Months have passed as our Christmas Darling waited for the trial to begin; the agonizing droning of it all was making life rather tedious.  Day in and day out, eyes open, eyes closed.  Jennifer knew that patience was the key to her success and that successful key was beginning to run out.

The trial of Jeffrey James Dobbins was moved up from its original start date, this was the defense's idea.  When the District Attorney threw a fit, the word is that a sizable donation was sent his way which led to an eager agreement.  This was turning out exactly as it needed to for Jennifer.

With less time to prepare, the prosecution's case would be rushed and messy.  Witnesses would be trained and retrained but the expeditiousness of it all would eat at them and make things very difficult to remember when the defense began digging into them.

Following the news everyday had grown depressing knowing the results before they were going to happen.  However, there was an exciting part.  The San Diego Police Chief gave weekly pressers on The Christmas Darling, practically putting out every shred of evidence they had obtained from the crime scenes.  It was comical to watch him stern his face and yell to the camera.  Like a broken record.                                     

With the trial one month away, the jury selection had begun.  This where everyone that looked like a moron, wealthy, sympathetic, willing to take a bribe got a chance to be one of the twelve to decide the fate of Mr. Dobbins.  There was little doubt now, this was the ninth kill.

Before falling asleep in the middle of the day for the eighteen straight lagging day in a row, Jennifer's cell rang out.  The sound startled her.  It never rang.  She had no friends, no boss, no reason for a phone call in the middle of the day.

'Mom' announced itself on the screen.  The 'calls every Saturday' Mom.

This was an unusual time for a call as it was not the normal day or time.  That mattered not, "Hello Mother."

Her voice had grown even weaker and sad since the last call, "Jenny bug, how are you love?"

Thinking of all the times she wished herself away from her parents, away from the non-individuality of it all, Jennifer had a small amount of regret and sadness deep inside her, "I'm well Mother.  How is the family?  Is everything alright?"

A long hesitation, long enough to warrant a 'hello?' was taken, "Jenny, your dad is sick.  Our age has caught up to us baby.  He has the cancer."

With her life surrounded by delivering death, deciding when certain people die, this was very heavy on Jennifer's heart, "Oh...Mother...Mom, what can I do?  Anything, please"

Her Mother chuckled through the speaker as if listening to the contestants of a beauty contest wishing for world peace, "There's nothing that can be done now.  They say he will make it through Christmas.  He will have little days after that."

"Well, that settles it; I'll come home right now and help you with everything.  I have money and travel light.  You won't even know I'm there unless you want to know."

A hmm of yielding entered the phone, "Honey, I really want to wait.  I want you to come home for Christmas this year.  Spend the last Christmas with us.  Can you do that for me, love?"

Jennifer's mind entered a one-hundred-meter dash.  She had planned for so long; she had made a tradition of her own that had carried on for eight and a half years.  She truly believed this was her purpose in life.  The reason she was able to enter this world was to one day begin killing off the worst of the worst to ensure she had really earned her spot.  It was her destiny.

"Jenny, are you there honey?"  Her Mother was growing weaker by the minute.  The chances of her making it passed Christmas seemed slim and nil.

With a quick burst of words, "Well, let us make that a plan and if his condition improves then I will come right after Christmas.  How does that sound?"

Jennifer really wanted this kill.  It was rather astounding that she was even considering not going.  Her parents were good people and never did anything to her, she just wanted out and individuality.  It was a very hard sell, staying for the kill but it felt as if Mr. Dobbins deserved Jennifer's time more than her dying parents.

"Jenny bug, it's okay honey.  Do you have plans already?"  Her Mother knew she didn't have plans, but she felt it was the polite thing to do.

Her head nodded yes as if her Mother could hear that through the phone, "Well, I've been working on this project all year and it's due at Christmas time.  I have to turn it in to my boss in person."

Voice cracking and fading, the sound of sorrow wickedly trailed behind her Mother's voice, "You do what you feel is best Jenny.  We will still love you."

The phone call ended with that.  That heartbreaking statement, 'We will still love you."  That is a dagger to the heart.  That statement alone is why psychiatrists were invented.

Jennifer decided she needed some air, picked up random clothing from the floor and zoomed outside.  It seemed as if the apartment was closing in on her.  Her chest tightened and eyes blurred.  She was having a breakdown.  In her mind, something reparable was wrong.

Barely making out of the common area, dragging her feet on the indoor/outdoor carpet, clutching her chest, and steadying with one arm on the wall, the renter in apartment 'A' came out to check on her.

She was a rather plump Latin woman with what looked to be twenty kids, each bouncing off the walls, "Dear, are you alright?  You need help?  I will help you, please, tell me what you need."'

The tears flowed, mascara from weeks ago finally breaking loose and oozing down her delicate face.  The face eight men had seen right before they were relieved of their duties as humans.  She fell to the floor still clutching her chest.  All sounds went into a drone mode.  Words, sirens, screams, they all sounded the same.

When she awoke, there were twelve little faces floating around her, poking her body, murmuring.  It was something that would scare the shit out of any grown person, "Children, get! Get!  Let her breathe.  The ambulance is pulling up now."

Jennifer twisted her neck around so she could see if that were true or not.  In rushed two paramedics, stretcher and all.  She was promptly whisked into the back of the ambulance as questions were rapidly fired her way while tubes and needles secured her spot to the now mobile stretcher.

A unique looking man was rapid firing questions at her, battering her brain with question after question.  Who is the President, what is your birthday, what drugs have you taken?  Jennifer offered no answers as the will to speak had left her, the desire to do anything had vanished.

She was pumped full of morphine to slow her supersonic heart rate.  It worked, at least it worked enough to have her babbling unknowingly in her stupor, "Dobbins...bad...Christmas...death."

The paramedic tending to her didn't think much of it, "Sweetie, you are high as a kite right now.  Just rest."

More words flowed from the medically free mouth, "I'm...I'm the...Christmas...Darling."

There is something about being high and not being able to shut the hell up.  If you want to be a good serial killer that never gets caught, you cannot go around telling strangers about it, even if you are high.

The next day Jennifer woke up in a hospital bed.  The nurse quickly came in, "Sweet angel, you had the worst panic attack.  Those things are the worst.  You were gabbing all through the halls on your way in here."

Trying to gather her min and realize the shit show that could be coming, "Oh really, never had one of those before.  I thought I was going to die.  I was doing a little talking, huh?"

In the cutest southern accent while smacking on her bubble gum, the nurse smiled, "Yep darlin'.  Keyword on darling.  You kept saying you were the Christmas Darling.  There is no way.  Not a chance.  That's what I told the two detectives outside at least."

The look of 'I just spilled a can of paint on my new carpet and it'll never be the same again' wrapped our Darlings face, "Detectives?  Are they still here?"

With an affirmative nod of the head, "Yep.  Do not worry.  If it ain't you then it ain't you, right?"

A fake smile pulled Jennifer's face up, "Damn right.  Is one of them handsome and the other a grumpy fuck?"

Leaning in real close, "Darling, he sure is a grumpy S.O.B."

Another meeting with the same detectives for the same reason.  Things are getting harder to explain and eventually they may even get wise.