Ryan: Part Seven: Of Mice and Madmen

A/N: Here you are, my lovelies. Enjoy.

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The twitchy young man's name was Michael Cambridge, and of all his problems, his excessive energy was the least. Michael had been raised in a family much like that of Ryan's, and when he was a boy, his father took it upon himself to discipline the boy. His idea of discipline was to throw Michael down the stairs, and when the broken boy reached the top again, throw him back down. All this mistreatment brought only one forseeable consequence: Michael was severely handicapped. His mind was fragile and his thoughts were erratic; as though his body had kept growing, but his mind had stopped when he was still a child. He was a large boy, far from fat, but possessing a frame like that of his father, tall and beefy. It gave him the appearance of a gentle giant, and so made him very unassuming.

As impressionable as his childlike mind made him, his meeting with the serial killer Ryan Kuhn brought about a feeling of kinship. Here was someone else like him! Someone lonely, and deep down, angry. Michael had fled his home when he turned sixteen, and had spent the past year living amongst the trash and rodents in the gutters, using his angelic, placid face to con cityfolk out of their food and monies. It didn't take much, and he almost never had to thin about it; only to turn up his grubby, chubby face to passersby, and suddenly, he was provided a meal for another night.

In the weeks after their first meeting, this proved absolutely invaluable to Ryan, as he still frightened away nearly everyone who came too close (without even trying). He and Michael took their home in a particularly dark alleyway behind a bakery, and their time was spent either praying, sleeping, or hunting. For weeks, the two continued their spree, and for weeks, the police failed to capture them. Even the pompous, courageous inspectors avoided the dark alleyways come nightfall, and so for the two thrill killers, all was well.

Michael was content to follow any instruction Ryan gave, and Ryan was quick to instruct. He wanted to share his mission with someone, and it was as though the Lord had dropped just that someone right into his lap. It all seemed to be the work of fate, and that suited Ryan just fine. He did not know how long he would have to continue ridding the streets of the strumpet trash, but he knew if he kept on without fail, he would receive whatever reward his God had waiting for him.

Soon after meeting Michael, Ryan adopted a private policy to stop using these whores for pleasure as he killed them. If they were to do the Lord's work, it must be a solemn task. He strongly impressed this upon Michael, who eagerly complied, so long as Ryan remained pleased with him.

Feeling as though he had found a surrogate brother, Michael tailed Ryan like a mongrel , nipping at his heels, always eager to please. He saw no wrong in what they did, and only did it because Ryan had told him to. The sense of juvenile pride that swelled over him when he saw Ryan smile after Michael had choked the life from one of the 'painted ladies' was enough to make him want to pull himself from the stinking gutters. Though because he was becoming a man, he was also coming into desires. These desires his child's mind could not understand, and each time they made a kill, he came a little closer to giving into them, because they were so pressing and urgent. He dared not bring them to Ryan's attention, because he did not want Ryan to think him impure; and he certainly didn't want to go to Hell. The fabled place of fire and brimstone kept Michael firmly planted within Ryan's control, and that was just the way he liked it.

Three months passed in what seemed the blink of an eye, and it was a cold, dreary December night. A mist blanketed the city, and the once bustling late night streets seemed very big, and very empty. Ryan led Michael out of their hovel, and they began to silently scour the paved, lonely streets. It didn't take long for them to become separated; as Michael's attention could never linger anywhere for very long, and Ryan moved so quickly through the mist, lurking like a gaunt feline.

Ryan usually came across victims first. It was just something he had a knack for, almost as though he could smell them and follow their scent. Tonight, though, Michael came upon a woman completely by accident, and even so, she had really come upon him; placing a hand on his broad shoulder from behind and rasping into his ear with a voice thick from too many cigarettes, "Well, 'ello there, big boy…"

Michael, easily startled and very clumsy, whirled on his heels and toppled onto the ground, landing firmly upon his tailbone and hissing in pain and surprise. He raised his watering eyes to the stranger, and felt a little thrill roll up his spine when he saw the petite redhead bending down over him, smiling pleasantly into his face. Her breasts were pushing hard against the front of her lacy trappings, and Michael had to swallow hard and resist the urge to reach out and grip them.

