Jump to content
Invision Community

Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'face'.



More search options

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


Categories

  • Uncategorized
  • Tweets
  • Sites
  • Me
  • Family
  • Art
  • Job
  • Kids
  • Writing
  • Dexter
  • Dreams
  • NaNoWriMo
  • Knights of Cydonia - Supermassive
  • Cricket
  • Comic
  • Morrapocalypse
  • Wootflakes
  • Writing prompts/Short Stories

Find results in...

Find results that contain...


Date Created

  • Start

    End


Last Updated

  • Start

    End


Filter by number of...

Joined

  • Start

    End


Group


About Me

Found 11 results

  1. "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.
  2. "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.
  3. Morrigan

    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..."
  4. Morrigan

    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.
  5. Morrigan

    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?
  6. 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?
  7. The rhythm of the lights dimming would have been soothing had it not been for the obnoxious buzz of the florescent or the jabber of the woman talking constantly. “We need an O negative transfusion and an O.R. Room prepped. This woman has lost a lot of blood and has multiple...” the rhythmic beat of the lights faded quickly into a dark grey then to black as Elizabeth blacked out again. ------------------------------------ Elizabeth felt strange. There was an almost nauseous feeling to it but she didn't feel sick. No, it was more of a throbbing in her abdomen, her arms, her head, her neck. She tried to move, tried to touch her stomach where it throbbed the most but her limbs felt like lead. No matter how hard she willed herself to move she couldn't move in the soundless black. She supposed she could ask the normal questions to herself but that would be kind of pointless. Where was she? Why was she there? Philosophical non-sense that meant nothing when she considered that she couldn't remember anything before she got there. The question then was, what could she remember? Blood. It was everywhere. The unfamiliar shoe. The strange lights. Then the blackness. “She's coming out of it,” an unfamiliar male voice interjected into the blackness. “I thought she was under! We're not done yet put her back under,” said a second voice. “That could put her in a coma or kill her!” “Her coming out before I finish surgery could kill her. Put he...r...” The quiet enveloped her again. Surgery? She didn't remember going in for some procedure but perhaps she lost her memory. Maybe.... The darkness began to feel crushing. The throbbing began to subside being replaced with a light feeling. Her mind began to feel fuzzy and she couldn't find her thoughts through the haze. Morgan. Piper. Batista. Detective. Death. Torture. Knives. Killing. Investigation. Blood. Dexter. Blood. Dexter. Dexter. Dexter. Dexter. “DEXTER!” Elizabeth shouted her eyes snapped open to see the dulled florescent bulb above her. Her throat ached, the dullest scratch like she hadn't drank anything for days. She tried to move but her arms and chest were strapped down. She struggled with the restraints not understanding why they were even on her. Was she convicted of something? Was she ina mental institution finally? She struggled harder against the cushioned straps, her arms beginning to burn. “She's awake,” a gruff Latin voice came from the hall. “What did she say?” a female Latino voice came through. “Did she say Dexter?” “That's what it sounded like. I know she was flirting with him at the precinct. Perhaps she would do better to talk to him? I don't want to upset her, she's been through a lot,” it was Detective Batista. “I'll go in and see her while you go get him.” Elizabeth eased her struggle against the restraint when the burly figure of Detective Batista came closer to her. She tried to talk but it came out more of a groggy moan. “Dete-tive Ta-Tista,” she whispered huskily to him. “Water,” she croaked. “Puh,” she groaned and struggled to pull her hand up to her throat but remained restrained. The Detective seemed to get the gist as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water bringing it over for her to drink. She closed her eyes as the medium warm water chaffed down her throat. Mmm, Miami's best tap water. “You've been through a lot,” she heard the detective say as he pulled the nourishing glass of disgusting water away from her lips. “I can only im-magine,” she continued groggily. “Not sure the last time I woke up in hand cuffs. College maybe?” she grinned lazily up to him giving her hand a