Kyle, with a grin on his face, stands up from the table he was sharing with his friends to leave. He heaves both straps of his backpack over one shoulder and inches around the young blond female student on his right. Before he makes it passed he lingers with his goodbye so he can give a squeeze to the girl's shoulders. An uncomfortable smile stretches across the girl's face the moment Kyle's hands grasp her bare shoulders.

Kyle releases his grip on the girl's shoulders and waves behind himself as the heads down the open hallway Brick left only moments earlier. The girl tugs at her straw colored hair to discretely brush away the sensation of his hands on her skin.

Kyle makes his way through the tunnel, but unlike Brick's exit, he has company. A guest, who has been watching and waiting for him, is quietly keeping pace with him as he leaves the hallway. Unaware of the stranger's presence he struts out into the bright sunlight. He makes his way down a covered walk on the North side of the building that is decorated with blue and white tiles on his right and ornate wood paneling above. Beyond the shade it provides, the ornate styling of the walk goes totally unnoticed to Kyle since he is focused more on the lightly clothed co-eds passing by. The stranger noticed however. He runs his fingers along the smooth tile as he follows Kyle, careful not to stare.

Kyle reaches the end of the walk and is again exposed to the sharp rays of the sun. He raises his right hand up to hide his eyes from the brightness. When he reaches the crossing point on the roadway the university has designated with bright orange cones and signs he bounds across the street. The stranger continues his pursuit by gliding across the street as well.

Ten minutes later Kyle arrives at the graduate student housing where his apartment is located on the second floor. The graduate student housing is a converted motel with a kitchenette in each room. The university purchased the building to give low cost housing to attract more graduate students. However, the converted apartments are small and the building still maintains the appeal of a cheap motel; in spite of the fresh coat of university colors that adorns the exterior. The complex has a reputation for wild parties that even the occasional young university faculty can occasionally be seen at. The local police stopped responding to noise complaints a long time ago. The university police now patrol the area, but are far more permissive than the city cops of the student's raucous activities.

The stranger stands just behind a white SUV observing Kyle run up the exterior stairs of the old motel to the second floor. He twists past the corner railing on the second floor and walks back toward the front of the building. The stranger's eyes follow Kyle all the way from the stairs as he makes his way passed the other rooms. Just as he passes the second to last room the door swings open releasing the loud hip-hop music from the occupant's room. A short man in a Mexican soccer team jersey gets Kyle's attention. The stranger is too far and the music is too loud to hear their conversation. Regardless, the conversation lasts only a moment and then Kyle shakes his head and pats the short man on the shoulder and continues to the last door on the floor. He fishes his keys from his right front pocket as the short man waves bye and returns to his apartment and loud music.

Kyle throws his bag on his bed just inside the room and yawns. The bag doesn't stay on the bed long. Hanging over the edge it slowly slides to the floor. He contorts his body in an almost grotesque display of stretching. His wall thumps with the base from the short man's music next door. Kyle rubs the bridge of his knows and eyes because he wants a nap, but will have to argue with the neighbor about turning down the music. He flips the light switch on the wall next to the bed. A bank of lights over a mirror at the sink pop on. The interior of the room still resembles the old motel, the university did not do more than repair old and warn furniture and apply a coat of paint before the students moved in. The room still has the lingering smell of decades of cleaning products and weary travelers. Kyle pushes open the ajar bathroom door. He places his left hand against the back wall and starts urinating in the toilet. His head hangs down and he shuts his eyes as he relieves the pressure in his bladder. Another yawn takes hold causing him to stretch his mouth awkwardly to one side.

A knock disturbs his relieving process. Kyle, tired and still pissing, slowly turns his head and glares over his shoulder towards the apartment door as if to tell the knocker to go away. Another series of knocks raps at the door in staccato fashion.

“Alright, alright I'm coming,” Kyle barks. “Let me finish pissing for Christ sake,” his voice mumbles and trails off at the end.

Kyle shakes off the last couple drops and zips his fly. Leaving the bathroom he doesn't even bother to flush the toilet to answer the door. Another set o knocks beckon Kyle to the door.

“Fuck, I'm coming,” he grumbles through clenched teeth.

He twists the warn brass knob and swings the door open. The stranger stands before Kyle with his hands behind his back. The unassuming visitor says and does nothing for a moment, not even a hello.

“Yes, what can I do for you,” he asks in a gruff but polite tone, but the stranger only stares at Kyle.

Kyle stares back giving the man the chance to speak, but the man continues to stare blankly back at Kyle. Becoming uncomfortable, Kyle grimaces and places his left hand on his hip to emphasize his irritation.

“Fine!” Kyle says in hopes of ending contact and swings the door.

The stranger stops the door with his foot and suddenly springs to life by diving through the doorway at Kyle. The man swings his hands out from behind him. His hands, holding a syringe full of an unknown liquid, are wrapped in latex cloves. The strange plunges the needle into Kyle's neck and depresses the plunger sharply. The stranger was so fast that Kyle didn't have time to react, but mutter the words, “what the fuck,” before he collapsed on the floor. The stranger injected Kyle with some sort of paralytic. The drug paralyzed him almost instantly, but it doesn't kill him. Kyle is still conscious and his eyes are still wide open. Because of the stranger's lightning fast moves and the neighbor's loud music no one hears the minor commotion in Kyle's room.

The stranger hoists Kyle onto his bed with his head at the foot. The man rolls him face down with his his chin just over the edge. The stranger squats down and grips Kyle's bangs with his left gloved hand and looks Kyle in the eyes. Kyle's eyes are looking slightly to the right, but slowly shift forward to look back at the stranger. His jaw hangs open loosely; a sting of spittle drips from his lower lip. The man drops his head and removes a small black backpack and drops it in front of himself and directly below Kyle's head. As the stranger opens the bag Kyle can see the contents since the bag is directly in front of his paralyzed face. The shiny metal objects flicker as they catch the light of the room. The man gently pushes his gloved hand into the bag and retrieves a thin scalpel. Holding just below Kyle's nose he twists the blade admiringly to show Kyle what he can expect. The man says nothing, he isn't even breathing heavy from the sudden exertion of energy.

He slides the black pack out of the way and lifts Kyle's head once more and makes eye contact. For a moment the man's face is inches from the paralyzed college student. The man places the edge of the blade against Kyle's forehead near the hair line and begins to slowly glide the blade to the right drawing a bloody line along the hairline and down the side of his face just in front of Kyle's left ear.

Kyle feels everything. The paralytic doesn't deaden the pain, it only keeps him from moving. The only action Kyle can take is to widen his eyes slightly, but he can't even scream let alone fight back. After just a few seconds the stranger had sliced a line all the way around Kyle's face. The man then rolls Kyle on to his back with his head hanging over the edge. Very gently the man takes his index finger and thumb and carefully grasps the inner edge of the incision and pulls up, giving him room to insert the scalpel and begin slicing under the skin of Kyle's chin. The pain now has increased far beyond screaming, yet Kyle is voiceless. The scalpel traces along between the skin and muscle of Kyle's face, each slice separating more and more tissue.

A single teardrop rolls down Kyle's cheek and mixes with the line of blood on the side of his face. It is his only response to the man slowly and methodically removing his face.