A furious fist caused Rachel's small head to snap to the left, leaving a stinging sensation on her cheek. Her mother towered over her, eyeing her like defenceless prey. Rachel kept her head down, expecting more. However, her mother dropped to her knees, and began to sob.
"Oh Rachel, oh Rachel!" She cried, voice raspy and resentful. "Look what you've made me do! You and your father… have made me into a horrible mother!" The only person to blame is yourself."I don't want to hit you, Rachel, but… you leave me no choice! Such a horrible, despicable child must be punished…"
Rachel didn't respond. She kept her eyes aimed at the ground, at the bottles of alcohol littered across the ground.
"It's your fault… you look so much like him—like your father!" Rachel's mother slapped her again, the impact causing Rachel to tumble backwards. For such a willowy woman, Rachel's mother was sure strong.
"Why don't you acknowledge me? I'm talking to you, Rachel!" Her mother yelled. "Don't make me hit you again." Rachel slowly turned her head and met her mother's eyes. She found her mother repulsive. She wasn't the mother she desired.
"I am sorry." Rachel mumbled. Her mother wasn't too impressed, but it seemed to be enough.
"Get out of my sight, you disgust me… Devil's Spawn." Her mother demanded, as she turned away from Rachel and made her way into the kitchen.
Rachel felt relived. The less time she had to spend in her house the better. The alleys were more comforting than her place. The alleys were her home. Rachel quietly walked to the front door, and dropped to the ground as she put on her oversized boots. They used to be her mothers, but her feet were much larger than Rachel's.
Rachel was often described as a "doll". Although many would consider that as a compliment, Rachel resented herself for it. She was pitifully tiny, standing at just five feet tall. Her features were quite small as well, especially her hands. But Rachel considered that an asset. Smaller, more nimble fingers allowed her handle a thread and needle easier.
Another reason people called Rachel a "doll" was her inability to emote. Her parents—and many others would comment on how "dead" her eyes looked. Rachel did not understand them. How could her eyes look "dead" when she was very much alive?
She was just about to open the door when it shot open, hitting her in the process. As a result, the door ceased, and a familiar voice cursed.
"The fuck are you doin' in front of the door?" Her father yelled. Rachel scrambled to step back, but her father just pushed harder on the door, knocking Rachel back onto the floor. Angrily, her father stomped towards her and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt.
"Don't stand in front of the fucking door again, you're the last thing I want to see when I come home, you brat." He threatened, breath reeking of alcohol. "Now, scram!" He let go of Rachel's collar, and she quickly scrambled out of the house. It was about six P.M., and since it was mid November, it was already dark out. Not to mention, cold. Rachel decided she would head to a cafe and work on some homework.
Despite warnings from her father, Rachel walked through the alleyways instead of sticking to the main road. Apparently, some bodies were found in the depths of some alleys nearby. The murders were thought to be the work of the "Psycho Killer", a blood-crazed psychopath who killed at random, without remorse. The police had been trying to catch him for years, without success.
However, Rachel decided to take her chances. She knew the alleyways like the back of her hand, and she was confident in her ability to survive… Not that she held much importance in surviving, anyways. Although she wished for love and happiness, Rachel did not hold much hope in her family changing. At times, she found herself longing for death…
But suicide was unforgivable in the eyes of God.
Zack bent over his prey, holding his scythe above his head.
"Please, please don't kill me!" His emprey/em—a young woman begged. Zack smiled in ecstasy, relishing over the fear in her eyes. She squirmed pathetically under him. Escape was futile, and she should have realized that.
"Yes, yes! Show memore!Fear! Despair! I want more!" Zack screamed, spitting at her pitiful face. As expected, the girl's face contorted more, and tears flooded her face. "Beg, and plead for your pitiful life!"
"Please,please let me go… I don't want to die, please let me go!" The girl screamed. "Y-you're… you're a monster!" Zack's smile died. He strengthened his grip on his scythe and began to swing down.
"NO—" Before the bitch had a chance to scream, Zack's scythe destroyed her face, instantly killing her. Blood spattered everywhere, and with inhuman strength and speed, Zack repeatedly swung his scythe into the woman, mutilating her body.
"Don't call me a fuckin' Monster!" Zack screamed.
Zack felt the warmth and wetness of her blood on his face and body through his bandages. After about ten swings, he stopped, panting, and shakily rose to his feet.
He looked down at his prey, and felt pleasure in how her body no longer held shape.
"You ain't ever gonna smile agin', ya happy go lucky mother fucker." Zack spat. His heart was pounding, and he smiled at her corpse.
"That was the best fuckin' time I've had in weeks!" He mused. "Had t' take a break to get those damned pigs off my back… might as well have a little more fun tonight.."
