The blow sent Shawn reeling, his jaw aching from the force of Caleb’s fist meeting the bone. Giving a pathetic cry, the college student fell backwards. Shawn’s head connected with the pavement with a numbing slam. The four older, more athletic college boys looked down at the fallen psychology student and erupted into laughter as he painfully pried himself off the sidewalk. The shortest of the boys, Mitchel, stepped forward and slammed a foot into Shawn’s back to keep him down. This elicited a pained yelp from Shawn and another bout of laughter from the offending jocks. Still laughing the group decided to leave the boy in a crumpled heap.

Groaning, the beaten Shawn lay on the cool sidewalk. With one eye swollen shut, he couldn’t see much. But he could at least feel the cuts all over him bleeding. And the bruises forming. His entire being ached, and the last thing he wanted to do was move. So instead he curled up into a shaking, painful ball in the dim streetlight.

Little did he know, John Doe was watching.