tug to emphasize the point. “You still have your sense of humor. That's good,” he said giving her another drink of the water. “That's really good actually.” He tilted his head as he pulled the cup away from her lips, still forgetting or neglecting to remove the restraints from her arms. “Do you remember what happened to you before you came here?” She looked around and took a deep breath. “I'm still trying to figure out where here is,” she told him. “I guess it would help if I had a little more... um,” she closed her eyes to attempt to think of the word. “I don't know. Umm, movement?” she tugged at her wrists to signify the restraints to hopefully enlighten the rather confused looking detective. It took longer then she expected for the concept to come over him. “Oh, uh. Let me get a nurse to let you out of those. I heard you are quite the restless sleeper,” he told her as he stood up to get some help. That probably explained why she was tied down. Pulling out IV's while you slept was not good for healing, if that's what she was supposed to be doing. It was only a few minutes before a nurse came in followed by Detective Batista and a new face. It was a woman but it wasn't Detective Morgan. The nurse immediately began to tug and pull at her chest causing a few sharp intakes of breath and groans. Every movement felt like a knife being jabbed into her side. “What in the hell happened to me,” she asked after a particularly loud groan as the strap over her shoulders was removed and she could wiggle them to get more comfortable. “We were hoping you could tell us that Miss Thory,” the Latina woman asked. “Did you not tell her Detective Batista?” Elizabeth asked throwing an accusing gaze in his direction. “Lieutenant, she prefers to be called Liz.” “Liz then,” the lieutenant said with a frustrated breath. “What happened to you?” Elizabeth's right wrist was released from it's restraint which gave her the ability to rub them gently. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I don't remember much. I remember leaving the precinct to go home and then I woke up here,” she opened her eyes. She twisted her hips to adjust her position. With the movement a sudden jolt of pain shot from her abdomen outward to all of her limbs. The sudden shock made her grip the plastic bars that kept her in her bed. “Ow,” she said as she groaned settling down into her original position. “Maybe someone could enlighten me on the damage before I do something that stupid again.” Detective Batista chuckled with a move to muffle it by rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Sure,” the lieutenant said moving out into the hall signaling that she wanted the detective to follow her leaving the quiet nurse alone with the forgetful serial killer. This was great. She knew most of what happened but she wasn't sure exactly what she should divulge. Yes ma'am, he was bad with a knife, I could tell because I'm a Serial Killer. No ma'am, I don't actually kill people for a living, it's more of a hobby really. Yes ma'am, he was in my apartment waiting for me. No ma'am, I wasn't afraid. Why should I be afraid of an ignorant asshole that broke into my home? Yes ma'am, I fought back and obviously I didn't win. No ma'am, I don't remember what happened after that, I just remember the blood and the unfamiliar shoe. Elizabeth was shaken out of her imaginary answer scenario when the door opened and a doctor, followed by an unsuspected smiling face. “Hey you.” “Dexter?” Elizabeth questioned more informally then she probably should have. She had only met him twice and they were already on a first name basis? She didn't think they actually were, “I mean Mr Morgan. Why are you here?” “You can call me Dexter and I heard you asked for me by name.” Elizabeth's cheeks burned in embarrassment. It was unlike her to show that sort of emotion but she couldn't believe that she had asked for him by name. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean...” she rubbed a hand through her matted hair as he gave her a smile. “You shouldn't have come down here.” “It's okay, the lieutenant asked me to come down and collect some blood samples from you anyways. Like from your hair,” he said flipping some of her matted hair as he gently sank into the bed beside her. “Alright Miss Thory, I understand that you wanted to know what all we did to fix you up,” great, an informal, interrupting doctor. This explanation would be short and probably stupid. “Well you had a few cuts on your neck that we stitched up, you're really lucky that you didn't nick an artery there because it was really close. Then we patched up a few cuts on your arms and a gouge on your leg, it