WARNING!: Extremely disturbing content. Child death. Yaoi ,a hint of shota.

A/N: Just something to get the muse going. Will be a few chapters long. I hope those who enjoy this genre like he story.

Sandbox

The News blared with the gruesome case. The Papers printed three words over and over in bright red enormous script, center front page. The Radio lead endless debates over anything related.

But even that couldn't explain the utter horror that he could see in the people's eyes.

It was disturbingly funny how complete strangers feared and hated and maybe even pitied just because the News and the Papers and the Radio said so.

He wondered in any of them would ever really understand. Probably not. Why should they? How could they?

He wasn't sure even he himself understood despite the familiarity that had unexpectedly reared its head. A strange empathy had been fuelling a half-smile on his face for over a week now – ever since he'd seen it.

It had been so...so beautiful. It had reached a lever of perfection he could only hope to reach one day.

At first he had not believed it possible. The utter...preciousnessof it, had taken his breath away and made his heart beat in his chest. An almost erotic elation one could feel when seeing the touch of God.

Entering his work he nodded to his colleagues as he made his way to his office, sure that he looked preoccupied as that day and that moment replayed themselves, over and over, and over...

He put away his jacket and opened his briefcase, taking out a laptop and opening it on his desk, moving a couple of files away to make space on the cluttered surface.

He left it to boot up and moved mechanically to get some coffee, polite greetings coming to his lips mindlessly, as they always had.

He poured himself a cup of scalding lack coffee and went back to his office, even though he knew he would never be able to concentrate.

The day of his judgment was coming.

&&&

It had been exactly six months ago when the Papers, the News and the Radio had for the first time reported the start of what would later become a myth more gruesome than Jack the Reaper's.

The first disappearance had been then. Exactly six months ago in the Everlight Park.

At first it had only been reported as such – a young woman and her infant child had turned up missing after their daily walk in the park.

The police had searched and searched but it was as if they had disappeared completely. Complications in the face of a reportedly abusive husband with an alibi and a couple of unreachable relatives though had left the investigation hanging as it became more and more possible that the woman had simply left.

Then a month later the same scenario had repeated – a mother and her son of ten months had not come back from their afternoon walk in Everlight.

This time there we no Complications. The husband was a respected businessman, the family was loving and especially hysterical in their demands of the police.

The police itself was gearing up – the disappearances had too many correlations to be simply coincidence. It had gone unsaid but fearfully acknowledged that they might have a particularly twisted serial killer on the loose. There was still hope that the women and children weren't dead but the severe lack of clues was piling up against that conclusion. If they were alive it would be hard to cover up the needs of two infants and their mothers, as well as their presence.

Detectives were assigned by the scores when a third woman disappeared even less than a month after that.

The partial press blockage had been impossible to maintain anymore and the Story was born. The sleazier magazines started calling the unknown person the 'Mommynapper'.

The public was disgusted and fearful.

There had been a pause of almost two months then, no new clues, no disappearings and the Story slowed down. Still very few mothers dared to go to Everlight and even when they did - it was always in groups and in the wide-open fringes of the Park.

Despite this a few days to the two-month mark disappearance number four was trumped up in all the media. Panic blossomed, the police were getting nowhere, people feared.

Still there were precious few clues and no credible suspects. He had been hooked by then, already somehow anticipating an interesting end to the drama that consumed the world around him, and slowly – himself.

An almost hysterical feeling had settled over the community and the Story had gone nationwide.

The News and the Papers and The Radio were going rabid. Tales of figures reminiscent of Jack the Reaper himself were spin and the enormous shadow of the nameless one responsible loomed over everyday life.

The Story had taken a life of its own and the faceless figure of a modern-time Boogeyman created. Everyone waited with their breaths stilling for the crescendo that was sure to follow.

And it followed. In the form of one particularly fierce mother.

&&&

As he sat in his office he tried to remember her, like he had seen her that day.

But he could see only one thing and that wasn't her.

His heart started bearing hard, so hard, against his chest. The excitement of that day still pulsing in him.

&&&

Apparently Victim number five was a policewoman who was on maternity leave.

