Age 18
"That was years ago!" I cry in protest as two boys grab my arms and hold me against the wall.
"He was my best friend!" I scoff loudly,
"Then you need to get some new mates!" The leader smirks at me and pulls a pocket knife from the folds of his jacket, glinting in the light of the street lamp.
"Carl Powers. You killed him didn't you?" He asks, though he's not really asking. He takes a step toward me.
"No." My answer catches him off guard, "The water did." The man blinks for a moment. Clearly not very bright. My life is at stake and I'm only making it worse. Typical. I smile widely as he continues to advance, I don't even know his name.
"James Moriarty." He says in a low voice as he advances again. He places the tip of the knife under my chin and looks me in the eyes, "What are you? Freak. Murderer." Instead of shrinking, like he would have suspected, I scoff at him.
"Consulting criminal." He presses the knife into the soft skin under my chin, drawing a small amount of blood before slicing the front of my shirt open. The buttons of my shirt tumble to the pavement, bouncing off before settling. He glances toward the lamp post and motions to his cronies to drag me to a shadowed ally rather than one that is lit. The two men throw me up against the new wall and hold me down. The man in charge walks up to me, his face inches away from mine. And suddenly I'm worried. Suddenly it seems to sink in that I could die tonight. And I start to panic. Of course I don't show them that I'm panicking, but inside my mind is racing. While my eyes stare straight ahead, my mind has turned the picture of the ally in my head around and around, looking for a way to escape. And then it stops. As soon as it began, it's replaced with a desire to put an end to this. The cool metal against my chest causes my thoughts to stop their chaotic circles and focus on the blade.
"Consulting criminal?" In one movement he swipes the blade across my chest, I hold back a hiss as the stinging settles in. I look down to see red coming out of my skin. This isn't the first time I've seen blood. Nor my own. But it hardly looks like there is a wound at all. That's what surprises me. "How did that feel?" He asks mocking me, before swiping the knife across the wound in the other direction, making an 'x' shaped wound in the middle of my chest. At that I smile. Cliché. My I close my hands into fists, my nails biting into the palms of my hands while the slashing continues, more random now than before. I can feel my skin parting, I hope that doesn't scar. By the time he grows tired I'm grinning like an idiot.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The man on my right arm questions loudly, dropping my arm. The other one follows in suit and I slump back on the wall, spent. Well, nearly spent.
"You're a freak!" The leader shouts at me, dropping the knife and backing away as I start to laugh. God it hurts my skin and chest, but it sounds proper. I look up at him and pull my shirt over my chest. Buttoning it at the top where the button had refused to be torn off.
"You got blood on my new shirt." I say before coming forward and scooping up the knife. I test the knife's edge on my thumb, slicing it open. With that I smile and chuckle again. And now I know what I have to do. The two men that had held my arms turn and try to run. "Um. No." I say loudly, causing them to pause. "Get back here." They don't move. Well, this is going to be more fun than I had originally thought.
The first man starts to run, and without even thinking I balance the knife in my hand and throw it with ease. It lodges itself in the man's back. Years of practice, and I've finally managed to perfect my aim. The other man screams and rushes to his friend's side. Nonchalantly, I waltz over and pull the knife out of his back, wiping it on my shirt.
"This is a good knife." I comment before slashing the first man across the face, causing him to fall backward, giving me access to his heart. Simple. Blood fills the back ally, more than there probably should have been, but that's including mine. The police will simply assume that I have been taken captive. I turn to the third man who's looking at me with a face of sheer horror. By God that feels fantastic. Being feared. I'm no longer underneath. I'm on top. Maybe I'll just have to burn the bodies, no evidence then. No blood, no DNA. I've always been good with pyrotechnics. Always carrying a book of matches. The third man doesn't run, doesn't turn away, doesn't even back up. "How did you know about Carl Powers?" I ask, needing an answer.
"We saw you tampering with his medicine." So I had been seen. Interesting. Not making that mistake again.
"And it's taken you five years to do this?"
"Five years of planning."
"And clearly, you haven't planned very well. Tch. Five years. Five years of what? Larking about?" I ask vengefully, swiping at his arm with his own knife, cutting deep. This time he does back up, up against the wall.
"How do you do it James?" He asks, fear creeping into the edges of his voice.
"My name isn't James!" I hate that name. James reminds me of my past, the past which I have worked so hard to erase. "I'm called Jim! They call me Jim." With that I end his life. I close the pocket knife and stash it in my pocket before looking at my hands. I'm covered in blood. Most of it isn't mine. I don't like getting my hands dirty. "Tch." I wipe my hands on my pants and drag the two bodies over to the wall next to the third, collecting bits of grass and wasted newspaper to build a sort of pyre before striking a match and setting it alight. Covering my tracks. Luckily the first two bodies didn't leave much on the pavement, and it will easily be identified as theirs.
I'm good.
I can cover my tracks.
The smell of burning flesh wafts past my nose and I breathe it in. Not the most delightful smell, but it reminds me that I've accomplished something. Something great. I pull a cigarette from my pockets and light it before turning and walking away. Yes. I'm accomplished. I peel my shirt away from my chest to examine the damage as I turn down the street that my flat resides on. Luckily it's late at night and no one will be about. Yeah. That looks bad. It's more than likely going to scar. No doubt. At least they were clean.
Consulting criminal.
I like that.
Author's Note: Righto, that wasn't as graphic as I wanted to go, but I didn't want it to get too long, and I also don't want to scare people away. So! Do tell how you think about this, imaginary cookies to those who review. This is a lot of fun, and I hope to be able to do more things like this! Well… I better be off. Oh it was so nice to have a proper chat. Ciao!
Mischief Managed
-P
