Sherly's POV 5:30 A.M.

It was a rather warm summer morning, and I was making my way up to my family's residency in the woods. Now, to say I wanted to go would be one of the largest lies known to man. I hate my family, even to the point that I have rarely contacted them in 5 years. I was only convinced to go because my brother Croft threatened to send a team of highly trained assassins that I would be forced to fend off. Yeah, that is not really my idea of a good day. The thing about my brother is that he is a high government official who can bend people to his will as he pleases. I wouldn't be surprised if he actually did sent the assassins.

As I was saying before, I was making my way up to their house via car. I don't really need a map, since I'm quite skilled at what some people call 'deduction'. I also have photographic memory, which isn't all it's cracked up to be, especially when you walk into the bathroom, and someone is naked.

I suppose you would like to know what I look like. Well, I'm a very tall, pale female with sharp, high cheekbones. I mean it; I've been told by people that they could cut themselves with my cheekbones. I'm 21 years old. I'm very thin, since I don't eat much. I have long, curly, black hair that reaches the middle of my back. My eyes are a bluish green, although they seem to change shades depending on my mood. Sometimes people say that I'm glaring at them, which in most cases I am, but sometimes it's just the way my eyes are shaped. Some say that I have a body to that people have surgery for., which I find rather pointless.

I was born in Pennsylvania, as well as my parents and brother. They only just decided to move to the 'beautiful' Louisiana countryside when they retired from their long life of doing god knows what. They bought a large cabin, secluded from any form of life whatsoever.

The drive to their house is extremely boring, and the only thing I can do to occupy myself is stare at random trees and deduce their age, which I knew was most likely right. In all of my tree-deducing glory, I didn't notice the completely obvious spike in the road until the very last minute. By then, it was too late, and I had to swerve to avoid the trees as my car went out of control. I made sure to avoid hitting my head, or other parts of the body. The possibility of surviving in the woods with a concussion was little to none, so that was my best bet.

The car finally stopped by harshly hitting the back onto the trunk of the tree. I sat there, slightly panting from the shock, to catch my breath. I could see a slight flame coming from the hood of the car, probably due to the force of a tree as it hit the car. I then smelled fumes, one of the worst smells you could face in a car accident. The smell that told you to get the hell out of the way before you become a human furnace. I opened my car door, and ran like the wind.

Not even a minute after my escape, I heard the car explode. I refused to turn around, for fear that scraps of metal and glass could perhaps puncture my skin. I didn't do it for my face, though. The only reason I did it was because I didn't want to risk a metal possibly puncturing the optic nerve, or slice into an artery. Imagine that, surviving as terrible crash only to die in the hands of a spring from the seat, or a wound from glass.

I shrugged off the dizziness of the crash, turned, and made my way to the remains of the car. Oddly, the trunk was pretty much intact, which meant that my bags of weapons, technology, violin, and clothes were safe for me to use. I quickly grabbed them, and began my journey again in hopes of perhaps finding a small town.

*10 Hours Later* 3:30 A.M.

I've been walking for nearly 10 hours, and to say I was exhausted was an understatement. Nevertheless, I wouldn't risk stopping, only to come across a rabid wild animal. I wasn't really hungry, and the bags weren't extremely heavy, so I would be okay for another 14 hours or so before I would actually have to stop.

The sound of a car was heard in the distance. No, I take that back, it was much louder than a car, so it was either a bus or truck, and my bet is on truck. The sound was coming from behind me, and gradually grew louder as time went on. When the truck finally got to me, it slowed considerably. The large hunk of metal finally came to a stop just in front of me, and I could see that the window was rolled down.

"Hey, sweetie, want a ride?" A rough male voice asked. I got closer, but stopped a safe distance away from the truck. I could already sense that he had ill intentions that he would carry out if I got in the truck, but I don't think it was sexual, it was much... darker.