Zack shuffled away from the body, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thought it'd never stop… However, it did. The sound of glass bottles falling to the ground caught his attention. An empty beer bottle rolled from a stack of crates ahead of him. ,
"Hey, somebody there? C'mon out, I won't hurt 'ya." Zack smirked. Giggles kept escaping from his mouth, and he began to laugh. Of course he'd hurt them. His demand was answered with silence. Interested, he decided to investigate.
"What'cha hidin' for?" Zack asked, his adrenaline coming back to him. "I told y' already that I wouldn't hurt'cha." Nothing. Zack began to laugh once more, and walked his way over to the crates, dragging his bloodied scythe on the pavement. It created a shrill, ear piercing sound, and Zack liked to believe it made his prey even more scared.
Lifting his scythe above his head, Zack peered inside the crate. There was a little girl inside. But there was something off. She didn't look even a bit scared.
"Looks like I found 'ya!" Zack said, his voice was giddy with excitement. "Now, lemme tell ya how this'll go down…
—First, I'll let ya step outta the crate. Then, I'll give ya till the count of three to run for it."
He looked at the girl, who then match his gaze. Zack was taken aback by the lack of fear in her eyes.
"Why?" The girl asked him. Zack was rendered breathless. He could barely respond.
"The fuck? Where in hell did a 'lil brat like ya get the balls to talk back?" Zack demanded. However the girl didn't respond. "Speak the fuck up! C'mon, beg for your life! Show me your despair!"
"I know I won't be able to outrun you. Why would I run when there's no point to?" She asked, not a hint of emotion in her voice. Zack opened his mouth, then angrily shut it, and grabbed a fistful of the girl's shirt, yanking her out of the crate. He threw her on the ground, and tightened the grip on his scythe.
"Are you going to kill me now?" The girl asked. The lack of emotion in her eyes bored Zack.
He detested the empty look on her face. She reminded him of one of those porcelain dolls… same tiny body, blonde hair and delicate features… And the same, glassy, creepy-ass eyes. Hell, he doubted her lips could even crack a smile.
"Uh, yeah." He stuttered. He raised his scythe above his head, but… something didn't feel right. "Ah. AH! FUCK IT!" He threw his scythe on the ground, and pounced on the girl, grabbing her shoulders.
"Where is your fear? The fuck is wrong with you?" Zack asked. "Do ya have a fuckin' death wish or somethin'?" The girl simply stared at him.
"I guess you could say that."
Rachel studied the serial killer who had straddled her. She had to admit, he did look quite horrifying.
He was just over six-feet tall, and his body was built. He seemed to possess unnatural strength, as no one she knew could swing around that humongous scythe so easily.
His figure was also covered in blood, having just committed murder and all. And… his face… was it covered in bandages? It was too dark for Rachel to be sure. However, regardless of whether he was or not, it certainly didn't make him look less threatening.
Yet, despite his horrific appearance, Rachel did not have an ounce of fear in her body. Perhaps, because she did not care whether or not she lived.
"What are you waiting for? Just kill me." Rachel demanded. The killer gagged.
"What the fuck?! Did ya just ask… me to kill ya?" Rachel nodded her head. The killer began to gag furiously, before he scrambled off of her puked.
"Blegh! What the fuck is wrong with ya?! Are ya a fuckin' masochistic freak or somethin'?" He asked with disgust. The smell of his bile made Rachel gag.
Disgusting.
"No, I just… I don't want to live." She answered honestly. "What's wrong, you don't want to kill me..?" Zack shot her an angry look.
"Well, it's kinda hard, considerin' that y' ain't givin' me any reaction… I'm a respectable, grown-ass man. I don't wanna waste time cuttin' down emotionless dolls." Rachel let out a little giggle. "What the fuck're ya laughin' for?" Zack asked.
"Well… calling yourself a 'respectable grown man' is sort of ironic… considering that you're a serial killer." She answered honestly, a slight smile on her face. Zack's eyes narrowed into little slits.
"Congrats, now ya've made me wanna kill ya again." He told her, making his way to pick up his scythe. Rachel's eyes lit up with a masochistic glee.
"Really?" She asked, full of hope. Zack stopped dead in his tracks.
"Jesus Christ! What the actual fuck is wrong with ya?" He asked her once again. A pang of sadness hit Rachel's heart.
"I… I don't know." She said, her eyes returning to their "dead", and "empty" state.
"Whatever," Zack spat. "I don't have times for the likes of ya… However much it bores me, I hafta kill ya. Don't need a 'lil brat like ya snitchin' on me." Rachel smiled. "Really..? You mean it? You'll kill me?" She asked again.
"For fucks sakes! Shut the fuck up and stop being so goddamn creepy!" Zack screamed. "Yer really fuckin' creepin' me out."
