Blood

Chapter 1

This was his moment. Time ceased to progress as if it were being withheld by his strength of will alone. Finally, he was at the precipice of eternity. He now stood before one of the many portals along the Invisible Path. It appeared as a strangely border-less window that simply dissolved into the surrounding darkness along each edge. Through this door he could vaguely see the dimly lit cathedral of the Incubi, with a single spotlight shining down at its epicenter. The highlight of the room, the claw-footed white porcelain bathtub, reflected the spotlight's eerie luminescence. This sacrificial site was meant as a test of courage and devotion, but it caused only a slight smirk to cross his face as he knew he had no grounds for worry. As he drew in one last breath of anticipation, time began to stray from its infinite stillness. With one pale hand he slowly extracted his key from one of many silver-buttoned pockets. In stark contrast to his deathly white skin, every vein within him stood out as pitch black rivers that have long since stopped flowing. With inhuman swiftness, his fingers danced along the key to the appropriate rhythm, and suddenly he was there.

Jimmy awoke peacefully. His eyes slowly opened to gaze up at a small red stain on the cement ceiling; the same red stain and the same cement ceiling that they had seen every morning for the past several months. His current residence was much smaller than he was accustomed to. Before, he might have awoken to a crystal clear view through the glass wall of his master bedroom, filling his well-rested eyes with a picture of a mountain sunrise through the aspen trees. Somewhat less beautiful was the dismal wall, which he guessed was originally painted white at some time, as viewed through the rusted metal bars that replaced his cedar wood door. The only semblance of variety that greeted his stare of boredom was the pattern of cracks that riddled this wall. And so it was on this particular morning, he awoke to outdated artificial lighting and a view only of a red stain.

"What manner of weapon could have caused this stain?" He thought to himself, "only a practiced killer could cause such projection from a shiv wound, but no less than an artist could create a perfectly circular blood stain. And on the ceiling, of all places." As he had done every morning, he pondered endless scenarios in which this might have occurred.

"Perhaps the method is of minimal importance," he thought as he attempted to live inside the mind of his new friend, the blood artist who undoubtedly had long since been executed. "What really matters is the reason. Why would I want such a stain in my own cell? Perhaps the motivation was simply to leave a signature; after all, I never heard of a painter who left his masterpiece unsigned. Yes. That must be it; one last work to leave behind for his admirers." He smiled in respectful appreciation as he realized that this stain was left just for him.

To anyone else, this unusual red stain might have been quickly passed over as insignificant on this particular day. It would have been forgotten; replaced with more important thoughts of reflection, regret, or despair. But to him, it was just another day. It made no difference to Jimmy that this was the last time his eyes would open to greet the inspirational stain. He lay there with the classic pose and rigidity of mummified remains. The prison guards feared him primarily for the abnormal way he slept, never moving more than a few inches and somehow maintaining this pose throughout unconsciousness. Or perhaps their fear might have instead originated from his many convictions.

Jimmy had been very busy before retiring behind bars. He had killed exactly 29 people before getting bored and turning himself in. Though most occurred within the last ten years, he had killed one person for every year he had been living. At his trial, he couldn't help smiling at the perfection of that number. He had made it easy for the judge, admitting to everything in detail. Though as he thought back on the event, the judge had curiously seemed a bit uncomfortable with the vividness of the details he provided. He still wasn't sure why. Perhaps this was partially the cause for his denial of Jimmy's request to retain his leather-banded charm necklace within the prison walls. Jimmy's publicly appointed lawyer had halfheartedly attempted to pass it off as religiously significant, but he didn't blame the lawyer. It was the judge who seemed to have a problem with his necklace. It seemed absurd to disallow him the necklace simply because it was taken from one of Jimmy's victims. He missed that necklace; leather takes such a beautiful color after being soaked in blood.

The prick of needles being inserted into his cephalic veins brought his mind back to the present. A man was asking if he had any last words. He thought about this for a moment as he stared at the man. Just like everyone else, the man seemed uneasy under his piercing gaze. After a short consideration, he replied in his characteristically calm and slow voice with precisely enunciated words.

"I'll see you in a little while. It has been great fun." And he imagined that his corpse would maintain a lingering grin for the adoring crowd as the drugs began to take effect.

And suddenly, he was there.