ENTRY #90 - AU

Truly Anonymous Twilight O/S PP Contest

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Title: Jack

Picture Prompt Number: #2

Pairing: None

Rating: M

Genre: AU Horror

Word Count (minus A/N and Header): 3,736

Summary (250 characters or less, including spaces and punctuation): He disappeared for a reason.

Warnings and Disclaimer: SMeyer owns all. Rated M for sexual perversions, violence against women, gore, and language.

Dark and fetid, the cobblestone roads are bathed in the putrescence born of the filth that exists in the diseased dwellings. The surroundings are polluted from their grime encrusted roofs down to their dank cellars, the ramshackle buildings cemented together with their deep-seated corruption. Black, stealthy, disquieted shadows cross paths on the streets, the lowest caste of humanity. Women with hollowed, black-rimmed eyes and sickly countenances come forth and then disappear by the flicker of the gas lamps to spread their legs for three pence—the price of a gin or one night's doss money.

They are slovenly, unkempt women that no longer wish for a better life but yearn only for their next snifter of alcohol, vile women that do not wish to be courted by a hardworking man that can provide for them. Instead they only yearn for whoring and earning a drink at The Ten Bells. They are whorish women whose countenances match the dirt-infested streets. They are as ragged as their surroundings and just as corrupt. The dank, moist cellar of their own sex is just as diseased as the community within which they reside. These whores lead the younger ladies, who wish for an easier existence, to follow in the older cunts' footsteps. They sell their souls through shallow erotic experiences, yet neither they nor their customers truly understand real eroticism. They follow a life of debauchery, dirtying their souls, their life force, their blood.

The very liquid that powers us, that sustains us, that creates our very essence, is where the true eroticism lies. The average human shakes and trembles at the very sight of it, yet the elixir of our mortality can incite an erotic experience that is far better than any genital contact. It can cause sex organs to harden and explode as we bathe ourselves in the sight of this elixir of life, of mortality and immortality.

The pathetic miscreants cannot understand my emotional bondage: my need to cleanse their blood of their sins, to cull from humanity those who wish to spread their pestilence upon the innocent, to reach a sexual release of my own. Sadly, their climax will never be as euphoric as mine. They might not give a goddamn about redemption, but their souls will thank me. I let their sins flow from their bodies in a pool of crimson. I carve their misdeeds from their chests and lay them bare for the world to see, and in doing so I save them from an eternity in Hell. In return, I earn an erotic pleasure so great that others don't dare to achieve it.

Yet I know that as I watch their precious life squirt forth from their bodies in streams of red that I should not enjoy such perversions. But I cannot help it. My body yearns for release, and my hands twitch at the thought of ripping through their flesh to watch their blood spill, gloved hands slicing open a neck with one swift movement in a back alley. Then the spray of blood. Red, spidery veins of blood drip down those leather gloves. Where are my gloves? Have I forgotten them tonight? No. I look down and see the supple leather covering my hands, the hands of a monster. No, not of a monster. I shake my head to clear the fog that threatens to settle therein, to chase away the doubt that my work is not for the greater good.

Fucking whores. My mind is fragile and has been broken by these women too many times. Damnable thoughts do not belong in my psyche when I'm doing such noble work. My thoughts and reasons are sound, unbreakable, and the doubts are so thin that a mere breath could break them. Yet, thought and reason are truly unneeded, for I am an animal. As such, I work on instinct, not as a monster. Human nature makes me weak when doing my noble work, while instinct strengthens me and allows me to complete my work. I slaughtered my own mother on the ride to Hell only to fall back into the bosom of the euphoria.

My dear mother.

She didn't struggle or fight back, although she did scream like the whore she was. They thought it was just one of her many nightly calls, but instead it was her dear bastard son that took a knife and carved her up to save her soul. Yes, her blood was the first to spill, and it was what set me on my path. She had brought me here as a young child from my homeland of Greece for a better life, yet she whored and drank her life away, leaving us destitute. She was the one who had brought darkness and shadow into my heart, so I forced her blood to flow from every vein. It was her salvation, and it was what convinced me to free the future whores and have their blood soak the cobblestones along with my seed. My mother's death was the catalyst that led me to discover that my power is never ending, that the euphoria is limitless, that the world must be cleansed, for the night that I killed my mother was the first night I saw the angels walking amongst us, and I saw their approval of my actions. It was then that I knew that what I was doing was not just a perversion but a cleansing. Noble work, not just euphoria. Not just a sexual release, but a cleansing of their sins.

