With a flick of my wrist I can keep you alive or kill you. But it's always my choice. Remember that! Dexterward ;-)
Edward is a CSI by day and cold blooded killer by night.
Thanks so much to my ever-awesome beta MC!
A string of murders have overtaken the normally quiet Sacramento community.
I sighed as I read the words over and over again. It wasn't the first time my work had ended up in the paper. But I wanted to make sure it was the last, otherwise I was never going to be able to keep up with my addiction. The last thing I wanted was to be sitting behind bars rotting away while I was craving the sight of fresh blood.
I poured over the clippings I'd saved from the last week and hunted for my next victim. I was hoping something would stand out to me. Something would give me purpose to alleviate the guilt that rolled around in the pit of my stomach.
But just as I was about to decide, my phone went off.
"Cullen," I muttered into the receiver as I ran a hand through my messy hair. I was more annoyed than ever.
It was the worst the day after my last kill, I needed more, always. But now, I liked to stalk them. To haunt them, so they remembered my face when the time came. I was thirty two with a problem and it wasn't just the fact that I needed a haircut.
"We need you down at Willow Creek, we've got a gunshot wound to the head," I heard Crowley bark into the phone.
"On my way," I told him before hanging up.
I always held my breath waiting for the day where I would have to investigate one of my own murders, but that day hadn't caught up with me yet.
I chuckled to myself as I thought about the last poor shmuck that had met his death. Last night was particularly entertaining. I had moved on to the upper class residents of Oakland. It was a drive from my meager apartment in Sacramento, but I thought of it as a challenge.
He was a middle aged man in his late forties. I picked him because of his last name. Watermere. I had a teacher in high school with that last name and he was a real dick. And when I started researching this guy, I found out he was my teacher's uncle. My teacher was long gone. But this guy was right there. I had just finished up work and I had headed out to a bar.
Radio was a sweet little dive bar I liked to hit up from time to time. The waitresses were always so pretty and sometimes I got lucky.
Last night really just started out as a time to relax. Something simple. I wanted to chill and be chill. I hadn't killed in over a week and as soon as the fucker walked through the door I knew he was going to be next.
The arrogance in his voice. The way he treated the kind waitress. Everything about his demeanor told me explicitly that he had to be next.
I followed him out of the bar, where he drunkenly poured himself into his car. I followed him all the way back to his house.
I stayed back long enough to let him get inside and get comfortable. I kept my stuff in the car. That was the best place for it, even though I ran a serious risk of getting caught with it there. I had taken the liner out of my trunk and built a small cubby hole inside it. One that could be easily hidden. In there, I kept my clothes, a black long sleeve shirt and cargo pants. I kept them packed with the essentials. Tape, rope, scissors and a knife. I dressed and slipped on my gloves before scoping out the house.
I didn't wear a mask because I wasn't a coward. I wanted my victims to see my face, make eye contact before I let them breathe their last breath.
It was a nice house, beautifully decorated on the outside, and when I managed to make it inside from a first floor window, I found the inside was just as nice too.
But it wasn't the inside I was interested in.
No, what I was interested in was up one floor. I knew where his bedroom was, since it was the only light on in the entire house.
That part was easy.
When I reached the room, I checked to see if he was asleep. And when I found he was, I went about trying him down to the bed. This was something I did occasionally if I wanted to throw the police off. It would make it look like a sex act gone wrong.
I waited until I had him secured to the bed before waking him up.
A few good shakes and his eyes popped open wide.
"Ah. Who the hell are you?" he muttered trying to collect his bearings. I'd let him, since I wanted him fully conscious for this.
I smirked at him briefly. "My name is Edward Cullen. I'm here to make you pay your retribution. You see you were a dick earlier, and while I don't know you personally, I'm sure you're an arrogant prick no matter where you go."
He sputtered for a moment before uselessly pulling at his restraints.
"I don't know who you are, but you had better let me go, now!" he stammered as he pulled again at the ropes.
"You're right Robert Watermere; you don't know who I am. But I'm extremely important to you right now. I hold your precious life in my hands. I have the power to end you, right now," I said slowly letting everything sink in. "But maybe I'm feeling nice tonight, maybe I just want to teach you a lesson instead of making you pay for your behavior."
"What behavior?" he growled.
"Simply, your disregard for anyone who you feel isn't worthy because they don't have as much money as you."
His eyes narrowed. "I worked hard for my fortune. I deserve the right to treat anyone how I wish," he muttered.
