The bubbles surround her slim body as she sinks further into the hot, foamy bath. She lifts a single leg up from the water and watches as the suds slide smoothly down her skin. The bubbles slip into the crevice behind her knee and drip down her thigh, reminding her of the way Ashcroft's blood had spilled from his head and dribbled down his face. Of course, the blood had been red and accompanied by screams of agony; the suds are pure white and the only sound accompanying them are her purrs of contentment.
There is something about bubble baths that can soothe a person's muscles and nerves the way nothing else can. She descends further into the wall of foam, resting her head against the back of the tub. The steam from the water makes her skin glisten with sweat, but she doesn't mind. In fact, she finds it cleansing, like all of her troubles are oozing out with the perspiration.
But she knows they aren't.
She looks down at her hands and purses her lips. Dried blood is still caked beneath her fingernails even though she's scrubbed them twice since disposing of the body. She glares scornfully at the blood. She hates that any part of him has stained her body, even if it had been a painful experience for him. He's scum for those things he did; he's not worthy of staining her body with his blood.
A fingernail brush sits nearby and she snatches it up. After running the brush over the bar of soap, she vigorously rubs them across her nails, letting the soapy suds build up until the dried-red is gone and she can only see pure white bubbles. She rinses off her hands and then holds them up for inspection. No more blood. She smiles. Perfect.
The water begins to cool and she knows it's time to pull herself from the relaxing bath. With the towel wrapped around her sopping wet body, she shuffles into the bedroom and glances at the list which sits on her nightstand. Two names have been crossed out with a red marker; beside them she has drawn a tiny smiley face. Now she has another name, another person who must pay penance for past sins.
She drops the towel and spreads out naked on the bed as she consults her list. She knows who is next, though she is wary. The first two were easy; they were single and had penchants for alcohol. No one had been waiting up for them. This next one, though, is a bit trickier. A nine to five worker, married with children; the type who doesn't frequent bars so much, especially not on a week night. That makes it much more difficult.
Luckily, she knows just how to play the hand. It won't be her normal M.O., but it will get the job done and that is the important thing.
With the list pressed against her chest, she rolls over onto her back, contemplating what to do with him. She, of course, already knows how he will finally meet his demise, but she hasn't yet decided how she will torment him, how she will put him in so much pain that he will consider death a relief.
A yawn overcomes her as she feels her eyelids droop. Perhaps the bubble bath has relaxed her too much. It doesn't help that she was up until the wee hours of the morning entertaining her previous guest. She tries to concentrate but is losing the battle to weariness.
Finally, she replaces the list on the nightstand and snuggles down into her pillow. She can think about her future prey after her nap.
Even angels need their sleep.