The one on Buck's Row was simple, for the animal had only needed to slice her throat deeply in order to purge her sins and reach its climax, and I was satiated for eight full days, though I saw no sign of my angels.

The whore on Hanbury Street took longer to purge, longer to reach euphoria, yet she was more sexually satisfying. I even posed her for the angels so that they would see the beauty and innocence that remained after her sins were bled from her. I had left her clothes tugged up around her waist because her grimy, blood-soaked red and white striped stockings enthralled me, and although she died quickly when I sliced roughly through her throat, I also cut out her womb and took it with me so I could suck the blood from it in hopes of purifying my own soul with her newly cleansed blood. I felt their eyes on me that night, but I never saw them.

Her blood sustained my climax for over twenty-two days, until I felt the animal wanting for more. The euphoria was absent with the first one. I was interrupted while enjoying my time, and I barely had time to watch the blood drain from the ragged gash in her throat before I had to flee. Thankfully, the animal within me carried me to another in Mitre Square that very night, and I left her as an offering to those angels―a grotesque offering of blood and flesh, and as a warning to the whores to find salvation.

I left her body on her back, her head turned toward the left, toward salvation. I left her skirts above her waist and her abdomen exposed. I kept her left leg straight in line with her body, but I bent her left leg in such a way as to expose her filthy genitalia in hopes that the angels would fully cleanse it. As always, I cut her throat through to her windpipe in one swift stroke in order to keep her from screaming. I would never make the same mistake I had with my mother. I never wanted to hear the whimpering wails of a whorish woman again. I sliced open her abdomen and pulled her entrails out, placing them over her right shoulder like a beautiful fur stole that the wealthy might wear, but I made sure that hers was covered in feculent matter, just as her soul had been.

As her mortality flowed from her in shocks of red, she attempted to close her eyes tightly, but I cut her eyelids open so she could face her death without cowardice. I then cut off her nose and rubbed it in her own sex so she would smell the filth that she had become. I was not appeased with the frown that sat upon her countenance, so I carved a smile in her face so the angels would know she was now joyfully free of her sins. It had now been forty days since I had left her as an offering.

I feel like a god when I watch the life drain from the whores' eyes now. The animal in me, the righteous animal, always accepts the desire and calls me out. No reason or rhyme could stop the animal, the pressure building at the base of my spine, so I closed my eyes and used my instincts to find the one who I will save tonight and feast upon, the one that sucks men dry of their hard earned money and their seed, the whore that makes men weak.

But no more.

Not after tonight.

One less weakness for the world. One more soul cleansed. And the euphoria will be fed and sated—the euphoria that is becoming more difficult to achieve. I must push myself harder, cleanse the next one completely, in order to find my release. The mere thought of it is exciting. For forty days I have been searching for another victim, one that would bring the angels down upon me in exultations. I had found Mary two weeks prior, and I have watched her every move since.

I've been watching her for days. The animal always seemed to know exactly where she would be. As Big Ben struck, I threw two coins to the table and they fell with a dull thud beside the untouched, dirty glass of amber liquid as I wove through the drunken whores. It was all I could do to keep myself from lashing out at the filthy demons and satyrs as they blocked my path toward the one that was calling to me. My pulse rose and my temples pounded as the overwhelming pressure built. They didn't understand the noble work, the animal's need, the reason I stalked through the fog. The red burned in my eyes as I waited for her to appear.

I saw her standing under a gas lamp while talking to another man, a man that was not me. Just as she always had. She has never had the time for one like me, one that wants more than a fuck in return for three pence. No, she was only interested in the money and the fuck. She didn't want for marriage. She only flirted and simpered and smiled handsomely. She was much younger than the other whores, yet she had been corrupted much earlier and so her darkness was so thick I could almost taste it.

