Hello there, its Glory again. ^^ This is the first chapter of my first AU fic, and it just so happens to be a KakuzuxHidan! It will be primarily from Hidan's POV, and is rated for coarse swearing, graphic violence, yaoi, and my first attempt at lime. (I haven't gathered the guts to write a lemon just yet. Sorry. XD)
Just a quick comment; I know that The Weasel was a killer from a few of James Patterson's books, but I just couldn't think of another alias that would befit Itachi, and so it had to be so.
I don't own Naruto in any way, shape, or form.
The Weasel smirked as his ebonite eyes slid closed momentarily. The brief expression had a rather frightening effect in comparison to his normally dead-pan features, and caused his victim to shiver slightly, though his brilliant roan eyes remained defiant and angry. The Weasel had chosen this man for exactly that reason; he was tough, and promised to be difficult to break.
"Everybody has their limit." he stated in a monotone, flicking aside his raven bangs with a pale hand. "And I will find yours." his latest victim was a little over average height, rangy, well-built, and almost as pale as he was. The difference between the two skin tones was that this man's was a pleasant, creamy alabastor, and his own was a pasty, bleached, paper-like shade. The man had silky silver hair, a few strands dangling loosely in his face, sticking to his forehead, and contrasting with those pink-ish eyes; an albino. Said albino snarled angrily.
"Fuck you." he growled, clenching his fists from where they were tied behind his back, hissing as the cables that kept them there chafed his wrists, which were already bleeding, the crimson rivulets making his hands sticky. The cable that bound both his ankles and wrists was also tied in a relaxed noose around his neck, and would tighten if he struggled. He had learned that quickly, as the red marks on his pale neck could testify.
"Hn." The Weasel smirked again. "Korikatamari-san; if I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying this..." he tapped his chin with a well-manicured, black-painted fingernail. "Why would that be?" this was a side of The Weasel that the public had never seen. To those who thought they knew him, he was a quiet, serious, vaguely-shy boy named Uchiha Itachi. In his second year of college, attempting to major in psychology, and while not truely pleasant in conversation, completely harmless, with a flawless record. He only ever broke the facade when he pulled off his public mask and became his favorite persona; the one he now occupied.
The albino smirked, coughing up a bit of blood from the slow-leaking wound in his gut, but it was quickly wiped away by what The Weasel said next.
"Perhaps the sadomasochistic tendencies you picked up at a young age?" he strode over to a worktable that was stationed within the basement they were occupying, picking up a manila folder and flipping through it with interest. "Now, who might have instilled that in you...ah. Here we are. Korikatamari Joufu; your father, yes?" his victim stiffened, fear flashing through his eyes at the mention of the name, which then turned into flaming rage.
"Don't you fucking dare bring that douche into this!" he howled, eyes alighting with a crazed anger.
"Now, now; don't get touchy." another smirk. "I'm only changing my methods a bit. I am a psychology student, you know. I specialize in pushing people's buttons."
"You're also a fucking freakshow." the man growled, everything about him oozing hate. "Uchiha Itachi, orphaned at age thirteen, when your entire fucking family was slaughtered, except for your little brother, who later committed fucking suicide! We know what you did, you little cunt! You killed your family, you sick bastard! How do you fucking live with yourself?!" The Weasel chuckled, just once.
"When the tables are being turned on you, insult your opponent, try to get a rise out of them. A rudamentary interogation technique, Korikatamari-san. You'll have to do better to best me. Now, let me have a look at my intel again..." he licked his finger and thumbed through the folder. "Ah, you were taken in to protective custody after your father beat yourself and killed your mother, yes? Oh, and you were only six years old, too."
"Shut up!" the albino yelled, eyes flashing.
"Medical examination showed signs of beatings going back as far as four years, as well as knife scars along your arms; kitchen knives was the assumption."
"You're going to hell, you little fuck!"
"Your poor mother; so frail, quite beautiful too. A real goddess. This autopsy report I've procured, for example; Korikatamari Hanaichi, bludgeoned to death..." The Weasel turned the folder so that his prisoner could see the photo of a gorgeous albino woman, white as snow with delicate features and long, pale hair. She had been beaten so badly, though, that these features were hardly recognizable.
"SHUT UP!" the albino was practically howling now, angry tears stinging at his eyes.
