Devil In A White Dress

Forty Six-Killing The Homeless

         KILLING THE HOMELESS

Emma stopped walking for a while and took the chance to gaze at herself in the mirror where busy bystanders were exiting a shopping mall. Her hands were aching with despair and the urge to kill was stronger than ever; because she'd seen this life before, and hated the fact that she was looking at it again.

She wanted everyone walking on the streets to know how much hate she had right now. She wanted to send the world a message so badly, and let everyone know who the Devil in WHITE was. Because it was like she had always said at the age of five, when the Mexican nanny eavesdropped on her conversation with WHITE Wolf.

All I want is to rule the world.

The WHITE Wolf. Emma remembered her feral friend who stood there at the dark corner of her room and watched her sleep during the stormy and rainy nights. The little psycho had him as her one true companion, even though she wasn't afraid of the storm. Or the fact that she wasn't afraid of anything since childhood. In her right deranged mind, she couldn't tell what she was ever afraid of. She wasn't even afraid of Death.

Walking amongst the happy and sad faces of the streets of upstate, with hands dug into her twin jean pockets like a creeper, she noticed people walk the exact way she remembered when dancing on the street and jamming to a Michael Jackson song. A smile etched, remembering grabbing a man who was busily rushing to work to dance with her. It had been eleven good years ago. Another memory was the newspaper she took from a kid and read the headlines saying Dr. Cowen saved another patient from entering a life of misery in Baltimore Asylum.

Laughing, she crossed the road and still had the plan of finding and killing Kimberly. She looked around the small TV screens of the neighborhood and all that was ever to be seen was Kimberly making the usual 7 o'clock announcement that made the skin of all fellow New Yorkers wither and crawl. Had it been just the irritating, stereotype voice or the cockiness of her expressions she gave anytime she made that pretentious smile?

Talking and blabbering on the microphone as though there hadn't been any decent job for a stereotype WHITE woman to partake in this time, season and year? As Emma walked past a gang of smokers and hippies who dared to hoot at her slender body in WHITE, she started to believe that killing Kimberly just might be the only way to send a worldwide message. Of course. It was the only way.

Why not kill the most hated news reporter of New York City and do it live? But then she would be a heroine instead, because she wasn't the only one who wanted to get that opportunity. Then it dawned on her. That woman didn't deserve the least of attention from an unhinged killer like Emma Woodburn. Or any other cold-hearted, soi-disant serial killer out there waiting in line to stand in the spotlight of the infamous. Sane or insane.

She would surely deal with her later. That one was a promise the Devil in WHITE could keep for ages. Other targets were considered by the cannibalistic psychopath. She could always kill the Mayor, the dim-witted New York Senator, the fucking president Trump, whose deranged mind was a major difference from hers, his wife Ivanna Trump herself, the Vice-president, or any other official in the political world.

She didn't care. Emma would do anything to get the world to notice her escape from the asylum. But no one was aware. She was not only a widow, but a ghost ever since the Woodburn family slaughter of 2008. Peter's parents remained etched on her mind ever since that day of her trial. The sadness they both went through when they failed to prove their testimonies that Emma was sane and had no sign of mental illness as she maimed their son and grandson.

Cowen saved her from a prison sentence when the proof of her insanity during the murders took the hearts of the jurors to the zone of the unknown. She was free of all that, and all that was by the help of her trusted ally Bridget. Walking past a man buying coffee from a stand, Emma's attention was diverted to a group of the homeless laughing and chitty-chatting under an old high building belonging to the Carrier Corporation. Emma listened and smiled at their humanely, warm-hearted family conversation.

The land of the poor, innocent and forgotten. It was a safe haven away from the cruel reality of a world where the rich trampled over them for years. A family that would live within their hearts and this community forever. A family someone as soulless and sadistic as Emma Woodburn would never bring back from death.

Their joyful laughter pissed her off, so in her right deranged mind, Emma grabbed a crowbar that was left near a dumpster and gave one of the beggars a quick and hard whack to the back of the head. Again, she bludgeoned the homeless man's face. Not once but several times until his fellow family started to panic and call out for help.

It was dark around that area and completely void of passers-by. No security cameras. No help. The psychopath continued with the next homeless woman, battering her face to a bloody pulp with the long, cold metal then whacking her legs till she heard a joint dislocate. Their screams meant nothing. Emma felt no emotion. She caught the others as well, whacking all of them with the crowbar and dislocating their bones.

She did it all in style. Not even breaking a sweat or stopping to catch a breath. Who ever doubted Emma? The last one pleaded for dear life and mercy as he crawled slowly away from the darkness. The Devil in WHITE's shadow stood tall and menacing as ever. Confusion etched over the poor homeless man as to why this night would be the last night on Earth? He couldn't understand why the Devil would take him on one normal and peaceful night where he was just laughing and being with a happy family.

Emma smiled, because she saw the man was crippled with slim, tiny legs and tattered clothes. He pleaded for mercy. No matter how much he did, the Devil in WHITE smiled to delight as she charged in speed and whacked him across the face. The hard metal broke his nose badly and she felt the impact like music to her eardrums. She whacked the metal at his back, once, twice, thrice, four times, five times, six times, seven times and stopped at the eighth strike.

What was lying in front of her was now a battered, bruised, broken and motionless corpse with thin legs. A huge smile etched on her face as she walked over the other broken and beaten corpses. Her urge for the killing wasn't enough. Emma suddenly felt the dreaded hunger and taste for blood.