AN: Special thanks to SomebodyStandingThere (.net/u/1851349/) for being the first to R&R on this fanfic! I kept your comment in mind, and I hope that this is more detailed!
Instances like this were not unusual. In fact, within a twelve hour period, Casey usually managed to add a healthy dose of the fear of God into at least three people, including but not limited to: door-to-door salesmen, her landlord and various local Girl Scout troops. To Casey, people were a nuisance; bothersome like puppies, constantly getting tangled around your legs until one day you just have to punt them across the room and teach them a lesson. Most of the time, the sporadic episodes were harmless. A little bit of screaming, some teeth gnashing and the morons would leave her be. But sometimes, the idiots needed a little extra push. She had returned to her bed, pizza box cradled in her lap, fingers spread comically as she attempted to tame the wild globs of cheese falling every which direction from her slice of pizza. She was about to sink her teeth into the first bite of the steaming triangle. Her mouth was watering, eyes searing hungriliy, she was almost there-
The girl was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Grumbling to herself about the insolence of people and the importance of breakfast, she slipped off the sheets, pulled the wedgie out of her butt (courtesy of her skimpy black panties) and made her way to the door. She pulled herself up onto her tiptoes so that she could peer out the peep hole. Frowning at the unfamiliar face, the blonde cracked the door and called suspiciously, "Hello? What do you want?"
Two men in crisp, clean button-downs and black suite pants forced the door open, much to her obvious dismay. One of the men, his name tag introducing him as "George," began,
"Hello there ma'am! We've come to spread to you the message of the gospel the Lo-"
She cut them off, pushing the door as she spoke, "I'm not interested. Go away."
The second man, a tall, balding, fat fellow with an obnoxious, phony smile and a nametag reading "Frank", shoved his foot between the door and the doorframe, successfully stopping the girl from shutting it all the way, "We'd just like a moment of your time, ma'am. Won't you spare a moment for sanctity?"
Casey forced her body up against the wood, pushing harder, "I said go away! Your sanctity is my perversion, I want nothing to do with your load of brainwashing bullshit."
"But ma'am, please! God said-"
"Go away, or I'll report you for harassment." She gave the door a final shove. The men decided they'd have to take more desperate action to get into this house. With a howl, Frank began to bounce around on one foot, "OH GOOD HEAVENS! OH MY FOOT! OH! OH!" To Casey, he sounded more like an orgasming pig then a man in pain. None the less, she knew that turning them away now would lead to a load of new minor charges to add to her police file. That was another headache she didn't need.
With an angry cry, Casey wrenched the door aside, "FINE. COME IN AND HAVE A SEAT." She threw her arms out in an angry gesture toward her shabby excuse for a living room; a small loveseat and an openly abused recliner sat stationary, a thin layer of dust settled over the fabric as if they hadn't been used for a long time.
The two missionaries barged right in, relieved that finally, after a long, hot day of aggravating people, they'd come across some kind soul who'd spare a moment of consideration. Frank sat down first, settling into the creaky loveseat with caution, his injured foot miraculously healed. George joined him, and together they waited for the girl to sit and open her ears.
She'd disappeared into the kitchen, to fetch bandages and ice they supposed. Imagine their surprise when the apartment was consumed the sound of gunfire. Or, rather, imagine the surprise of Frank. Because George was quite busy being dead. It was instantaneous, totally unexpected. One moment, the two were twiddling their thumbs and thinking over their scripted gospel message. The next, George was slumped, eyes popping, blood spurting from a wound smack in the center of his forehead. Terrified, Frank leapt off of the couch, back peddaling away from the couch as fast as his legs would go. A bit too fast for the rest of his body unfortunately; he felt himself toppling but had no intention of stopping. With a crash, the fat man rolled heels over head across the surface of a coffee table. George sat stone still, head between his knees, shoes soaked to saturation in a pool of his own blood. Rising groggily, Frank stumbled first left, then right as he searched frantically for the exit. He caught sight of a small square of white, and before his brain was even finished registering that it was, indeed, the front door, he was sprinting all out. Frank tried to stop himself as he approached the exit, but his momentum was far too great. He collided with the board, sweaty fingers fumbling hurriedly as he struggled to escape.
"C'MOOOON. OPEEEN!" He shrieked, clawing at the wood with nubby finger nails, jamming splinters under his finger nails, heart pounding a mile a minute. He opened his mouth to scream, found his voice locked. Frank pivoted, pressed his back against the door, chest heaving, eyes flying from left to right. Nothing. The killer was nowhere to be found.