"You healed so miraculously, though. The doctor's said it was on the verge of being supernatural..." he paused, his eyes closing again as he put down the folder. "Well, I've got a little oddity myself...supernatural, one might call it..." he smirked, then stepped forward to the man who was now yanking vainly at his binds, choking himself in his rage. "Relax...I want you alive a little longer..." he reached out and touched the albino's temple with two slender fingers, then opened his eyes. They were a bloody crimson, and his victim was entranced, falling still as the pigment withdrew from The Weasel's eyes, showing the color of the blood behind his irises so vividly.
"We're going to go back in time a ways..." the voice was alluring, but definitely disturbing. "To a time you've always tried to forget..." he smirked as he began the process of hypnotism. What he had meant by oddity was his ability to drain the pigment from his eyes, making them appear red, but the truely extraordinary thing he could do, was hypnotize his victims, as he often liked to. It came so easily to him, it was like breathing. The thrill of really getting inside a person's head almost made him forget how damaging his little eye-trick was to his vision if used for too long.
"You're in your house in the Projects. Can you see it? The little clapboard flat where you and your family live?"
"Yes..." the man whispered dazedly.
"Good. Now, I want you to listen closely. Its quiet in there tonight, but you can still hear something. It sounds like whimpering; do you remember?"
"I dun...dun wanna..." brows furrowed above those hazy eyes. He was resisting; The Weasel pushed harder.
"You have to. You're going into the next room; what do you hear?"
"Shouting..." the man murmured. "Cryin' too..."
"Mm-hmm..." Itachi smirked as he kept eye contact with his victim. "Now, I want you to remember everything that happened after that. Everything..." the man nodded, and he seemed to drift off, before coming back with a vengeance.
He was screaming. Screaming and writhing and choking himself all over again as fresh tears of pain and anger poured from his eyes, more blood forcing itself from his stomach as his cries were choked. He could see it all happening; all over again. He had to make it stop! He had to-
XXX
I jolted awake with a start, screaming bloody murder as I clawed at my own neck, trying to remove those damn steel cables that were keeping me from breathing. It was only when I heard someone banging on my floor from the apartment below that I realized there were no cables; there was no damp-smelling basement. No Weasel. No hazy flashes of memories best forgotten. I fell back onto my bed, sweating profusely and panting, shuddering with the after-image of my nightmare.
It had been happening like that for awhile. At first I'd thought I was getting off easy; I'd been sleeping like a log for a month after I was rescued from The Weasel's lair, but things don't always go down the way we'd like. About a week prior I had started having this recurring nightmare; reliving that night so vividly its as if it was real. I hated it so damn much.
Rolling over onto my side, facing my nightstand, I grabbed my rosary, a silver circle with an inverted triangle inside of it, from beneath the lamp, clutching it tightly in my shaking hand. That's when I noticed the clock; five in the morning.
Ah, well. Better than three, like last time.
Sitting up, trying to clear my head, I swung my legs out of bed, letting my head fall into my hands. I knew I wasn't going to be getting any more sleep until late tonight.
I stood up, stretched, and groaned quietly as my back popped, then ran my fingers through my hair and headed for the bathroom, fully intent on a freezing cold shower.
Planting my palms on the counter, I stopped to look at myself in the mirror. I hadn't changed much since that time in the cellar with The Weasel. I'm a bit over average height, maybe a pound or two underweight, but my muscles are still cut and defined, which I'm rather proud of. I'll admit I'm a little vain at times.
My skin is extremely pale, my hair is white/silver (I usually keep it slicked back, but at the moment it was all over the place. I get serious bedhead.) And my eyes...Jashin, my eyes are the bane of my existence. No matter how many times I insist that they're fucking roan damnit! there's always someone to tell me they're pink. I do not have fucking pink eyes!
I ran a hand over my face, rubbing the bridge of my nose sleepily, then turned on the shower as cold as I could. If I don't get doused in ice water first thing in the morning I'll fall back asleep while I'm driving to work, and on a motorcycle, that's not exactly the greatest thing. Especially considering that I don't wear a helmet.
I sighed as the water hit my skin and spattered my face, feeling myself gradually start to wake up, pull out of my nightmare. It'd been almost two months since Uchiha Itachi killed himself, and nearly took me along with him.
