He tore the old photos, posters, and notes from the stone wall. Those were his former self. He kept one picture of himself with his mother from when he was about six years old. He put it in the top drawer of his desk for safekeeping. In the drawer lay a bright blue paper folder imprinted with The University of Northern Colorado in gold letters. He picked it up, opened it, and sneered. The top of the page read Official Transcript for Tobias Fords… Ya da ya da ya da, he thought as he tossed the folder back into the drawer.
The classes there had been easy enough, but Greeley held memories he’d rather forget. Plus, the name on the paper made his skin crawl. Not his name. Not anymore. It was the name of a man he despised. The man who had killed his mother and gotten away with it. As usual. He abandoned that name when he’d re-established himself in Sexton. He never wanted to hear the name Tobias Fords again.
He removed his black hoodie and tossed it onto a chair. As he crouched to light the pile of paper he’d tossed on the concrete floor, his dark hair fell in front of his eyes. He raked it back and considered a haircut. No time for that now; I’ve more important things to do. He wasn’t worried about burning the concrete floor of his cave. He watched the flames consume everything, leaving only ashes.
Eagerly, he began redecorating, taping new photos to the wall as fast as the old inkjet spat them out. A new beginning. He vowed to shed his old habits and vices and concentrate on his new life. He’d relinquish his old perversions—for her.
He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. Yes, he would miss the hunting. Stalking his prey helped focus his energy. And the release—he’d miss the sweet release; it always calmed him. But having her would be worth it.
After completing the tribute wall, he stepped back to admire his work. It was perfect, just like she was—perfect.
She was brilliant in mind and body. Well, he hadn’t experienced her body… yet. But from the first day of class two months ago, he recognized her brilliance just from the way she spoke. And when she spoke, her words were considerate, not like the mocking jeers of others. Her amazing blue eyes sparkled every time she smiled, and his heart melted.
One day, I’ll show you this masterpiece. Until I can bring you here, I’ll continue sneaking photos of you. I love how you look in candid photos. Do you understand how magnetic your beauty is to me? Especially when you don’t realize I’m looking at you. You’re divine. I want you to sit for a portrait. I’ll pose you nude. But only nude for me. No one else.
He went back to his computer, searched for a specific file, and printed it. He glued it to the wall at just the right height. Tracing the long blonde hair in the photo, he placed his lips over hers and kissed her picture.
He gazed into her stunning blue eyes in the photo, longing for the day he’d have her in the flesh.
“One day. One day, you will be mine, Ruth Willows.”
Detective Pamela Ramos removed her trench coat as she watched the numbers in the Colorado Bureau of Investigation’s (CBI) elevator climb. Impeccably dressed in slacks and a button-down, her dark hair was styled in an attractive pixie cut. She was already thinking about going home, but it was only ten till eight in the morning. It wouldn’t be long before it was dark by 5 PM.
I could take the kids to the playground and give Mom a break from babysitting. Ugh, I promised to make Halloween costumes.
She exited the elevator when it reached her floor and was on her way to her desk when the assistant to the deputy director, Miguel Martinez, stopped her. She looked at his rumpled hair and the cigarette stain on his finger and wondered what he wanted from her.
“How many open investigations do you currently have, Ramos?”
“Umm, none?” Ramos scrambled to answer. “Just closed the Miller/Johnston fraud case. I now have two cases waiting for trial.”
“Okay, then.” Martinez handed her two files.
“What’s this?”
“Old cases,” he said. “The Cold Case department is shorthanded, so the Deputy Director wants them divvied up, and he wants them closed.” Martinez walked away before Ramos could argue.
After several hours, dozens of phone calls, and an extensive computer search, she closed the first cold case and finished writing her report. The suspect, who was serving time for another crime, had confessed to the armed robbery she was investigating.
After filing her report, she called her kids, who were already home from school. “Yes, I promise we will make your costume tonight,” she assured her eight-year-old son, Mateo.
Martinez laughed as he approached her desk. “What does he want to be?”
“Some superhero.”
“Superman? Batman?”
“A tree.”
“A what?” Martinez’s response was skeptical.
“I forget the character’s name,” Ramos said. “Some superhero that’s a tree and only says his name.”
“That’s a new one for me,” Martinez said. His phone dinged, and he saw the notification that she’d sent him her report. “One cold case down—nice.” He headed back into his office.
With a few hours left in the workday, Ramos opened the second cold case. Her heart sank, and her leg twitched as she read through it.
It can’t be the same one… She continued reading. Oh God, it is…
She grabbed the file and headed for Martinez’s office. Knocking on the door frame, she said, “Sir…” He was on the phone but motioned for her to come in. When he hung up, she began again. “Sir, do you have any more cold cases?”
“You finished the second one, too?”
“No,” she said, holding out the folder. “I was hoping for a different one.”
“Why?”
“I … I can’t work on it.”
“Whaddya mean you can’t work on it?” Martinez had that skeptical tone again.
“I mean, I’ve seen it before when it was a local case. Before the CBI got hold of it.”
“Good,” he said. “You have prior knowledge. You’re perfect for the job.”
“No, sir, you don’t understand….”
“No, detective, you don’t understand. The case is yours.” His answer was final.
Ramos returned to her desk. Her leg twitched harder as she opened the file and read through the reports. She remembered the pictures. She made the sign of the cross and silently prayed to Saint Michael the Archangel for protection from danger. The victim was only eighteen years old. She’d been raped and beaten to death. 
Ramos read through the entire file. Her chest tightened as she held back tears. Others would consider her behavior unprofessional, but she couldn’t help it. Six times more men worked in law enforcement than women, and sentimentality was often equated with weakness. Ramos closed the file before she completely broke down in front of the good ole boys. She shoved the file into her briefcase, headed to the elevator, and thought of anything other than the case.
Martinez noticed her exit and chuckled. “Headed home, Ramos? Have fun with the tree costume.”
She nodded. Suddenly, the character’s name popped into her head and out of her mouth. “I am Groot!” she shouted as the elevator doors closed.