19 -Man in the Picture

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19 - Man in the Picture

Moran and the twins were working ferociously, trying to identify the man with you in the footage. There were bits of footage throughout the entire mall from maybe an hour away. Apparently Gear had been checking surveillance from all over the state.

Throughout the footage, Darla and Gear noticed bits and pieces where you and he were smiling. Moran insisted this was because he made you. You were a prisoner, and you acted happy because you were scared. There was no other explanation. You were scared.

Meanwhile, Aristotle awoke with you in his arms. A comforting sight, truly. You were warm and soft, like a stuffed animal. You made him feel innocent, sweet. Like he wasn’t a monster. But sometimes, he had to face the music and remember that he was a monster. He had killed.

But he would never kill you. Oh no, no, no, no, no. He wouldn’t imagine hurting you.

“...Ari…” you murmured. Aristotle smiled lightly. Ari, the sound at your lips as you murmured in your sleep. Any word spilling from your soft lips was as soft and sweet as honey. You were perfect in every way possible.

Ever so slowly, you woke up, Aristotle watching your eyelids flutter open. Now you were wide awake and lying in his arms. You turned over, looking at him deeply. His eyes were closed, pretending to be asleep as you had done the night before.

“So sweet,” you murmured, lifting your hand to his face. “Such a cute nose.” You traced your finger down his nose and around the curve of his lips. “Such lovely lips.” Your finger traced down his jawline. “So pretty.”

“Thanks,” he said, opening his eyes.

Your heart stopped and you shrieked. You both shoved away from each other, landing on the floor on opposite sides of the bed.

WHAT THE FUCK ARISTOTLE!?” you screeched, jumping to your feet. He was lying on the floor, laughing so hard his sides hurt. “YOU ASSHOLE!” This just made him laugh harder and harder.

Finally, after what felt like hours trying to get Aristotle to calm down, the two of you were downstairs, eating toaster waffles for breakfast.

“What the hell, Aristotle,” you murmured, shovelling another waffle into your mouth. He chuckled slightly under his breath.

“I think you mean Ari.” Your face burned in embarrassment. So, I guess you spoke in your sleep. It was not a good thing, I guess.

Meanwhile, Edie Moran and the Russet twins were working non stop to identify the man in the footage with you. Darla stared at images of you, wondering what you did to gain the attention of Moran.

Gear, the whole time, was fixated on the man. How could this be happening? How did a simple teenage girl catch the eyes of both a notorious serial killer and a bounty hunter. No, loan shark? No, merc? There was no real title of their profession. Let’s just say that Moran and the Russet Twin’s hands weren’t completely clean of blood.

Yes, there was a bloody history. A history of debts and repayments. A history of gunshots and broken kneecaps.

Speculate all you want on what they are, but that isn’t the point. You were no ordinary teenager. Perhaps it was just a simple case of wrong place wrong time, but that doesn’t happen twice in a week.

Or maybe it did?

Aristotle sat in his cubicle, work nearly finishing itself. His face had a bright smile. Ever since he had YN, he didn’t need to kill much. He knew she sympathized with his situation. There was no real need to kill anymore teens.

Because of this, the city of Ashmer rested peacefully, believing that the monster stalking in the shadows was at bay. While the police searched for clues that didn’t exist, The Russet twins were spending every conscious second trying to identify the man using high school records or police records. Moran was on the streets, looking from afar at anyone who looked even remotely like you or the man.

The three agreed that once they knew who he was, they would call the police. The Russet Twins agreed to help Moran with anything he asked them to, until and after you were found. Darla was slightly against the thought of you living with Moran. He did have a bit of a history of ignoring women his own age.

But no, he wasn’t a pedophile. He couldn’t be a pedophile. No, no, no, no! Darla loved him, ever since they were kids. He couldn’t be a pedophile. She didn’t love pedophiles. But she loved him. And he’d find a way to love her. After you were found and he realized you were a useless, ungrateful child like the rest.

Now, it was three am on a Tuesday. Maybe weeks had passed since you had disappeared. Everything was falling apart…

Until Gear found a name to match the face…

Aristotle Abbot at 2256 Henley Avenue, Ashmer City.

Run Aristotle. Run while you still can.

*****
With Aristotle's identity found and Moran out for blood, what can you do?

Can you admit you're in love with Aristotle? Can you save him before it's too late? Can Moran be saved from himself?

Will you choose love over justice?

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