"Most murder victims know their killer." Dr. R introduced our next homework assignment. "This fact plays into how the murder goes down, and must be determined by detectives using the evidence at the crime scene. For example, if a woman was murdered in her home with no sign of breaking and entering and a little to no struggle, I would be inclined to believe her killer was someone she trusted.

"There is an extremely personal aspect to this type of murder. In order to help you understand this, your next homework project will involve a friend, colleague, or family member. These will be due on Monday."

I check my assignment. I am slightly surprised to see that it's Kimmie Chen, my little sister's best friend. I am pretty sure she is 17, if not 16. I have always liked Kimmie; we would hang out sometimes even if my sister was busy, but I haven't seen her since I started college.

My MO is more vague this time: rape then kill victim while she is home alone.

On Saturday night, Kimmie's parents are away and she is home alone. This is, of course, planned, but Kimmie has no idea. I knock on the door, and after a few moments the girl opens it. I had called earlier so she is expecting me and quickly lets me in. Dressed casually in skin tight jeans and a dark grey tank top, she leads me into the house, telling me how excited she is to see me. Before me stands an innocent young girl. I look at her again and let lustful desire change what I see. I see her long black hair framing her cute features, and cascading over her chest and around her small but perky breasts. Her body is thin at the waist, but widens at the hips and my eyes follow the zipper of her pants to the gap between her skinny legs.

After a moment of silence, she asks if I am OK, and I know I can't risk waiting any longer.

She tries to step back from me as I draw my knife from my pocket, but I lunge forward, grab her by the back of the head, and bury the knife in her belly. She falls against me, and I twist the blade. She moans in agony as I let her collapse to the floor gently and pull the knife out.

Lying still and concentrating on breathing, she appears to be in shock. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, my fingers fumble with the button and zipper of her jeans. Eventually I am able to pull them off along with her panties. In order to keep her noises to a minimum, I stuff her underwear into her mouth, making her gag from my fingers pressing it as far back as possible. Positioning myself between her legs, I can see the fear and pain in her face, and as she looks up at me tears begin trickling from the corner of her eyes. I pull her tank top up over her head to hide the misery of the dying girl. I undo her bra and toss it aside. Her body trembles as I run my hands over her soft skin before unzipping my own pants. I feel skin on skin and then sink into her wet vagina. Fingers interlaced with hers, I pin her arms above her head. Her grip tightens with every thrust into her.

It lasts only a few minutes before I press myself as deep into her as possible and climax. Still inside, I grab my knife and slide it through her exposed throat, hoping to end her agony quickly. I can feel the reaction through every inch of her small frame as blood squirts and bubbles from the slash. Urine dribbles out from between her legs onto me and the carpet she is lying on. I pull out and go to the bathroom to clean up.

I return, hoping to find a dead body, but the girl is still struggling to survive. As Dr. R feels we have progressed far enough, he assigns us clones with conditioning closer to real life: meaning better instincts, mistrust, and a stronger will to live.

I pull the tank top from her face and look down at the unfortunate girl. I had guessed that her petite body would give out within a few seconds of having her throat slit, but at least two minutes have passed and she is still writhing in the puddle of her own blood. I sit, legs crossed, and cradle her head on my lap; her raspy breath still passes through her nose. Her pink panties protrude from between her pale lips, and her blue eyes stare up to the ceiling, unfocused but vibrant and alive. My eyes follow her twisting abdomen down to her legs, gently kicking against the invisible, icy hands of death. Her pale inner thighs are bruised, and the sock on her left foot is the only article of clothing on her body.

I take her hand in mine and watch as her fingers and toes twitch at random. With my free hand, I find my knife on the floor, feel for the right spot on her blood-spattered chest, and forcefully slide the blade through her soft skin, nicking her ribs as its full length sinks into her straining muscles. I pull it back out and blood spurts out from the wound. For a few seconds longer, spasms consume her; then for a moment, every muscle in her body tenses. Her eyes open wider; a gurgle comes from the back of her throat; and then her body goes limp and she falls completely still. The only noise is the barely audible sigh of the dead girl's final breath leaving her corpse. I close the vacant, lifeless eyes, and leave the body splayed on the floor.

The university clean up team will be there in the morning to dispose of the remains and erase all signs of the violent murder that took place.