I watched her laugh at something the man said. It was a drunken laugh. She stumbled and gripped onto the lamppost to steady herself. The animal saw red, the man within me too far from the surface to see her beauty, her youth. No, it heard her laugh and saw her fouled soul. It heard the echo of my mother laughing, mocking it. It taunted him and dared him to exorcise her demons once and for all. I wondered what it would take to satiate both the animal and my wanton desires this time. It was getting more and more difficult to cleanse their sins and find my euphoria. It was getting more difficult to garner the attention of the angels that blessed my path.

As the gentlemen ended his conversation with her, a ghostly smile appeared on my face; after tonight, she would never speak again. I wove towards her and she remained unaware until I took her arm. She looked up at me and smiled drunkenly. She asked if I needed something…something only she could give. Oh, if she only knew. I whispered a price in her ear and she laughed as she led me off to cleanse her, to lead her to salvation. I vowed at that moment to make sure I searched every inch of her to ensure she was fully cleansed of the whoring sins that possessed her. She guided me to a small room down Miller's Court. Number thirteen, my lucky number. A fire burned in the grate, and she turned away from it to undress as the animal within me became ecstatic and my own sex grew hard. I locked the door before stroking myself once through my trousers and said, "My dear, I'm sorry that your climax will not be as euphoric as my own." Then, I pounced.

I pulled my knife out from behind my trousers and grabbed her around her middle with one hand. With the other, I brought my knife around and felt it cut through the flesh of her throat. She had enough time to scream, "Oh, Murder!" Then, I deepened the cut and plunged through the sinew into her windpipe, rendering her silent. She struggled valiantly as I threw her down on the small bed and straddled her, but it wasn't enough. I watched the blood surge from her throat and splatter against the walls, against me, and I felt its warmth trickle down my face. I bent down and drank from her neck as I rubbed my hardened cock against her thigh. The walls seemed to bulge with her every spasm and retract with my every moan.

I stared at the blood as it painted itself across the room. A large stain of blood next to the bed looked like a demon with protruding eyes and an evil sneer. Her spasms crawled up and down and sideways within me as the demon spread across the floor, dissipating with her last twitch. He retreated with her dying breath and I was left to carve the last vestiges of evil from her body.

The work was tiresome, but I was unwavering in my need to cleanse her. Not wanting to soil my clothing any further, I removed my now blood-soaked overcoat and threw it in the corner before I carefully undressed and placed my folded clothing near the door. I knelt over her body and pulled her chemise up around her so her body was fully exposed. I allowed the animal to take over and, like the fog that blankets the streets of Whitechapel, I was lost in the haze. When I resurfaced, I found myself standing before a masterpiece. The blood was still pumping in my ears, and the euphoria threatened to drown me.

Her body was in the middle of the bed, turned toward the left so that the angels could witness her from the small, grungy window. In order to cleanse her, I had removed the entire surface of her abdomen and thighs. Her abdominal cavity had been emptied of all viscera, and her breasts had been removed. Jagged wounds and tear marks covered her arms and face, leaving her hacked beyond recognition. The bones were visible in her neck and face, indicating how difficult it had been to purge her of her salaciousness.

Most of her organs were scattered about the bed, and I placed her breast beneath her head since I knew she would appreciate a better pillow. The bedclothes were saturated with red, cocooning her pale corpse, which appeared as pale as the angels I was offering it to. I was unhappy with the haphazard way I had thrown the remains of her thighs on the bedside table. My hands clenched at my sloppiness, and my right was met with resistance. I looked down and discovered I was holding her heart, the symbol of innocence, the very organ that pumped the red elixir through her veins. Clotted blood dripped from one of its arteries, so I lifted it to my lips and suckled it to remove the evil from her heart and cleanse myself in the process.

As I licked and fondled her precious heart, my euphoria piqued and a small moan escaped me as I threw my head back in a moment of rapturous pleasure. My breathing quickened, and in a moment of unrestrained bliss I bit into the sinewy muscle and began devouring the cleansed organ, a communion between the purified soul and the frenzied animal. My body shook with a torrent of frenetic emotion as I ingested the last bits and glanced toward the window to see eyes fixed upon mine. The eyes of the angels. They have come at last! I couldn't help but laugh as my gaze penetrated theirs, the darkened eyes of a mere mortal that wished to do their bidding met with the crimson stare of pure beauty.

