He followed the little girl's every movement with hungry eyes.

He had been watching her for three years now.

At his sides, his hands were clenched so tightly the fingernails were digging bloody arcs into his palms. His body posture was tense as he watched the child from his hiding place at the corner of the building. Every trill of laughter from her creamy white throat, every shriek of delight as she soared higher and higher on the swing, drove a spike of hurt through his brain. Staring at her pretty smile made him clench his teeth, grind them together so tightly his jaw began to ache.

"Higher, Davy!" he heard her demand. "Push me higher!"

His fevered gaze shifted momentarily to the little red-haired boy who stood behind her, his freckled face beaming as he pushed the swing seat. Every ounce of hatred in his body became directed at the little boy. Every vile epithet he had ever heard was hurled silently at the head of the child. A grimace of a smile began to relax his tight face as he watched the boy suddenly turn pale.

"Davy!" the little girl protested, turning to look back at her friend.

The recess bell blared and the watcher jumped since he was standing almost directly under the mechanism, but he did not remove his angry stare from the little boy. If anything, his look intensified.

The red-haired boy faltered, stumbled back, his hand to his forehead. He went to one knee on the playground sand.

"Davy?" the little girl questioned and the concern in her voice brought the eyes of her watcher back to her and away from the target of his rage. He saw her twist around in the swing seat, her worried eyes locked on her friend.

"Bronnie," the little boy called out as he lowered his other knee to the ground. "I don't feel so good."

"What's the matter?" she demanded and tipped forward to drag her sneakers in the dirt to slow the swing. Her face was turned toward the boy, her eyes troubled. "Davy, what's wrong?"

He knew what she was going to do a second before she acted. "No," the watcher hissed, venturing out from his hiding place. With a gasp, he watched in horror as the little girl let go of the swing's chains and leapt out of the seat to land on both knees in the gravel. He groaned as he saw the flash of pain cross her pretty features as she stood and limped toward the boy. His gaze dropped to her knees and he winced when he saw the flesh scraped and peppered with welling blood.

"Aye, you caused it," the voice inside his head whispered. "See what you did?"