I didn't reply, but I analyzed him instead. He seemed to be a middle aged man who wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box. He's done this often, by the tone of his voice. There was a glint in his eyes, almost murderous. There were faint splotches of blood on his shirt, but they were lighter than human blood, so he is a hunter. I don't think he uses the meat much, though, it's more for sport. He likes chasing, and playing simple games, most likely because he doesn't get out much. Rather pale, no surprise there. He has the usual attire that someone would have as a hillbilly, plaid shirt, dirty tank top, jeans, and a trucker hat. He was tapping impatiently, so he had somewhere to be. In all, he was a dangerous man who was most likely not sane.

He shifted uncomfortably under my icy eyes, and kept glancing away, unable to continue staring at me as I stared through his soul, collecting all information I needed. I decided that I would go with him, since I haven't had a challenge in days, and he seemed to be working for someone, or something, greater. My best bet is a group of murderers that are closer than most, which means that they were related. His parents would be rather old, so I'm assuming siblings, and their work is rather sloppy, so probably brothers. Women would have a more delicate approach on things. Their practices are rough, unplanned, and sadistic.

"Sure." I said, trying to play off my best innocent look, which seemed to be working. He smiled a crooked grin as I entered the truck, and soon took off down the road. "My name is Lester, by the way, but you can call me anything you want." He continuously glanced at me, as if to see if I was scared. I saw his hand slowly creep onto my leg, but it seemed forced. He didn't really want to touch me; it was just a part of the act.

"Don't force yourself to partake in sexual actions if the main reason that I'm in here is part of a greater plot that will supposedly result in someone's, possibly mine's, demise." I said in a monotone voice, and looked at him dead in the eye. He kind of looked like a fish, how he opened and closed his mouth in shock, and his wide eyes.

"H-," I interrupted him, "How did I know? Simple, it's written all over you. Every little detail I picked out of your appearance lead to my deduction, but you just confirmed my suspicions. Don't worry, my brother makes me do things I don't want to do, too. Let us just get this show on the road; the game has already started, so there is no going back now. Anyway, care to tell me about your brothers?"

He stared at me in shock for a bit longer, before going on about his two siblings, who he apparently loves dearly," My brother, Bo, is a little sick in the head. He likes pain, whether it is mental or physical, and does what he can to inflict it upon anyone who is unfortunate enough to meet him. My brother, Vincent, is the one who is the most caring. Sure, he's not quite sane, but he loves his 'artwork' and spends all of his time with it."

I couldn't help but feel that he put a bit of emphasis in artwork, so I asked, "He likes art?"

Lester looked a bit unsettled, "Well, I can't really explain, you'll see when we get to Ambrose." Ambrose must be where they live, I thought to myself. He continued to glance at me, but this time it was as if he was challenging me to run from the truck. I wouldn't run, though, because there would be no benefit towards it.

After around 10 minutes, we finally got to a small town, which I assume to be Ambrose. By now, it was almost 4, so I expected the town to be at least slightly active. Then I realized just what this town was, "This isn't really a town, it's actually just for show, right? It's actually more of a place to lure people to their death, because they hope to find help here. I take it that you bring the people, Bo tortures the people, and Vincent… Well, I suppose he works on the people. Am I spot on?"

Lester looked at me in shock again, "How do you do that?"

I winked at him, and got out of the truck, "I'm what some call a genius. Now, where can I find this Bo character, since I assume that I won't see Vincent for a while?" He told me to go to the gas station, and if Bo wasn't there, then go to the church. I waved him goodbye as he drove off, and made my way to the station.

"Hello!" I yelled into the seemingly empty station. Something in my peripheral vision caught my eye, a shadow that moved along the side of the wall, and disappeared. He was going to go into the back door, and act like he was there the whole time. I decided to sit by the door and wait for him.