looked like someone stabbed the knife into your thigh. Then we stitched up your stomach where you had a few stab wounds. We couldn't tell how many but you were really lucky that they were shallow and didn't do any internal damage or you would be dead.” Elizabeth was pretty sure that luck didn't have anything to do with it. Although, how he got so many cuts in before she took him down was beyond her. “You'll have to stay in the hospital for at least a few days while we watch you but you'll be out of here in no time. You're lucky you got that call into 911 or you'd be dead.” “Thank you doctor,” she said with a forced genuine smile. “I'll let you talk with your boyfriend here, then a nurse will come in to check on you in while,” he said slapping his clipboard against his hand with a loud 'pop'. Simultaneously both Dexter and Elizabeth gave off an “Umm,” to signify the inaccuracy of his statement. “He's not my...” “She's not my...” “Oop, sorry. I just figured that you were,” the doctor back peddled. “Let me get out of here so you guys can talk anyways,” he said quickly retreating from the room that now stood in a tense silence. Now what? “Umm,” he started. “Lieutenant LaGuerta wanted me to ask you if you remember what happened,” he said with a frown. “I don't remember much. Just waking up in blood and the unfamiliar shoe,” the word blood set her teeth on edge. She may remember it but she didn't get to enjoy it. Not like she should have been able to. She felt violated in the largest but most private part of her life. Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I'm sorry I'm not much help,” she told him. She was pretty sure that this wasn't the place to remember more. At least not the more that she did remember. The dream with the smiling serial killer. “Did he die?” Dexter looked confused about the question, like he was caught off guard. “Did who die?” “The man. The one,” that I didn't get to torture and that almost killed me. The one that attacked me. The bastard that I cut to ribbons as he sliced me up. The one “that tried to,” rape and “kill me,” she said the anger seeping into her voice. Dexter's brow furrowed, “Yes he was dead when emergency services got to you. Are you alright? You look upset.” “I don't know,” Elizabeth said as she began to rub her hand absentmindedly. She could feel the ache grow. “I feel,” she huffed in frustration as she saw the face of the lieutenant in the window to her room. She couldn't ask him anything there. She doubted she'd ever be able to tell him her secret no matter how much she wanted to, “tired.” “Not a problem. I'll just get those samples from your hair and under your finger nails then get out of here so you can rest.” “Is this what you always do? Get to see the sick and dying and get samples?” she asked with a smirk. “Actually I'm a Blood Spatter analyst.” “Blood Spatter? And you're here collecting dry and crusted samples from my hair? Why would you do something as silly as that?” “Well I was the only one available.” “Oh,” she said, the disappointment apparent in her voice. A serial killer could hope. “Not that I didn't want to see you I was just saying that it may have been someone else but I was available.” “I understand,” she said with a small smile as he leaned in with a q-tip that he just sprayed with some chemical. She took in a breath and held it while his face was close to hers. He smelt of blood and sweat, “You killed someone recently,” she whispered. “What?” he asked looking down at her with surprise. “Hmmm,” she smiled. “You smell like blood. You must have killed recently.” She looked up to him with a smirk. “It's a joke you blood spatter analyst.” He must have been holding his breath too because he let it out in one quick rush as he sat back and clicked the lid on his q-tip swab. “You had me going there for a second.” “I'm pretty good at that. I didn't mean to scare you.” “It's alright. I think I'm done. If they need more they'll get it from you I think.” Elizabeth set her hand on his leg. “Will you come to see me again?” “Sure,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow works. Around noon?” “Only if you promise to bring me something not hospital food.” “Alright, it's a date then.” “Thanks.” He didn't move, staring at her. Maybe he was thinking about collecting from her fingernails like he said he was going to. Perhaps, instead, he was trying to measure her up or maybe he was imagining her as a serial killer like she had when she first met him. Dexter the knife man. Elizabeth the knife woman. Together they rid the world of people to sate their own desire to hurt things. They are.... Serial Killers! A new kind of Super Hero.
  8. Morrigan

