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Circus Vampire

“You’ve never seen anything like this next act. You’ve seen fire dancers and fire spinners the next act is… well a fire master. Presenting the one and only Ignaciooooooo Flint!” the man in the center spun around in a circle to the empty circus tent as if he were introducing this person.

A slow clap echoed toward me from the closed entrance. “You do have quite a flair for being a ringmaster. It’s too bad that I have that job.”

“Mordria,” the man stumbled over his own shoes falling to the floor. “I… I didn’t mean any offense I just….”

“You just what? Felt the desire to see what it was like to be me? It’s not as easy as being in an empty room,” she smiled her bluish pale skin shining with a strange luminosity that only she seemed to have. He found it unnerving although her other features were equally as disturbing. The stitches near her mouth were certainly not helpful with her frown as she approached him.

“I just,” he swallowed hard as he scrambled to his feet, wiping himself off. “I like what you do, I wish I could do it.” He didn’t look to her, he knew what was coming next. She would reprimand him and tell him to stop dreaming.

“Unfortunately for you young one, in a circus of the damned no one retires. Take me for example. I have been around for longer then I remember. Victim of voodoo and vampirism. I barely keep myself together yet I have not left. I cannot leave and I cannot die. I will be ringmaster for eternity,” she informed him solemnly. No reprimand, no lecture. She was reaching out for his help.

“Perhaps I could do your job. If you let me, give you a break for a few centuries?”

“Haha,” she laughed shortly a smile brought to her face. “That is cute. You cannot handle my job though,” she picked up his shoes, holding them out to him. “The others would eat you alive.”

“Not if you help me,” he pleaded as she dropped the boots into his arms. “I can do this.”

“The woman reached up and stroked the side of his face. “Sweet vampire,” she said smiling to expose her own teeth, “what makes you think that I would let you do my job?”

“You-ou-ou sound so, uh…” he looked hugging the boots to his chest. “You sounded like you needed a break. I guess I was wrong.”

“Oh, I’m tired but you’re scared of me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” he gulped.

“You’re right,” she smiled darkly to him as he started to back away from her. “If you run you might be able to get away from me. Vampire blood sustains me far better then human blood,” she said with a cocky raise of her brow. The man started out of the tent from the direction that she came in, pulling on his left boot. He continued on holding his right boot in his hand. “Run, run little vampire,” she whispered as she looked over her shoulder.

The man continued to run through the woods between the circus and the small town. All he could hear was the thudding of his footsteps and the branches as the slapped him. He was getting away. She was going to let him live. He started to slow down a smile creeping onto his face as he slumped against the nearby tree. He breathed a sigh of relief, a human action that showed his youth. “I made it,” he said quietly to himself.

A light laugh came from behind the tree, “You can’t think I’d give up that easily could you?” the woman said as she stepped from behind the tree, her black boots quiet even with the underbrush. The man closed his eyes shoving the picture of the woman in the black and white corset out of his mind as he began to pray muttering to himself.

“If you meet her, tell her that I still want to be saved,” she whispered, her cold breath on his neck. He wished this wasn’t his fate, he didn’t want to be stuck there forever but this? The cool lips of death brushed against the skin of his neck. Then there was the searing pain of her fangs as they sank into his neck. Slowly the pain ebbed into a soft numbness as his right shoe fell from his arm and thudded to the ground.

 

PS. Weekend with the family was fabulous. I love you Cricket. I love you Fae. I love you Troy.

The Real Bay Harbor Butcher

“You’re awake!” his voice was almost cheery as her bleary eyes blinked against the brightness of the room. She opened her mouth to speak but her throat felt dry.

Licking her lips she opened her eyes to look at him. He looked somewhat disheveled. “What’s going on?” she croaked as the room slowly came into focus. She was surrounded in plastic just like Gregory James was.

“Do you know these men?”

“Yes,” she croaked again as she tried to move to be held back by a sticky sensation of firmness. She looked down to see that she was covered in plastic just like Mr James and that made her head spin around in a circle groaning her eyes fluttering to the top of her head her mind whirling almost putting her out again.

“Oh, no, stay with me,” he said moving closer to her bringing her focus back into the present. So this is why she was sweating. She couldn’t figure out how she got here. When she got here…

“How did I get here? Were is Gregory?”

“Gregory?” his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Who is that?”

“The guy I was going to kill,” she said with a huff, closing her eyes against the annoyingly loud light. The darkness didn’t comfort her, the light bleeding through her eyelids.

“It’s good that I caught you before you did.”

“I knew what you were when I saw you at the police station. You’re just like all of them,” she said rolling her head to the images hung up for her viewing pleasure.

