I don't know why, but I never did seem to believe the saying that good things come to those who wait.

For ten years, I've waited, but nothing ever did come to me that was good. All I got was a large scar and a missing organ.

Fun.

I was never quite positive what his name was, but he was tall- much, much taller than I was-, he seemed to have no eyes, although I couldn't be sure, because I have never seen him in broad daylight, and he seemed to know a little too much about the body, where to cut, how to cauterize wounds…. He knew more than I knew, which is saying something, since I'm a surgeon with an M.D. serving quite reluctantly in my father's place at a hospital in New York.

Every night, I would go through the exact same thing; eat a frozen dinner, watch the television, go into my room, take a shower, dry my hair, brush my teeth and hair, read for a while and go to sleep. Lately though, I've noticed something strange…

It seemed as though it was paranoia for living in one of the most high crime states, but I've never had this foreboding sense of danger. I just went through my nightly routine, though and finally drifted off to sleep.

It was strange, though. I was gracing the brink of consciousness when I realized that there was something cutting into my side.

It was a scalpel.

I jumped up and screamed, but he quickly yanked me back down, securing my hands with rope before resuming. He then took out one of my organs- I couldn't see from how dark it was- and began sewing me back up. I blocked out most of the pain, but it was so painful! I gasped a couple of times, but I don't really think that he cared too much.

Eventually, the bastard just left, leaving me wondering just what on Earth I did to deserve having a bloody organ removed. I don't want to live here any more. I'm not even sure if I want to keep living.

"Are you able to talk?" I asked him tentatively, watching as he cringed, not realizing that I was awake. Slowly, he turned his head, his pitch-black eyes seeming to stare into my very soul.

"I am. I don't, though." He murmured, making me raise an eyebrow. His voice was… husky, almost. It sounded like a voice you'd expect from a sexy serial killer, not this weirdo.

"If you don't talk, why'd you just do it?" I questioned, able to tell that he was getting annoyed. Shrugging his shoulders, he seemed to glare at me before leaving.

What was his problem? Was it something that I said? If it is, he needs to learn to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve.

"So… I was wondering. What's your name?" I asked him, raising my right eyebrow and staring at him. Then, I noticed that his eyes… they seemed to have blackish fluid leaking from them. Not in any kind of a gushing way, but enough that I could see some of it dripping onto my bed, making me shiver in revulsion.

"Nothing. You may call me Eyeless Jack." He rasped, turning his entire body away from me. It seemed that he was afraid of showing me any more of his face, although I've already seen him before, so I didn't find any problem with him letting me see what he looked like, but whatever made him happy.

"Eyeless Jack? Who in their right mind would call anyone that?" I asked incredulously, causing him to glare(?) at me.

"Be silent, little girl. I have no wish to listen to your pathetic whining. I have work to do." He growled at me before turning around and disappearing into the darkness.

The night dragged on until, finally, the sun began to rise. Good morning.

I shivered, and clutched my jacket to myself tighter, watching my breath come out in little puffs.

I was walking home from my college, and it was so, so very cold, and these men came out of nowhere and tried to- to touch me. I was so scared, but I knew that I couldn't let it get to my head, because if I did, they'd kill me. They grabbed me, they hurt me, touched me, and it made me sick. I screamed, and tried to get away from them, but they were just so, so strong. Then, he stepped out from the shadows and grabbed two of them, smashing their heads together while I stumbled back and tried to stay back as far as possible.

He stepped in front of the last three and took his scalpel out, swiping it across two of the guy's throats and then spinning around to kill the guy. I watched in shocked horror as he wiped off his scalpel of blood and began walking towards me.

I scrambled to get far away from him, for he was dangerous as I had just witnessed him brutally murder five men- although they did deserve it.

I was afraid of what just may happen to me. If he could hurt those guys without batting an eyelash, what could he do to me? Was he going to kill me? He already did take out an organ from me. I hope that I didn't die, but if I did, I really hope that I didn't suffer like so many of his victims probably did.

However, he refused to stop coming closer and even closer to me, so I scooted back further and further until I found myself trapped against the brick wall and this-this thing.

"Don't! Get away from me, don't hurt me!" I cried out, shying away from him as much as possible. Slowly, as if not to frighten me, he gently placed his hand against my face and cautiously picked me up, carrying my body back home.

"I'm not going to harm you just yet." He said, and I could feel his voice rumbling inside of his chest. I shivered and sank in closer to him. It was a chilly winter night, and he was warm. I don't like him, though. I can't allow myself to gain the vulnerability that the emotion offers opposed to remaining alone.

However, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was finally more than what I used to be.

I was finally more than a shadow.