Hey, I'm super super super super super super super sorry about not posting this yesterday, it totally slipped my mind. I was celebrating Halloween by playing my favorite Horror game and got caught up in the moment. Before you get to reading I ask that you comment below when you're done. I'm not 100% sure I'll be able to finish all of the Halloween specials I had planned. If I can't get it done by next Fridays posting date, would you all like to have the next chapter of Angel Hunter instead? Let me know with comments or email (Shmoo666@hotmail.com)
This is on the gorey/dark side so if you have a problem with anything in the true spirit of Halloween, I suggest you don't read this one.
Emeth bit his lip as he looked up at the large house. The dark street behind him was empty as he stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He blinked hard, glancing to his left and to his right before starting towards the house. It was three a.m. and the big city was silent. Well, as silent as L.A. could get. He could feel the cool blade on his thigh as he started into the house.
He knew for a fact the door would be unlocked. The man never locked his door. It wasn’t like Emeth to watch somebody for so long. Usually he just took what he wanted. Of course he was careful, but patience was never a virtue for him. He stepped into the house, not particularly trying to be quiet, but not stomping around like an elephant either.
He skipped up the stairs and stepped into the bedroom, the door already part way open. The naked form of the man in front of him sent shivers up his spine. He stepped up to the bed and looked down at the softly snoring figure. He bit his lip and continued to stare down at him.
“Don’t dream it, be it...” he whispered the words. He continued to whisper the soft phrase, so quietly he could hardly hear himself. He bent over the figure and smelled his skin, the distinct smell he carried mixed with the fresh body wash he used floated to Emeth’s nose. He smiled. He drew the knife and ran the flat side down the sleeping man’s cheek, not waking him. He continued to hum the familiar tune as he played with the man’s delicate skin, enjoying the ever so quiet scraping sound the blade made. Suddenly, blue eyes snapped open and he opened his mouth to scream. Emeth covered the open mouth with his hand.
“Don’t dream it...” he whispered the words, as the confused man struggled against his hand. “...be it...” he whispered again, as he pushed the needle into the man’s arm. The clear fluid rushed into his body, and his eyes quickly glazed over. Emeth smiled and stroked the man’s hair gently, before dragging him down the steps.
“Are you okay?” a soft voice cooed. Foster’s eyes blinked open, though the dark room around him was the only other greeting he got besides the strangely familiar voice. He groaned, his head hurt and so did his shoulders. “Oh, sorry. I’m sure you can’t see.” There were the sounds of soft footsteps, obviously bare feet hitting concrete, and then a sudden light filled the room. Foster groaned again and blinked. “Hello.” Icy blue eyes met his. The eyes weren’t twinkling and filled with Joy like Foster’s were. These eyes held nothing behind them. They were just two blank slates of color.
“Where am I? Who the fuck are you?” Foster groaned, becoming more agitated as he realized that he wasn’t in his home.
“Shhh...” the blue eyed man shushed him. “It’s okay... we can be friends... best friends.” The blue eyed man laughed and twirled around. Foster took a moment to look at his surroundings. It was a solid concrete room, with no windows and only one door stood in front of him, behind the dancing blue eyed man.
“Friends? What the hell are you... ugh,” Foster groaned as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, making his arms throb.
“Are they too tight, friend? Let me see what I can do....” The blue eyed man stopped dancing only long enough to skip over to a medieval looking wheel with thick metal chains circling it. He pulled the wheel a few times, and lowered Foster’s feet to the floor by a couple more inches, so now he could stand properly instead of being on his tiptoes. “Better?” he asked, with a certain glee in his voice. He didn’t wait for an answer before he continued to dance and spin. “Don’t want friend to get broken like the others,” he giggled.
“Who are you?” Foster asked again. The blue eyed man stopped dancing and faced him. He ran up to him quickly, looking at him intensely in the eye.