The window opened and one being gracefully entered the room while two others watched from outside. I hastily tried to wipe the smears of blood and pieces of mutilated flesh out of my hair and off of my naked body as I knelt down before the beautiful being.

"All I am, all I do, is for you, my lord."

With a small chuckle, he gestured for me to rise as a wide smile graced his lips. "My dear human child, it's so refreshing to see one in this part of the world that has such respect for my kind." I nod once, unsure of what to say, while keeping my head bowed to show my servitude. His accent is thick but unlike mine. Italian, maybe.

"Yes, you have been naughty, haven't you?" he said. "Yes, and from what I have seen, you already have a taste for blood. How delightful!" He clapped his hands together and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. "And all of this is for us, is it not? Oh, how I wish my brothers could see it. I believe they would be quite taken with you, Jack."

I flinched at the moniker but tried to cover my displeasure. Of course, the angel knew I was displeased. "Ah, you don't care for the name the papers have given you?"

Of course I didn't. I had heard the mutterings, the rumors. I had seen the newspaper and read the impostor's words—someone who was taking credit for my noble work and perverting it, someone who was pretending to be me and sending letters to the newspapers. If I could only find him, I'd cut off his dick and shove it down his throat to silence the lies. I shook my head and muttered, "No. Disgusting name. Filthy name. Common."

"Yes, and you're anything but common, my dear one—or at least that's what I've been told. But perhaps you can tell me. How do you find your victims for us, Jack?"

I flinched at the name again then shrugged. "Don't know. I just know where to find them once I've picked them out."

"Excellent, excellent!" he replied, obviously happy with my answer. "May I hold your hand, dear one?"

I held a trembling hand out toward the dark-haired angel, and he gently grasped it in both of his. His flesh was cold and unyielding. No blood pumped in his veins, no elixir of life and sin. I relaxed as he stiffened slightly. Mere seconds later, he released it. I looked up through my soiled hair for a glimpse of his face. His red eyes were closed and he looked contemplative. When his eyes finally flew open, he looked at the blood smeared across his palm. I was about to apologize when he brought his hand to his mouth and licked the blood from it.

Once he had finished, he spoke. "You say that you created this for us, but I have seen your thoughts, and I do not believe that is the case." I opened my mouth to protest, but his hand flew up to indicate silence. "I know this scene was for your own personal pleasure—a pleasure you longed for and so you searched for justification. And although it is a bit…barbaric, I believe I understand you more than you will ever know."

I cocked my head to the side and furrowed my brows.

"My dear human child, you are misguided but not lost, and most certainly not common," he said. "No, I believe you can be taught to feed in a civilized manner if I deemed to teach you." He waved a hand before him in a wide, sweeping gesture. "Oh, you will always prefer the young brunettes, I believe. After all, we do have some mother issues, but overall I believe you would make an excellent addition to my coven."

My eyes widened at his declaration, and I searched for answers within his eyes.

"Yes, you will definitely do, my grotesque friend. If I promise to keep your bloodlust satiated, will you join me, to serve me and my brothers?"

My lips curved up in a smile, and I reached out and grabbed the angel's hand, placing a kiss on the top of it before kneeling once again. "Yes, my angel, I live to serve you."

The angel laughed again. "Oh, my dear friend, we are not angels. Quite the contrary. I believe we are now known as vampires—true immortals that drink the elixir of life, as you call it. You will no longer need to defile yourself like…" He waves his hand in a sweeping motion to indicate Mary. "The blood will satiate you in the way you desire every time you feed, this I promise you. Do you still wish to become one of us?"

Vampires. Blood. Euphoria. The decision was not difficult.

"Yes, my lord."

He shook his head and smiled. "No need to call me lord, dear friend. My name is Aro."

"Aro," I repeat. His name rolled off of my tongue. He would always be my angel, my salvation—the one who promised whores and blood. Yes. My angel.

"And your given name fits you as well, my dear one. Greek. Powerful. One who worships the goddess of the harvest, the goddess of life and death. My dearest, Jack, let us leave this place and shed you of that foul nickname. You shall become an immortal, gifted, and I will treasure you always. Demetri."