The Line of the Day--NO CRITTING

I knew I’d find the Old Lady in a cage when I couldn’t raise her on a squawk. In theory, she knows better than to be unreachable by her seconds. In theory, I had good reason to haul her ass out of there now. I’d sooner take her place in the cage. At worst, her opponent could only end my life. If I stopped the match, Cara would make mine an unending hell.

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While he usually depended on the paper for his news, the local broadcast news caught his attention as he was flipping through channels. The reporter was standing in the same parking lot he had stood in a week ago, and the wooded area behind her was the same one he had walked into to get rid of the girl’s body.

He turned the volume up as a photo of the girl flashed on the screen. They had found her, even after he had been so careful to hide her, to enshroud her in the blue tarp. The girl’s photo disappeared and the reporter continued as a tip line number scrolled across the bottom. He smiled as the number scrolled past again. He had them baffled and they needed the public’s help to catch him. The thought of Cal Jessup asking for help made him laugh.

The other half sent a jolt of pain through his skull as he laughed; it did not think the police asking the public for help was funny at all. He knew the other half was right, with more eyes looking for him, that meant a greater chance of being caught and that would not do. If someone had seen him drive into that parking lot, that meant they would have seen his car, and they could track it back to Arizona and Cynthia.

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The urge and the other half pounced on him as one now, not two different feelings as they had been, before his last kill. They were no longer separate, but a new entity, one being with one goal.

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smoothopr8r said:

Good to see you back, Ken.

Great lines, guys!

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So, I picked a spot of wall beyond reach of the hooting, screeching patrons seated, perched or draped in the arena floor. Humans aren’t popular on Landmark. Hard-shells are the majority form here, and most find soft-bodies like us distasteful. Some of the other soft-bodies are the worst, though — no noses more offended by the stench of barrel-bottom than ambitious ones near it themselves. Proving the point, a trio of Grint raised neck-quills and hissed as I drew too near.

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He didn’t flinch, his arm beneath her hand as steady and sure as ever. “It would depend on what kind of secret it was.” He leaned in, the brim of his hat knocking against her cap. “Have you killed a man?” he asked with a wide grin, pretending like this was all some big game, rather than a moment of such importance she could barely find the words.

“What? No! Not I. This is not that sort of secret.” She glared hotly at him, and he left off murmuring in her ear.

James tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Alright then; you’re with child by the Prince Regent.” He arched his eyebrow again. “Am I close?”

“And still working in service? I rather imagine not.” Sarah snorted; there was no way not to be drawn into his infernal charm, damn him and his ridiculous blue eyes.

He pursed his lips, those eyes still gleaming. “You’re secretly a runaway princess of Bavaria?”

Sarah sighed deeply in exasperation, and his grin only grew wider. “Now I know you’re teasing me, dreadful man. Can you take nothing seriously at all?”

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He glanced up at the wall clock and then at his watch. It was getting late and if he wanted to appease the entity, he would have to move, find his victims and take care of them fast. The wind whipped around him as he walked out onto the porch, and he pulled his jacket tighter about his neck with his free hand. The street lights were just coming on as he got into the white panel van, and he smiled again. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, it was the perfect vehicle for him, and it blended in so well. A small voice inside his head chided him at this thought and his smile faded. Pride always came before a fall, and the voice reminded him that it was not good to be prideful.

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“So you’re telling me that this psychopath is smarter than you and the entire San Antonio Police Department? I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s not that he’s smarter, it’s that he’s had a very long time to perfect his, well, for lack of a better word, profession. He knows the ins and outs, how to get around forensics. So far we’ve found zero trace evidence. No fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. Zip, nada, jack squat. So you tell me, in your vast experience, how do you catch a killer that leaves no trace?”

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They turned into the alley where they'd left the drunken man to burn; an acrid, meaty smell threaded through the air. The student coughed, half-laughing to cover it up, then he must have seen the body. He gasped like he was choking, his hand to his mouth, his knees sagged. Lydia couldn't see his face, but she didn't want to. His fear was all-too familiar.