“What kind of friend are you? One who doesn’t even know his own friends name,” he whispered the words. Foster somehow knew he shouldn’t answer the question. “I’m Emeth of course. Not Emmett, Emeth.” He nodded, as if correcting his prisoner before he could even ask which name was correct. “You could call me Em, if you like,” he smiled.
“What do you want, I don’t have any money I swear. The only reason I live in that huge house is because my dad owned it and gave it to me when he died, please I swear I’m poor,” Foster began to cry.
“Don’t cry, friend!” Emeth ran up to him again, and wrapped his arms around Foster’s thin form. “Em doesn’t like it when friends cry.” He held up a hand and wiped Foster’s tears away quickly. “Friend’s probably hungry... that’s why he’s so sad.” Emeth stood back and smiled, like he had found the cure for cancer. “I’ll be right back.” He held up a finger and ran off, opening and closing the metal door in front of him. Foster took the chance to look at his chains. They were wrapped around his wrists by thick metal cuffs. They attached to a pulley on the wall which went up to the ceiling. It could be arranged for him to either hang from the solid ceiling or he could walk around on the floor, attached to the wall.
A strange smell filled the room, making Foster’s stomach churn. He tugged at the chains but as he expected, nothing happened. He looked closer, and saw they were far from new. Someone had worn them before he had. He walked over to the wall, and sat down. The floor had many unknown stains on it, and two large metal tables were on the wall with the door. A standard blue tarp covered them both. In the corner sat two large freezers. One was very large, stretching across the floor horizontally, opening from the top. The other looked smaller, going vertically and opening from a metal latch on the side. Both dripped a red-brown liquid.
“I’m back, friend!” Emeth’s voice carried through the door as he stepped through. He held a taco in one hand. “I hope you like mexican food,” he smiled and held out the food.
“Please. I just want to go home,” Foster suddenly sobbed. He wouldn’t accept the food. Emeth suddenly got a serious look on his face. His already lifeless eyes went even colder.
“You are home, friend.”
Jace slowed his jog to a walk as he caught his breath. He loved his morning run. The crisp air woke him up and got him ready for his day. The bright sun was just peaking over the horizon and people were just beginning to pull back the curtains, letting in the morning sun. He smiled as he gazed at the quiet suburbs of Los Angeles. His smile fell when a figure passed in front of a nearby window. Shouting muffled by the thick walls of the house barely reached Jace. But the resounding smack from the large man echoed in his ears. His wife’s cheek went red and she covered her mouth, holding back tears. Both were still in their night clothes, breakfast sitting on the table behind them as they fought. Without another shouted word, the man grabbed his coat and stormed out of the house. Jace watched as he slammed the door and headed for his car.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he snapped, before driving down the smooth concrete, into the street.
“Nothing,” he mumbled, as he watched the car speed away.
Jace opened the unlocked window, and slipped inside the house. It was risky because it was the middle of the day, but he just couldn’t resist the temptation. He knew the wife had just gone to the store, so he would have to be fast. But fast was okay with him.
He had put on the latex hood before he even entered the house. His entire body was covered in the latex, his muscled body showing through the shining black suit. He only wore this when he worked outside of his office. Too big of a risk without it.
He climbed the stairs quickly and entered the bedroom. Empty. He growled, the man wasn’t asleep. He searched the hallway, making sure he wasn’t seen before he saw the man. That would ruin everything. But luck was with him on this one, and he quickly found the man, hunched over a desk in a guestroom-turned-office. Jace sighed quietly, this really was going to have to be fast. He stepped into the room and held the small sledge hammer in his right hand. The man looked up from his desk, back still to Jace. As if some primal sixth sense told him the silent man was there behind him. Just as he turned, Jace struck. Blood gushed from the wound on the man’s cheek, his high cheek bone destroyed by the force of the hammer. He screamed and fell to the ground.
“What the fuck?” he screamed, frantically rolling on the floor in pain.
“Doesn’t feel too great, does it?” Jace said, he knew the man probably had no idea what he was talking about but he didn’t much care.
“Please, please leave me alone! Who are you? What do you want? I’ll give you anything!” he begged, as Jace played with the weight of the hammer.