"I need to get out-" That was Frank's final thought before he crumpled, the space between his eyes transformed into an oozing mass of blood, flesh and brain matter.
"Soliciting religion is a sin, dear sir. Your intentions are unclean. I wish you the best of luck when reckoning with the oh-so-higher powers above."
With this, the girl rounded the corner, a malicious grin plastered across her pretty face, a P229 Sig Saur Equinox clutched tightly in one hand. Steady, cerulean eyes studied the body of the sales agent; she nudged him with her boot. After determining he was satisfactorily dead, she gripped his wrist and began to drag him away from the door. She lugged the body past its dead partner, down her bedroom hallway and halted in front of a dark door, almost indistinguishable from the wall around it. It was shut tight, secured with three heavy, iron locks. Casey released the corpse with a resounding thud, then she began to search her pocket for the keys. It took her a few minutes, but eventually she managed to open all three locks. Dropping to her knees, Casey pulled the corpse toward her, hauled its arm over her shoulder. Then she stood, supporting the deadweight as she shuffled forward into the dark.
It got colder as she went farther in. The dark was impenetrable; she was going off every sense except sight. Stretching out one hand, Casey began to grope out in front of her. She paused when her fingertips brushed a wall. The body slid from her shoulders, landing loudly. Turning on her heels, Casey stalked back out into the light, through the hallway and into the living room to retrieve the second cadaver. When they were both stored away neatly, she locked the door and sprinted to her bathroom. The girl stripped down, discarding her smelly, blood flecked clothes. She submerged her body in a boiling shower and scrubbed her skin red and sore with a clean, lightly scented soap; sharp and fresh, closest in similarity to the fragrance of pine trees. All the while she sang,
"Seems a downright shame...
Shame?
Seems an awful waste...
Such a nice, plump frame
Wot's 'is name has...
Had...
Has!
Nor it can't be traced...
Bus'ness needs a lift,
Debts to be erased...
Think of it as thrift,
As a gift,
If you get my drift!
Seems an awful waste...
I mean, with the price of meat
What it is,
When you get it,
If you get it..."
When she was content with her body's cleanliness, she turned her attention to her hair, dousing her electric blonde locks in deep cleansing shampoo.
"The history of the world, my love -
Save a lot of graves,
Do a lot of relatives favors!
Is those below serving those up above!
Ev'rybody shaves,
So there should be plenty of flavors!
How gratifying for once to know
That those above will serve those down below!"
She finished with a freezing rinse, then clambered out of the shower, not bothering to retrieve a towel. Air drying was better for her skin, she reasoned. Intending to walk out of the bathroom, she approached the door, reached for the knob…paused at the mirror. Wiping away the steam with one hand, she stared intently at the reflection in the glass.
A pair of large, curious eyes peered back. They were bright, full of life; vivid shades of cerulean, slate and navy spiraling from her iris and bleeding into thin, obsidian edges. Her face was flushed from the heat, but her complexion was clear save a few adolescent acne scars dotting her forehead. Full, pink lips puckered as she bent forward closer, examining her delicate facial profile and small, round (though puckish) nose. Long, thick layers of white blonde hair fell, dripping, to her waist at the longest point, the tips ending in vibrant purple. Her body build was similar to her face, she noted. She had good muscle definition in her arms; her collarbone jutted noticeably. Small but perky breasts sat close together on her chest, the sort of perfect boobs women paid millions in surgical procedures to get. Her waist was small, but her hips were smooth and round, almost unproportional to the rest of her body. These lead to large, solid thighs, elegant legs and finally small feet. Overall, she decided she was a beautiful girl.
'Pretty girls like you shouldn't play with guns, Casey.'
Inside her head, the shrill, bitter voice that she'd been bothered by that morning taunted, 'After all, aren't we trying to be more lady-like?'
"Shut up, Echo." Casey retorted, her voice gritty as she pushed a lock of wet hair behind her ear, "Go away, I don't want to talk to you." She stood there, glaring at the mirror, for all the world appearing to talk to herself.
'Humph.' Echo pouted, 'I don't want to talk to you either. But there's not much we can do about that, is there?'
"Shut up!"
'You shut up! Whore.'
Frustrated, Casey strode out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind her as she rushed out the door. She reached her room, stormed to her bed. The heavy afternoon sun made her room feel dank and hazy; she crawled into the sheets, buried her face in her pillows. She was asleep after ten minutes.