Thank you, loyal reviewers!
I haven't said so in a while, so: I own zilch.
Warning! This chapter will probably be pretty violent, and will have some crude and racy language (sorry), but please read it anyway so I'll know if it was intense or not.
Tourniquet . . .
Sylvia Durang walked briskly through the streets of East side, her heels punctuating ever angry step. She didn't know if she'd find him tonight, but she had to try. This was going over the top. She had to do something. So she kept walking, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the crude calls of the occasional male passersby. She had a knife of her own, so she wasn't worried about those boys.
It was late. Streetlights bathed sidewalks and buildings in an ugly, painfully orange light. She couldn't believe Dallas used to spend so much time here.
Dallas . . . She gritted her teeth and kept walking.
It wasn't long before she felt herself being followed. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck turned to needles, screaming warnings she paid no heed to. She turned into an alley, knowing he wouldn't want to be out in the open.
When she finally turned, all that was behind her were shadows. Shadows that stared at her with familiar, aged eyes.
"Well, well. I didn't expect to see you again, Miss." Montresor's silhouette bowed deeply.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He paused. "Exactly what you told me to do."
"No, you brainless fucking nigger," she hissed, "I told you to kill those stuck up greasers, not to jab a knife into everyone you meet."
Was he gagging? No. Laughter. He was laughing. "Oh, Miss, you have no idea." The shadows drew closer and she could just make out a yellowing, devilish grin. "It's all part of my plan. I'll let them watch everyone die, friends and strangers. They'll cower for days before they even see me."
"I told you," she pointed a manicured finger in his general direction, "To kill the Curtises. So stop fucking around and kill them!"
"Why do you care, anyway?"
"Because Dally was all I had! And he would rather hang around with them instead of me. That's what killed him. If it weren't for them, he'd still be mine!"
He snorted. "Did you cheat?"
"'Course."
"Maybe that's why."
"It doesn't matter now anyway. Just kill the Curtises."
"I'm a serial killer, Miss. I can't just kill three people and be done."
"But they're innocent. You're hurting people who don't deserve it."
"Ah, yes," his voice grew softer, almost passionate. "But that's the beauty of it. They do deserve it. I just don't know what for."
She backed away. "You're sick!"
"They don't call me a psychopath for nothing." The shadows moved closer.
"Get away from me!"
Closer.
"I'm warning you!" she flipped out her knife.
A low laugh. "Do you honestly think you can control me?" There was a hand around her wrist, jerking it suddenly sideways. She gasped and dropped the knife. Then she was pressed between the shadows and the wall, a cool blade resting flat against her cheek.
"You wouldn't dare." she tried to sound brave. "My father will sue the shit outta you."
He sighed. She felt him shake his head. "As if I have anything else to lose."
She opened her mouth to scream, but there was no sound. Only excruciating pain as Montresor thrust the knife into the back of her throat. She felt the tip scrape the wall as she went limp, trying to breathe around the rivers of blood flowing into her lungs.
Montresor retrieved his blade with a hard yank and inspected his work. In the darkness he could see her body flailing, red pouring from her mouth as she groped for oxygen.
He grinned. Picture perfect.