The man looked down at the woman. Her head hanging, her long raven black hair covering her face, slumped on the floor, and barely held up by the man pulling upwards on her arm. She was defeated. Plain and simple; the "warrior" had fallen at long last. Her days of heroism were over; and the ending was long overdue in this man's eyes. He sneered.
"Woman! Raise your pathetic head! Look into the eyes of your captor!" He grabbed a fistful of the woman's hair, and snatched her head up. He was now looking into a hate-filled face. Her ruby red lips were curled back in a snarl; there were no wrinkles on her pretty, pale skin. Her midnight eyebrows were so perfectly shaped they seemed unnatural, and her eyes... The cold grey circles seemed to be an endless tunnel, leading to naught but death. There was a cold, quiet fire inside them, and for some reason, they struck fear into the man's heart. It was as though she hungered for his soul. How could this woman be considered a hero to anybody, much less the entire country? The woman's snarl curved slightly, into a twisted, demonic smile. She spit in his face, landing it right in his left eye. He let a growl escape his throat, and with his free hand, he rubbed his eye before landing a resounding smack across the woman's cheek. The sound echoed throughout the entire alley.
The man, Gerald, smiled in triumph as he watched the broken woman slump over. The smile faded slightly as the woman turned back to face him, a demonic smile still painted on her perfect lips. Slowly, she rose from the ground, her eyes locked into those of her 'captor'. She stood level with him, her arm still in his grasp yet somehow she had taken hold of the situation. She was now in control. She moved closer to him, her head tilting slightly. Her body pressed against his, and she whispered with a musical voice into his ear.
"Congradulations, handsome. You caught me. You win." She let her finger slide over the base of his neck, just barely touching the warm flesh. She paused, her finger still on his neck, when he gave a small shiver. She smiled, and once again whispered into his ear.
"Guess again." Those were the last words Lieutenant Gerald Pilon would ever hear. Just as the words were leaving her lips, she bared her pointed teeth and plunged them inches into his neck, at the exact spot her finger had been not a second earlier. The officer had not even gotten the chance to scream before his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless and completely drained. The woman smiled, and bent gingerly over the corpse. She pulled the wallet out of his coat pocket, and the badge off his jacket. No I.D. would be left on this body, as with all her other victims.
She pocketed the wallet and the badge; her souvenirs. Then she got to work on the body. Easily, she ripped the limbs off the torso, saving the head for last. She piled them on top of each other, biggest to smallest, in the very center of the alley. She scribbled a note on a pad of scented paper she pulled from deep within her jacket, and left it on top of the dead man. She wanted to toy with the police. A shadow crossed the alley as a civilian walked past in the diminishing daylight, and she fled.
The passerby heard the noise of heels in the alley, and peered carefully into the gloom. When there was nobody to be seen, he got a little suspicious. Nieve, and so young at only 17 years of age, the young man wandered into the alley, slowly and cautiuosly. He called out wordlessly, but was cut short as he stumbled over a parcel on the ground. He backed up for a moment, and when his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he screamed and fled.
Not more than ten minutes later, authorities had sealed off the alley, and had brought the young man back; making sure he kept out of sight of the mangled corpse. As he was being questioned, the officer interrogating him was pulled away to examine some new evidence. He took this opportunity to let his dinner spill onto the ground behind him, grimacing at the looks he recieved from an officer next to the cop car. They called him over.
"Son, we should take you home now. We just need a little more information, and we can get that while we drive you home." The boy nodded as he got into the back of the car. He had been in a car like this many times, and never in good situations. He was glad when the car started to roll away from the horrific scene. The officer in the passenger seat turned to him to ask him the last questions before this nightmare was over.
"Your name, son?" The boy sighed; they already had all this information on file. He piped up with the answer as the cop raised an eyebrow; he had to co-operate if he didn't want to get blamed for this.
"Jeffrey Miles."
"Your address?" Again, he sighed before answering in a clipped tone.
"34 South Street, apartment 304."
"And what were you doing when you found the body?"
"You mean whats left of it." The officer gave him a stern look, and Jeffrey settled back in his seat. "Chill. I was just going to check in on a friend of mine. You can even call him; he was expecting me!" Jeffrey's desperation grew a little at the look of mild disbelief the officer gave him. The interrogator raised his hands in protest.
"Calm down. Nobody is going to suspect you for this. Now here, we got you home all safe and sound. Just try and get some rest, and you can likely expect a call from us in a few days. Sleep tight, sonny." With that, the officers let him out of the car and sped back to the crime scene. Jeffrey shakingly disappeared into the ancient apartment building, and practically crawled into apartment 304, barely making it through the door before collapsing in fear.
Back at the crime scene, three officers and their lieutenant stood puzzling over a piece of paper. On it, there were some strange words scribbled in a peculiar hand.
Try and put him together -
Oooh what a fun little puzzle,
Morbid and bloodless,
He's in quite some trouble.
Examine him well officers,
Check him well for clues.
And when you find 3 others,
Consider them your cues.
The lieutenant grimaced. Three more bloody murders? One word sprang off the page.
Bloodless. A quick survey showed that the body had not infact been examined closely; everybody was anxiously wondering what could decapitate a human body so easily? He swallowed hard before moving closer to the body; slowly, step by step.
It was not as he expected. There was no foul stench of decay. There was no pool of blood around the open wounds. An official stepped beside him.
"No pooling of blood-" The lietennant silenced him and sent him away with a wave of his hand. He moved closer, examining the way the body had been lain. It seemed almost random; but there was an air as though it had been placed carefully. As he straightened, he saw it. An ancient symbol, commonly of good luck; the Ankh.
The sick son of a bitch is toying with us.