    Liz Fic part 6

    Elizabeth's heart was racing her body was covered in sweat as she shot straight up her hand immediately shooting up to feel her stinging neck. She brought her fingers away from her neck to look at the blood on her hands. She breathed heavily trying to gain her bearings her eyes falling to the sheets that covered her. Blood. Her entire bed was covered in blood, not just her neck where she felt a stinging sensation. She took a deep calming breath as she ran her bloodied hand over one side of her face and into her hair. Where did all of the blood come from? Was it all hers? Was she dead? If she were dead then she'd be in some sort of surreal heaven. A pleasant and fabulous heaven where blood was given without a price. No, she wasn't dead but she didn't feel well. Her entire body felt weak, her mind swirling as she fell back to the bloodied sheets trying to think of where all the blood came from. Her body felt so weak, so tired. It wasn't like her to feel so tired or so dazed. With an extreme amount of effort she threw a leg over so she was able to roll to her stomach and look around the floor for any clues as to where the blood had come from. Anything. She needed to know why she felt so woozy, why she was still alive if that was all her blood. Her eyes scanned the floor. A shoe, her bag, her... Elizabeth pressed her head harder into her mattress to tilt her head slightly. That wasn't her knife. She had never seen that knife before in her life and yet there it was, covered in blood on top of her bag. Suddenly she shot up again only to fall to the floor her face planting next to an unfamiliar shoe attached to a leg. She grabbed at it before she realized how terrifyingly bad this was. This was not happening! What was she supposed to be doing? Calling the cops? Cleaning up? What happened when she got home? Elizabeth closed her eyes and thought back to her drive home. It had involved being driven by a police officer, wait. No. She had taken a cab home but she had been at the police statioin earlier. She paid the cab driver when she arrived. Walked up the steps to her apartment glancing over at her deceased neighbors door. Unlocked her door, walked in the door. Did she unlock her door? Did it matter? She got into her apartment and then... Then? Elizabeth's eyes snapped open as she stared at the foot. The man attacked her and held her with the knife to her neck. That's why her neck stung. He didn't know how to handle a weapon and he pressed too hard on her neck because she didn't react the way he wanted. With fear. There was a fight and she won, obviously by the corpse on her floor. Despite how much she wanted to cleanse herself of this death, to play around in his puddle of blood, she couldn't. She had to call the cops for this one. There was no getting out of that but she had to know her story before she did that. Elizabeth repeated the events in her mind before she finally fumbled for her home phone dialing 911. “911, what's your emergency?” a male's voice picked up on the other end. “Yes, my name is Elizabeth Thory and,” she attempted to choke up like she was on the verge of tears, “I was attacked in my home and I overcame my attacker but I think he's dead. There's blood everywhere.” “Alright ma'am, take a deep breath. Do you feel that your life is threatened right now?” god she hated when people told her to take a deep breath, it was like they thought she had forgotten how to breath. “I don't think so! I think he's dead!” she sobbed into the receiver. “Is anyone in need of medical assistance?” “Yes,” she breathed quietly. “Stay on the line with me miss until we get someone to your location. Can you give me your address?” “Umm. Uh. I live in apartment 26 in the palm apartments, um. It's on Pine road,” she said being as purposefully ambiguous as possible. Alright ma'am someone will be there shortly. Please stay on the line with me until medical services get there. Elizabeth hung up. She didn't need to hear him repeat himself and she could already hear the sirens. The sirens themselves made her heart beat in anticipation. This was so bad! So very bad and yet she felt she had to do it this way.
  9. Morrigan