"See, I thought you'd say something like that."
I pulled out my knife and held the cold steel of the long blade against his neck, just waiting for my opportunity to slip it into his soft flesh.
"I knew you were going to be an arrogant prick even when death was looming right around the corner. Nothing could humble you, ever. Not when you've been so corrupted."
"Go ahead and do it asshole. They'll find you."
I chuckled again really letting my true feelings show through as I knew the truth on that. I shook my head slowly. "They won't find me, see, the 'they' you're talking about are the unfortunate peons that have to clean up your body tomorrow morning when your cleaning lady finds you dead. The 'they' who come to investigate the scene, well 'they' will be one of my highly trained teams. I'm a forensic crime scene analysis agent. You think I'm going to leave something incriminating behind that they'd be able to find?"
His eyes went wide and I was pretty sure a small whimper fled from his oversized lips.
"Any last words, Mr. Watermere?" I asked carefully. I was always patient when it came to my killings. It made the satisfaction last longer. I lived in the moment and savored every second of it.
He shook his head, which was the wrong move to make, because the edge of the knife began to bite into his skin. Blood bloomed and dotted the area around the wound. My mouth watered at the sight of the budding red on his white neck. I wanted more.
"Have it your way then," I murmured before slowly and methodically pushing the blade into his neck. Further and further until the blood came gushing out.
It was the volcano stage as I lovingly referred to it. I liked when the rush of blood was so fast it actually gurgled. I stared, completely enthralled, as it flowed smoothly over the handle, pooling on the bed. Mr. Watermere began to show all the signs of hemorrhaging. The shaking, the feeble attempts of fighting for his life; ah yes, and there were the eyes beginning to bulge.
I let my fingertips smear through the steady steam on the blade as I carefully dug it deeper into his neck, finally ending Mr. Watermere's life.
After removing the knife from his neck I adjusted myself. Killing always got me excited. It was nothing about the person itself, no, always the way the blood rushed out. It was the contrast of red against the skin. The way their eyes looked when I was just about to finish them off.
That was my number as of last night. Mr. Watermere being the fifty seventh. It was a good number, but in a week or so I would seek out another. I always did. My addiction was unstoppable. It started out small. One every few months, but it snowballed and got increasingly worse over the past three years I've been doing this.
The first, a young woman, was hard to explain. When I thought back on it, I couldn't even really comprehend what made me reach for the knife. But when I saw the beautiful flow of blood over her soft tits, I was so glad I did it.
I preferred neck wounds; they produced a lot of blood. They tended to spatter, which was an art form of its own. And you could usually look your victim in the eye as they were dying. These things were all important to my addiction.
I adjusted myself at the thought of the warm gush of red fluid over Mr. Watermere's neck and parked my car beside officer Crowley's. It was time to work, time to get my mind on something else for a change.
I walked over to the Crowley and greeted him the usual way, with a grunt. Before heading to the van. We had a CSI team here in Sacramento. I lead it, but I rarely rode with them. I preferred to work as an on call investigator. It gave me more time to myself.
"He's in his forties with a gunshot wound to the head," Crowley said after I retrieved my box of tools. It was a tackle box filled with all sorts of goodies to help identify the killer.
"Yeah you said that on the phone. Are you telling me you haven't found out anything else since you've been here?" I asked with a sharp eyebrow raised.
"It's not suicide," he gritted out. Clearly, he was pissed at my lack of authority to him. He thought he built the majority of Sacramento with his own two hands. But shit, was he wrong. And I gave him no respect. That prick didn't deserve.
No, I was here to do a job and that was all.
I turned and left Tyler standing there by the bank of the creek. It was a familiar place for teenagers to get busy, not for middle-aged men to pop up dead. So I was especially curious what led this guy here.
One look at the body and I knew why I never used a gun. It wasn't personal enough. You didn't get to be there while they died. And usually, with a gun, the victim could sense when they were going to be shot, they squeezed their eyes shut. Too bad really.
I left the body for the rooks to dust while I searched the perimeter. I wanted to see if there was any other evidence I could find that would place Mr. Blown Off Ear here. I found a few shot shells scattered to the side but I wasn't sure if they were the same as the ones that had killed our victim.
I bagged and tagged them before moving on.
My job was tedious and stressful. Knowing that one piece of uncollected evidence would mean the life of someone else. One bad day, one too many drinks the night before. Anything could make it or break it for me and one of my cases. I think that's why I killed. Because I was in control.
What do you think so far?
Seriously fucked up?