Hung grabbed the student's face with one hand, his fingers poised over the kid's eyes, and shoved him against the wall. Everything was quiet now. Lydia's heart pounded in her ears, low, pulsing static like rushing water.

"Your turn," said Hung. He let go. The student slid down the wall, his eyes bright with terror.

Alice smiled at him, sweet like a prom date, then there was something metal in her fingers, flashing under the streetlight, and the student's throat was red. She kissed his neck, lapping at the flowing blood like a cat.

Hung shook his head disapprovingly, and left her to it.

Lydia's legs went weak. Her head swirled, vomit rising at the back of her throat. But she couldn't stop watching. Alice was sucking at the wound, leech-like, and Lydia just watched.

That was all she'd done. They killed the drunken man, set him burning, and she just watched. They seduced the student, fed his fear, slit his throat. And she just watched.

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lapping at the flowing blood like a cat.

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He picked up his phone, punched in Herrera’s cell number and waited. “I need you and Maylor back here, now. No, I don’t have anything new on our guy, but I do have a new game plan that we need to go over,” he said and paused. “Wait, what do you mean you and Maylor found something? Well shit, why didn’t you tell me? Give me the address and I’ll be right there.” He scribbled the address down, scratched the back of his head and continued. “You’re sure about this address? I know this place, but what you’re telling me doesn’t make any sense. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in twenty.”

He ended the call, looked down at the note pad and shook his head. This just doesn’t make any sense at all. Why would he do that? And why there of all places? No sense at all. He stood, grabbed his coat, threw it on and headed out the door. Why my old house? What the fuck is he trying to tell me?

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He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this way, and while it wasn’t new, it was unexpected. The entity was pleased, he had accomplished his task and this was his reward. It was euphoric, almost sexual, and yet he didn’t feel dirty. It hadn’t been easy to isolate two at one time, but fate had been with him, fate and the entity.

He ran his gloved hand over the blond ones face, following the curve of her chin down to the gaping wound in her neck. She had been easy, lured in with a few drinks, the final one spiked. Her friend hadn’t been so naïve, and he had to use another tactic to get her, a twirl around the dance floor. The needle had slipped in easily and unnoticed. While he didn’t care for dancing, business was business, and he had to have both of them or the entity would see that he was punished, and that was not an option.

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BTW, very graphic stuff.

Brrrrrr!

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Ken Hoss said:

Okay, OSG, give me one sarcastic response.

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"Have you tried putting a bell on him?"

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"Have you tried putting a bell on him?"

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Of course this wasn’t the best part, even if it had been gratifying. The best part had come after he had slit their throats, after the last drop of blood had oozed from their bodies and pooled on the plastic covered floor beneath. He grinned as he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the look on Cal Jessup’s face when he saw what was written on his living room walls. The feeling of euphoria heightened as his mind pictured the scene, the blood stained walls and the message he had left for the great detective.

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Some days, I feel like I'd happily burn my house down just to feel warm again.

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My entry for today. I had a little block yesterday but broke it today. ​

The entity was not pleased and it made him aware of its displeasure, sending wave after wave of pain through his skull, causing him to slump over the steering wheel in agony. As the pain became more than he could bear, he screamed out, begging the entity to stop, to forgive him. Yet the entity continued, increasing the pain until he lost consciousness.

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He stood up, the scalpel in his right hand, and looked down at the beautiful red headed coed. She had told him her name, yet he could not recall it, not that it mattered. The cold steel glimmered as he pressed it into her throat and drew it across from left to right, blood glistening on the blade as it sliced, spraying his face shield and covering the walls with a grotesque red art.

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VF: “How the hell do you know all of this?”

NS: “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

“It can’t be much worse than thinking that you’re a psychopath.”

“Someone wants me to kill you.”

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