    Liz Fic Part 4

    Elizabeth fell out of sync for the third class that day as she jumped up and down teaching the thirty-odd people in front of her a new routine. They didn't notice, how could they? But she could and it frustrated her. Her mind kept wandering to the man that morning, the one that looked familiar but wasn't familiar. Every time it wandered, she faltered. Who in the hell was he? Why did she recognize him? Why couldn't she get her mind off of it? Distraction 101. Think about something that draws your mind away from the task at hand. It's always a bad thing. “Liz, is something the matter?” Amanda asked her, the genuine look of concern on her students face as she approached Elizabeth after the class. “Yes. Why? Does something look to be the matter?” Elizabeth asked incredulously. “Oh, well you just look a little sad is all. See you next week,” Amanda said with a smile and a wave of her hand still holding her aerobics towel. That is why you do not get distracted, people notice. “Yeah, see you next week,” Elizabeth responded as she always did, a bright smile on her lips as everyone left the expansive room to her. Once the room was empty she moved to the wall and placed her forehead against the cool surface. “Dexter Morgan,” Elizabeth said aloud for the first time since she had seen it written on the ID badge around the man's face. “Dexter Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Morgan. Where have I seen you before Dexter Morgan?” “Excuse me, Liz?” Elizabeth spun on her heel to face the door. Naomi the desk clerk was poking her head inside. “I'm sorry to bother you. I had tried your cell a few minutes ago. There's some officers here that say they want to see you about something,” she said indicating to over her shoulder. “You can show them in Naomi,” Elizabeth said with a wave of her hand a smile still apparent on her face. Shortly afterward she was faced with Detective Batista and Detective Morgan again. “Hello. I wasn't expecting to see you both again so soon,” she informed them. Their solemn looks told her that this visit was not good, her first instinct was to run but she stood her ground. While she often listened to those tiny instincts the instinct to flee was not one of them. Fleeing insinuated guilt. Elizabeth was not guilty. “Miss Thory,” Detective Batista started. “Liz,” Elizabeth quickly corrected. “Liz,” he said with a nod of his head. “Miss Adams' son was also found dead in the apartment.” Now that was something she was not expecting, her eyes opened wide with shock for a few moments before furrowing together in confusion. “That's terrible but what does it have to do with me?” “Well we'd like to take you down and ask you a few more questions if that's alright.” Elizabeth held a face that looked sorely confused. “I don't understand.” She was a suspect and she knew it. Talk about bringing her life under the microscope. “We just have a few questions that we need to ask you back at the station.” “Alright I guess. I don't see why you couldn't call instead of coming all the way down here,” Elizabeth said moving to grab her stuff lifting her aerobics towel off of her bag and pressing it to her sweating brow. “Well we did call you just didn't answer,” Detective Morgan interjected. “I told you I might not be able to hear you over the music,” Elizabeth countered with a smile as she pulled her bag over her shoulder. “After you,” she indicated with a single hand. What a perfect opportunity to attempt to see Dexter Morgan again. If she believed in fate she'd say it was that. The elevator dinged just before the door opened to a room that was lined with glass windows and hip high desks all in one large room. Elizabeth didn't know if she would be able to work in such a confined space like this. It was messy. She could already feel the draw on her energy just being there. Maybe that was half of the point to being brought here. The negativity made a person self conscious. Elizabeth hummed a soft lullaby tune as she walked with a smile on her face nodding as she passed a few people. They all looked so solemn, like the tedium of their job was too hard to bare. What happened when it did become too hard to bare? Is that when the noble police officers that “just do their job” become homicidal? Elizabeth wondered how many of them contemplated suicide and murder. Her eyes playfully crossed each of them her mind straying to seeing them holding a weapon of choice in their hand. She could imagine Detective Batista as a man with bloody knuckles after beating someone to death. Detective Morgan seemed more of a suicide case then a murderer, passed out with blood in her bath and pills all over the floor. A double dipper as it were. Elizabeth saw another female with blood on what she could only assume was their husband's mistresses sex whip. Another she saw with a concealing baseball cap and bat. Another had a noose around their neck as they filed away some paperwork. As Elizabeth daydreamed she was lead into what she could only assume was an interrogation room. She looked around calmly setting her bag onto the table and plopping herself into the chair to look up at the two detectives that had disappeared behind a closed door. Elizabeth frowned. That was rude of them. She quickly shrugged it off and began to look around the room swinging her feet beneath her. There was no point in being nervous. They had nothing on her even if she were to be their prime suspect for a crime she didn't commit. Wasn't it ironic? Elizabeth