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Dedicated to 1olMichelle for the amazing banner to the side! I love it :D
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Chapter Twenty - Nothing Is Ever As It Seems~
******KILLER’S POV******
My footsteps made no noise as they struck marble tile. My leather-clad hands clenched easily at my sides as energy and excitement zinged through my veins. My insides burned for the kill, and the excitement was overwhelming.
Up ahead, the blond, feminine boy walked, his long strides wary, as the boy bowed his head, lost in thought.
With high cheekbones, long, feminine eyelashes, and a sculpted jaw, he was a pretty boy. Not handsome, but pretty. If he were a girl, she would be quite stunning.
He wore a bright neon t-shirt, his personality vibrant and bountiful, though my killings had zapped most of his energy, and now he seemed tense and bitter, twitching at the slightest noise and at the height of paranoia. I had completely dampened his spark.
Oh, the things I could do to people….
I quickened my strides, my legs carrying me towards the frail boy. He had no muscle, but also no fat. He was straight up and down, his bones feather-light in weight. He was lanky, with long legs and arms, but my hand could easily wrap around them without any trouble. He was like a stick in that sense.
As I approached, I dragged my feet along the ground, announcing my entrance. I was always one for theatricality and dramatic entrances.
Brad slowly turned around, his body rigid as he swallowed thickly. His hazel eyes cast around until he spotted me, a figure of black against the bright shoe storefront, contrasting darkly with the brightness of the store.
He tensed up, and the breath left him, before he spotted me. His face smoothed over, his young, boyish features wiping clean. For a twenty year old, he did look a lot younger. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, clearly relieved.
I smiled and headed towards him, gaining the boy’s trust and playing the innocent figure. “Hey, Brad,” I said, falling into step beside him and stuffing my hands into my hoodie pockets. “What are you doing out here alone?”
He shrugged. “Everyone’s arguing and getting stressed. I needed space from the yelling, you know? Just a break. You?”
I nodded with a sigh. “Same.”
He eyed my outfit, and the thick jacket over the top of my usual clothes. “Hey, you changed. Isn’t that a camouflage jacket?”
I nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, it was the first thing I could find. I got cold.”
“It is kinda freezing out here,” he acknowledged. “But, hey, let’s hope that’s not the jacket the killer was wearing.” He laughed.
“Yeah,” I said, laughing at his obvious stupidity and naivety. “Then it’d be a killer jacket.”
He laughed hard at that, and I gave him a wide smile. Who knew I actually had some humor in me. And here I thought I was just dark and morbid.
“So, who do you think the killer is?” I asked, stepping lightly beside him.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe an old friend of that Malcolm Stark guy. A psycho who admired the crime. Just someone lurking in the shadows, unseen and unheard.”
I looked around and faked a shiver. “He could be watching us right now.”
“Damn, right,” Brad agreed, nodding vigorously.
“Are you okay?” I asked, making my voice sound genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. I couldn’t care less, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Scared,” Brad admitted quietly, staring at his bright tennis shoes as we walked along. “Worried for my safety. I just want this all to be over. I didn’t come to this mall looking for danger. I just want to see my family again.”
“I know what you mean,” I agreed.
He walked up ahead, his footsteps light and elegant as he strode along, oblivious to his fate. It made me smile, feeling excited and anticipant.
I felt the knife in my pants, and pulled it out. It’s dark, sharp metal reflected in the light, and it felt weightless and energized in my hand. It was cleaned of everyone else’s blood, bright and fresh and gleaming and new.
I moved behind him, and raised the blade, aiming for his clavicle, where a light pulse delicately throbbed under his translucent skin. It was so easy; he honestly never suspected a thing. And in the end his obliviousness would the be the death of him—literally.
Wow, maybe I was designed to be a comedian.
“You know, Brad,” I said, my voice stronger and fiercer than it had been before, showing the real me and not the fake one I had put up for show. “In this world, nothing is ever as it seems.”
******RAINE’S POV******
I sat on the toilet-lid, my head in my hands as I sobbed quietly. My shoulders trembled with the force of my cries, and I struggled to keep them quiet so that I wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention from anyone.
My head pounded, and I felt ugly and congested with tears. My whole body shook, and my vision blacked for a second, before I peeled my eyes open and rubbed vigorously at them, keeping myself awake.
My whole body was shaky and lethargic, my energy completely sapped from the night’s events. All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and sleep for a couple of days, forget for just a little while that this wasn’t happening.
But of course I was trapped here.
I sniffled and grabbed some toilet paper, using the coarse stuff to wipe my eyes.
I looked down at the thing in disgust. That wasn’t toilet paper. That felt like freaking sandpaper against my face!
I sighed and threw the toilet paper away, before standing up and blotting my palms on my jean-clad thighs and pushing my hair behind my ears.
I exited the stall and walked towards the basins. I washed my hands vigorously, scrubbing away the dirt and crusted blood and scratches, until my hands were red-raw and sore. Even the crescents of my nails were perfectly white again, though the black nail polish was chipped and the nails themselves were almost bitten down to the quick, except for a tiny little half-moon of whiteness.
I dried them using the paper towel they supplied, not wanting to use the electric dryer in case the killer heard me. You could never be too careful. Especially in a bathroom all alone.
Once I was done, I stared at myself in the mirror.
I was pale as a ghost, my eyes red and puffy. My hair, which had been curled earlier in the day—or yesterday, I guess it was—now fell in knotty tangles around my face, making me look animalistic and wild—not a good look, if you’re wondering.
There was a smidge of blood on my temple, and three diagonal scratches across my cheek that I had no recollection of getting. My lips were dry and chapped, my face pale and drawn, and my eyes wide and fearful.
In short, I looked like crap.
I got some more water and wiped away the blood on my face, before examining the scratches again. They weren’t too deep, but still painful, and stung when the cold water came into contact with it.
I sighed and looked down at the simple plaid shirt I had donned this morning—or I guess yesterday morning—when I had expected to only be doing chores and a run to the library, not fighting for my life like I was now.
Now it was smeared with blood down the side, the sleeves covered in the thick, clotted scarlet liquid, and the sight of all of the blood made tears spring to my eyes and my stomach to do nauseous flips.
I gingerly reached out and touched the blood, to find it slick and wet; fresh. Probably Steve’s.
Losing my grip on saneness, I screamed out loud and ripped off the plaid shirt, throwing it across the room. It made a soft thud as it hit the unattractive yellow wall.
Breathing heavily, tears fell from my eyes as whimpers escaped my lips in rapid succession. I fell against the marble basin and sobbed, my breaths hitching in my throat and my head spinning dizzily. I kicked the plaid shirt away, and leaned down, sobbing into my hands.
I didn’t care how stupid or immature I looked. I didn’t care how loud I was, how crazy I sounded.
I just stopped caring.
I was through with this; these games, and murders, and messages. I couldn’t do it anymore! I just… I just couldn’t deal with it.
I cried until I couldn’t anymore, and only dry sobs made it’s way out of my throat.
I cried until I had lost all of my energy, and simply slid down the plaster wall, drawing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs.
I cried until I lost hope.
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