“I’m nothing like them.”

“You are like them. Like me,” she smirked. “Wolf in sheeps clothing.”

“I’m nothing like you. Killing innocent people,” he yelled turning around and running a hand over his hair.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but let out a throaty laugh. “You think they are innocent?” she asked him her grin spreading across her lips. “Jamie Deak, woman rapist. Preferred type 15-20 years of age, vulnerable and red headed. Stalks his victims for 1 month before he abducts them. Wears masks so they can recognize them and bathes them before he drops them off in a random park to find their way home,” she nodded to another picture. “Julio Cortez, likes to beat his women and prefers that they fight. Doesn’t stalk them has a few women that he absuses regularly that can’t get away from him for fear of their family.”

Elizabeth looked to Dexter before she continued, “Darren Lumley, takes advantage of his college students and promises them good grades for sex or failure for denial. Prefers the mousy quiet ones to the loud and confident ones. Erik Cross, Voyeur and blackmailer. When the blackmail isn’t enough he abducts women and rapes them with inanimate objects taping it. Dexter Morgan, abducts and kills. Preferences… unknown. The difference is they don’t kill people but they may as well have. They destroy lives which is the same thing.”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Deny it all you want. Isn’t this your ritual?”

Dexter finally nodded. “I am nothing like them. I have control over the dark passenger.”

“Really?” she asked genuinely intrigued. “Then why is he loose?” why was she so calm in the face of her killer? Whatever got her here, whatever that journey in her mind was it prepared her for this and she knew what was coming. Why be afraid of it?

She wanted it.

“This is control. I focus it…”

“Keep telling yourself that cupcake,” she interrupted him. “Because when they find out what you are, what control you have they’ll be just as disgusted of you as they are of them,” she nodded to the pictures, “or me.”

“I’m different.”

“We all are. We’re all special snowflake killers,” he shoved a piece of cotton in her mouth.

“Shut up,” he growled at her. She closed her eyes as the scalpel came to her cheek the thin blade biting at her skin a trail of blood dripping down the side of her cheek. “Thank you,” she mumbled but it was more like a “mnnn ouuu” sound with the piece of cotton in her mouth.

Elizabeth looked up to him a smile on her face as he lifted the knife.

What a beautiful ritual…

The knife came straight down into her sternum, she grunted at the sensation, a tear rolling down the side of her face in happiness.

She was free now.
Free from the anger.
Free from the pain.
Free from the urge.
Free from the herself.
Free from the world.

They say as you die that you see your life flash before your eyes. All she saw was how she got there. It was just before the unfamiliar shoe. It was a struggle with him. He had kneed her painfully in her side that’s where the throbbing and sharp pains had come from. Finally he got her pinned to the ground and shoved a needle in her neck and she fell asleep.

Like now… the image of Dexter atop of her faded to the Dexter shuddering in delight in front of her before it faded to darkness.

The eternal silent dark.

Brightness

This part of her ritual was different. There was something about it that made her excited but set her off. She felt agitated as she sat there waiting for the guy to come out. She could practically feel how wrong this was in her bones. She ached. Her muscles were tense. She felt like she wanted to scream. She smiled to herself, in a way it was right and yet so very wrong.

She was wearing a long sleeved shirt to cover all the henna tattoos. She was wearing soft makeup, her mascara running down her face from the fake tears she had been crying. Her normally disheveled and short hair covered in a blonde wig that went past her shoulders in soft curls. She sat on the bench in front of Gregory James’ building.

It wasn’t long, he always stayed after everyone else to screw his secretary. She had waited until after the secretary left before she came and sat down to wait for him. He always stayed up there afterward to smoke a cigar and drink a glass of scotch.

Elizabeth smirked as he hit the door exactly when she expected. She quickly wiped it off her face as she began to sob louder to catch his attention.

Routines…
They all had them.
Some were better then others.
Some were to keep a schedule.
Some to keep sanity.
Some, like for Gregory James, were t keep to some form of a perverse life of perfection and superiority.
Tonight his routine would change.

The man approached looked around for a moment before his eyes settled on her. She didn’t see it because her face was buried in her hands but he smirked at her. She continued to sob even as the the man’s shoes came to where she could see it. “What’s the matter doll face?” he asked her, it sadly almost sounded sincere.

Elizabeth sniffled as she looked up to him. “I,” her chin quivered, “I just…” she sobbed again as she saw Dexter silently move in behind him. “My fiance just got killed in a car accident and… and…” Dexter’s hand went around his shoulders as he stabbed his plunger into his neck and depressed it. The man made a small attempt at a struggle before he fell to the ground.