Thory a suspect for a crime she didn't even commit. She huffed in amusement as her eyes lingered on the camera. Was he out there? The man she knew but didn't. Dexter Morgan. After a few moments the door clicked and opened to let the Detectives into the small room. She smiled more broadly tilting her head cheerily like she had no idea what could have prompted them to bring her down here. Detective Morgan placed a file in front of her and sat down. “How well did you know the Adams' again?” she asked. “I told you that I didn't know them very well. We were neighbors, not friends,” Elizabeth responded with a shake of her head. What didn't they understand about that. “Well it appears that the boy knew you better then you thought,” Detective Morgan said as she opened the manilla folder to expose some angry looking drawings. “We found these in the boys room with your name on it,” she said flipping them around so that Elizabeth could see them. Elizabeth tilted her head furrowing her brow as she stared at the images. They were about death and how Elizabeth was a killer and about how she planned to kill him and his mother. Instead of looking alarmed she smiled more broadly and laughed. Elizabeth looked up at the officer's and shook her head in amusement. They looked at each other like she was going to confess to what they were thinking she had done. “You have to be kidding me. You brought me all the way down here to explain some pictures from an eight year old?” she said trying to contain her laughter. She rubbed her eye as she shoved the images back at her. “I did a favor for Piper a few years ago and the boy never forgave me. She didn't have the heart to take his dog to the pound so she asked me to. Unfortunately there was a miscommunication as to when I was to be over to pick him up and the boy ended up coming home when I was taking the dog out of the house. “He never forgave me for that. Check the Greenleaf Veterinary Clinic. It's under Piper's name but the dogs name was Chowder,” Elizabeth looked at them with a playful smile on their face. “If you look at the pictures there is a dog in the background of them all. Piper told me about it but never showed me the pictures,” she explained waiting for one of them to leave and check the information. “So why would he say that you were going to kill him and his mom,” Elizabeth sighed. “I don't have any idea. I'm an aerobics instructor not a psychologist,” she said with a shrug and chuckle. “You're not taking this seriously. You're neighbor is dead Miss Thory and you are our prime suspect. Where were you last night?” the scrawny brunette snapped trying to get Elizabeth to break. “Camping,” Elizabeth said plainly. “Do you have anyone that can collaborate that?” Detective Batista interjected. Not a live one. “Unfortunately not,” she answered simply. There was a tap at the door and Detective Batista went outside to see what it was about. “Just tell the truth. You killed Piper and her son and went home like any other day. What did she do to piss you off? You are bigger then her it probably wouldn't have been hard to overpower her, you're very fit,” Detective Morgan said. “Feel free to get a warrant and check to see if you can find the blood in my home,” Elizabeth informed her. “I didn't kill Piper or her son. I had no problem with them,” she explained as Detective Batista returned to the room. “You're free to leave but stay where we can contact you. No more camping,” he said with a shake of his head. Detective Morgan got up frustrated. “She's the one I can feel it,” she murmured to the other as Elizabeth collected her things. “We don't have proof Morgan,” he said gruffly back to her. “I'm sorry I'm not a great help to you both. If there is anything I can do please don't hesitate,” Elizabeth said clutching her bag closer to herself as she left. She was hoping it would throw a red flag to indicate there was something inside of it. Get them to take it back, give her time to find Dexter. “Liz,” Detective Batista called after her. “Do you mind if we look in the bag?” Elizabeth set it down on the desk she was standing next to throwing a hand out. “Not at all.” She took a few steps back, further into the open expanse of the office looking around to see if she saw him. She avoided the people that she imagined with their murder weapons or suicide of choice and looked for the familiar face amongst the crowd of unfamiliar people. Elizabeth smiled at the Detective as he looked to her while he rummaged through her bag. “I warn you there might be icky stuff in there. You may want gloves. I sweat a lot.” That seemed to get his grubby fingers out of her stuff for a second to seek gloves. He should have had those on the entire time shouldn't he have? It didn't matter much to her, they wouldn't find anything. Elizabeth's eyes went from the Detective back to looking for Dexter. This time it didn't take long. He came from around a corner. Look at that stride. He looked so confident. He was a knife man, like she was. He took a personal interest in killing his victims, or he would, if he were a murderer like her. She bowed her eyes in disappointment as she was one of the few like herself. The neat monster. Elizabeth looked back up to see his eyes on her. “Hey... you. I saw you at the crime scene earlier. What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes skillfully glazing over what Detective Batista was doing. “Apparently I'm the prime suspect,” she informed him her eyes shooting to the detective