My name's Korikatamari Hidan, and I'm a homicide detective for the Rain Country Police Department. I had recently been investigating a case of over twenty related murders spanning over a sixth month period of time, apparently committed by a serial killer who identified himself as The Weasel. His modus operandi had been to torture his victims until they begged for death, and then grant their wish. He would often dump the body in some nondescript building, then set it on fire. Yeah; a pyromaniacal murderer. Needless to say, we'd been putting a large majority of our resources into it.
Unfortunately, we got close enough to threaten him. We caught wind of a psychology student who'd transferred from Konoha a year prior who was operating under some suspicious circumstances. It seemed pretty damn unlikely that such a scrawny kid could do all the things he did, but there was no doubt in my mind when I woke up in that cellar to that damned face.
I have to admit, I did kind of enjoy the physical torture. I've been a hardcore masochist most of my life, but when I discovered just how far he'd dug into my past, I started getting disturbed. I'm a little fuzzy on what happened after that. All I know is that I had the most vivid dream of my life, and that dream showed every single detail of the night my mom was murdered, like a fucking home movie.
I woke up in the hospital, and was later told by Konan, my partner, foster sister and best friend, that I'd been out for three days. Apparently she and the Chief somehow managed to figure out where I was being held, but when they set up a perimeter around the building their calls inside weren't answered, and within two minutes the place was on fire. I mean, like, inferno fire here. The bastard had set it up from the beginning, and let himself get burned alive.
Luckily for me, some rubble had fallen over me, and the worst fire damage I got was from smoke inhalation.
"I swear, you must have a fuckin' angel looking out for you!" when she said that I almost laughed at the irony. She did come pretty damn close.
You see, I may be a cop, but I ain't no saint. I'm a priest, actually, but most people would consider me evil if they knew just what kind of priest I am. You ever heard of Jashinism? I doubt it. The religion's pretty much died out by now. When I was fifteen the creepy old hobo I'd seen wandering the park found me cutting in the public restroom. I've never been suicidal, but there was something about how much blood I'd shed that he seemed to like. I told him to fuck off, and he said something along the lines of; "I like your spunk, kid." and told me to follow him.
Now, I'm not stupid. Even back then I wasn't the type to follow around hobos, but he got me curious. I followed him to the bench he always sat at, and he asked me why I hurt myself. I told him it was none of his damned business and to piss off. He laughed, and I punched him in the face. Yes, I've always been this violent.
I remember explicitly what he said to me then.
"Do you cause yourself pain because you think you deserve it?"
"Hell no! I'm not like those emo pussies!"
"Then why? Why shed your own blood? Do you like it? Do you like pain?" I was quiet for awhile.
"So what if I do?" he smiled, and I was startled by how white his teeth were. I always thought hobo teeth were all yellow and crooked. He reached into his ratty coat and pulled a necklace over his head, holding it out to me. I could see that his arms were deeply scarred all over; wounds I automatically recognized as self-inflicted.
"This is a Jashinite rosary." he told me as I cautiously took the silver pendant. The string consisted of spherical metal beads, and dangling from that was a circular symbol, with an upside-down triangle within. "It is what connects me to Jashin-sama, my God..."
"'the fuck? I don't buy into all that religious bullshit. God never did nothin' for me. Fuck him!" the hobo grinned again.
"The heathen God you speak of is not Jashin-sama. Unlike that false idol, Jashin-sama rewards his followers generously for their sacrifices. Would you listen to me preach, boy? I would ask but a few minutes of your time; it isn't often I find a young man with such promise." I didn't respond, but preach he did.
"Jashin-sama is an old god, and unlike these so-called gods of the modern day, does not believe in the goodness of mankind. He is the essence of human instincts, impulses and desires. He does not believe in martydom, but in indulgence. He knows that man is foul, and is slowly destroying the planet. That we are evil. You know this to be true also, do you not?" damn is he articulate for a hobo.
"Damn straight." I responded, intrigued. He smiled in return, that same startlingly white smile.
"He knows that man is the greatest of evils, and so He comes to a select few, those who acknowledge the vileness that is mankind and indulge in their instincts without regret, those who are capable of carrying out His bidding, and in return for their material service, grants them the greatest boon of all." I realized I was holding my breath. The hobo chuckled. "How old do you think I am, boy?" I cocked my head.
