She was just as bad as all the women in his life. They didn't care about him or his feelings. All they saw was his dumpy old car, his balding head and his expanding waistline. The only woman who had ever looked past all of that long enough to give him a genuine smile was Linda.

Linda was beautiful, smart and funny. She was sweet and kind and she had the most brilliant smile he'd ever seen. He loved the way the corners of her eyes crinkled every so slightly, so that you would know she was smiling even if all you could see were her eyes.

She cared about Bill, or so he'd thought. She always asked how his day was going, and she talked about more than the weather with him. She really cared about the world and what was going on in it. More importantly, she cared about what was going on in Bill's life.

She was the only one to call him when he'd missed several days of work and had written a few large checks to the veterinarian in the hopes of saving Larry Larrington, his pet Iguana. And when someone stole his wallet, she was the one who made sure his debit card was suspended so that the perpetrators could make no further purchases at the tobacco store. He didn't know what he would do without her. She was the one who always took care of him. She always knew just what to do.

It was the highlight of Bill's week to cash his paycheck. When he got fired from his job at the call center, it wasn't the lack of an income that upset him the most. It was the lack of a paycheck that he could take to the bank. To Linda. She would take his check and deposit slip, the tips of her fingers just brushing his own. It was her smile, and the way she would say, "Have a fantastic week, Mr. Billington, and I'll see you next Friday!"

The first Friday after he lost his job, he went to the bank anyway. Once Linda had finished with the person in front of him, she smiled broadly and waved him up to her window. He handed her his deposit slip, and then fumbled around with his wallet. The act was far from Oscar-worthy, but he still managed to make her believe he'd forgotten his paycheck. She was concerned that he might have lost it, and offered to call the issuing bank for him so that he could have a stop placed on it. No, he'd said, that was okay. He remembered now, he'd left it at home. He told her he would be back later.

He'd gotten into his car, unsure of what to do next. So, he just sat there. Hours later, the bank closed and he watched Linda exit the building with Mr. Wright, the bank manager. After Mr. Wright checked the locks and the alarms, he grabbed Linda by the wrist, pinned her up against the wall and started kissing her.

Bill's eyes widened and his heart began racing from a sudden surge of adrenaline. He clumsily sifted through the junk in the car, looking for a weapon to fend off Linda's attacker. However, by the time he'd unearthed a wrench from beneath the passenger seat, it was too late.

Linda was laughing and kissing Mr. Wright back.

Bill watched in shock for a moment, feeling his heart drop and then jump into his throat. The wrench fell into his lap as he leaned onto the steering wheel and began to cry.

He forced himself to regain his composure as he watched Linda and Mr. Wright climb into the same car and pull onto the street. He waited a few moments before pulling out after them, keeping a safe distance so as not to be spotted. He followed them for ten miles, all the way back to Linda's apartment. He'd been there before. Several times, in fact, since she first began working at the bank. He'd wanted to ask her out, but decided that their first date would be more successful if he knew more about her. He wanted to say all the right things, do all the right things, take her to the right places and not get lost on his way to pick her up for the evening. So, he followed her home and watched her daily routines.

She was a morning person, which was hard as Bill was a late riser. She liked to get up and water the flowers, then read the newspaper while drinking tea. On the weekends, she often went out with friends. Sometimes they'd go to the movies, sometimes to dinner. Sometimes they would just stay at her place, drinking wine and talking.

After a few months of observation, Bill decided it was time. He would ask Linda out. However, the next Friday, he couldn't seem to force the question off his tongue. He knew a lot about her, but not quite enough. She went to the movies, yes, but what did she see? What were she and her friends talking about over their glasses of wine?

Bill needed to gather more intelligence. He knew he simply wouldn't be able to get close enough without being observed. So, he used his lunch hours to sneak into Linda's apartment while she was at the bank. It wasn't a very secure complex, so the locks were easy to pick. Once inside he quickly found a spare key and slipped it into this pocket. His intention was to set up some bugs so that he could listen to her, but he couldn't resist looking through some of her things, and found that she kept diaries.

He decided to start reading from the beginning, but having only twenty spare minutes on his lunch hour after the time spent driving, it was going slowly. He began staying longer and longer, sitting on Linda's bed and clutching a stuffed cat that smelled of her perfume as he read.

He was written up at work three times for taking too long of a lunch before he was fired.

He was crushed that he wouldn't be able to see Linda every Friday, but found solace in the tapes he made of her. It was nearly time for him to make his move, and he knew it would be welcomed. She recently began talking to one of her friends, Annie, about how cute "Bill" was but how she didn't want to mix business with pleasure.

He'd gone to the bank that day intending to tell her he'd been fired, and would therefore no longer be a customer of the bank as he wouldn't be getting checks to cash anymore. But once again, he lost his courage. Monday, he'd thought, Monday he wouldn't chicken out.

