The Artist: Closer Now, and Closer Yet

Ninety-four seconds passed and his furnace of lust began to die down. My chest heaved, grasping ragged breaths of air and pushing it out again with a slight rattle. Light started to come into my vision. It was soft and pure, merely a miniscule spot before more of the little splotches of light appeared. The blackness I was engulfed in started to melt and fade away, like paper being burnt from the center; it revealed a bright white nothingness. I blinked repeatedly, willing the bright white to fade so I can see. Two, three seconds passed and my senses were complete.
Matthew arched his body away from me the best he can, but it wasn’t much. Little lines oozing red intertwined and weaved among themselves and his tattoos. I smirked a little, seeing the large Ankh carved onto the center of his torso, with a Djed for the tail and two Was runes lining the sides of it. The Ankh was for eternal life; the Djed was a symbol for stability, and the Was rune symbolized dominion and power. The Master put meaning behind each and every one of his pieces. Knowing I was soon to learn those meanings, I brushed unruly black curls away from my face, flashing Matthew an apologetic smile.
“Wh… why?” He stuttered quietly, amidst tortured sobs.
“Because, Matthew,” I sighed. “I need to. It’s in my blood. My God, the Master, was the one who carved that message into you. It is not an obsession. It is my life.”
“Who are you?!” He roared in sudden strength, bucking up against the restraints as if to try and wrench the life out of me. He repeated the question multiple times, each with a scream more intense than the other. Curse words were here and there, sprinkled with questions of “why”. I rolled my eyes, gripping the switchblade so that the actual blade stuck out from the pinky side of my fist. I reared it high up, and forced it down and into Matthew’s torso. Right under the Ankh. I knew that spot all too well; you could stab it a million times without having the poor bastard die. Matthew screamed, and tried to find escape from the invading object to no avail. Realizing that screaming hurt, he bit his lip and whimpered, choking back sobs.
“My name is Christabelle,” I answered his question. “Christabelle Poe.”
Matthew glared at me with an intense loathe. Despite the hatred, fear towered over him and cast a gloomy shadow over his handsome features. I could see it. He tried to kill me with his stare, but I couldn’t make him out to be scary when he had tears all over his face. I sighed and raised a hand up to his face. He struggled away, but I wiped the tears off anyway.
“Tears don’t suit you,” I muttered quietly. He seemed incredulous at what I had just said and done, but the shock was quickly replaced by a fervently burning anger.
“Well I wouldn’t have cried if you didn’t stab me,” He shot back angrily, wincing when he made a wrong move and felt the pain in his abdomen again.
“Well I wouldn’t have stabbed you if you didn’t scream,” I snapped in return. Growling indignantly, I gripped the handle of the switchblade firmly and yanked it out, earning another scream and string of profanity-ridden curses. He arched, squirming away from me. His wrists were already chafed and bleeding. My eyes darted over the patterns the Master had put on him. “Besides,” I added quietly. He had stopped screaming, turning his attention tentatively towards me. “I never wanted to be like this, y’know.”
“W.. what happened to you?” he asked, mock compassion in his voice. I could tell he was buying time, but I decided to let him have some satisfaction. “Who are you, actually?”
“Let’s just say my family was quite a mess. Mother, well, she was a homicidal curse word of choice and killed my whole family. I took her life in retaliation for my brother and father, and incinerated her remains. I fled my ghetto hometown in Newark, New Jersey, and ever since, I’ve had a Dark Passenger.”
“You mean… like Dexter?” He asked, regarding to the movie series Dexter. I laughed and nodded.
“Yeah,” I smiled. He gulped. “Like Dexter. Dexter’s Dark Passenger is his step dad, while mine is something completely different. I call him the Master. He turned me into the Artist that you people talk about so much. And I’m telling you this because it won’t matter anyway—you won’t be spilling it to anybody” I shot him an awkward smile and he flinched. Sighing, I brushed my hair out again. “I know you’re just buying time, Matthew,” I muttered calmly. Tears of fear formed in Matthew’s eyes, and again I wiped it off. “I told you, tears don’t suit you. You should just let it be, dude. It’d be easier. Think of good times, the people you’re gonna see on the other side… it’ll be over before you know it.”
“Please don’t kill me,” he pleaded. A chain of offers of wealth and good life escaped him, stating that I could have it all if I spared him his life. I’ve heard it all before. Raising the switchblade again, I slammed it into another one of those spots. He screamed in agony and this time, I liked it.
His screeches caressed my very being, urging my subconscious to raise the blade once more and drive it deep into his torso. It was a self-strengthening cycle, and I found myself repeatedly plunging the stainless steel into soft, warm tissue. Lost in ecstasy, I realized I was grinning like a madman. The Master cackled within me, urging me on. He was pleased with me. And I was pleased with myself.
Relish what this moment gives. Little droplets of blood found their way into the air.
Time seemingly stopped. Everything was picture perfect, and a sick form of joy welled up in me. I had power, I had dominion, I was eternal. This was perfection, it was all just so pretty I could’ve dropped down crying right then.
Must’ve stabbed him fifty fucking times, I can’t believe it.
Matthew wasn’t dead. He was screaming and crying and gasping for air all at the same time. I grinned at him, psychotic pleasure welling up inside me like a cauldron of disease. I tossed my hoodie off, and threw it on his stomach. Moving quickly, I decided on what trophy I’d take.
I straddled his stomach, gripping the switchblade tightly in one fist. I used my other hand to pin his left shoulder down. He must’ve seen the maniacal glint in my eyes, as he flinched and squirmed away.
“No… no, please!” He pleaded weakly. I paid no heed. Licking my lips hungrily, I poised the blade by the small curve under his rib cage.
“what are you… no, no!” A flash of realization dashed his eyes and fear immediately struck him. I reveled in his trepidation.
The switchblade sank into his flesh, disappearing halfway to the hilt. Matthew spluttered and gasped for air, coughing up delicious red splatters, and more so as I dragged the blade, creating a monstrous gorge in his skin.
My mind spun. Before I knew it, my right hand was inside him, reaching for the source of his life.
Ripped his heart out right before his eyes, eyes over easy.

