To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream; aye, there’s the rub. Sleep was a luxury Spencer had not been able to indulge in since her abduction. Her eyelids were heavy and her body screamed at her to rest, to just lie down but that voice of self-preservation demanded constant vigilance. Who knows what Ashley would to her in her sleep, if that was her real name anyway?

That woman was the single most frightening human being Spencer had ever encountered, and she had bore witness to Lindsay Lohan’s antics in person on several occasions.

She was a murderer, apparently one that offered her services out too. ‘It’s just business.’ The statement rang through her head continuously. Who would want Aiden dead? Was her kidnap also part of the whole thing? How the hell could a woman of Ashley’s size possibly carry an unconscious person, down a flight of stairs, past dozens of people, outside, get in a car and make it out without anyone the wiser?

With a groan of frustration she rubbed her temples to ease the headache that was coming on. This was all way too fucked up for detailed comprehension. What she had to focus on now was how long it would take for her family or the tabloids to figure out she was missing and how long this headache would last.

***

The newspaper is a dying breed; blogs and vlogs, TV and radio stations are replacing the pages in this new day of technology. However, despite it’s old age, there’s something to be said about headline that reads “Young Wall Street Millionaire Found Dead in Drug Den.”

It brought a smile to her face.

There on the front page of the L.A. Times was a picture of the condemned looking house and a stretcher carrying the late Aiden Denison hidden within a body bag. She couldn’t have asked for better advertisement of her services or better praise.

‘Last night, 25 year old Aiden Dennison, an L.A. native, was found dead within a drug den. Dennison, who had made millions playing the stock market, was apparently shot to death though police have yet to confirm whether or not there are witnesses to this brutal murder.’

She read on as she sipped her orange juice, thoroughly enjoying the attention this little hit of hers was getting. Most of the time there was little fanfare since many of her marks were exceptionally low-key individuals and the police tried their hardest to keep it under wraps.