevance as she lapsed into prayer for the first time in years. She felt mortified as the barrel invaded her privacy. His callous laughter furthered her humiliation. Now she pleaded with the Lord for a quick death.

The emergence of another voice stunned her. Then she saw him, running towards her, running towards the gunman and running towards certain death. The gunman rose from his crouch, turned and faced the man running at him. Then he took aim. She wanted to scream a warning, the tape blocked all sound. She wanted to turn away, not see an innocent man die. Instead she lashed out with her foot catching the gunman's ankle. He stumbled as he fired. Her efforts proved futile, the runner went down, Jessica's tears were no longer directed at self, the stranger had died trying to save her.

The gunman regained his balance, whipped around and delivered the most scathing glare. It was hostility in its vilest form. Jessica knew she'd not leave the scene alive.

He stood over her, teeth bared like a wild animal. His breathing was erratic and his eyes blazed with the frenzied fanaticism of a crazed zealot. He truly was insane. Please God, just make it quick.

He was in no hurry. It was his game and he made the rules. He was, it seemed, drawing sadistic pleasure at watching her distress. She was the tiny mouse thrown into the taipan's glassed enclosure, no escape just waiting for the snake to strike.

"It's time now, girlie," he said as he ripped his shirt off. His trousers followed, he wore no underwear.

*

Futility gave way to resignation. Nothing could save her. She closed her eyes and waited. Seconds passed. What was he waiting for? She heard the most awful crack, it sounded like the breaking of bone. She expected to feel pain. Instead she heard the thump of a solid object fall to the ground beside her.

Next Jessica felt hands on her arms, gentle hands, she was being released. She allowed her eyes to open. Vision defied all belief. The rapist would rape no more, his neck hung at an obscene angle, his eyes protruded almost out of their sockets and the ugliness of his final lust would ride with him to eternity.
The stranger assisted Jessica to her feet and offered her his blood-soaked shirt. It was then she saw the extent of his injuries. Much of the skin on his shoulder and side was red raw, as if he'd been dragged across a concrete road. The wound where he'd been shot was still bleeding. The flow had to be halted. He needed immediate hospitalization. Her nakedness wasn't as important as his need for medical attention.

"You need a doctor," she said tightly folding the shirt he'd provided and compressing it into the wound. "This might be arterial."

"If that was the case I'd be dead already."

"Who are you?"

"I don't know."

"You killed him." Shock overwhelmed her. She couldn't control either the tears or the trembling.

"There was no other way." The stranger's statement triggered so many contrasting thoughts. She had seen what happened and feared the consequences. She was now an accessory to a killing. Would authorities accept her version of events? Should she turn herself in? While logic and belief in the justice system favoured that option, memories of recent events had shattered forever her faith in the ethical behaviour of many of those in positions of authority. In the midst of this internal debate she recognised her saviour. A sense of doom swept over her.

"You're the guy who raped and killed those two women in Dalton." She was standing naked in front of an alleged sexual predator.

"They're lies, I was there, but I didn't kill anyone." His voice contained neither anger nor remorse. He was either the world's most accomplished liar or he was speaking the truth. "I admit I broke into the house, stole money and a bike. There was an older woman there who I tied up, but she was alive when I left. I'm being set-up."

"Why?"

"I only wish I knew."

"You don't remember anything?"

"Sometimes I get a flashback, but nothing of significance. I don't even know my own name."

"Let me take another look at those wounds," she said on lifting the shirt from the wound. A moment later she added. "The bleeding's stopped but it still needs attention." Her eyes now scanned the rest of his upper body. She had never seen so many scars on one body.

"My God you've been in some scraps. Have you been in the military? Or, are you just a street brawler?"

"Military, I think."

"Shouldn't they be able to help you?"

"I suspect they're more interested in silencing me."

"Does that really happen?"

"In books all the time but not so often in real-life situations," he said.

"What then are your plans?"

"I want to learn the truth. Find out who I am and discover what it is I'm supposed to have done."

"Any ideas on where to start?" she asked.

"I have two names. Calin Roberts, the name on the driver's licence I'm carrying and Alexander."

"Who is Alexander?"

"I don't know. I received a call on the phone I stole from the house where the two women were murdered. Investigators had obviously identified the phone and its number. On recognising the call's area code, I suspected it was Washington. I answered it, hoping it might be an offer of assistance. It wasn't. Instead it was an invitation to 'come in.' I disconnected."

"That doesn't answer my question, who is Alexander?"

"Someone who knows who I am," said Calin.

"How then do you propose to find this Alexander?"

"It's more a case of allowing him to find me."

"Didn't you just suggest there's an order out to silence you? Wouldn't it be simpler to discover who Calin Roberts is?" Jessica now wore the blood-stained shirt she'd used to stop the stranger's bleeding. "By the way, my friends call me Jess."

"I'm Calin," he replied. His face broke into a smile as he added. "I think."

"Calin it is then." Her smile was short lived as she grew serious. "Shouldn't we get moving? Who knows when someone will discover the body?"

"What's this we business. You're not coming with me. You're taking his car and going back where you belong. I'm a marked man with no future."

"You saved my life, I owe you."

"Jess, listen to me. You owe me nothing. In all probability I'll be dead inside a week. The only thing you can do for me is pray that it's quick." He turned and headed into the bush.

"Stop," she yelled. He turned back at her. "At least give me the chance to drop you someplace. Maybe get you a decent meal."

"Jess, the minute I get into the car with you, my DNA will lodge somewhere in the vehicle. You will be identified as my accomplice and you too will be targeted. I can't do that to you."

"To use your word, I'm targeted now by wearing this shirt. Your blood is all over it. I'm not leaving you, Calin, not in the state you're in." She now stood beside him and recognised the ineptness of her response. Greater persuasion was required. "I'll make a deal." His eyes spelled refusal, he didn't want her help. Or did he consider her presence amounted to a burden? That made more sense. "Let me tend to your injuries, you've lost a lot of blood and infection is more than a possibility. I'll provide medical care, nothing else. Looking at you it's obvious you're in need of two things, sleep and nourishment. Give your body a chance to recover."