"Please, oh please oh please oh please oh please, pleasekill me, mister!" She begged, grabbing the bottom of his pants. Her heart was pounding with desperation, and her voice became shrill. He kicked his leg, sending her backward. He sighed, and picked up his scythe.
"Fuck me, man." He sighed. "Y'know what? Fuck you. I ain't fulfilling this fucked up dream a yers. It's fuckin' gross." Rachel's heart stopped. "I probably don't even hafta worry 'bout ya snitchin', ya'll probably off yerself later tonight" Rachel became desperate.
"No. No, I won't. Suicide is unforgivable and hateful in the eyes of God." She rebutted. "I-I'll tell my father about what you did. And he's a cop—"
"Oh, piss off! Yer ruinin' my mood." Zack said, and he sprinted off into the darkness, leaving her alone…
all alone.
Wistfully, Rachel shuffled over to the mutilated corpse. "Oh," Rachel lamented. "How I wish I were you…"
"Blegh! What a crazy-ass masochistic bitch!" Zack muttered in disgust. "What a sick, fuckin' freak."
While Zack knew he should have killed her, he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. It was comparable to putting off cleaning, as it's boring as fuck. Like not wanting to clean the house, Zack did not want to kill Rachel. He mused over the reasons in his head, needing self justification for purposely letting one of his prey get away.
"First off, the fuckin' bitch was as dull as a doorknob. Secondly, she was just plain crazy! Askin' me to do somethin' so fuckin' sick." He rationalized. "I thought I told her—I'm a self respected, grown-ass man, fer fuck's sake." He angrily kicked a glass bottle at the wall of the alley, liking the way it shattered noisily.
"I gotta find me some throats to slash… I'm fiendin' to kill somethin'… that actually deserves it!"
Three throats later, Zack's lust for blood was finally sated, and he was no longer in a sour mood. However, he was absolutely emdrenched/em in blood… Not that he minded, but It did make him look a bit suspicious, and even Zack knew he couldn't afford to kill every witness he came across, a massacre would put more heat on his hide.
There was only one place he could go… Even though he despised his need to go there.
Without knocking, Zack burst into the house of a priest he knew. He didn't try to be quiet about it, either. To be completely honest, Zack didn't give a fuck if the 'ol fart was disturbed by him.
Serves him right, fer bein' so creepy.
Zack opened and slammed the bathroom door, tossing his scythe on the floor, making an obnoxiously sharp, loud noise. He kicked off his shoes, and stripped off his hoodie and pants. Zack sighed as he began to unwrap the bandages off his body. They took too long to unwrap, and too long to wrap.
Zack looked into the mirror by mistake. He felt disgusted and resentful of the scars on his face and body.
How dare that fucker fuck me up like this?
Frusterated, Zack hastily hopped into the shower and nearly ripped the curtains off the shower hook while trying to shut them. He cursed aloud when hot water hit his back, a result of him accidentally turning the knob too far. Eventually, he got the water temperature to a neutral state.
Zack's skin and hair weren't too bloody, as he was covered head to toe in bandages and clothing. However, he always felt the need to shower after killing. He didn't want a trace of those fucker's blood lingering on his body…
Plus he enjoyed the feeling of being clean, which was not something Zack had the privilege of, growing up on the streets, and while in that damned excuse of an orphanage.
Zack was loathe to admit that no kill had felt as good as his first.
He nearly jumped at a knock on the bathroom door.
"Zack, is that you?" The creepy-ass priest asked. "Why have you hastily broken in without saying as much as a word to I?" Zack groaned at the priest's voice.
"Yeah, it's me! Could ya do me a favour and not talk like a fuckin' dweeb?" Zack yelled. He found himself too annoyed to continue his shower. He stopped the water, and hopped out, water dripping all over the floor.
"Ah, Fuck!" He cursed. "Why the fuck don't ya have any god-damned towels in 'ere?!" Zack began to feel cold.
"Wait one moment, I will fetch you a towel." The priest said. Zack shivered a little, while swearing under his breath. He hated to feel too hot or too cold. "Fuck, I don't got a change 'a fuckin' clohtes, either." He cursed.
In what seems like forever, the priest returned. "May I open the door, Zack?" Zacks cheeks heated up.
"No fuckin' way, ya creep! Jus' leave 'em outside an I'll get 'em!" He yelled. "Jus' go away an don't fuckin' look."
"As you wish."
Zack waited a moment before slowly peeking out of the bathroom door. The priest wasn't there, and as he agreed to, there was a towel on the floor. He grabbed the towel and slammed the door.
While he was happy to dry himself off, Zack still faced a problem. He didn't have any spare bandages or clothes with him. He cursed aloud, and paced around in the bathroom. His hoodie was sopping with blood—leaving a little bloodstain on the floor, along with his jeans. No way he could wear those again.
