The Shades of Dreams: a Sandman fanfiction

CHAPTER 2: ALL BLACK

It has been days since she last came out of her dwelling. Her head chock full of The Corinthian. She had been prowling dark web forums, researching, trying to find anything that could lead her to him. All she knows is that he comes from a long line of copycats. The original Corinthian committed his abhorrent crimes right around the first World War. He takes his victims' eyes as souvenirs. No iteration of him has ever been caught.

She forces herself to stand up and walk around. Sitting for eight to ten hours a day isn't doing her any favors. Sunlight. The smell of grass. Sounds of children playing outside. She wants all of those, but it is winter. Everyone is bundled indoors, just like she is.

Alright. Let's walk for a bit. Just walk. It's colder in St. Petersburg and I bet people are still walking around. Go.

Lifting her head from the desk, she looks up at her front door, and tries to scream. It is silent, exactly like in her nightmares.

There stands a tall man, light-haired, khaki-colored coat. Sunglasses. He smiles, baring his blinding white teeth, and her blood runs cold.

"Hello, Miss," the man moves forward a few steps. She sees his face clearly for the first time. It's him. It's The Corinthian.

So this is how he evades capture. No one would suspect the tall handsome man in the perfectly tailored coat and expensive sunglasses.

Her heart stops. She cannot move, fight-or-flight taking over her body. She curses herself for leaving her taser in her coat pocket. What could she possibly use against this man? He is bigger than her and he has a knife. She has a taser she cannot reach.

The Corinthian tilts his head. "Oh, come on. Aren't you supposed to be some genius? You almost found me. Too bad I found you first."

She hates to say this, but he is right. She almost found him. Almost. Not good enough.

Don't scan the room with your eyes. He will know. Don't try to run. He will beat you to it, and you are going to join Mr. Andrew O'Brien. Think. THINK! THINK!

A lightbulb went off in her mind. She has a pen in her hoodie. The very same one she is wearing right now. His eyes are covered so she cannot stab him there. His neck, however, is not.

"How did you find me?" she almost whispers.

"You've been asking around about me. And dreaming about me. How is that not flattering enough for a man to come to you?"

How did he know? How could he possibly have known? Did something happen to her proxies? Did she accidentally give out her identity on the dark web? Did someone break into her computer? How could he possibly have known about her nightmares?

The Corinthian takes more steps forward, closing the space between them. He is inches from her face. She readies herself to lodge her pen into his carotid artery.

"You've dreamed about me a lot, haven't you? I felt you calling. Every day you called for me. Well, I'm here now. Let's have some fun, shall we?" he slides, his skin touching her arm. In a split second, her pen is lodged in the side of his neck. She pants, and starts running to her door.

"Oh, no, you don't. No you don't," he grabs her arm and slams her to the floor. She screams for help. Blood flows from his neck. He doesn't appear fazed, not even a tiny bit. He yanks the pen out and throws it across the room.

This is it for me. A young woman has been found dead in her home. Her eyes gouged out. Strangled to death by the serial killer known as The Corinthian. He is still at large. That's what the news is going to say in a few days. I'm going to be an obituary.

She kicks and screams some more. She bites. She tries to run. He pins her down to the floor again. She fights still. Her head is light and her vision blurs, but she fights still. She strikes his face with her hand, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. An opening. She dashes to her door. It's unlocked. She hears him chuckling behind her.

It's dark outside. Her body hits something firm. Human flesh. She looks up, and her heart jumps to her throat.

In front of her stands a man, rake-thin and dressed in black from head to toe. Jet-black hair. His eyes pierce through her as they locked stares. He feels otherworldly. He feels familiar, somehow.

She freezes. Gently but firmly, he takes hold of her arm and guides her to stand behind him. She feels the air shift. The pounding in her chest subsides. The storm in her mind calms down. A glimpse of safety. Is he shielding me? Who is he?

A pale hand flashes before her eyes. Everything goes black.