While writing this chapter, I had Pretty When You Cry by Vast on repeat.

DISCLAIMER: Dr Crane would like to point out that no one owns him. He also specified that he will not be painting any eggs for Easter because...well, he's Crane! He'll be too busy gassing people, anyway.

The author of this story, however, wishes you to celebrate Happy Easter!

CHAPTER 9

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"Yes, well...My car won't start," was her reply to his inquiry.

This was the opportunity. The thought stretched through his veins, hot and demanding.

He had been promising himself for a long time that any day now, he would destroy her. His reason had charged her with some heavy offences almost at the beginning of their acquaintance. She was a link to his past, and she was not allowed to be any kind of link to any period of his past life before his eighteenth year of existence. A great part of him knew that it was not her fault. Neither of them had planned for such a coincidence to happen, he was certain. She was absolutely clueless as to who he truly was. But the smaller part of him, the stronger one, knew that guilty or not, she had to be erased from his life, shoved over the edge of sanity and not survive the fall.

It was the only way to sever the cord linking him to his past once and for all. No more delaying the moment. Tonight was the night when the final step would be taken.

She would not be a constant reminder anymore. She would not tease him with strange, foreign feelings he had experienced within and outside the circle of her presence in his life. He could not identify the feelings, nor did he want to. Some things were better left untouched until they were completely forgotten and did not exist in any dimension any longer.

Alea iacta est, he mused to himself. It would be Pearl's moment tonight when she would be able to apply the phrase memento mori to her own life.

Finally, the voice purred inside him, but he ignored it. He did not need to be reminded of his responsibilities by his other self, the part of him that he had been ashamed of for so long, the part of him that he had locked behind the wall of impenetrable ice arching towards a non-existing warmth inside his soul and kept returning to him in the form of a voice. His only weakness, aside from her. Not tonight.

"Where do you live?" he asked dispassionately, expecting nothing else but complete co-operation on her part.

Although with obvious, painful reluctance, she gave him an answer and complied with his wishes. Soon enough, she was sitting in his car, unbeknownst to the fact that she was sliding towards her own doom very smoothly. During the drive, they were both silent. His mind was completely empty. He was not thinking about the very near future; he was not trying to picture her pretty, trusting face deformed by ugly grimaces of fear. He did not want to imagine her like this, not yet. He would just do it, put his mask on and poison her with such an amount of fear that she had never felt before, nor would she ever feel again afterwards. Her mind would dissolve to completion and Pearl would be no more. She would cease to exist in every sense of the word.

Subconsciously, his fingers snaked around the steering wheel in a fiercer grip and the voice inside him laughed at his reaction. He smiled at himself at the back of his mind and that irritated him. He forced himself to relax, and by the time they reached her apartment building, he had managed to return to his normal, cold, unfeeling self.

He wanted her to invite him in, for one of the usual reasons that women liked to come up – a cup of coffee or tea, maybe. Was she that kind of woman? He was not sure. At most times, she was very easy to read, but sometimes she was wrapped in a cocoon of mystery and was just as impenetrable as he was. Was it her defence mechanism? At the moment, he actually did not care. All he wanted to accomplish was to get inside the core of her world and destroy her. If she invited him in, it would be an even greater triumph. She would be, in a manner of speaking, destroyed on her own volition.

"Bye," she murmured and hurried out of the car.

It seemed that he would have to step out of the car, play nice and invite himself in, as she seemed unwilling to do so herself. At this point, it did not matter what she would think of him, or how she would try to analyse his actions.

Apparently, someone, an angel or a demon of some sorts, was on his side tonight because as soon as she exited his car and closed the passenger door, she screamed and he saw her struggling with two teenage thieves.

Perfect, he thought and smiled to himself briefly.

He found her lying on the ground, the young thieves long gone. She was struggling to get up, but he could see that something was wrong with her right arm; she was in pain and tried not to show it.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crouching beside her body, not really caring whether she was in pain or not. Her physical pain was not a factor of any significance in his game of cat and mouse.

He helped her up on her feet and listened to her rambling about the thieves and her shoulder.

"I have a history of repeated dislocations, I'm afraid. I was a very clumsy teenager," Pearl confessed.

