He cried in his driveway for fifteen minutes. The ridiculous smiley-face he had drawn into the pollen on Barbara’s car window further perpetuated his weeping. To think that only moments ago, his entire view of life was as naive as that smile. He was pathetic.

“Don’t worry, Frederick,” Leila said. “Now you can go get a smartphone and I can check your status. Right now your status would say, ‘My name is Frederick. I’m a cranky old man with a landline, listening to my records and watching my program on the television set.’” She snickered at her own joke.

She defied his scream and flung her head into his window again. The sound of the impact sent a crawling disgust through Fred’s body. She pulled her head back farther and, with full force, launched it into the window, delivering another vicious crack. The woman gauged Fred’s reaction and, at the sight of his horror, she smiled.

With her perfect posture and her prim manner, Dr. Simms was an elegant beauty. There was a slight edge to her wardrobe that made him pain with longing. Her clothes were conservative, yet sharp and revealing. With her perfume, her shoulder-length brown hair, her red lipstick, and the focused gaze of her blue eyes, Dr. Simms had enchanted Fred the moment he walked into her office.

A chill shot up his spine and a sudden dread urged him to turn and run back to his car. His legs fought in both directions. Part of him saw a giant knife emerge from the darkness, jam itself into his belly and drive up into his sternum. Another part of him saw a flash of Leila’s red lips and dark eyes. He imagined her curves between his hands. A hint of her perfume wafted in the air, reached out, and tickled his nostrils.

Fred shuffled forward.