Despite that she didn't survive but she gave the Story's Boogeyman a face by dieing. It didn't happen using the gun they had found near her. The damning thing had been a simple unassuming cell phone.

The call had come at 16:17 hours, received by the dispatchers of precinct five.

The police had moved without hesitation. They were at the scene not five minutes later – armed to the teeth, a SWAT team on the way, ready to kill. Willing to kill the undisputed monster.

&&&

He had been there.

It was an old playground, deeper in the park.

A bit to the side, but he had been there. Where he had had a perfect view of the most beautiful being he had ever laid eyes on. Its beauty later expanded over that initial, breath-taking moment, as he saw their work.

&&&

He more felt than saw the policemen stop, freezing around him in mute disbelief that turned to bewildered horror.

There was a sandbox there. It looked recently plowed.

It was muddy. Blood had pooled and soaked the sand.

In the middle of it, grotesquely laid out – limps spread, clothes shred, face peeled off to the white, white, gleaming bone - was the woman.

And above her was a small figure – a child. A child no older than ten, stroking the smooth bone of the corpse, cleaning the blood away with a corner of his blood-soaked shirt.

In his other arm wiggled the screaming baby, and in his hand – a slender bloody blade.

His hair was red – like the blood covering him. His skin sharply pale, almost glowing against the blood that run over it – blood not his own.

His hand, the one cleaning up the bone was small, long-fingered.

He was an angel of a macabre tale. He was absolutely captivating.

Unearthly.

He was frozen as much as the men around him but for an entirely different reason. He was sure then, that he would never again feel such enlightenment. God had reached out of the fiery depths of Hell and delivered this one little piece of himself to him.

He stayed in place, barely aware of the confusion around him, of men lowering their guns and slowly approaching, gently asking His Angel what had happened. That everything was alright then, that the police was here.

His Angel didn't move until they were barely a couple of meters away – approaching him as one would a skittish animal.

Then he stopped cleaning. The men stopped as well, some inner chill cementing them to their places as His Angel looked up with the face of a deity.

He could have died happy then – having seen his magnificence and he almost did.

His heart lurched and an explosion of inner hear almost knocked him off his feet as His Angel swiftly laid the child down blindly and before anyone could even breath out plunged the blade in. The power of God in his eyes.

He panted then, but so did the policemen around him.

There were screams, running feet, someone pushed against him, but he couldn't see or hear. Nothing mattered as those eyes suddenly found his. A second – no more.

His Angel.

&&&

Even now more than two weeks later his breath still caught at the memory.

He could no more concentrate on his work than he could rid himself of His image, haunting every waking hour. Every dream.

He exited his office and made his way to the laboratory where his team was still processing evidence from the case.

He looked at the large wall of pictures.

The sandbox had been revealed as His magnificent work – the eight bodies – four large ones and four little ones – were positioned painstakingly. The mothers curled protectively around the children – their bony faces white and shiny, at the four sides of the sandbox. The middle would have been the centerpiece – victim number five.

The Mothers of Death, forever protecting their children, nurturing them in their cold embraces.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he spared a small look over his shoulder at his coroner. She was odd to him with her pink hair and strange expression of pity.

"Don't worry Boss – we'll get him for every single one of them. I don't care how old he is", she paused while he said nothing and she looked at the wall as well.

"This isn't the work of a human. He's a demon Boss, a demon", her voice wavered and she gave his shoulder a squeeze before walking away as if in a hurry.

He continued looking at the wall.

A Demon.

The Mothers of Death and their Demon Children.

He smiled. Turning to go back to his office – his mind clearing a little.

His Angel. A Demon.

"Sabaku no Gaara", he murmured.

&&

The door closed as the blonde man, the one considered a genius in his field, the one who always knew how his target thought, entered the office of the Head of the Crime Scene Investigations unit.

People often said he was uncanny, easy to slip into the mentality of the killer they were after and find the clues he left behind.

But then again all those people wondering at his skill didn't know of his own little Sandbox, did they?


A/N: Those of you who've seen 'Dexter' would notice the connection. The story was born late last night while I re-read my own 'Life' and the plot just popped up.

Expect more and some twisted NaruGaa, but do not expect any explicit sex scenes, though there will be sex at some later point. I never was too fond of writng those.