A man appeared on the other side of the door, and smiled down at me. He was Bo, I could tell. He was also middle aged with black hair, and a well-muscled body. He was tensed, as if waiting to attack his prey, ready to kill anything in his way. His face, posture, clothing, and complexion all spelled out psychopath. It was obvious that he's been this way since birth. He was violent, blood-thirsty, and hungry to feel the pain of others. It would have made me cringe if I hadn't already experienced the same people in my many years of working with cops in New York. I wasn't a cop, though, only a helper of the law. Cops these days can be rather… dull.

"I assume you're Bo, yes?" I said, feigning ignorance.

"Yes, did Lester pick you up? I assume you would like a hotel." He said with a dark, mischievous smile. The kind of smile that could kill, literally.

I smirked, knowing that agreeing would only benefit him, "No, thank you, I can just sleep in a tree or something."

His smile vanished instantly, and a flash of anger swept across his face. The anger soon vanished though, and was once again replaced by a seemingly impassive smirk, but I could still see the anger boiling within his irises. "Well, then, may I interest you in a look through our wax museum?"

"Hmmm… I don't know, can you?" The glint of anger came back; apparently this was not how he wanted it to go. I don't see why not, though. I mean, I never exactly denied his proposal; I'm only stalling slightly to stir his emotions. Maybe they are all on a specific time frame?

"You know, you should really learn to mask your emotions better, Bo-bear. People would like your company more, even if you were a psychotic serial killer who lures people into an abandoned town. I certainly hope you aren't a killer, though, my poor little heart couldn't take it. Anyway, if you insist on me going to your wax museum, then I guess I must oblige."

He looked more shocked than angry now. I stood, and turned away from his hulking frame, gliding to the large building labeled 'Wax Museum'. At first, he didn't follow, but soon he was beside me, fists clenched slightly. Halfway to the museum, he slowed down considerably, as if trying to get behind me. Knowing that having him behind me would be a bad idea, I matched his pace, and stood next to him. He slowed a bit more, which I matched. By now, he was becoming frustrated beyond belief, and tried once more, but failed.

"Stop that!" He shouted at me.

I put on my best innocent face, "Stop what, Bo-bear?" I gave him my best puppy dog eyes, the kind that anyone would melt under. His faced softened slightly, but then became stern again. He muttered 'Nothin' under his breath, and continued towards the building. I smirked at his attempt to remain calm. Obviously, I am getting into his head. He doesn't even know what I'm doing yet.

We approached the large Museum, and entered together, side by side. I could practically smell death in here. There were tones of life-sized wax figurines littering the first floor of the building, each seemingly doing a different task. People of every size and color filled the room. They seemed like simple wax figures at first, but I knew better. I walked up to the closest one, which was a lady dressed in a Victorian-style outfit, and examines it closer. There were signs of decomposition around the eyes and mouth.

"He's quite the artist…" I mumbled to myself, oblivious to Bo's presence.

"What did you say?" Bo asked at my ear. His chin was now resting on my shoulder. In my peripheral vision, I saw that damned smirk again.

"I know you heard me. Your brother is quite the artists, although the way he shows his talent is a bit unorthodox. He should have focused on the eyes, though. There are signs of decomposition. I suppose beauty can't last forever, though, can it? I once met a man who would sculpt his victims' bodies out of clay, and then add their organs to the sculpture. He did it all rather accurately, but the problem was he never added their appendix, though, because he never got that part of the body right. After I found his hideout, I had to shoot him twice, because the first time he moved, and I shot his appendix. What a coincidence. The last time I shot him in the chest." I laughed at the end of my story. It was one of my first cases with my partner, Johnnessa. I also told her that joke, and she laughed with me as the police gave us looks, and took the man away. It was a pretty good day.

Bo was laughing hard about the joke, and might I just say, that his laugh was absolutely ridiculous. I laughed at his form, which was now rolling around the floor. He finally managed to calm himself, besides his absolutely goofy grin, and got back up on his feet. "You know what I think?" He asked suddenly.

"No, what exactly do you think?" I had a bad feeling about this.

"I think you'll fit right in with us." He said, and then it all went black.