Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep
folder
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,922
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,922
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Redlight District
They’d found him.
He hadn’t expected them to, though he supposed he should have.
He understood where his mistakes had been, in his mind he could go back and see the exact moments in which he should have stopped himself. Should have paused and said, “Hm, maybe I should kill her, or put this body somewhere else.”
Logically he understood that this was all his fault, but that didn’t stop him from being pissed.
Now he had a dead cop on his hands and a screaming woman in the back of a cop cruiser.
Not just any woman though.
No, woman is the wrong word to use with this one. Girl would be better. The girl to be more specific.
He dropped the garrote he held onto the road, not bothering to wipe the blood from his hands as he turned his attention to those still flashing blue lights.
He liked the hoarse screams that kept coming from her, liked the way he could see the whites of her eyes even from this distance. He remembered the sound of her voice screaming at him, the feel of her fingers digging into him, the tight heat of her insides clenching around his cock.
It surprised him that he’d actually missed her.
That’s another thing that shouldn’t have shocked him. After all, wasn’t it that exact nostalgia that had had him searching for her?
Wasn’t it that…craving for her that had almost forced him to let poor sweet Rose go?
He should have killed her when he’d had the chance.
When he’d realized his obsession, when he’d noticed himself doing the same stupid things that most other killers did that always always led to an arrest, he’d decided to take action.
Rose had been a mistake. A nasty one that he’d regretted ( a new concept, the whole regret thing) almost as soon as he was done with her.
He’d never bothered to learn their names before, nor had he ever resorted to claiming keepsakes from assorted victims. The simple fact that he now had some shitty ass dog yapping around his house like a cocaine addict and pissing on his stuff was a decision that haunted him more than anything he’d ever done.
Things were going down hill, falling apart and he wouldn’t stand for it anymore.
The dog was going into the food dispenser, the cop who now lay dead in the road, (Michael recognized him as being the one who'd been trailing him these past few weeks ever since that whole fingerprinting fiasco in regards to the bloody fingerprints on Rose's car) was going to be found swinging from his closet with an electrical wire around his neck. Cops were safe candidates for suicide after all, Michael thought. What with psychos like him running around free.
But for now, before he stuffed the cop into the trunk of the patrol car and drove to his house where the man's wife and kids were most likely sound asleep, he would have to take care of her.
The one with the caramel skin, and big dark eyes.
Yes, he would have to take care of her.
He didn't understand how a cop, a man who's life depended on his instincts, could be such an ignorant fuck. It was dark outside, Michael would grant that much, and he did look pretty shabby, not as clean cut as usual, but you'd think that the cop would recognize something about him since he'd been following him for so long. Michael didn't understand people sometimes, and right now he didn't really care to. All he knew was that he’d been hearing all sorts of interesting things about her and her nightmare on the news these past few weeks.
A rather menacing, but totally unflattering depiction of his face was being plastered all over the television. The media showed it whenever they could. Every night when his picture popped up on the screen he would grab a beer and toast himself. First night it happened Michael had nearly chocked to death on the Budweiser that had went up his nose he’d been laughing so hard. He was sure however, that he wouldn’t be half as amused had the picture shown and his actual appearance had anything to do with each other.
He’d had to lay low after Rose, had decided to give the police a little time to catch up. Problem was, he’d gotten bored playing as fair as he had been. So bored in fact that he’d pulled out the drivers license he’d taken from the mother’s clothes, after he’d stripped her and tied her to the tree, and looked it over.
He still hadn’t known her name of course. But he knew her mother was named Yasmen Marks, he also knew where they had lived. It was simply a matter of going there and inquiring in worried tones to the neighbors where that poor woman’s daughter would be living now that her mamma was dead.
The neighbors, being polite people who talked more than was good for anyone, had told him that the girl would most likely stay with her grandmother now.
Oh really? He’d inquired. His Me-maw loved kids but unfortunately her house was much to small to have kids running around in it.
The neighbors had tsked and told him, “Oh Pamela won’t have that problem with little Drew. The girls' real mature for her age. And what with Pam living in those nice new houses in Briswick, she'll have plenty of room to play. After she gets over the shock and all of course.”
Of course.
The jolt of heat that had run through his body just then had been almost as strong as it had been when he’d been fucking sweet Rose with his knife.
So he’d done the dumb killer thing.
He’d written her letters.
Little notes telling her he remembered her and how strongly. How he still stroked himself at night while he replayed her screams in his head. He’d told he wanted her again and he told her that he would get her.
