Hello everybody!
My name is Lucid3762, and this is my second story I've made (the first one is a Danny Phantom back story of Ember). I'm excited to write this fanfiction, Dexter is my favorite show and my all time favorite character is Brian(Biney).
Please enjoy and do not be afraid to write reviews critiquing me.
Thank you! And enjoy The Ragged Blade.
~Lucid3762
A scream, why must it always be a screamer? The man on the table wiggled around in his plastic restraints, eyes wide with terror. A smile curled onto my lips, they're so adorable when they fight for their lives. Too bad though, he was devilishly handsome, but his dark side overweight his charm. I glanced over at the polaroid photos hanging on a string attached to the wall. Jason Modulo: male, 26 at the time of his demise. Dennese Modulo: female, 20 at her death. Annie Modulo: female, 16. The entire Modulo family, dead, their long-running bloodline, cut. This horrible man, John Summers, had murdered them out of fear of being caught in a robbery. He should have just looted the place and took his chances. The moment death entered the picture, you could bet I'd be there right behind it. I picked up my scalpel, the trusty object I use to help in obtaining my prizes. The moment I emerged from the shadows, the man on the table stopped screaming and just looked at me. I know I'm not pretty, but damn, he doesn't need to stare. My raven hair, tied back neatly in a high ponytail and my blue-grey eyes pierced his dull brown ones.
"Hi." I said childly to him, poking a hole in the saran wrap that encased his mouth.
"Oh child!" he cried as he took much grateful breaths, "Thank you! Please get me out of here!"
"Why on earth would I want to do that Mr. Summers?" I ask with genuine curiosity.
"Well some psychopathic dude just drugged me and tied me in saran wrap." he cried, exasperated, "C'mon kid, get me outta here."
"Is that what you said to Jason, to Dennese, to Annie?" my voice turned cold. His once pleading stare now hardened.
"You…" he started, "You're the bitch who drugged me!". Again he started to thrash about in the restraints.
"It wasn't hard!" I complained. After all, being sixteen meant I could work, and woe is him that he just coincidentally happened to go to the coffee shop I worked at everyday from 6 to 9 sipping his coffee and reading, occasionally typing, on his sleek grey computer. When I knew that he was the one I needed to bring peace to the Modulo family, I slipped some chloral hydrate into his coffee. After the shop closed, and everyone cleared out except for me and him, he finally passed out.
"What were you doing in the coffee shop later than normal Mr. Summers?" I asked him cleaning the scalpel of the plastic.
"Why would I tell you that?" he spat.
"Because, curiosity always gets the better of me. And a confession to your attempted robbery would be lovely."
"R-robbery? I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"
"You know Mr. Summers," I glare at him, "you are a terrible liar.". He didn't say anything, he just lied there, unmoving.
Finally he spoke up, his head never leaving his gaze of the ceiling, "Fine… I tried to rob your store, it held some pretty valuable relics Miss… And the Modulo family."
My lips curled into a grin, "What about the Modulo family Mr. Summers?"
"She killed them…" he was obviously lying, sweat stained his brow and gave him away; but I played along.
"She? Who is she Mr. Summers?" I almost wanted to laugh, but instinct told me no fairly sternly.
"Dennese. She took the gun from my pocket and shot her husband and child and then herself."
"That's terrible Mr. Summers." I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
"You don't believe me?" he asked
"Never did. You see, Mr. Modulo was found on the floor, a bullet wound in his head; Mrs. and Miss Modulo were found in their beds, both shot in the head. Now, unless suicide victims have created a new way to shoot themselves in strange angles, the Modulo family was murdered.". Fear spread in his eyes, it travelled through him like a plague; he didn't speak.
"I thought so." with my scalpel in hand, I cut his throat. His blood gurgled in his mouth and spat onto the saran wrap that closed his mouth. A small drop or two got on him from where I poked a hole in the wrapping; but other than that, he was clean and bare with the blood slowly draining out of him and onto the plastic sheet that encased the room. His face trapped mid-scream.
With my gloved hand I shut his eyes. I may be what some call psychopathic, but I'm not an animal and will not let a dead person keep their eyes open. With his eyes shut and blood drained in a silver pail, I started the cleanup process.