Ryan: Part Six: Apocalypse Please

A/N: I'm not dead yet. Ha! Reviews, people, are what keep me going. I know it's not hard to tell me your opinion; everyone has one! Let me hear yours!

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Two months had passed since Ryan had fled from his broken home, and at his hands, two dozen women had met their ends. There was hardly a method to his madness, not anymore. He killed almost indiscriminately, the only link between any of the women being their chosen method of income. Fat women, skinny women, beautiful women who could have done better for themselves, ugly women who had no hope even in this particular lifestyle. Ryan killed them all because they were whores, and knew in his heart that someone from above was smiling down upon him. The Good Lord needn't dirty His hands, after all.

The usually pleasant-tempered city had grown dark and gloomy, and rain always seemed imminent. People tended to unconsciously come home a little earlier and double-check to ensure their doors were tightly bolted. The citizens were not oblivious to the mysterious depletion in the number of street callers, and the police secretly agreed amongst themselves that whoever was responsible was, in all reality, doing them a favor. Of course, at this time public relations between the police and the people were very slim; everything was passed along by word of mouth and firsthand observation. People observed the police and their skin-deep nonchalant attitudes about the spree of whore-killings, and people adopted it for themselves, though deep down, they still feared the being in the night.

Ryan, by this time, had lost a dramatic amount of weight, and though he had already been skinny, now he was gaunt, bony, and angular; and it seemed very unnatural. To look at him made a shiver run down one's spine; and made a person feel… wrong. His hair was long, shaggy, and matted, and he had grown a rather impressive length of beard. He was dotted with sores from his exposure to the elements, but none had become infected yet, so he was not worried. Ryan had found a temporary solace in a particular alley in the heart of the city, amongst a stray bunch of dogs. People walked by and shook their heads at him, tsk-tsked, and occasionally threw some money in his direction. Nobody, though, lingered to speak with this man, and Ryan grew to enjoy his solace. It gave him more time to pray, after all.

One particularly stormy evening, Ryan emerged from his alley, brushed himself off as best as he could, and shambled off to search for tonight's lucky lady. After meandering a few blocks, Ryan came upon a scrawny blonde woman who was leaning against a lamp post and batting her eyelashes at anything that moved. Ryan's lips pulled back into a sneer, and when the woman's eyes turned to him, he glanced around to make sure there was nobody watching. When he was sure he would not be interrupted, Ryan lunged, hands outstretched, and wrapped his fingers around the blonde's throat. She was caught off guard, and could not muster a scream as Ryan dragged her into the nearest alleyway, kicking and flailing.

What Ryan did not notice was a pair of eyes that peered from between a pair of trash cans, glittering with interest.

Ryan did not waste any time, he knew this was risky because it was still so early in the evening. After a brief moment of indecision as to whether or not to take his pleasure tonight (he hadn't in so long), he shook his head and forced the girl to her knees before him. He growled at her, and she strained to hear him over the pouring rain.

"You… are… a sinner... And you must… repent…"

He slapped her, then, hard. She reeled backwards, eyes wide in shock, and a tiny ribbon of blood began to trickle from one corner of her mouth. She moaned in terror, and began to shake her head, raising her hands to try and push him away. Ryan punched her roughly in the cheek, and this time her eyes rolled up into her head and she swooned, slowly toppling backwards. Ryan reached out and caught her by the hair, her eyelids fluttered open again, and she opened her trembling mouth to plead with him.

He raised one finger to his own lips to silence her, and then lay his free hand upon her forehead. He released her hair, and she stared up at him, blinking against the rain and sputtering so she could breathe; trembling violently beneath his suddenly gentle touch. She could not pull her eyes from his jagged face, and so did not see his other hand vanish into one of his pockets.

"Do you love God, bitch?"

The woman nodded fiercely, eyes wide. Ryan smiled placidly, and gently stroked her forehead with the ball of one thumb.

"Then go and tell him."

Ryan's hand appeared from nowhere with a razor clutched tightly within its bony digits, and with one swift slash, it tore open the blonde's throat. Her hands slowly rose to her gaping, gushing neck, and her mouth motored silently when she watched her own painted fingers come away bright with blood. She seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then her hands fell away to her sides, and she raised her quickly paling face skyward. She seemed to try to speak, but only a few bubbles of blood passed her lips, and after a moment of silent reverie, the mousy blonde collapsed onto the wet and stony ground.

Ryan's placid smile never left his face, and he nodded slowly; almost understandingly down at the dead woman. His moment of pride shattered when he heard a shuffling of footsteps on the cobblestones behind him.

Slowly, Ryan turned, clutching his razor tightly, to face whoever had seen what he had done. His eyes locked onto a man perhaps a bit younger than he, wearing clothes nearly as ratty as his own, different in that they were obviously prisoners' attire. Wide blue eyes locked onto Ryan, and then darted down to study the dead woman. The scrawny man seemed very skittish, and appeared to be ready to run at any moment, shifting his weight nervously back and forth.

"I saw wot ya did there… Michael saw it, 'e did…"

Ryan's lips pulled back into a sneer, and he took a step forward, preparing to shut this man up, but was stopped when he spoke again.

"Michael's not gonna tell no one, no, no… Michael… wants to help."

Ryan seemed taken aback by this statement, and the hand clutching the razor fell to his side. He'd not expected this… Perhaps the flighty little weasel was lying..?

As if he'd heard Ryan's thought, Michael skittered around Ryan as widely as he could, and bent over to study the dead woman's graying corpse. Ryan was startled by a sudden titter of laughter, and Michael clapped his hands and giggled like a child. Ryan stifled a laugh of his own. After all, it was rather amusing, the comical look of surprise that would be forever plastered on the bitch's face…

Suddenly, though, Michael lashed out with one boot at the body, and there was an audible crunch as a few of her ribs splintered. Ryan's laugh stopped short, and he thought to himself for a few moments. Michael looked to Ryan, obviously looking for a sign that he would be accepted. After what seemed a silent eternity, Ryan reached out and lay a hand on Michael's shoulder.

"Tell me, friend… Do you believe in God?"

Michael nodded enthusiastically, lacing and unlacing his fingers before him. Ryan's placid smile returned.

"Good…. You see, Michael… You are to begin His work tonight…"

Ryan draped an arm over Michael's shoulder and continued to talk, slowly leading him away from the staring blonde's corpse and out into the dark streets of the city.