It sounds like American Psycho. I just told this girl not to buy that book in Barnes & Noble. She was from the Ukraine. "Why?" she asked... "Because" I said, "it degrades women." And aren't I right? I mean, I suppose in terms of really capturing the New York social setting of the 80s and the multitudinal cast of characters who inhabited it, it may have some relevance, but in most other ways it's trash... it drones on and on; it really could have been cut in half without cutting out its message of "nothing exceeds like excess".

Your paragraph, though, might be more interesting (and challenging to continue) if you cut out the last sentence, which focuses the primary plot of the story on crime/violence, at the expense of sex and/or a possibly interesting unconventional (if only slightly) relationship/trend of relationships. Of course, this mere slightness of unconventionality may make this feature only worthy of a subplot in your view... the question is, are you more a fan of crime/mystery novels, or of erotic ones?

Her knees shaking slightly a slight panic rushed over her, clutching the doorknob in one hand and the other somewhat blanketing her pale face, she was about to rush back out to her car, but she became statuesque as her thoughts pulsing through her mind stopped her momentarily. She slowly turned blinking feverishly with the images of jerry's maimed body draping her mind and fell to her knees starting to fear that whoever did this might still be in the house. Fear flooded and possessed, tears welling up, and hand covering groans, she crawled over to the key on the rug, frantically grabbed it and ran to the front door.

The equally heavy metal door groaned from its many years of use as she opened it. As she stepped through the portal into a dimly lit living room the musky odor that used to make her think of him and sex now reminds her of the murder below. Her hand trembled as it flicked on the light switch. Rays from the ceiling washed over the the well-worn living room like the first light of morning. At a first glance, several chairs were turned over and a coffee table was shattered. There was no one insight but the apartment clearly showed signs of a struggle. Blood stains in the tan colored rug were near the shattered coffee table. Then she saw on the ground, partially covered by a throw pillow, a phone. She hurrys over, and with a quick toss of the pillow dials 911. Quickly realizing there is no dial-tone she tries depressing the receiver hook several times but it did not help. She tugs at the phone cord and it jumps loosely from around the corner of the couch. A closer look at the frayed end reveals that it was torn from the wall and could not be fixed anytime soon. There are bloody fingerprints on the phone and the sound of a floorboard snap causes her to spin around revealing the dimly lit passageway to the kitchen.

But what relly made her blood run cold was that he had bled out oall over her grand mothers oriental rug. She had only LENT it to him when things where good and now this scmuck would for ever be in her life. She new the was no way in hell she was getting that stain out. As she poundered the thought of jerry's shadow forever pitched in her favorite family airloom the phone rang and she heard Jerry's soft sexy voice Hi I'm not able to come to the phone" because I am dead on the floor she thought"please leave a message a beep and a womans's voice Well Jer I hope you feeling better sorry about all the mess you know I am not usually so emotional but when ever I am near you I get ...well you know, call me OK click.

All she wanted to do was dump this losers body and take the rug to the chinese cleaner on 14th to see if he could do anything. Walking over to phone she press 911 and said there is a dead guy on my rug please send some one to remove him hung up the phone a lit a ciggaret and waited to hear the sirens

Meanwhile, on a twin earth on the exact opposite side of the sun, another Haley Summers was about to have a very different sort of experience with a very different sort of Jerry--that is, an alive one. Leaving her gas guzzling Ford Excursion, wearing a fur coat which practically boasted of its origin in the torture of countless baby seals, she approached the door of his townhouse, expecting to find that her bloody handiwork had been carried out. "Funny," she thought, "I left very specific orders for the door to be left ajar and the hatchet to be buried in the wall...." A feeling of dread overtook her.

Well, that really took off! What happened?