The Tale of a Man and the Monsters
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are owned by DC Comics, and The Mark Gordon Company, respectively.
-JCxSR-
Victor Zsasz was an angry and lonely man, with heavy wide-set shoulders, and a face that was forgettable, unless it was glaring at you straight in the face. He was an angry and lonely man indeed. He wrapped the letter-opener in a thick plastic bag, wrapping it twice over to keep it from ripping open the fragile paper of a thin envelope. He had to be careful. You can't taunt them if you lose the taunt. He steamed the envelope closed, he couldn't give them everything thing.
He pulled on the light, lifeless arm of the woman he just saved. She was a sweetheart, she let him without a question; probably because she had set-up that date with him when he visited the office. Thankfully, she wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, if she had bothered to look up his name, she would have seen he was just another bum, not the rich man he bragged to be. She probably dreamed of the rich, lavish dinner they would have.
He sighed, heavily. He was an angry and lonely man indeed. He drew her up, dancing slowly around the cheap, fibre-wood furniture, until he found her queen sized bed in the far corner of the apartment. No, no, he had already done that too many times. It was time for something special, she had just turned 21. He continued dancing, humming quietly, not listening to the world, listening only to the quiet, and the drip. That dripping faucet. He would kill to stop it from dripping, again and again.
It was hard trying to find his way back through the clutter and the dark of her apartment. What was her name again? Oh, what does it matter, he was going to treat her very nicely. Oh yes, that would do, it would do nicely.
-JCxSR-
Ried stood silently in the back, while crime scene investigators combed through all they could. He wandered around the lot, looking for camera. Maybe, by a chance, Victor Zsasz was dumb enough to allow them to see where he went, and how he did his posing. Gideon and Morgan were both also just walking around, Morgan looking frustrated, while Gideon kept his face flat.
"Is there a video camera?" Ried somehow had wandered his way to the gas station owner, currently surrounded by a flock of questioning police officers. Apparently, no one heard him, and the obvious was flying over people's heads.
"Excuse me, but… Do you happen to have a video camera?" He butted his way into the circle, easily squeezing between the large spaces between the even larger men.
"Uh, yeah. It's live-feed only here. The videos are kept with the company that put them in," the owner looked confused, and haggard. It had been a long night, and nobody was working at full steam.
-JCxSR-
Victor Zsasz drove of from her apartment, enjoying the rumble of the engine; it was significantly better than the dripping of her damn faucet. He was glad to be done with her, and to be done in the place. He pulled into a gas station not far from her place. He saw an older man pumping his gas. He pulled in slowly behind the man.
The man walked in to pay the attendant, who seemed to be blissfully ignorant, and the screens showing the pumps didn't seem to work all to well considering how the televisions were set to a football game, and a porno.
When the man came back, and Zsasz's current car was filled, he decided to maybe change his choice. Men could suffer all the same as women could; blood was blood no matter the body. As the knife cut quickly across the man's throat, not a single sound escaping, Zsasz quickly learned that the idea was wrong. The blood that spilled from the open gash felt wrong. So very wrong. And that god damn AWFUL DRIP was back. It was the same pace, and twice as loud.
He left the man reaching inside his car and decided it was time to return the letter opener the sweet girl had let him borrow. Maybe he'd meet some of her nice friends. That would cheer him up. It would cheer him up quite a bit.
-JCxSR-
"I doubt you were even paying attention," piped in Morgan. He stepped in behind the owner.
The owner sighed heavily, and turned away. He looked low at his feet as the body was finally being rolled off the scene into the coroner's truck, " I wasn't even here," he confessed in the lowest voice.
"Then who was here?" pressed Hotchner. The police officers were all dumbfounded; they hadn't actually asked anything before the arrival of the FBI. Hell, they didn't even know if there were any witnesses to the earlier crimes; the hotline that was set up and advertised on the television lead to a phone-sex company. And nobody even tried calling it.
"My son. He's not exactly the most attentive kid, but he means well," the older gentlemen looked sheepishly at the brooding special agent.
"Where is your son now, sir? Any and all information on this killer is vital to have. We're very close to catching him," Spencer looked desperately toward the man. He twisted his bag strap.
"I sent him home, he couldn't handle any of this at all. He was a sobbing mess when I got here."
"You mean to say he called you first?" asked Hotchner.
"Well, yes.. I mean, no offence to the officers here, but... Gotham isn't exactly the safest city, and we don't exactly trust the cops like we probably should. They aren't all that clean, you get me?"
"Well, we're not your city's officers, so please, tell us anything your son told you," Hotchner clenched his jaw as soon as he finished speaking. How bad could a city truly get if its citizen's counted more on each other more than the officers hired to protect and serve them?
"Well he said this guy came in and paid, and when he hadn't heard the engine go off for 15 minutes, he looked over. When he saw the guy hunched over, he went to go check. He thought maybe the guy had a heart attack or something. When he saw the blood, he went in a called me straight away," the older man wrung his hands together. "Believe me, he didn't have anything to do with this, he said some bald guy had something to do with it."
"Thank you sir, for your honesty," Hotchner walked away from the conversation, Morgan and Spencer in tow. The two officers beside the man wandered aimlessly, they didn't know what to do on a crime scene anymore, it'd been too long for them to remember.
-JCxSR-
He slowly parked, and walked into the building. There was a younger man at the door, picking up the mail that had been collected through out the day on the front desk. He would work.
"Excuse me, may I?" Zsasz smoothly walked up beside him. There was no one else in the entrance, the secretary was done for the day, and the security guards couldn't care less about their job. They, like the attendant at the gas station, were probably drinking some beers and laughing at some dirty jokes.
"May you what, sir?" The young man looked dead pan toward Zsasz, his acne covered face greasy and unkept shined under the heavy florescent lights.
"May I deliver the mail? I have a special package I would love to give to someone."
"I'm not allowed to let you in, sir."
"Oh, but I insist." He drew out the end of his bloodied knife, the dull dark blood crusty. The teenager fainted on the sight of it. 'Well that was easy.' Zsasz dragged the body into a hallway. stripped him of his clothes. put them on top of his, and immediately went to wrong. The taunt was useless if you didn't
-JCxSR-
Author note: I literally just typed this. I haven't been even thinking about this story. Then, I got a notification that someone watched this, or something. I decided, since I have time now, I'm going to pick up where I left off. Also, I'm dropping the slash in this; I'm making it a sick one-sided affection. Because I don't feel like developing a healthy relationship in my stories anymore. Yaaay.
As with any other properly written fanfction, I apologize for any misspellings, and for any improper grammar. I'm only human