Bloody Souls
One
There was only one word that any police officer who was on the case would use: disturbed. The killer was disturbed, described in all the papers as "a man with a sick, demented mind who takes pleasure in the pain he inflicts on his victims."
But that's the same thing that every other killer has been described as, the paper editors wanting to manipulate the readers into thinking that this killer was far worse than any other killer. It was their job, after all, to draw readers in, spinning lies that combine with the truth. And that was the thing that made her laugh when she read the same article in a different paper. It was front page news, typically. They always made it to the front page, murderers all alike. Except the small, petty ones that don't do much damage. But this killer was one spiteful and vengeful bastard.
And there had only been three victims so far, spread across the course of a month. All three picked up on the same day, no hassle. It was easier like that and it brought so much more pain to each victim, with the exception of the first one. With only one reason; the first victim, 15-year-old Chelsea Grey, was slowly tortured until her death in front of the two other's eyes, 13-year-old Casey Wells and 18-year-old Mumis Tor.
They were all related, of course, which in turn inflicts more pain than ever on them. Chelsea was Mumis's stepsister, related by the marriage of her mother to his father, Chelsea keeping her father's surname. Casey was Chelsea's cousin, making her Mumis's step-cousin.
Of course, Casey was second to be killed, the younger ones killed in front of the older one was always horrible because he had to protect them, but couldn't. That was always the thing that bothered every killer, how the older one, no matter whether they knew the other victim, had to try and protect the younger one. Unless the older was female, in which case the male would try and protect the female.
But this never bothered this killer. This killer actually found to work in its favour.
Finishing her coffee, the woman stood from her seat, smiling and bid the café's workers farewell as she exited the shop. Under her arm was the same paper she had just been reading. Words had been circled and some had been crossed out. And as soon as she reached home, it would also be cut out and bits and pieces of it would end up in the bin while others would belong to her wall, helping her to complete the masterpiece that she had started.
A vibration from her phone against her chest made her sigh. Reaching into her breast pocket, she gazed wearily at the caller. Her mum. Not being up to her mum panic over her, she pressed the busy button. Her family weren't people she really cared about, in fact she didn't really care about anyone. Although, she had a strange sort of care about only one person.
Jarhed White.
Her boyfriend of only one month and three days, she knew hardly anything about him, just enough to stick with him and bring him down with her.
It was like she held a certain type of control over him, while he held another type of control over her. He held a sexual one - where whenever he wanted it, she would have sex with him, whether consensual or not. Most of the time, it was not. She held a stronger one over him: an emotional hold. She could play and manipulate with his feelings, doing more damage to his already fucked up mental state.
In some ways, they were perfect for eachother.
And that was what made them dangerous. But she was slightly more dangerous than he was because no one knew about her; it was all about him. And that was how she liked her.
Reaching her little flat, she let herself and made her way through to the sitting room. She never opened the curtains so it remained dark with the thick black curtains stopped any light shining through. Opening the door to her bedroom, she finally removed the paper from underneath her arm, opening it up and grabbing the scissors that lay half-broken on her desk.
Carefully cutting around the article and pictures, letting the rest of the paper fall uselessly to the floor, she placed each piece that she cut out on her bed. After twenty minutes of carefully cutting out snippets from the paper, she placed the scissors down and kicked aside the waste paper on the floor. Grabbing the sellotape from the other side of her desk, she climbed upon her bed and started taping the paper that she had cut out onto the wall, carefully so that she didn't rip any or place them wonky.
There were words on the paper; names actually. The names of the three victims plus their families' names. The names of each mother, each father and each sister or brother they each had. Pictures were with them as well as the smiling pictures of each victim by its name. These pictures always excited her because it was the first time she had ever seen them smile and they looked so innocent and caring, when in fact they weren't. Not by a long shot.
That was the whole reason they were dead, because they were anything but innocent. Mumis and Chelsea were the ones who had sinned the most, engaging in romantic affairs despite being related by marriage. That was the reason they were dead, with Casey just holding onto the dark secret so it was bye-bye Casey as well. And because they had done wrong, that was reason enough to kill them. However, what they had done wasn't wrong because they were just righting sinful mistakes. At least, in her mind this was why they done it. His mind, not so much because he thought he was in the control, when in fact, he wasn't. But who was she to correct him when he was wrong? She doesn't do that, she just rights the wrongs that affect society, like she did with them three people.
Pausing as her phone sounded again, she climbed off her bed and went over to where her phone was lying on the desk. Opening the text message, one word told her how the next couple days of her life would be run.
Done
In all honesty, she had been bored ever since the last one had died. There was really nothing for her to do; there was no need for her to be anxious or worried in case she was caught because everyone thought it was a guy and she most definitely wasn't a guy.
Leaving her phone on the desk, she walked over to her broken wardrobe and picked up the single black bag that was laying there abandoned. The weight was heavy, but from an outside view, it looked light. How looks deceive.
Hauling the bag with her, she gazed one last time around the flat of hers, before slamming the door shut and posting her keys through the letterbox.