But now it was too late. She had kissed Mr. Wright, and he had taken her home and followed her inside.

Bill waited until the lights had gone dark. Mr. Wright didn't leave. Bill crept out of the car and up to the window. He saw Linda, in her bed. Her head was on Mr. Wright's chest. They were both sleeping, both undressed.

He knew what he had to do. He used his key and slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him. It seemed to take hours for him to cross the living room without making a sound, and hours more once he was inside the bedroom. Mr. Wright inhaled deeply and turned over in bed as Bill slid open the nightstand drawer. He froze; his eyes fixed on Mr. Wright, who seemed to be asleep.

But then his eyes slowly blinked open. Bill watched as Mr. Wright looked at him through sleep and confusion in the glow of the red numbers from Linda's alarm clock. A split second later, Bill had retrieved the .45 caliber that Linda kept in her nightstand and shot Mr. Wright three times in the chest.

The first shot startled Linda, and she quickly rose to turn on the light. The second shot stunned her into frozen horror, and the third shot left her shrieking and scrambling to stop the blood that was quickly pouring out of Mr. Wright.

Bill crawled onto the bed, pulling Linda into a tight embrace to protect her from the horror of death. Though he had saved her, he knew it would still be traumatic for her. For a while, at least.

He kissed her forehead and tried to calm her down by speaking to her soothingly. This seamed only to make her scream louder and kick harder. He pulled back and slapped her hard across the face, as he'd seen done to hysterical women in the movies. It always snapped them out of it, and it worked on Linda, but only for a moment. He eventually had to clamp his hand over her mouth, but even that couldn't stop her thrashing.

Bill closed his eyes and took a mental inventory of Linda's bedroom. He needed something to knock her unconscious with until he could calm her down, but he worried he might hurt her too badly, so he racked his brain for another way to calm her. He finally settled on pinning her wrists to the bed and kissing her deeply. Anger was passion, so passion seemed an appropriate response.

Linda bit his tongue. Bill shrieked in pain and hit her again, harder this time. She began crying, and then screaming some more. She had been screaming so loudly. Bill felt like his eardrums would explode. He had no other choice, then. He needed her unconscious. He would take her somewhere safe, where he could explain how much he loved her so that she would calm down and see that he had her best interests at heart.

He put his hands around her throat, squeezing tightly enough to stop the circulation but not so tightly that she couldn't breath at all. Her breaths were raspy and shallow as she looked at him bug-eyed. He explained that this was for her own good, and that he loved her and he knew she loved him because of how she treated him and what she'd said to her friends about him. She struggled at first, but then stopped, and used what was left of her fading consciousness to speak. She told him he was a psychotic, deranged stalker and that she would never, could never, love such an evil monster. She loved Bill, she said, not him. No one could ever love him. Then her eyes closed and she was still.

Bill attributed her senseless ramblings to the lack of oxygen, and began cleaning up the room. He found Mr. Wright's pants, and went through the pockets until he found his wallet. Bill went through it, taking the cash and a VISA card. Then he noticed the name on the VISA: William Wright.

Bill looked from Linda to Mr. Wright and back again as it dawned on him that Linda had two Bills in her life. Everything he'd believed had been a lie. A horrible mistake. He'd thought Linda was just frightened and confused. That she'd love him as much as he loved her as soon as they could sort things out.

Bill looked in the mirror over the dresser and saw what everyone else saw. He was too fat, too bald, his glasses too thick. His clothes were too cheap. He'd just shot and killed a man for stealing his girlfriend, but it turns out that his girlfriend had been cheating all along.

He began sobbing and picked the gun up from where he'd laid it on the dresser. He'd made such a mess of things, all because a pretty girl had lead him on.

Behind him, Linda groaned and sighed. Bill turned around, pointed the gun at her and shot her once without hesitation. The bullet seemed to explode in her throat, sending a spray of blood and flesh in all directions. Moments later, everything was still. Bill, blinked, shocked for a moment at how easy it was.

He had fully intended to turn the gun on himself next, but something strange and unexpected happened. He felt vindicated and proud. He felt powerful. He felt, for the first time in his entire life, that the world was his oyster. He wasn't exactly sure what that phrase actually meant, but that's how he felt.

He turned back to the mirror, assessing himself. There was blood on his shirt and pants, but he was wearing black so they weren't noticeable. He went into the bathroom and cleaned the blood off his hands and face, then ran a hand through what hair remained on his head.

He wasn't quite sure where his life would go from here, but he knew it would be good. He knew now that he had the power to make his own destiny. He would find another Linda. In addition, he would no longer allow anyone to treat him like an expendable, useless sub-human. Tonight he was reborn, and this was the first night of the rest of his life. It called for a celebration, and Bill decided to celebrate the victory of taking his destiny into his own hands with a root beer float.