"How the hell would I know? Forty, maybe?" he would probably look about that age without the scraggly beard. The hobo laughed dryly.
"I'm seventy-odd years young, boy." I gaped. "And I have never once been to a hostpital, doctor or dentist. I have smoked since I was fifteen, but never once coughed even a drop of blood. I have been shot, stabbed, burned and beaten, but have never died. I have contracted pneumonia, hypothermia, infections, and yet here I stand, fit as a fiddle. Jashin-sama does not permit eternal life; this is impossible. He does, however, prolong it so that his priests may continue to do his bidding. Tell me, boy; if the time came when it was required of you, could you end a person's life?" I remained quiet for a bit. I had by this point beaten people within an inch of their life; that was pretty much a given if you wanted to survive in the Projects of Rain, but I had never killed before.
"...yeah. You bet your ass I could." I responded at last. The hobo looked pleased with this answer, then offered me back the rosary that I had returned to him shortly after the conversation began.
"Then, boy, heed me well, and consider. Become an apostle of Jashin-sama. Shed blood in the name of the Lord, and He shall save thy soul; serve as the right hand of God, and thou shalt be free..." I hesitated. It all sounded really cool the way he said it, but I'd never believed in any of that occult shit. Still, for whatever reason, I accepted the rosary. The hobo nodded in approval.
"Put it on." I did, and I could have sworn I felt a rush of power as the metal touched my skin, but that shiver could just have been because the metal was cold. "Give me your hands." I glared at him cautiously, but did so, if reluctantly. He pulled me down with him so that we were crouching over the sidewalk, then dug his fingers into the deepest of the wounds on my arm, making me hiss in pain, though I pushed my arm towards him, rather than yanking it away. He grinned at this, then withdrew the offending digits, grabbing my other hand and smearing my fingers with my own blood.
His hand guiding my own, he drew the symbol from the rosary upon the cement, a dark crimson.
"This is the symbol of Jashin-sama. Jashin-sama, who has but one comandment, and that is slaughter. If you bring a blade into the flesh of another, but do not take their life...that is the ultimate sin. Let the rain be red with your conquest, boy, and pray to the Lord in blood." he removed from his coat a tattered book, and handed it to me. I took it, and realized that it was a bible, but not the Christian kind.
"It is written in an old dialect, but you will learn to understand it in time. Fare thee well, boy whose name I know not." and with that, he just left. I never saw him again.
Now, I know all of that sounds like some Satanic, cult-dabbling bullshit, but believe me, it ain't. I thought so too, at first. Of course, like any curious teenager, I followed the commandment anyway. I prayed to Jashin-sama daily, always drew the symbol around myself before indulging in my masochism, but it wasn't until I first took a life before He sent down a divine omen to prove His existence to me. Some bastard saw fit to mug me; just some neighborhood punk, but when I wouldn't fork over the cash he pulled a knife on me. He ran at me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to dodge or block in time, but then, by some miracle, he tripped over his own feet, fell on the knife and skewered one of his kidneys.
He was just sorta laying there, looking really surprised and choking on his own blood. Now, I was about sixteen, and I was pissed for what he'd tried to do to me, so I sorta...helped him along. I wrenched the knife around in his gut, then drew the symbol, more out of habit than anything, around us. I put my hand over his throat, then shoved the knife through it and into his jugular. And I liked it. The pain was ecstacy, the feeling of power over life and death; extraordinary. The rush of accomplishment that seared through me; it was as if some supernatural power was being pumped through my veins. I was riding high.
I remember laughing; remember the fear that maniacal shriek/cackle had inspired in the punk's eyes in his final moments. It was pure bliss.
Then there was also the time I got caught in the cross-fire of a gang turf war. I was shot twice in the chest; one missed my heart by a hair's breadth, the other barely missed my right lung. The hospital workers were baffled by my liveliness, despite having been anemic when I arrived. They said I was 'perhaps the luckiest man alive'. I was eighteen, and that was when I finally truly accepted my God's existence as true. Twice He had saved my life, and twice He had granted me that soaring joy when I sacrificed a life in his name (I brained a guy with a brick during the scuffle). I was a priest of the almighty Jashin-sama, and I didn't intend on stopping any time soon.