She was going to have so much fun within these next couple of days.
But that's the same thing that every other killer has been described as, the paper editors wanting to manipulate the readers into thinking that this killer was far worse than any other killer. It was their job, after all, to draw readers in, spinning lies that combine with the truth. And that was the thing that made her laugh when she read the same article in a different paper. It was front page news, typically. They always made it to the front page, murderers all alike. Except the small, petty ones that don't do much damage. But this killer was one spiteful and vengeful bastard.
And there had only been three victims so far, spread across the course of a month. All three picked up on the same day, no hassle. It was easier like that and it brought so much more pain to each victim, with the exception of the first one. With only one reason; the first victim, 15-year-old Chelsea Grey, was slowly tortured until her death in front of the two other's eyes, 13-year-old Casey Wells and 18-year-old Mumis Tor.
They were all related, of course, which in turn inflicts more pain than ever on them. Chelsea was Mumis's stepsister, related by the marriage of her mother to his father, Chelsea keeping her father's surname. Casey was Chelsea's cousin, making her Mumis's step-cousin.
Of course, Casey was second to be killed, the younger ones killed in front of the older one was always horrible because he had to protect them, but couldn't. That was always the thing that bothered every killer, how the older one, no matter whether they knew the other victim, had to try and protect the younger one. Unless the older was female, in which case the male would try and protect the female.
But this never bothered this killer. This killer actually found to work in its favour.
Finishing her coffee, the woman stood from her seat, smiling and bid the café's workers farewell as she exited the shop. Under her arm was the same paper she had just been reading. Words had been circled and some had been crossed out. And as soon as she reached home, it would also be cut out and bits and pieces of it would end up in the bin while others would belong to her wall, helping her to complete the masterpiece that she had started.
A vibration from her phone against her chest made her sigh. Reaching into her breast pocket, she gazed wearily at the caller. Her mum. Not being up to her mum panic over her, she pressed the busy button. Her family weren't people she really cared about, in fact she didn't really care about anyone. Although, she had a strange sort of care about only one person.
Jarhed White.
Her boyfriend of only one month and three days, she knew hardly anything about him, just enough to stick with him and bring him down with her.
It was like she held a certain type of control over him, while he held another type of control over her. He held a sexual one - where whenever he wanted it, she would have sex with him, whether consensual or not. Most of the time, it was not. She held a stronger one over him: an emotional hold. She could play and manipulate with his feelings, doing more damage to his already fucked up mental state.
In some ways, they were perfect for eachother.
And that was what made them dangerous. But she was slightly more dangerous than he was because no one knew about her; it was all about him. And that was how she liked her.
Reaching her little flat, she let herself and made her way through to the sitting room. She never opened the curtains so it remained dark with the thick black curtains stopped any light shining through. Opening the door to her bedroom, she finally removed the paper from underneath her arm, opening it up and grabbing the scissors that lay half-broken on her desk.
Carefully cutting around the article and pictures, letting the rest of the paper fall uselessly to the floor, she placed each piece that she cut out on her bed. After twenty minutes of carefully cutting out snippets from the paper, she placed the scissors down and kicked aside the waste paper on the floor. Grabbing the sellotape from the other side of her desk, she climbed upon her bed and started taping the paper that she had cut out onto the wall, carefully so that she didn't rip any or place them wonky.
There were words on the paper; names actually. The names of the three victims plus their families' names. The names of each mother, each father and each sister or brother they each had. Pictures were with them as well as the smiling pictures of each victim by its name. These pictures always excited her because it was the first time she had ever seen them smile and they looked so innocent and caring, when in fact they weren't. Not by a long shot.
That was the whole reason they were dead, because they were anything but innocent. Mumis and Chelsea were the ones who had sinned the most, engaging in romantic affairs despite being related by marriage. That was the reason they were dead, with Casey just holding onto the dark secret so it was bye-bye Casey as well. And because they had done wrong, that was reason enough to kill them. However, what they had done wasn't wrong because they were just righting sinful mistakes. At least, in her mind this was why they done it. His mind, not so much because he thought he was in the control, when in fact, he wasn't. But who was she to correct him when he was wrong? She doesn't do that, she just rights the wrongs that affect society, like she did with them three people.
Pausing as her phone sounded again, she climbed off her bed and went over to where her phone was lying on the desk. Opening the text message, one word told her how the next couple days of her life would be run.
Done
In all honesty, she had been bored ever since the last one had died. There was really nothing for her to do; there was no need for her to be anxious or worried in case she was caught because everyone thought it was a guy and she most definitely wasn't a guy.
Leaving her phone on the desk, she walked over to her broken wardrobe and picked up the single black bag that was laying there abandoned. The weight was heavy, but from an outside view, it looked light. How looks deceive.
Hauling the bag with her, she gazed one last time around the flat of hers, before slamming the door shut and posting her keys through the letterbox.
She was going to have so much fun within these next couple of days.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word Count: 1217