Dice: Here you go! Thanks for the review and here's some more story!
Raider/Lucky: You must love having so many names!! Sounds like a character I know…
Iris: I like creepy, don't you! I'm sorry about your 3-year-old cousin, but here's more story for you to read!! And I loved the next part of Almost Breathless. Everyone should go and read it!
Sami: It will all make sense eventually, though don't count on it to make sense in this part!
Rumor: Were you expecting this next part? I know I wasn't and I wrote it!
Holiday: Yes, Kisses is rather freaky. That's what makes her so much fun! *another plug* Now everyone should go read Holly's story Christmas Station. It's so cute!
Jeanette: Woo Hoo, thanks for the 2 reviews!! Thanks!
Dragonfly: Yes, it is very creepy. I like creepy!
Moneybags: Oh no! Not the kitchen knives! Look, here's more!!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ August 26, 1899
Dear Journal,
Another glorious morning in Manhattan! I know it's quite early for a journal entry, considering it can't be past four in the morning, but I just awoke from the strangest dream. In it I was walking around downtown and...
It was late, at least four hours past Sunset. Secrets crept down the deserted, dirt-filled streets, kicking garbage out of her path as she went along. But it wasn't Secrets. At least, not quite. The girl, with her long raven hair and crystal blue eyes, looked like Secrets. But it wasn't Secrets.
As she made her way, she laughed to herself. "I'm coming to get you, Cowboy. Then my Layna will be apart from her David no longer." Yes, it was in the matter of which she was speaking that proved that she was, in fact, not Secrets.
As she, the one who resembled Secrets so, slunk around the back ways and alleys to avoid coming in contact with anyone that might question her actions, she reached into a worn and faded leather pouch slung over her right shoulder. "Yes, I'm coming, dear Jack, I'm coming," she giggled mischievously as smiled at her trusty knife, acting like she was heading off to a party instead of paying a visit to the soon-to-be ex-leader of Manhattan.
As she continued to skip - yes, skip - to the boys' lodging house, she stopped when she sensed someone walking behind her. She spun on her heel, positioning the knife so that her follower couldn't see it, and wouldn't expect any sort of attack. "Who's there?"
The boy took a step back and through his hands up in defense, obviously not expecting the girl to whirl around and confront. "Hold on deah, Secrets. I jist wanted ta have a chat wit' you'se."
She ignored the name he called her as she gave him a once-over and tossed her raven tresses over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm quite busy and I haven't the time to chat."
The boy scratched his head before replying. "Sir? I'se hoit dat ya don't 'membah me, Secrets. It's me, Morris Delancey. I'se da one dat found ya sleepin' on da ground two weeks ago. I've been meanin' ta tawk ta you'se since den, but you'se was awlways spendin' yer time wit' Davey an' dose two loveboids. But I don't got ta worry 'bout dat now, do I?" Morris laughed to himself, remembering about Stress' death and Cowboy's grief and relishing it. There was nothing like seeing someone you don't particulary like drowning in their own sorrows.
"I guess not. Now, if you mind, I really must be on my way," she flashed an annoyed smile at Morris and started to walk forwards, passing an alleyway as she did so.
"Oh, come on, Secrets. Y'know dat you'd like ta git ta know me bettah."
"No, I'd rather not." She continued to walk and blanched when she felt him reach out and grab her shoulder.
"Secrets, wait. I jist wanna tawk."
He wants to talk to me? Well, I'll let him speak -- his final goodbyes, she thought to herself, grinning evilly. "Morris?"
Morris dropped his hand and watched as she turned around to face him and began to walk backwards. "Yes?"
She smiled seductively at Morris as she walked slowly into the nearby back alley, coaxing him along with an extra swing of her hips. "You want to talk? I'd love to talk."
Morris, obviously thinking that he was going to see some action now that she had changed her mind, rubbed his hands together and licked his lips, following the mistress into the darkness.
"Come here," she commanded, pointing him towards the corner and gesturing to him to sit. Morris did what he was told, a doubtful look on his face. No matter who she was or what she was offering, nobody told a Delancey what to do.
She caught the look on his face and laughed cruelly. "What's the matter, Morris?" He looked at her strangely and opened his mouth to speak. And promptly shut it when he saw, through the glint of the moonlight, that she had withdrawn an old, rusty knife and was fingering the blade as she smiled down on him.
Morris gulped and, after a few moments of dead silence, gathered enough courage to question her intent. "Hey, Secrets? What are ya doin' wit' dat knife, eh?"
"Silence, Morris," she spat out and straddled his lap. "My name is not Secrets."
Morris smiled once he felt her weight on his lap, thinking that she was, once again, coming on to him. "In dat case, what's yer name? Ya look like ya need a man, goil dat ain't Secrets, an' I'se shoah man enough ta give ya everyt'ing ya need. Especially such a lookah like yerself," he smiled as he leered at her.
She smiled, lifting the knife high over her head, slowly and discreetly as to not draw his attention from her chest to her hand. "My name is Kisses, you fool. And I don't need no one!" Then, before Morris had a chance to move, scream, dodge or do anything, she sank the knife straight into his heart, quickly redrawing the knife and re-aiming it as to stab him numerous times.
After the seventh stab to Morris' abdomen, a stab no more necessary than the second due to the fatal positioning of her first blow, she climbed off of his lap and placed the knife - the warm, bloody knife - to her lips. With a swift motion, she covered her own lips in his spilt blood.
She knelt down by Morris' body, his body eerily still, and wiped the remainder of the blood on his shirt, smirking at the surprised expression on his face. Then, her blue eyes twinkling madly, she kissed his forehead gently, leaving her mark. "And that, you poor pitiful fool, is why I am called Kisses," she hissed as she walked away from the alley in which she had lured Morris, and began to head back to the Bottle Alley Lodging House. "You got a reprieve, Cowboy. But tomorrow, we shall meet." She took her knife, no longer warm nor bloody, and kissed it once more before replacing it back into her leather pouch and bringing her hand to her head. One of her excruciating headaches was quickly approaching and she would never finish her night's business before it enveloped her. She would wait. Then tomorrow, tomorrow, she would make her Layna happy.
And then I woke up. Thank goodness that was a dream though. It just seemed so life like, especially when the shadowy girl called herself "Kisses". I think I still have Stress' murder on the brain. What do you think? Well, I just wanted to write that down. Strange, really. I haven't had any knife nightmares since I was 12. Considering it's still too early to get up and ready for the distribution center, I think I'm going back to sleep for another hour or two. Who knows? Maybe when I head down to the gates with some of the girls, I'll find David down there. Unless, of course, he's still baby-sitting Cowboy. I hope not.
--Secrets.
Secrets signed her name with a flourish and stuck her pen and journal back under her pillow, knocking to the side the faded and worn leather pouch hanging over the edge of her bed, before resting her tired and weary head upon said pillow. "It was only jist a dream," she murmured as she slowly closed her crystal blue eyes. "A dream..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's End Note: Yeah, that was really creepy to write. I hope she doesn't get anymore psychopathic killing urges next chappy!