Fear Not (Book 3 in the Wilton/Strait Mystery Series)

Prologue
He held his breath, afraid to move, his body trembled beneath the blankets on his bed. Pursing his lips, he sucked in small amounts of air. Working desperately to appear invisible, he flattened his body into the mattress. He could hear soft sounds of deep, heavy breathing. He lifted his blanket ever so slightly and watched as the large figure moved through the opened slit in his bedroom door. The earlier threat loomed large in his mind.
He pulled the blanket over his shuddering body as he heard the door close. How could he escape? He wished. He should have taken the threat seriously. He should have prepared more. He should have not eaten such a large dinner. His stomach rumbled, bile accumulating deep in his abdomen. Fear seemed to supplant all sense of reason. He wanted to scream.
Footsteps. Moving closer. His cold fingers wrapped themselves around the handle of the knife. He kept his eyes closed, listening, ready to move. The footsteps seemed to be right beside him now. He could hear the man’s breathing. He could also hear his own heart beat. It sounded loud…thundering.
“Hey, girlfriend.” A deep, menacing voice whispered. It was as if the voice was on top of him. “Wake up. Your daddy’s here.” He felt the intruder move the blanket covering him to one side. He felt the weight of the man’s massive frame as the trespasser lowered himself to the bed. He scooted toward the wall. Fast. The blade in his fist was pointed up. The man grunted as he fell on the blade. “Wh-what y-you g-gone and d-done, huh?”
He rolled over the man. His bare feet landed on the cold linoleum. His hand was empty. He had to get the knife. They’d trace it. But then, it was his room after all. Still they would know what’d happened. He couldn’t let the others know. He had to make sure. Move the body.
His heart beats seemed to trip over themselves. He had never been so scared in his short life. Not even when that panther had come out of the jungle right in front of him. He needed this job. This man was not going to spoil everything.
He made his way slowly back to the bed. His foot slipped in the sticky…thick….ooze that covered the floor now. Low moans erupted in front of him. The man wasn’t dead. Not yet. He reached toward the sound, rolled the heavy weight to one side. There, the knife was sticking into the man’s soft belly. He grabbed it, pulled it toward his body and then struck again. And again. Until the moaning stopped.
The sheets were wet to the touch. He grabbed one corner and yanked, dumping the man onto the floor. He paused. Listening. All was quiet. He began to drag the weight toward the door. He opened it a crack. Nobody in sight. He dragged the burden, using his sheets, out the door, around the corner, toward the crew’s cafeteria. Maybe the freezer.
He hurried as fast as the bulky weight would allow. Someone might see him. Not all shifts were finished for the night. Not far now. He headed toward the large walk-in freezer located down the hall just behind the grill. His mind traveled to the last time he’d prepared food there. He shook his head. Had to concentrate. He could hide the body toward the back of the freezer. Maybe no one would notice. Later he’d throw the body overboard.