“And that was awesome. Is that how you do it?” as she looked from the man on the ground to the predator in front of her.

“Yes,” he said bending down to grab the rather lithe man. He reminded her of a young Christian Bale… dark hair, fit but thin with a round face. Strong chin. He would have struggled more had she been alone. He would have been very difficult to subdue. Her side burned more at the thought.

“So much cleaner then me,” she said as she watched him pick the man up and lift him over his shoulder. Elizabeth picked up the briefcase.

“In more ways then one,” he said to her which caused her to frown at him, her brow furrowing again in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“My body disposal is cleaner as well.”

“How do you dispose of them then?”

“The ocean,” he said.

Elizabeth gasped. “You’re not!” she said breathlessly.

“Not what?” he looked over his shoulder at her, his own confusion written on his face.

“The butcher,” she said conspiratorially low.

“I hated that name,” his voice was etched with annoyance.

“But I thought that the butcher was dead…”

“Someone is dead.”

“That’s obvious.”

How exactly did they get in the car? It didn’t matter they were going to the kill room. It wasn’t exactly right. It was covered in plastic, just like the man himself. Where were the cleaning products? She had to be calm, what she wanted was there. What she needed was there. The tools of her trade. The things to make him scream…

But Dexter put something in his mouth. He couldn’t cry for help. If he did someone would hear him. She knew that.

This was going too fast.
How did they get to the kill room already.

Elizabeth’s mind was whirling with the strangeness of this all. Was it because it was so wrong that nothing was working out correctly? That nothing was the way it was supposed to be that she didn’t notice the details? That had to be it. Everything wasn’t as right as she needed it to be.

There were her tools.
There was the man.
There was her.
Her hair was in her face.
She was sweating.

When had she started sweating?
What did she do to start sweating?
It was the room, the room was hot.
So many bodies, too much body heat for the small room.

“I…” she said breathlessly again as the room started to spin.

This all felt wrong.
So wrong.

Her side started to ache but not the burning throb of a stab wound but the dull throb like someone kicked her hard in the side. The room started to get obscenely bright as she stared at Dexter.

Was he grinning?

That image took her breath away as she heard his voice but it was far away, not from the man in front of her. He was above her, like the light.

Elizabeth blinked again. What was happening?

“Good…”

Low Self Esteem

So this isn’t a new revelation to me. It was developed in lower school grades and as I got older it didn’t go away. It’s still a major issue for me to know that I’m doing good or looking good or whatever rendition thereof that I need to make sure that I’m living up to or better then people’s expectations of me. I know, particularly shallow of me, but it’s majorly where my shiny attitude comes from. Shine on me or be shiny around me and I’m a shiny person if I don’t get shined on then I’m normally gloomy. It makes sense if you think about the sun and clouds. <_<

So I have my boy and I love his cute little face to death but when I start to get a little down the small amount of affection, that was getting me down in the first place most likely, drops off the face of the earth which just plummets me into a very sad and serious panda. Last night I had a breakdown. He was on the game again and I was missing my kids and my affection from any facet. I was not feeling so shiny and it’s hard for me to relay these things most of the time verbally (normally I just beg for attention in other ways, shaking my bum or getting in your face or try to get touchy feely or my worst case scenario is sighy and quiet). I feel like everything I say is clouded to him because I back it up with emotions no matter what it is. He thinks it’s a device or something and I just try to hide it now but that just makes me all the more frustrated. I’ve considered ways to approach him about it but I can’t find one giving up instead and I’m afraid that if I don’t find this way and keep conceding defeat then I’m going to explode (as I normally do with these things) and then all hell will break loose (as they normally do) and I don’t want it to happen that way I want it to work out but I don’t have a good way to say, “just because I’m depressed doesn’t mean you should drop affection.” it’s frustrating me. I’m confused. I’m hurt all over.

I know part of this is my normal lack of children interaction during the days at work. I get default affection from them, even if it’s simply “MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM” or screaming and crying. I still get it and I know I’m needed and wanted. My things are always there for me and I love them all the more for that but I want the boy to be there for me to. I wish there was a “How to read signals” or “How to read minds” book that I can read and introduce to my boyfriend because I think this would fix most of my problem here.

I do appreciate you guys listening to me rant. I feel a little less upset and angry about it now because I sound a little silly I know. I also know that I do need to find a positive way to negotiate an understanding of how to make me feel better when I don’t feel great. Normally even forcing me to stop and just giving me a hug and a passionate kiss would help. I just like to feel wanted no matter what is gong on. The world could be crumbling around and life still wouldn’t be that bad.

I want this to work but I can’t keep trumping what I need because he gets mad at me.