The muscle pumped in my hand as I wrapped my fingers around it.
Matthew screamed out, his piercing screech ringing out in the heavy atmosphere when I squeezed hard at the muscle.

I let out a screech of my own, victorious and greedy. The Master was pleased with his work, he interfered no more. Seemingly forced from the pits of hell, both our voices collided like comets in space, where the sound was unheard to others.

I drew my hand back with a force I never knew I had, ancestral chants ringing in my head in a language I never knew I understood. The centre of his life was now in my hand instead of his rib cage.

The glimmer in his eyes disappeared, and came the breezy whisper.

Closer now, and closer yet.

I laughed for all I was worth, hysterical and dripping with lunacy as I fell beside him. My stomach hurt and my cheeks were cramped by the time I calmed down.

*******************************************************************
I did it again. By sunrise, I was back at the park. Every piece of potential evidence had been burned down to ashes. The house had been given a good cleaning job. I had $120 worth of 20 dollar bills in my pocket, thanks to Matt's wallet. That'd be enough to last me a few months if I saved, and one month and a half if I treated myself often. I sighed contentedly.
I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as the hot bitterness of straight black coffee rushed over my tongue and down my throat. This was a treat I rarely had.
You've been such a good girl, Chrissie, the Master praised, hissing out the 's' in a loving manner. I liked it when he used that voice. All soft, uncharacteristically endearing, and... You deserve some fun
"I've already had my fun, Master," I whispered softly, making sure no-one was around. The Master chuckled. Your pleasure is mine, He laughed.
It'd be weeks until I needed to hunt again. After a kill like that, the Master wouldn't be craving more for quite a long time.
It's over for now, he promised. I hummed, and uttered a mental "thank you" to Him, before drowning myself in coffee once more.
it's over for now.
I smiled happily, closing my eyes and simply bathing in the warmth of the Sun and the coffee.
A voice tore through my nirvana. My eyes snapped open and ice-cold waves of shock jolted up and down my spine.
"Christabelle Poe, you're under arrest for the murder of Matthew and Valary Sanders."