He knew the police would read them, knew too that she was most likely getting all types of letters from differnt nuts out there who were just looking for a bit of attention. He’d watched though, and waited and it had finally happened. After the last letter in which he explained exactly when and how he’d be coming into her house and carving up dear sweet Pamela Marks like a Christmas turkey, the police had finally cracked.
First they’d moved the grandmother (He understood why. He’d gotten pretty vicious in his notes regarding the old woman, his Me-maw was a bitch after all) then they moved her, Drew.
Turns out the pigs were smarter than he gave them credit for though. When he’d walked out in front of the cop car as it speed down the deserted back road they now stood on, the cop had barely stopped. It was an exhilarating thing, almost being run over. Not the way he planned on going out mind you, but exhilarating all the same.
He’d done his drunk routine as the cop examined him. When the man had given him his back as he made his way back to his cruiser, Michael had moved swiftly, wrapping the garrote he'd hidden at the small of his back beneat his coat around the cops neck and tightening it so that the man's whole body lifted off the ground from the force of his struggles. It had been a bloody thing, the need for air being such a big motivator and all. It was satisfying though, esepially with Drew cheering him on with her screams in the background as she struggled with the locks on the backseat doors.
Now as she threw herself forward over the seats separating the front from the back, Michael grinned to himself and quickened his pace. He was so ecstatic about the entire thing, his blood pounding so hard, that he couldn’t stop himself from yelping like some wild animal as he leaped onto the hood of the cruiser just as the girl stumbled and fell out of the passenger side door. She darted into the woods and he hit the ground running as he gave chase.
The wind was a cruel mistress, biting and sensual as it slapped against his face and neck, cooling the hot blood that stained his hands and curling his blond hair. When he heard her scream once more as she crashed through the underbrush he threw back his head and laughed. A sound that broke the night open as viciously and as beautifully as the howl of a wolf or a coyote. A sound that chilled the blood and squeezed the heart tight in fear. It was the sound of death and soon to be dying things.
The cry meant one thing and one thing only.
He would keep this one.
Never let her go again.
Keep her until those pretty eyes dimmed and died and all that spirit, all that fight left her as surely as the breath from the lungs of a still warm corpse.
He hadn’t expected them to, though he supposed he should have.
He understood where his mistakes had been, in his mind he could go back and see the exact moments in which he should have stopped himself. Should have paused and said, “Hm, maybe I should kill her, or put this body somewhere else.”
Logically he understood that this was all his fault, but that didn’t stop him from being pissed.
Now he had a dead cop on his hands and a screaming woman in the back of a cop cruiser.
Not just any woman though.
No, woman is the wrong word to use with this one. Girl would be better. The girl to be more specific.
He dropped the garrote he held onto the road, not bothering to wipe the blood from his hands as he turned his attention to those still flashing blue lights.
He liked the hoarse screams that kept coming from her, liked the way he could see the whites of her eyes even from this distance. He remembered the sound of her voice screaming at him, the feel of her fingers digging into him, the tight heat of her insides clenching around his cock.
It surprised him that he’d actually missed her.
That’s another thing that shouldn’t have shocked him. After all, wasn’t it that exact nostalgia that had had him searching for her?
Wasn’t it that…craving for her that had almost forced him to let poor sweet Rose go?
He should have killed her when he’d had the chance.
When he’d realized his obsession, when he’d noticed himself doing the same stupid things that most other killers did that always always led to an arrest, he’d decided to take action.
Rose had been a mistake. A nasty one that he’d regretted ( a new concept, the whole regret thing) almost as soon as he was done with her.
He’d never bothered to learn their names before, nor had he ever resorted to claiming keepsakes from assorted victims. The simple fact that he now had some shitty ass dog yapping around his house like a cocaine addict and pissing on his stuff was a decision that haunted him more than anything he’d ever done.
Things were going down hill, falling apart and he wouldn’t stand for it anymore.
The dog was going into the food dispenser, the cop who now lay dead in the road, (Michael recognized him as being the one who'd been trailing him these past few weeks ever since that whole fingerprinting fiasco in regards to the bloody fingerprints on Rose's car) was going to be found swinging from his closet with an electrical wire around his neck. Cops were safe candidates for suicide after all, Michael thought. What with psychos like him running around free.
But for now, before he stuffed the cop into the trunk of the patrol car and drove to his house where the man's wife and kids were most likely sound asleep, he would have to take care of her.