which just looked up for a moment before returning to removing things from her bag. “Oh. Well oh,” he said looking awkward. “My name is Elizabeth by the way. Please call me Liz though. Thank you again for letting me get to work earlier,” she informed him placing her hand out for him to shake. He took it. His grip was firm, one that would make most women woozy in the knees for him. “Dexter Morgan.” “Lovely to meet you Dexter Morgan,” she said with a slight lift and fall to their hands. “Now I hate to repeat myself but I swear I've seen you somewhere before,” she informed him although their hands hadn't separated. “I wouldn't know where,” he told her again. Elizabeth's eyes furrowed and she recoiled her hand as if he had burned her. She knew why he looked so familiar, it was like looking in a mirror. “My mistake then,” she informed him with a smile. If she knew then could he tell too? “All done. Sorry about the inconvenience Miss, I mean Liz,” Detective Batista said bowing his head as he stripped his hands of his gloves. “Thank you Detective. You have my cell,” she said turning back to Dexter. “Will I see you again?” she asked him. “Well after this case maybe?” he said with a shrug. She reached into a side pocket of her bag for a pen and a piece of paper. She quickly scrawled her name and number onto the pad before handing it to him. “It was great to see you again,” she informed him with a smile before she picked up her bag. She gave him and the Detective a nod before she began toward the elevator. She could hear the detective tease him. “Woo Dex. I think she's hot for you,” was all she could hear before the elevator doors slammed shut in front of her. She didn't believe “hot” was the best term for what she felt. Interested? Curious? Seduced? Probably.
  10. Elizabeth panted as she sat in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, her hands on her face as she began to calm down. She slowly brought her bloodied hands over her choppy brown hair as she took a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling. She felt so amazing right then. Her entire body tingling with the triumph of a fresh kill. It was like sex to the veteran serial killer. Elizabeth relaxed where she was for a while, leaning her head back and closing her tired eyes. She was exhausted. Her profession was extremely exhausting but the way she felt right then made it all worth it. Nothing compared to the sensation of torturing a fellow human being, listening to them suffer, before you took the mortality that wasn't yours to take. It was an exhilaration that nothing had ever rivaled for her. She doubted anything ever would either. After a few minutes had passed, her body began to relax, the adrenaline ebbing in her system, her body beginning to shut down from the long days of torture and lack of food. It was when her eyes closed for a few minutes that Elizabeth knew she needed to get up and move before she passed out from sleep deprivation. She didn't sleep well as it was, her mind always working when she hadn't experienced a kill in a while, and when she took someone in to murder she stayed awake for days enjoying the every waking moment that she can. Elizabeth quickly ran her hands over her disheveled hair to push it out of her face. The action was not worth the effort as the dried blood just forced it back into her face. With a groan of displeasure she pushed herself off of the floor to begin the process of cleaning up after herself. Each of her tools, even the unused ones, were placed into a bucket of bleach water. First check mark was done. Next was collecting the evidence that they could use against her when they found the body. She liked to believe they always found the body. She clipped his nails. Shaved every part of his body. Washed him down with bleach. Propped him against the wall while she cleaned up everything else. Elizabeth sat and scrubbed for hours. She started in a corner and scrubbed. She used a small brush and was careful to include everything. Not just the things she knew she had touched but the things she didn't know if she had touched them. The chipped paint cupboards. The sink. The floor, the walls. Everything was carefully scrubbed and rinsed with her yellow gloved hands. It had been hours but for all she knew it could have been days by the time she reached her corpse. He was so beautiful without one of his eyes. It was so sad that she couldn't leave him in his canvas state. The blood that had smeared his body earlier in that day made him look majestic to her. Now he was a blank canvas again and she couldn't repaint him. Elizabeth gave the man a halfhearted smile before she moved to lift him. He was so much heavier now that he was dead, even though he was ten pounds lighter then when she had tugged him down the stairs. Dragging him back up the stairs was a task in itself. Once it was done and he was in his shallow grave miles away from the place that she had just killed him in, she felt the relief that overcame her when she was almost done with her job. She quietly turned and lifted the shovel beginning to methodically cover the man with fresh dirt, the soft crunching sound soothing her tight muscles as she worked. Elizabeth returned to the home and continued to clean. There was always so much to clean after she did her job. The stairs were next. Then the hallways, the rooms. Everything had to be cleaned. No trace that she was ever there could be left. She couldn't be found because she was careless. When Elizabeth was done she walked outside to the hose. She took the scrub pad and bleach to her own body. She scrubbed until her skin began to burn. She still felt dirty, like she had forgotten something but she knew that was how she always felt after a good kill. She got dressed in her fresh replacement clothing after throwing the discarded remnants and trash into her trunk. Finally she was ready to go home. Elizabeth slid into her car and pulled away from the rickety abandoned home in the middle of nowhere, and began towards her home in Miami.