She had his attention again. He could offer to realign her shoulder. He had the proper knowledge. As if on cue, she served herself to him on a silver plate.

"Dr Crane, I hate to ask this of you, but...Would you be willing to perform a manual relocation of my shoulder?"

He stared at her for a few moments, relishing in her blushes of shame. It must have taken a lot of effort from her to ask him for help. Her discomfort was almost palpable and he could read on her face how much she hated herself for having asked him such a question.

"Very well, then," he replied politely.

"We should, uhm, go up to my apartment." She blushed as she said that, biting her lip hard in punishment, to berate herself for going so far, he imagined.

"Of course. I cannot do it here." A ghost of a smile passed his lips, and Pearl smiled back before she could change her mind about the smile, he knew.

He followed her silently as they walked the stairs to the third floor where her apartment was located. He could feel the excitement and anticipation slowly creeping into his soul, and he was becoming more and more eager to put an end to his past, once and for all. They stepped into the apartment, he closing the door behind them, while she decided the kitchen would be as good a place as any for him to perform the manual relocation on her shoulder.

She was very nervous, so she babbled a little. "Thank God my next-door neighbours are away. In case I scream, I won't need to feel embarrassed." She blushed heavily. "I don't endure pain well..."

Better and better, he mused to himself. He would not have to worry about her possible screams drawing any attention from the neighbours. They were alone and she would not be heard. This evening was, indeed, his perfect opportunity.

He decided to perform the manual relocation on her shoulder before spraying her with the toxin and send her reeling into the mad world, and then right into decay. It would be a kind of goodbye, he mused. He felt the need to say goodbye to her and he did not understand or like his need, but it would be for the last time, so he decided to indulge his last need he had for her.

He never touched people much, only when trying to make a point to his patients and truly scare them out of their minds when other methods would not work properly. He had not touched Pearl much, but this time, his fingers spent much of their time on her soft, warm skin, his skin moulding into hers. It was a bizarre sensation, wanted by the subdued part of him that belonged to his voice; absolutely hated by the larger portion of his being. He felt out of place, disoriented and confused, and he was just not the sort of man who would likely give in to confusion. It was just not who he was.

As the shoulder popped back into its joint, immense relief washed over him. He would not have to feel her tender skin vibrating under his fingers any more. He did not need her, not in that way. He shouldn't, and he wouldn't. It was disgusting, against all of his principles. Her ability to stir something inside him added fuel to his fire of hatred for her. With resentment, he crouched before her still form and struggled to adjust her arm in a sling by touching her as little as was possible. Oh, how he hated her for forcing him to struggle with himself in the first place! At times, he became someone else. He became Jonathan, the entity foreign to the important Dr Crane, the man – no, boy! – he used to be around her sister. The voice did not speak in his favour. It was too pleased, therefore it remained silent. Damned be her and the voice!

He was done with the sling. He sighed inwardly, feeling stressed out. He had not felt stressed out in years. What on Earth was this unimportant, disposable human doing to him? He would fall into pieces if he did not act soon. Killing her would be the best thing he had ever done in his life.

He realized that Sherry Squires was nothing compared to her sister. The younger sister was the true demon.

He explained to her briefly how she should tend to her shoulder, although she was a nurse and must have known those things, and he advised her not to use that arm for a couple of days; if she felt that was necessary, she could take three days off work. The explanations were useless, as she would never get the chance to return to her job ever again, but talking relaxed the tension in him a little.

He was about to get up to his feet, his one intention to open his suitcase, find the burlap mask and do what he did best – inspire with dread – but he was stopped by something so unexpected that it punched the breath right out of his lungs.

Pearl kissed him.

She leaned forward, breached his personal space that had been impenetrable up until this moment and kissed him. Kissed. Him!

A surge of scalding electricity travelled through his entire body and he stiffened, ready to explode. He moved away fast, his eyes completely wide in utter disbelief. She kissed him. She fluttered her eyelids as if trying to wake up and when their eyes connected, she gasped in shock. As traces of clear panic began to contort her facial features, he suddenly found himself unable to not stare at her. He expected the voice to speak for him, laugh at him and turn him away from her, but the voice remained treacherously silent. He knew why. Every part of him wanted her and he did not know how to stop himself, as he had never been in such a terrible position before.