The one with the caramel skin, and big dark eyes.
Yes, he would have to take care of her.
He didn't understand how a cop, a man who's life depended on his instincts, could be such an ignorant fuck. It was dark outside, Michael would grant that much, and he did look pretty shabby, not as clean cut as usual, but you'd think that the cop would recognize something about him since he'd been following him for so long. Michael didn't understand people sometimes, and right now he didn't really care to. All he knew was that he’d been hearing all sorts of interesting things about her and her nightmare on the news these past few weeks.
A rather menacing, but totally unflattering depiction of his face was being plastered all over the television. The media showed it whenever they could. Every night when his picture popped up on the screen he would grab a beer and toast himself. First night it happened Michael had nearly chocked to death on the Budweiser that had went up his nose he’d been laughing so hard. He was sure however, that he wouldn’t be half as amused had the picture shown and his actual appearance had anything to do with each other.
He’d had to lay low after Rose, had decided to give the police a little time to catch up. Problem was, he’d gotten bored playing as fair as he had been. So bored in fact that he’d pulled out the drivers license he’d taken from the mother’s clothes, after he’d stripped her and tied her to the tree, and looked it over.
He still hadn’t known her name of course. But he knew her mother was named Yasmen Marks, he also knew where they had lived. It was simply a matter of going there and inquiring in worried tones to the neighbors where that poor woman’s daughter would be living now that her mamma was dead.
The neighbors, being polite people who talked more than was good for anyone, had told him that the girl would most likely stay with her grandmother now.
Oh really? He’d inquired. His Me-maw loved kids but unfortunately her house was much to small to have kids running around in it.
The neighbors had tsked and told him, “Oh Pamela won’t have that problem with little Drew. The girls' real mature for her age. And what with Pam living in those nice new houses in Briswick, she'll have plenty of room to play. After she gets over the shock and all of course.”
Of course.
The jolt of heat that had run through his body just then had been almost as strong as it had been when he’d been fucking sweet Rose with his knife.
So he’d done the dumb killer thing.
He’d written her letters.
Little notes telling her he remembered her and how strongly. How he still stroked himself at night while he replayed her screams in his head. He’d told he wanted her again and he told her that he would get her.
He knew the police would read them, knew too that she was most likely getting all types of letters from differnt nuts out there who were just looking for a bit of attention. He’d watched though, and waited and it had finally happened. After the last letter in which he explained exactly when and how he’d be coming into her house and carving up dear sweet Pamela Marks like a Christmas turkey, the police had finally cracked.
First they’d moved the grandmother (He understood why. He’d gotten pretty vicious in his notes regarding the old woman, his Me-maw was a bitch after all) then they moved her, Drew.
Turns out the pigs were smarter than he gave them credit for though. When he’d walked out in front of the cop car as it speed down the deserted back road they now stood on, the cop had barely stopped. It was an exhilarating thing, almost being run over. Not the way he planned on going out mind you, but exhilarating all the same.
He’d done his drunk routine as the cop examined him. When the man had given him his back as he made his way back to his cruiser, Michael had moved swiftly, wrapping the garrote he'd hidden at the small of his back beneat his coat around the cops neck and tightening it so that the man's whole body lifted off the ground from the force of his struggles. It had been a bloody thing, the need for air being such a big motivator and all. It was satisfying though, esepially with Drew cheering him on with her screams in the background as she struggled with the locks on the backseat doors.
Now as she threw herself forward over the seats separating the front from the back, Michael grinned to himself and quickened his pace. He was so ecstatic about the entire thing, his blood pounding so hard, that he couldn’t stop himself from yelping like some wild animal as he leaped onto the hood of the cruiser just as the girl stumbled and fell out of the passenger side door. She darted into the woods and he hit the ground running as he gave chase.
The wind was a cruel mistress, biting and sensual as it slapped against his face and neck, cooling the hot blood that stained his hands and curling his blond hair. When he heard her scream once more as she crashed through the underbrush he threw back his head and laughed. A sound that broke the night open as viciously and as beautifully as the howl of a wolf or a coyote. A sound that chilled the blood and squeezed the heart tight in fear. It was the sound of death and soon to be dying things.
The cry meant one thing and one thing only.
He would keep this one.
Never let her go again.
Keep her until those pretty eyes dimmed and died and all that spirit, all that fight left her as surely as the breath from the lungs of a still warm corpse.