Cheshire Grin

Elizabeth’s feet throbbed. She looked down to see what it was that was making them throb to see that she was standing on a pile of rocks outside somewhere, no shoes on. She took a step forward, the rocks digging into the tender flesh of her feet.

She took another step.

It was agony.

Why did it hurt so badly?

Where was she exactly? She didn’t remember leaving Dexter’s apartment. Actually she knew she hadn’t left Dexter’s apartment, so how did she get there? Wherever there was.

She looked up from her feet to see people. Not just any people but detectives, forensic scientists, cops. There was yellow tape, flashing lights.

It couldn’t really be? Her killing ground?

She looked beyond the vehicles and people, her shoddy killing house appearing out of a mist. It looked more decrepit then it normally did. The right side seemed to droop almost like it were about to fall off the house altogether. The roof was more of a brownish red instead of a red like she remembered it being.

Elizabeth took another step toward the house. It practically doubled in size. She looked up and around her, the house’s walls bending outward as she breathed in. She released the breath and the walls returned to normal. She repeated the action watching as the house mimicked her. It should have been more strange to her but she was sure that houses did things like that. It made sense didn’t it?

She took ascended the steps, her throbbing feet protesting each step until she was in the house. It was like her feet didn’t want her to enter but once they were inside they had lost so they complied with her will.

Although, now she wanted to leave. The house denied her exit, the door not budging forcing Elizabeth to turn and face the horror within.

The walls bled.

The screams reverberated through the walls making the house sound like it was groaning.

And there, lined up down an endless corridor were her victims. Each strapped and wriggling to get free of the metal slab she had executed them on. Each one laughing hysterically instead of screaming in pain.

She took a step toward them. The first one trying to look up to her.

“You shouldn’t have killed us,” the man said in the many voices of her victims.

She opened her mouth to refute the comment but all that came out were garbled letters that she couldn’t read.

“You shouldn’t have killed us,” the voices repeated starting a taunting chant.

Elizabeth grabbed at her short hair tugging at it to feel the pain of it but nothing happened. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She leaned against the closest moaning wall sinking to her butt, her eyes closed as she tried to pull herself together. Tried to think of what she could do to the already dead.

When she opened her eyes again she was downstairs in her kill room. Looking around the room she saw Dexter, a dark smile of excitement on his face as he reached out to her. She took his hand allowing him to pull her to her feet, across the room to a small corner. The corner was ordinary, sterile. Just as she left it but he brought out a cotton swab, swabbing the corner returning with a q-tip of blood.

She looked from the bloodied q-tip back to the corner and the wall had began to bleed. Her eyes widened as she looked up to the gleeful smiling Dexter.

She attempted to scream again but still there was nothing that came out.

The blood began to fill the room, a small puddle growing quickly to a wading depth. Shortly it was up to Elizabeth’s neck. Dexter still stood a few feet away, his ever prominent wicked smile on his face as he held the incriminating evidence up for her to see.

The blood rose, covering her face.

Elizabeth tried to swim but her feet seemed fused to the floor.

The darkness began to settle around her.

Where was she again?

How did she get there?

Liz/Dexter Fic Part 9: Broken Mirror

Elizabeth teetered as she looked up at Dexter. She was trying to read what he was going to say before he said it. She hadn’t exactly told him something that you could process in seconds, like “I’m pregnant.” No, this little tidbit of information was more along the lines of “Daddy, I’m gay.” Although that didn’t nearly have the consequences of what she had just told him.

“Dexter?”

It took a moment but his name seemed to bring him down to earth and he stared at her for a moment before he made his move. It was not one she had anticipated although she probably should have.

Or maybe not.

He crushed her against the door, lifting her, as he did in her dream, with his knee between her legs and held her there with his forearm. Breathing. Staring.

Was he trying to gauge her sincerity? Her threat level?

“What makes you think that I’m anything like you?” he growled at her.

She couldn’t sit here and let him crush her, she didn’t have the strength to fight back but she didn’t have the willpower to quell the raging beast within her any longer.

Elizabeth did what the monster asked of her, succumbing to it’s rage, it’s itch.

First was the knee to the groin, he didn’t have time to shift to avoid the impact with one of his knees supporting her. He dropped her and moved back, his body bent in half from the pain.

She quickly put her hands up and punched him, his head tilting back and breaking the mirror. She quickly wrapped her hand around the back of his neck bringing his face into her knee. He was conscious again bringing his hand between his face and her knee, softening the impact for him.

