Someone wants you dead. But he doesn't want to kill you...he wants you to do it for him.^He watches your every move. He studies you like a mouse in a maze. He knows everything about you--every dream, hunger, weakness and...
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Someone wants you dead. But he doesn't want to kill you...he wants you to do it for him.^He watches your every move. He studies you like a mouse in a maze. He knows everything about you--every dream, hunger, weakness and strength. What you long for and what you fear most. What you live for, and what you cannot live without. He plans to take those things away from you one at a time, invisibly manipulating the events of your life until there is nothing left to live for. Then he wants you to take the final step.^Or is it all in your head?^Is he just a figment of your irrational fear, a face you've given to your terrible misfortune? Everything you love is slipping away. You want to fight back but who, or what, do you fight against?^Let the head game begin.^^
Tim Downs is a professional speaker and writer and has worked as a nationally syndicated cartoonist for fourteen years. His first book, "Finding Common Ground", was awarded the Evangelical Christian Publishing Association's prestigious Gold Medallion Award. He has coauthored two other works of nonfiction with his wife, Joy. Tim and Joy are on the staff of Campus Crusade for Christ and live in Cary, North Carolina, with their three children.
He held the two-ply bristol board up to the light and carefully studied the final page of his drawings. A few pencil lines still showed through the ink; he took an art gum eraser and began to lighten them, carefully rubbing outward toward the edges of the paper--but he stopped. What difference does it make? he thought. The pages weren't for reproduction anyway--only the originals mattered, and only a couple of people would ever see them. But he was an artist to the end, and the pursuit of perfection was so deeply ingrained in him that it was almost an obsession--so he returned to his work, gently blowing off the eraser shavings with a can of compressed air.
Spreading the pages across his drawing board, he studied the work as a whole. He reviewed the layout, the frame design, and the narrative flow--that was the most important part. He looked at the work with a fresh eye, trying to pretend that he had never seen it before. Was it clear that the opening scene took place in his own apartment? Were the various settings in the city recognizable? Was the flow of action clear and unmistakable? And most important of all: Was the central character recognizable? Had he made the likeness strong enough? Would the viewer know at a glance that the man in the story was him?
Nodding with satisfaction, he gathered the drawings into a stack. It was a nice piece of work all in all, one of his best--and it only seemed fitting. His editors would have been proud of the drawings; too bad he'd never have a chance to show them. He found himself wishing that the NYPD detective who found them might turn out to be a comics buff, someone who could appreciate them. But then, that wasn't really important either. There was only one thing that really mattered; there was only one person on earth who really had to see the drawings, and even he didn't have to appreciate them--he only had to understand them, because his life depended on it.
The only thing left to do was to find a place in the apartment to leave the drawings where they were sure to be discovered. Then everything would be ready; then it would be finished.
He looked around the room for the last time. �