There Will Be Blood

Chapter 1

(AN: Added in a really tiny detail that explains why the two are mistaken for just one guy. 6/7/2015)

Present

It was a bloody mess. Paul sighed and slumped back against his target's bed, twirling the paring knife in his left hand and scratching his scalp with the other. He brought up his right hand in front of his face and grimaced at the sight of fresh blood - his own blood, he was sure - painting his fingertips and palm.

He rolled his target over on the unkempt bed and placed a hand over his heart. Not beating. Good. His target, called by many as Dennis Steele, was finally eliminated. Dennis Steele was now just another name to be crossed off in Paul's Black List.

Dennis Steele would have had to be the fifth individual offed within the year. The names phased through his head like the flow of a river: Pablo Santos, Alyssa Ambrosio, Gina Baker, Dahlia Yester, and now Dennis Steele. The killings were orchestrated under different MOs, as they were also experimental. So far, Paul found himself most comfortable with stabbing people.

Quick, fleeting footsteps joined him from outside the room. Paul did not bristle; he recognized those footsteps by hearing alone. He was familiar with the squiggly and well-maintained kicks Will wore almost every day when it wasn't uniform day at the college. They wore the same size of footwear anyway, and Paul made sure they had identical shoes before committing a crime. Paul got up from the bed and in no time, opened the door to see Will carrying his cleaning apparatus all zipped up inside his bag. "The floor's yours," Paul mumbled, closing the door behind him after Will hopped in.

"Your anatomy classes sure have helped you this time," Will remarked, scanning the scene. Paul had drawn enough blood off of Steele's body, painting the walls a dark red but he wasn't sure if Steele had drawn from him too. "D'you wanna leave a message? There's a lot of fun in blood finger-painting."

"Yeah, do that if you want to set the police on you," Paul replied, standing beside Will. "Check my head out first. That son of a bitch had the audacity to rake his hands on my scalp—" Will took Paul's face in both hands and tilted it down. "—so be sure to scrub his nails free of red flakes. Clip them too, just for safety measures."

"Aye, sir," Will replied in a slightly mocking tone, grinning. "You'll be fine. Your hair's pretty dark. The strands are thick enough to be overlooked by anyone within a certain radius." Paul raised an eyebrow. "Or, you know, you could always wear a beanie, which you always seemed to look good in."

Paul took a step away, shaking his head. "Heh, thanks. I don't have those anymore, though. Not since my ex-roommate accidentally set our fucking dorm on fire and I only managed to save so little of my belongings."

"Never give a non-smoker a lighter for Christmas."

"Never again," Paul agreed, sitting down on the target's dead couch. "I am so glad he transferred his ass to another state. I would've flagged him down if he were still here."

"He might have been an associate of that pyromaniac guy."

"Who, Chad?" Paul shook his head. "It couldn't be Chad's work. Not a chance."

"We owe him, right? So it somewhat makes sense that he'd send somebody—"