The scissors very carefully clipped around the edges of the newspaper article, which showed a photograph of Jonathan Granger and his pretty defense attorney as they made their triumphant exit from the county courthouse.
"Actor Jon Granger cleared of assault charges," the caption read, the article going on to describe how high-class defense attorney Riley O'Rourke - a legend in her own right - had won the argument that Granger had only been acting in the defense of an innocent and unnamed female and was, therefore, innocent of all charges of assault and battery.
The article was then tacked to a wall, where dozens of other photographs and news articles featuring the actor had been collected, clipped, and tacked up in collage-like fashion, like some strange and psychopathic shrine of a love-struck, obsessed fan.
The gun that rested on the table beside the paper was a Walther P-22. Small but lethal. Beside that lay a one-way airline ticket to Los Angeles and a carry-on bag that held the rest of the essentials.
No threatening letters had been mailed, nothing that might warn of an attack, nothing to throw up a red flag or get the cops involved. Nothing but that crazy kaleidoscope of photographs that took up the better part of one wall.
The attack would be well-planned and well-executed. Nothing would go wrong. One shot to the head, and Jon Granger would go down in the history books as just another actor who'd died before his time.
But even the best-laid plans of mice and men have a way of going awry.
"Actor Jon Granger cleared of assault charges," the caption read, the article going on to describe how high-class defense attorney Riley O'Rourke - a legend in her own right - had won the argument that Granger had only been acting in the defense of an innocent and unnamed female and was, therefore, innocent of all charges of assault and battery.
The article was then tacked to a wall, where dozens of other photographs and news articles featuring the actor had been collected, clipped, and tacked up in collage-like fashion, like some strange and psychopathic shrine of a love-struck, obsessed fan.
The gun that rested on the table beside the paper was a Walther P-22. Small but lethal. Beside that lay a one-way airline ticket to Los Angeles and a carry-on bag that held the rest of the essentials.
No threatening letters had been mailed, nothing that might warn of an attack, nothing to throw up a red flag or get the cops involved. Nothing but that crazy kaleidoscope of photographs that took up the better part of one wall.
The attack would be well-planned and well-executed. Nothing would go wrong. One shot to the head, and Jon Granger would go down in the history books as just another actor who'd died before his time.
But even the best-laid plans of mice and men have a way of going awry.