Dexter put his shoulder into her gut and pushed her backwards breaking the glass of his shower box but having her against a wall. Elizabeth cried out, the pain coursing through her body as she felt her insides churn. She brought her elbows down on the back of his neck. Once. Twice. Three times before he took a step back and took a swing at her. She ducked almost fast enough, he caught her hair against the tile. She moved a foot and stepped on a piece of glass, then another, the pieces slicing into her feet. He quickly latched his fingers into her hair and pulled her around to hit her head into the wall.

Elizabeth’s ears began to ring as he did a second and third time. One or two more times and she’d be dead. The Monster cried mercy, she cried out stop but it was barely more then a whimper. She had to get his attention by either getting the upper hand or… well death was the other option.

Elizabeth, barely able to think put her palms against the wall and pushed. She gave herself enough room to push off the wall with her feet toppling the surprised Dexter onto the ground beneath her. She scrambled to straddle him, her hands wrapping around his neck. She lifted his head and gave him the same punishment he had just given her. One. Two. Three. She pounded his head onto the tile surface of the bathroom floor, then she stopped, her fingers still wrapped idly around his neck. No pressure although she could attempt to strangle him, it probably wouldn’t be effective and she’d probably just make him pass out.

Dexter grunted and toppled her weight with a move of his hips and he was easily atop of her with his hands on her neck.

Elizabeth looked up at him. He down to her. They were a broken mirror staring back at one another. Not exactly an identical copy but alike just the same. They both had blood on their hands.

“I don’t want to kill you Dexter,” she croaked, barely audible.

“That’s not what it seemed like when you hit my head head against the ground,” he growled at her.

“Payback for the forehead,” he smirked at the thought. Only they would have thought that amusing.

“I don’t want to kill you either.”

“Then why don’t you get off of me and lets go talk.”

It took a few more minutes of staring before either of them let up enough to let the other one relax. When their fingers slowly uncurled from each others necks they helped one another up.

Elizabeth took in a sharp breath as she came to her feet. “I can’t seem to stop spilling my own blood it seems,” she said sarcastically, leaning her weight on the unsteady Dexter.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” she said to him as she limped into the bedroom with him. She plopped onto the bed as he sat down next to him.

“Let me see your feet.”

Elizabeth twisted, pulling her feet onto his lap so that he could inspect them. He pulled at her toes but he didn’t touch the wounds. It was nice to see someone else that knew how to take care of a cut like she did. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t help myself.”

She heard his breath but couldn’t tell if it was amused or disbelieving. “Seriously, how could you tell that I was like you?” he asked again placing her feet onto his lap.

“I don’t know,” she said giving a shrug. “It’s like recognizing another predator. Your hair stands on end, you can see their teeth and you the glint in their eyes and then its gone. You didn’t see it in me?”

“You’re obviously better at hiding it.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked at him. “Really? I was going to tell you the same thing. Maybe I just saw it first. I had just sated my need a few nights before. The darkness was sated. Now I can’t even keep myself from attacking the nicest man I know,” she said with a sigh.

“You were just protecting yourself. I would have done the same thing.”

“I guess… I think it’s more then that though.”

“Like what?”

“I haven’t had a victim in about a month and my blood itches for it.”

“Well then why don’t you?”

“I can’t,” she watched as his face furrowed in confusion. “I’m worried right now that our little excursion in there didn’t already pull a few stitches out let alone dragging a dead body around and those are minimum requirements,” she finished, looking to the ground beside the bed.

Dexter grunted an acknowledgment.

Silence fell upon the pair. She had a feeling that he knew, without words, what she wanted. It was more then a want, she was sure he understood that but it was a boundary that neither of them had crossed before. Trusting another person with a secret as sensitive as this.

“Dexter?”

A phone rang and he shoved his hand in his pocket. He looked at it. “It’s work,” he said pointing at it. “Morgan. Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Talk about this later then?”

“We’ll have to. Dead body found out in the Southern Glades about.”

“Ten miles north of Ingraham Highway,” she said with him her fists clenching into the palms of her hands.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Elizabeth released a breath of forced amusement. “That’s my killing ground.”

Dexter stared at her for a moment before gently removing her feet from his lap.

“Stay here, I’ll be back in a few hours and we can talk. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Hopefully not more bodies,” she said standing up on her hurt feet, a shard of glass still within digging deeply into her cut. “Dexter,” she looked up to him, “thank you,” she told him, standing on her toes, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down into another of those messy kisses which he returned in kind.

“I’ll be back,” he informed her.

“Dexter?”

He turned to her a second time.

“Don’t forget to clean up before you go,” he looked down at his bloodied hands and breathed in amusement.

“Thanks,” he disappeared out of the door and he was gone. This was not good for her. What had she forgotten? How did someone find a body out there? What evidence did she leave in her graveyard? She was going to jail wasn’t she?

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