It was a moonless night. Only a blind man or someone who knew the landscape like the back of his hand could navigate this darkness. The flimsy lock on the trailer's door would have given way easily enough. But it wasn't a problem. The door was unlocked.
Heavy metal music bombarded the thin walls of the cracker box, and the trailer pulsed and vibrated to its beat. The place was a mess inside. Filthy take-out containers littered the floor. Beer cans were strewn all over the room like confetti. The air smelled stale, on the verge of rotten. Kyle lay sprawled across the couch, a thick rope of slime cascading from his open mouth.
"Worthless piece a trash," the voice muttered.
Tonight's visitor did not have to worry about disturbing Kyle. He was too high to know he was in this world. Passed out. Sleeping off another shot of heroin.
Where were the kids, Emily and Luke? There was no sign of Candy, Kyle's girlfriend. Kyle was alone. Alone. No witnesses.
Too easy.
Pop!
Kyle was so relaxed he didn't even flinch. Just stopped breathing. Just stopped.
"Worthless piece a trash," the voice muttered again, closing the door while the angry music blasted away.