  11. It was all there. All familiar. All necessary. It was like a checklist in her mind as she went about the tasks of her job. As each thing was completed she was able to tick off the box and continue to the next. If something wasn't completed it messed with her balance, it made her irritable and it just became messy. She wasn't messy. She ticked off the box in her mind of preparation. The tools of her trade were neatly laid out on the table beside her, a shimmering display of silver on a mat black tray. Each glimmering item had a story, each one had a use but they weren't always used. Her job didn't always require the use of each of them even if she wished that it did. Another box in her mind ticked off as the man began to breath rapidly and wriggle in his confinements. She quietly hushed him like a mother would a screaming child, cooing softly and running her fingers over his half bald head. “Hush, it will all be over soon. Once I have what I need then you will be free to go. It's an easy trade. The faster you give it to me, the faster your able to leave,” she smiled, her white teeth shining down at him. She always thought that it gave a false sense of security. Made them think good things, making her job easier. What she didn't know was that her sweaty face and exposed part of her body, the smeared dark lines around her eyes, the scraggly hair around her face made her bared teeth made her appear more like an alligator. “What am I doing here? Let me go you stupid bitch! Let me out of here! Do you know who I am?” the man yelled at her angrily. She hummed quietly as she frowned. She checked off the initial anger in her mind. Even if she didn't like it she knew that it was necessary. Without it, or despair, then the entire thing didn't work. She just happened to prefer the despair over the anger. Gently she tapped the top of his head as she stood up straight and moved outside of the man's peripheral vision. He began to thrash more violently. “I already told you how I would let you go, are you ready to give me what I want?” she asked him calmly, the clinking metal of her tools causing the man to pause in his thrashing to attempt to discern what she was doing. She looked over her shoulder at him, his head pushing against the restraints in attempt to peer over at her, “Wha-what do you want?” he asked gulping hard. Probably his pride, he had asked her if she knew who he was. She did, it was one of her check marks. It was required before continuing through her course of actions. She smiled to herself as she lifted a needle and an object that looked similar to a melon baller. “What do I want?” she echoed after a few moments delay. She tinked the objects together before she turned to face the man again. “I think you'll be able to accommodate me without much effort,” she explained as she walked back over to the side of the table where he was strapped, the ominous click of her heels echoing in the otherwise empty room. She leaned over the man, the sweet, alligator-like, smile still on her face. “What I want from you is your voice and your life,” she explained to him as his trashing started again, more violent then before. “You're the one.... the one from the news! The Bay Harbor Butcher...” She tilted her head back and laughed. It wasn't a light laugh. No. It was more of the type of laugh that you hear out of a truly amused person, the deep guttural chuckle of someone truly entertained. Her laugh came to an abrupt halt as she slammed her hands on the table beside him, her earlier sweet smile turned into a true snarl of rage. “Don't insult me with your media trash. I'm ten times the serial killer then the Butcher was. I leave a legacy of death in my wake. You should feel honored to be a victim of mine,” she said the rage falling off of her face almost as quickly as it came. She pushed herself gently away from the table where the man lay, her head tilting from side to side as she mulled over a thought in her mind. “If you must know who I am then I will tell you. I'm Elizabeth. I'm not in the news, and intend to stay that way,” she explained as she lifted the tools in her hand to eye level. “Elizabeth what?” the man asked, his voice quavering with the fear and understanding he lacked moments ago. “Elizabeth will do,” she informed him noncommittally as she discreetly leaned over the table and lifted the slender needle up. “Now it's time for that voice that you promised me,” she said to him as the needle's point sank into the soft flesh of the eye. The screaming echoed in the small room as Elizabeth marked another box off in her mind. She set the other tool down, leaving the needle in the man's eye. She retrieved another item from the tray, the man's whimpering intensified as it heard the rattling around. Elizabeth grabbed a scalpel and with a deft movement it was sank deeply into the man's flesh. She pushed hard, wiggling the instrument to get a louder sound from the man.......
×
×
  • Create New...