Angelic

Good Morning, Mary.

 Flowers wilted, petals fell onto the rain-sogged dirt. A couple no-names had shown up hours ago. But Angelo sat there, for hours and hours, counting seconds away.

Angelo and Mary, a popular Idol duo. He had been practicing solo activities for months, but it didn't feel the same. He couldn't bring himself to release any of the new music. Angelo wasn't alright with singing Mary's songs, wearing the dresses she'd buy for him, not without her on the stage with him.

His duo, his manager. The busiest person he'd ever known, a person who always made time for him regardless of anything. They loved each other and that was that. She was the strongest girl he knew, it's shame she was killed by the goddamned flu.

**

Angelo sat up on a plain wood chair in the studio, his new manager was speaking some nonsense, as if he'd listen to anyone but Mary. Angelo knew how to do his job, he didn't need a manager. Not anymore.

"Panne?, are my words reaching your ears??!" Neil shouted.

Angelo flinched, surprised by his managers sudden hostility "s-sorry, Neil" he stuttered

Neil rolled his eyes, "Listen, for god sakes- it's not that complicated"

He struggled through conversing with the production team, barely listening at all, maybe picking out a select three words he heard clearly with piles of people, telling him different things.

He almost forgot everything had to be different, he didn't even want to think about redebuting without Mary.

**

The day ended at last, Angelo returned to his Suite, collapsing on the bed, housekeeping had clearly tidied up, not an empty pudding cup in sight. The night prior, he'd eaten around 7 of them, or so he thought. A seemingly well-earned yawn escaped his mouth, he reached out and turned on the TV, uneventful late-night news to lure him to sleep.

As if.

Angelo swung his legs over the side of the bed, another serial murder from the unnamed and the unknown, he grabbed a palm sized silver stereo from this handbag, he plugged a usb into the back, the police com was going wild, he couldn't make out the words they were saying.

The newcast continued, Michaela Starr was the reporter. She had covered the last murder.

Angelo looked at the Television closely.

The serial murderer- recently named, the one and only "Polaroid Killer" strikes again, 11th victim killed.

No motives confirmed. No connections

Angelo sighed, the police were either challenged or this serial murderer was doing something wrong.

(as in executing the crime, not as if I am referring to the fact that serial murder is NOT wrong)

Every victim had relations to Mary, to Mary Vienna. Whether it be her sister, her best friend, uncle.

This time it had been her aunt. Lauren Vienna, 47. He left a ticking time bomb of gas, right in her car. She must have been exposed merely hours ago, and must haven't been revealed to be a serial murder until they found the signature, the trademark. A blistered polaroid a picture of the victim, a little something extra, just so they'd know.

Just so they'd know that this wasn't random. That these people were chosen, that every last detail was meticulously planned.

They couldn't know it was him, not just yet.

**

The excited screams of people had slowly been deafening Angelo's ears. People used to cheer for Him and Mary. He hadn't performed in  months, and at least this show wasn't his. It was Celine Dion's

He never knew how close her and Mary had been, she said they were buds and not much else. But now she was hosting a concert in his hometown, just for him, to express her "condolences".

A picture perfect candidate.

He pulled out his handgun.

He fidgeted it in his hand a bit, before swinging it around his fingers.

Angelo forced his eyes open. A dream?

She wants me to kill Celine? Celine -Dion?

His face throbbed with pain before he realized he had slapped his own face.

What kind of idiot plays with a loaded gun? He jokingly asked himself, unsure whether the question was rhetorical or not.

"I'm delusional aren't I, Mary?" he muttered

He neatly placed the handgun back in the case, pulling out a small metal container and placing it by his bed, a polaroid camera and a pudding cup from the mini fridge, shoving it all into his duffel bag.

He opened a brown leather suitcase, where he kept a white dress, covered in intricate lace patterns and a petticoat to go along. It was Mary's, she'd worn it to many of their joined concerts. Angelo sighed, he really missed her, he wanted her to know how that, even in death, he'd continue to provide for her. He'd kill Celine, he would do it for Mary.

The concert was in four hours, the countdown began.

His hair was done in a curled, braided ponytail. His corset was tightened and the dress fit him perfectly. He was almost relieved that the excessive amount of pudding snacks he consumed hadn't yet turned him into a potato. His makeup was complete, his ride would be here any minute.

He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked out the door.

Dinner with Celine Dion?

Maybe this would be a little easier than he imagined.

I saw black car pull up, stopping in front of the Hotel, a Bentley Mulsanne.

He smiled, she was treating him well. Inside of the car, there was a small stash of assorted candies and chocolates and without thinking, he grabbed a handful and shoved them in his bag. Leaning back in the leather seat, he took a deep breath.

You really want me to do this huh, Mary.