Although head-hopping is considered one of the biggest 'no-no's' in writing, presenting a scene from the view is not. I've done this style in a couple of my books, but readers really seemed to connect with this particular story as I gave them insight from the eyes of the psychopathic serial killer.
Today, I'm going to share one of these scenes. This particular one doesn't give as much away for those who haven't had the chance to read the book yet, but it does put you right in the mind of the man behind the terror.
I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Please enjoy the snippet.
Henderson, Cheyenne and Perry piled into Cheyenne’s car early the next morning. After much debate about who was in better condition to drive, Henderson got the vote. The car backed out of the driveway, disappearing down the street.
The block was still. Silent. A light breeze swooped down on the unsuspecting lilac bushes in front of the house, wafting their fresh scent into the air.
A sound broke the silence. He slid out from his hiding place across the street. The heels of his cowboy boots struck the sidewalk as he shuffled along—like a child dawdling on his way to school. He stopped in front of the McCarthy’s house, checking for the police cruisers making their rounds.
“Nobody home,” He muttered around his cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. He sauntered up to Cheyenne’s front door and jiggled the handle.
Ain’t nobody gonna keep me out, shrink lady. Not even that dumb-ass bodyguard. Or the tails they have on you.
He sucked the last drag out of his cigarette then flicked it—half-finished and still lit—onto the sidewalk. After a few seconds of messing with the lock, the door opened for him. He smiled then slipped uninvited into Cheyenne’s safe world. A quick scan confirmed that no guards were in the house either.
No indoor cops? No house alarm? Hm. They should really have better protection for you, Cheyenne. Why, a guy could just sneak right in and do anything he wants. He laughed.
He walked around her meticulously organized house—running his fingers over her personal possessions. He stopped at a picture of William and Cheyenne at their Jasper cabin. He posed his hand as a gun and “shot” William.
He picked up the file Carson gave to Cheyenne and flipped through it. A low, gravelly laugh escaped his throat. “He said you’d start lookin’ one day. Well, I can’t stop you from snoopin’, psycho lady,” he said to her photograph. “But I can steer you in the right direction. You’ll come to me. Then I’ll get you.”
He pulled an envelope from his pocket then kissed it before placing it beside the picture frame. “You’ll come to me…”
He picked up Cheyenne’s ultrasound picture. “Well, well, well. I think I’ll take this. Tit for tat,” he said, stuffing the picture into his pocket.
He slipped back out the front door, then lit a cigarette on the front stairs. “Round three,” he coughed sharply, blowing out a small cloud of grey smoke. Then disappeared into the trees across the street.