Bare Her Soul (James Patrick March x reader )

Ten

Your phone felt like a brick weighing down the pocket of your hoodie. The bright white lights, the white walls and the vertical blue curtains hiding you from the rest of the hospital, all worked together to make you feel guilty - guiltier. You weren't injured per say - but just your being here made you feel obligated to call your parents.

A doctor rounded the corner of your curtain then, with a clipboard in hand.

"Miss Y/L/N, your toxicology test results show  moderate traces of diamorphine in your blood."

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"And it says here you believe you may have been spiked when you were out last night? Do you remember the name of the venue you were in when you started to feel affected?"

You shook your head, eyes fixed on the bleached wall "no...some nightclub, I don't remember."

"There will be little the police can do without a name...if it comes back to you, theyll be able to check the CCTV cameras. They'll contact you shortly anyway." she urged with sympathetic eyes. With the level of serious crime rife in downtown LA, you doubted it.

"I'll try to remember, um, I think I'm just gonna go back to my hotel..."

You weren't listening as she read out the recovery recommendations for you, nor the information she was legally obligated to give you about drug abuse. You kept nodding, thanking her, until you were finally released.

You treaded along the reception corridor, trainers squeaking on the linoleum. You broke into a pace when you finally spotted the large, revolving door.

As the cool night air hit you, you sucked it in, sticking a hand against the wall to steady yourself.

Detective John Lowe was a liar.

<>

Steve Carter was a man who spoke very little in his day-to-day life. He preferred to watch from the sidelines, observing and making his mind up about people before he gave a shred of himself away. Watching you, from the emergency parking bay of the hospital car lot, was very natural to him. Though he knew that he could stand right infront of you, and you would never notice. People never did, they looked right through him, not because he was quiet, but because he was old, ordinary and ugly. His invisibility was becoming a blessing these days...

"That's the spirit old chap!" James barked.

Steve yanked the burlap bag harder around the woman's neck for good measure. The body crumpled down, finally fell still on the geometric carpet.

"You're trapped in the dark now, like me" he whispered, mouth against the fabric covering the dead woman's lips.

"Yes, well." James cleared his throat, stamping his cane into the ground lightly "it can't all be beautiful women Steven, I told you old boy - no patterns!"

When Steve had been a guest in the Cortez, James March had been the only person to ever see him. He'd been fired from all his previous building jobs - on account of being under the influence - and James had offered him a role in his architectural firm. More than that, he'd offered him a new lifestyle. And man, had he taken to it. That's why James asked him to follow you that night, not Theo, or any of the other flunks who still didn't realise that CEO Jimmy March, was not only the world's greatest serial killer, he was also dead.

He watched your bare legs disappear into the backdoor of a taxi, and the engine of his car whirred to life.

The St. Goretti Catholic Church was only a short drive from the hospital, that's where your taxi pulled in. He was glad you'd chosen this one; it was tiny, almost unheard of and always quiet.