He caught his image in the mirror once more. His skin was irritated and even pinker from the shower, and his burn scars were still as ugly as ever. He didn't even want Gray—the creepy priest to see his skin. Zack groaned.
"Zack, it dawned upon me that you mustn't have any clothes or bandages… I shall bestow upon you some that I've kept here for y—"
"Ya've kept extra shit fer me here?! What a fuckin' creep!" Zack yelled.
"Dost thou not want these clothes?" Gray asked, confused. Zack sighed.
"No—jus'… jus' leave 'em outside the door!" He demanded. Gray agreed, and Zack could hear him walk away from the door. He hastily opened the door to scoop up the clothes, but there was also… burn cream.
Although his burns didn't bother him too much anymore, the cream still felt relieving on Zacks skin. It was often dry, and that was irritating… so the moisture it provided made him feel better.
Zack sighed in relief as he smothered the cream on his skin. Although it burned a bit, it also made his skin feel better… more like skin-like, and less scaly.
As soon as he finished wrapping himself in bandages and dressed in the hoodie and jeans, Zack picked up his scythe left the house without a word to Gray, like usual. He didn't feel like acknowledging him.
He knew that the priest would offer a room and meal to Zack, and he didn't want to be bothered by that.
So he made way to the abandoned building he usually sought shelter in. He was no stranger to sleeping on the dirty, cold ground… and that sounded a lot more comforting than being stuck in a house with the creepy priest whose motives he didn't understand.
As per usual, Zack's mind raced with thoughts before he could fall asleep… When had his mind not been plagued by worry? However, his mind seemed occupied on the fact he let that little bitch get away.
He couldn't afford to have her snitch on him. The heat was close on his hide before, and he narrowly avoided getting arrested. Who knows would could happen if they caught his trail again? Zack shuddered. He hated feeling fear.
How can a serial killer be scared? No one can hurt me… before I hurt them.
"Zack, aren't you co—"
"Tits on Christ!" Zack screamed, instinctively grabbing his scythe and aiming it at the noise that woke him up. His arm lowered when he recognized the owner of the voice. "Gray?! The fuck? Did ya stalk me?!" Gray was taken aback.
"For the first time, you have called me by my true name…" The priest mused. "Ah. Nevermind. Zack, how come thou left my house without telling me?"
Zack sighed. "I didn't feel like talkin' to ya… or bein' invited to sleep over again. I'm not a fuckin' teenage girl."
"But… You would rather sleep in this… dump, rather than a warm bed?" Zack nodded his head. "No. I can't allow this. The police would certainly find you here." Gray decided. "Come hither. Follow me to my home."
Although the offer of a bed and perhaps some grub enticed Zack, he knew he couldn't give in. He couldn't come off as needy, or unable to handle himself.
"N-no fuckin' way." Zack scoffed. "Since when did you care so fuckin' much 'bout me? I ain't your son or nothin'."
"True, yet I cannot allow you to be apprehended or arrested… you… are an angel." Gray said. Zack looked him in the eyes, and when he noticed the priest was being serious, he began to laugh.,
"Me? A fuckin' angel? By God, that is the funniest shit I've heard!" Zack laughed. "Pull yer head outta yer ass and use yer brain!"
"I am serious." Gray responded.
"Jesus Christ… yer a fuckin' creep."
"There is morality and value in the actions you commit… Yet your actions are sinful… I would like to help you—"
"Help me? I ain't never needed help before, an I sure as hell ain't needin yer help now." Zack said. "I think it's time fer me to kill ya." He decided, gripping his scythe harder. Gray did not step back, or show fear.
Like that fuckin' doll-lookin' bitch…
"Zack… think this through over a warm, proper meal at my home. Thou look as if thou haven't eaten in weeks." Gray mused. It was true.. Zack did look a little emaciated.
He even felt his stomach rumble. Zack's cheeks reddened, and he finally gave into the priest. It's not like he hasn't taken advantage of him before… the damned creep probably thinks of him as needy already… No harm in taking advantage of his offer, Zack supposed.
"Fine! I'll come over to yer house and eat yer goddamned food!" He yelled. "Let's go, I'm gettin' impatient with ya." Gray smiled.
"Alright, let us be on our way.."
Zack felt a pain in his heart. He didn't know what it was, and he hated it… Made him… want to… kill someone. However, he knew he couldn't kill the old priest.
"If thou helps me, I will grant thee an apartment to live in…"
Zack didn't answer, his heart skipped a beat at the mention of a place to live. As much as Zack was used to the streets, he did long for a safe, clean place to sleep…
"Save it fer after I eat, 'ol man." Zack demanded.
Grey smiled. "As you wish…"