She shined before him in a world full of ugliness and things he hated. She actually mattered when everything else was meaningless. He tried to not see her fragile beauty, but he did. She pulled him in with an invisible force and before he was aware of his actions, he approached her, returning back with his lips and resting them against hers, claiming them in a deep kiss. His mind was reeling, falling, exploding. He tried to breathe her in, suck her very soul inside of him. He simply needed her the way he had never needed a human being before.

The cold fingers of her left, healthy hand raked through his soft, long hair, sliding down his nape and landing onto his shoulder. That simple action made him aware of himself and of his actions. It propelled him into reality and shocked him once again. Disgust replaced desire, reason supplanted emotion. He broke the hateful kiss and took a long step away from her. He felt conflicted, but strong enough to control himself. He was so enraged he could easily begin to shout nonsense at her, but he did not allow himself to go that far.

In that moment, he had to escape her, put the scattered pieces of himself in place.

He had to get away from her.

He...

He felt...

Not, it couldn't be, but it was, right there, a shadow, quivering on the surface on his inner lake. He couldn't stop the ripples.

He felt –

Fear.

He was afraid of her, of what she could do to him, and of the power she actually held over him.

He allowed his mind to be vulgar, to scream profanities when his mouth could not.

Was it real? It was. He was afraid of her.

Afraid. Fear, inside of him.

"This is...unacceptable," he hissed to himself, not looking at her.

"Goodbye, Nurse Jones," he spoke afterwards, with a firm, stiff voice that was full of bile and poison.

He grabbed his coat, took his briefcase from the table, and stormed out of her apartment. Once inside his car, he hit the steering wheel with the palms of his hands several times until the skin of his palms began to tingle with a smarting sensation.

Damn her, damn her, damn her!

"Compose yourself," he growled, rage oozing from his every pore. "Compose yourself, or you are not worthy to live. I swear to every god people believe in that you are not worthy to live if you do not. Compose. Yourself!"

Need you. Dream You. Find You. Taste You. Need you. Feel you.

"Stop it!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Stop it or I'll stop you!"

Hate you. Smash you. Scar you. Erase You.

Kill you.

Kill you.

That sounded much better.

"Yes," he whispered hotly. "Kill you. Right now. Now!"

He had never felt so ready for anything than he did now. He did not wish to exaggerate, but he had been waiting for such a moment his entire life, it seemed. With every step he conquered, with every set of stairs left behind, he felt more elated and more vindicated. Complete freedom of the soul would be his lot at last. No more pretty faces to haunt him and disturb his inner peace. His inner lake was, as of yet, still trembling and the ripples that had grown into waves were not yet subdued, but he did not mind his inner turmoil anymore. After all, it would all be over in a matter of a few minutes.

He reached her floor, focused his eyes on her apartment door. All around him was silence. The floor was absolutely empty. Only two beings occupied it: the predator and the prey. He smiled at the notion. Indeed, he was the predator, and she was the prey. She had managed to escape her destined misfortune too many times. No more. Tonight, she would have to meet her fate. It was an almost god-like notion. Her life was in his hands.

He looked over his shoulder, just in case; one could never be too careful. Then, he pressed the button-like doorbell and listened to the loud tingling of the metallic melody. His burlap mask waiting in his hands, he listened for sounds in her apartment. He could hear nothing at first, just his whispering breathing. Then, soft steps reached his ears, bare feet hitting the floor. He smiled and put the burlap sack over his head, closing his mouth over the built-in re-breather, his right hand ready to jerk upwards and send a concentrated dose of the white powder flying into her face.

The door opened and for a moment, he saw a beautiful, pale face, shining like the moon in the darkness of the hallway. There were traces of dried tears on her cheeks, the tears that had either dried of their own accord or she had wiped away. For a split second, he allowed her to register the burlap mask and the stranger who wore it.

As her eyes began to widen in shock and her mouth began to form an O that would surely have a loud gasp following it, his right wrist shot upwards, towards her face, and she inhaled the poison of madness. She began to cough and he stepped inside her apartment, closing and locking the door behind him.

Memento mori, Pearl, he mused to himself, for you are going to die.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Crane's true fears were not presented in this chapter. His fear of Pearl is just one morsel of his fears. But it was definitely enough to anger him.