"Take a little tumble there, did ya, love?"

Slowly, Michael nodded, and scraped himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving the girl's bosom. Obviously accustomed to such lingering stares, she tossed her thick mane of curls over her shoulder, giving him a better view as she straightened, tilting her head slightly at the flustered boy. He cracked his fat knuckles nervously, craning his neck to peer around, searching for any sign of his partner. Finding none, he smiled faintly at the woman, and snatched his hat from his head, clutching it in his sweaty hands, opening his mouth and reciting the speech Ryan had taught him for getting women within reach.

"Go-good evening missus… As a cautious man, I m-must ask you to let me have a closer look at you be-… before I take you home for…. For the evening." All this blurted in one breath, and rather than giving him the benefit of the doubt, the girl took a half step back, looking like a deer having smelled danger. Michael smiled boyishly, his face lighting up, and all the woman's doubts seemed to melt away, and she came forward, extending a hand slowly.

With an awkward sort of speed, Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, whirling her to face away from him and quickly covering her mouth with one large hand. Giving one last look around to see if Ryan was here to watch him, he swallowed hard and let the arm encircling the woman's waist slide upward to squeeze one soft breast. She squealed against his hand, and began to beat upon his thighs with her tiny hands. Michael barely noticed, and continued exploring the girl's body with his fingers, feeling himself grow more and more excited. Why had Ryan never let him do this? He'd always had to watch before; had only ever been able to experience a woman's body from afar.

When her fis met with his suddenly obvious erection, his boyish face turned into one of adult rage, and he clubbed her roughly upside the nose with his fist. She gasped, and he felt his fingers grow wet with blood. She sagged in his arms, and slowly, he lowered her to the ground upon her back, unzipping his trousers and pushing up her skirts before he even knew what he was doing. The woman lolled her head, dazed, and spat blood into his face. Snarling in a bestial fury, he struck her again, and this time, her eyes fluttered closed. He began to fumble with himself, giving into the overwhelming urge that burned deep within his loins. So caught up with preparing to rape the woman was he that he did not hear Ryan's footsteps come up behind him.

Ryan struck suddenly, bringing a piece of pipe down upon Michael's skull. Large as he was, Michael went down easily, wailing and clutching his bleeding head. Ryan frothed inaudible curses at him, and lashed out with one foot, catching his partner squarely between the ribs. Michael wheezed and coughed, unable to catch his breath, and rolled over to stare up at Ryan through leaking eyes.

"This is not what the Lord wanted you to do! He commanded you to keep yourself restrained! This is how you serve him?!"

Michael opened his mouth to speak, and Ryan brought his fist up in a cruel arc, catching him under the chin and bringing his teeth together roughly around his tongue. Blood and pieces of Michael's teeth flew in all directions, and Michael began to sob, clutching his broken side and throbbing head. Slowly, Ryan knelt next to his compatriate, the unconscious woman nearby completely forgotten, and took Michael's puffy, blood-spattered face in his hands.

"You have failed me, and therefore have failed God. Do you understand?"

Ryan's tone was quiet and level, as though he were simply stating that the sky was blue, or that the moon was full. Michael coughed. Ryan punched him again, this time directly in the face, feeling Michael's nose give way under his fist. Michael went down again, sputtering and choking on his own blood.

Slowly, Ryan pulled his razor from his pocket and knelt over Michael, his lips moving in silent prayer as he pressed the sharp blade to his apprentice's trembling throat. Michael managed to choke out two words, blood streaming from the corners of his lips as he did so.

"Forgive…me…"

Ryan stared hard into Michael's eyes, and with no trace of emotion, replied, "Not even He will forgive you."

Michael's eyes finally filled with fear, and at that moment, Ryan pushed as hard as he could and drew the blade across his throat, with no hesitation.

Slowly, Ryan rose to his feet as Michael's blood puddled around his feet, and he spared the unconscious woman a final glance before turning and slowly slinking back into the shadows; an emotionless, lifeless wraith. He was alone again, but only in body. The Lord was stll with him, after all.