Now, I ain't no serial killer. I may be a psycho, but I don't have a pattern, and I don't kill frequently. The tenement of Jashinism may be slaughter, but it shouldn't be mindless. There should be purpose, thrill in it. Innocents, though just as vile as the rest of the human race, are not fit to be killed. If I were to kill indesciminately, eventually I'd have no more sons a' bitches to kill, ne? No, I kill when the opportunity arises, and you better believe I ain't got no regrets. I love it.
Of course, I can't tell anybody about it. I still need to function in normal society. That's part of the reason I became a cop; more opportunities and excuses to kill; not to mention I can weed out the really bad guys. The bastards that kill people just because they feel like it. They're fucking heathens with no purpose in life, and most of them are atheists. Godless cunts. Fuckers that deserve the end of my blade, or the barrel of my gun (whichever is on hand at the time). I'm not manic; nope. I just get excited when I talk about my God. Hell, now I finally understand what's so appealing about being a bible-thumper. If they weren't singing the Christian praises I might actually relate to them.
I switched off the shower and grabbed a towel from outside the curtain, wrapping it around my waist before stepping out and shaking my head, my hair flinging water onto the mirror and counter. Ruffling said hair with my hands to aid its drying, I left the bathroom, shuffling through my dresser for an acceptable outfit. Pein-taichou has long learned that dress-codes are useless on me, but he's damn scary if I don't show up in something decent.
I quickly decided on a pair of snugly-fit jeans, a gray wife-beater, and a black jacket, which I left unbuttoned down to my sternum. Quickly putting on my rosary, I gelled the hell out of my hair to keep it slicked back, and grabbed my keys and wallet off the kitchen counter. I was about to leave, even though I still had about and hour before I had to be at work, when I heard an indignant meow from behind me. Stopping, I turned, and grinned when I saw what created the noise. A dark ginger cat with black socks and brilliant emerald eyes was glaring up at me accusingly.
"Damn, almost forgot to feed you, huh Kamiko?" Kamiko mewed again, pawing at my ankle in an annoyed manner. "Yeah, yeah. Just a sec. Its not my fault you just up an' fucking dissapeared for two days." I grumbled as I strode into the kitchen, swiping up a piece of bread and sticking it in my mouth before grabbing the cat food out of a cupboard and refilling my cat's bowl.
Its rather extraordinary, really. Most animals seem to sense that there's something off about me, and they go fuckin' crazy when I get near them, but Kamiko's completely okay with me. She's got a seriously bad attitude, though.
"There. Itadakimasu." I snorted sarcastically, placing the bowl in front of her, and watching for a bit as Kamiko chowed down. "I'll be back at late o' clock, 'kay? Don't wait up." she ignored me, and I promptly left, waving over my shoulder, even though I knew her face was stuffed inside the bowl, and even if she could see me, the gesture would have little meaning.
XXX
This just goes to show that I spend way too much of my paycheck on hair gel. I'd just driven for twenty minutes without a helmet, and yet, as I pulled my matte-black V-Strom into the parking garage nearest the precinct, my hair was still slicked back flawlessly to my scalp. I swear to Jashin I could stop a bullet if a gun was aimed point-blank at the back of my skull.
At any rate, Konan was waiting for me when I pushed open the door to the Rain Country precinct, looking stern. Oh boy.
She's a very attractive woman, if its not too bold to say; tall and willowy, with short, starkly blue hair that she keeps out of her eyes with a pin designed to look like an origami flower. Hell, I'd tap her if she wasn't technically my sister, and if I wasn't gay.
Yeah, you heard right, so fuck off. I already get enough flack from my colleages, thanks.
Anyway, that day she was trussed up in her usual, business-like manner; navy pant-suit and stately black high heels, the saphire of her eyes played down by her dark eyeshadow. She says she doesn't like to stand out, but I say that's bullshit. She's walking around with fuckin' cerulean hair for Jashin's sake! She's a natural blue, but if she really wanted to blend in she could at least dye it. I think it looks pretty cool, but she's constantly complaining about how hard it is to find jewelery and shit that matches it.
"Hidan..." shit, I knew that tone.
"Yeah?" I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled, knowing what was coming, but determined to play dumb.
"Don't 'yeah' me!" she hissed, advancing on me with a few sharp clicks of her heels on the tile floor. I noticed the receptionist cowering a little bit. As well she should; Konan's fuckin' scary. She reached me, and we engaged in a glaring match with further adue. "You skipped your apointment with your therapist." she commented bluntly, tone dripping venom.
"Hell yes I did!" I'm always the first to yell in our arguments. "I don't need that fucking quack to preach to me! I've told you, I've told Pein, and I've told her; I'm. Fine. Just 'cause I went through a 'traumatic experience'" I drew air-quotes as I spit out the last words. "-doesn't mean I have to see a shit-ass psychiatrist! I've been through worse and come out fine, so you, and Doctor What's-Her-Face, and Pein can all go fuck yourselves!" people around here are pretty used to my attitude by now, and that's why I was surprised when everything suddenly went quiet. I got this sinking feeling in my gut, and promptly slapped myself in the forehead.
"The bastard's right behind me, isn't he?" Konan ignored me, and bowed deeply to something behind and to the right of me.
"Pein-taichou." she intoned respectfully, and I turned around, cursing my luck that the one time the Cheif decides to leave his office happens to be right when I tell him to go fornicate with himself. And there he stood, in all his ominous, leaderly glory; flaming orange hair and dark amber eyes that seem to burn through everything they look at. This guy's got piercings everywhere, I kid you not. I'm not the first that's wondered how an ex-street punk could become Chief of Police, but then again, they hired me, didn't they?
"Detective Korikatamari." that's one of the many things I dislike about him. He's so damn formal. I ground my teeth, rolled my eyes, and bowed deeply, cheeks hot, but with anger, not embarrassment.
"Gomen nasai, Pein-taichou." he clicked his tongue softly, and I could hear his tongue piercing clink against his teeth.
"Please don't bother with manners, Hidan-san. We all know that you are perhaps the most uncouth person on this planet. If it were not for your talent, I would have fired you long ago for your insistent insubordination." I smirked briefly from my still-bowed position, then wiped it quickly from my face and straightened.
"Hai." I answered simply. Pein nodded, then turned to retreat into his office, waving a hand for me to follow. After his door closed, the rest of the room's inhabitants slowly returned to whatever they were doing previously, throwing me a few looks, to which I sneered angrily before entering my boss's office. I closed to door none too softly, then plopped down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, which he had already seated himself behind. His office is always kind of dark, which makes him look vaguely like some weird silhouette.
"Let me first remind you of one thing, Hidan-san; you are to attend each and every one of your weekly therapy appointments with Doctor Haruno. This was my condition if you wished to remain on active duty, and avoid a mandatory leave-of-absence. You remember, yes?" nodding reluctantly, I ground my teeth.
"Good. Now that we have an understanding, I would like you to go and visit Sasori-san as soon as you can. This meaning, as soon as you leave my office." I cocked my head slightly. Akasuna Sasori is the head coroner. "He should just be finishing up the autopsy of one Hidemichi Atsue, if he's as prompt as usual. She was the victim of a rather brutal homicide in the parking lot of Karei no Ame; that club downtown, you know of it?" I nodded. "This case is a bit more serious than a single homicide, though. It shows a massive amount of similarities to a double murder a few months ago in Taki. The Waterfall PD are pushing for us to let them get involved. We need our best on this case, you understand?" I nodded again.
"But I thought you said you weren't going to let me on any high-profile cases until the whole Weasel ordeal died down." Not that I was complaining.
"Well, Hidan-san, let's just say I think this one's right up your alley. You won't want to miss it."
Alrighty, I do believe a few translations are in order, in case you're interested. ^^
Hidan's non-canon last name (He had to have one. XD), Korikatamari, means 'Fanatic'. I wanted one that meant 'Zealot', but it doesn't translate. T_T
Joufu, the name of Hidan's non-canon father, means 'Warrior'. And Hanaichi, his non-canon (of course) mother, means 'Lonely Flower'.
Taichou, as Bleach fans will know, means 'Captain', or in this case, 'Chief'.
Kamiko, the name of Hidan's cat, means 'Child of God'.
Karei no Ame, the name of the club, means 'Beauty of the Rain'.
Hidemichi means 'Way of Gold', and Atsue means 'Beautiful Woman'.
And I'm sure I don't need to translate stuff like 'Itadakimasu', 'Gomen nasai', and 'Hai'. XD
That's about it. ^^ Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of 'The Killer That Stole My Heart'.