“What I want?” Jace thought honestly about the question, he always did whenever his victims asked. “I want you... to pay.” He smiled under the latex mask, though he knew the man couldn’t see it. The wounded man’s eyes went wide and he screamed, as Jace sent the hammer down again and crushed his skull.
“I hate when it gets messy,” he mumbled, looking at the blood splattered walls. He looked at the clock on the computer and frowned. So little time. He quickly walked down to the garage and opened the door leading into the dark room. He flipped on a light switch and grabbed a saw hanging from the tool section of the garage. He searched for a minute before locating two large, black yard waste trash bags. He turned and began heading back upstairs, but not before grabbing a few rags and a bottle of bleach from the laundry room. He always liked to make cleanup easier for others.
The wife returned home shortly, three bags of groceries in hand. She sighed as she set them down in the kitchen.
“Hon? I’m home!” she shouted, looking around for her husband. She hoped he liked what she got for dinner. When she got no answer, she rolled her eyes and walked upstairs. The second floor smelled of cleaner and she noticed the washer was running. He never did laundry. She frowned as she looked through the bedroom and bathroom, before heading towards his office. She opened the door and frowned at the sight of two black trash bags in the middle of the floor, tied neatly so they wouldn’t open. Two plain pieces of printer paper, folded neatly, were taped to the trash bags. She walked over, and took off one, the rustling of the plastic bags making her shiver. She unfolded it and read the four words.
“Don’t open the bags.” She swallowed, before grabbing the other one. Only two words on this one.
Emeth stepped into the room, dark as usual. Foster stirred from his sleep and looked up when he saw Emeth standing before him. He stood up, and was confused when Emeth quickly stepped over to the pulley system that controlled his chains, and pulled it until Foster’s toes were barely touching the floor. Foster grunted as he tried to support his weight.
“Why can’t you just shut up!?” Emeth shouted suddenly, Foster stared up at him silently. “Let me go! What do you want? I’m hungry,” Emeth mocked him. “You just can’t shut up.” Emeth walked up to him, angry.
“I’m sorry...” Foster said, realizing now more than ever that Emeth was not okay in the head.
“Shut up!” he shouted, practically snarling at the chained up man. He got close to his face again. “I loved you and this is what you do to me. Why are you doing this to me!?” he shouted, and quickly walked over to the covered tables. He pulled the tarps off, revealing the surfaces of the tables were covered in rusty tools and equipment of all sorts. Blood splattered many of them, and it was obvious they weren’t cleaned very often. Foster’s eyes went wide. Emeth was hunched over the table, his arms spread on the edge as he looked down at the rusted tools. He picked up one of the tools in front of him before turning around. It took Foster a second to realize it was a scalpel, well used but still very obviously sharp.
“W-wait...” Foster whispered, his voice suddenly gone. “Please!” he sobbed. Emeth stepped up to him once more before raising the scalpel. Foster squirmed, making the chains cut into him more. “N-No! Stop please god stop! I’ll be quiet I promise I’ll be quiet!” he begged.
“Shhh...” Emeth said, soothingly. He gently placed his scalpel on Foster’s lips, much like he would if he was shushing him with his finger. Foster panicked, but began to calm down when he realized Emeth wasn’t using the knife, only the flat side was pressed to his thin lips. Suddenly, Emeths eyes went cold and blank. He moved his arm down quickly. Foster screamed as he felt blood pour from the wound that started just under his nose and ran down to his chin. His lips were split, especially the bottom one. He yelled and pulled at his chains desperately. Emeth blinked, and suddenly his eyes weren't so cold. He dropped the scalpel to the floor and left the room.
Jace set the box of rice in his basket as he continued down the isles. He threw a package of mac n’ cheese in his cart and made a mental note to pick up more milk. He turned down the cereal aisle and was looking at the Cap'n’ Crunch when he saw the gorgeous figure to his right. The man’s slim stomach was revealed as he stood on tiptoes to reach the last box of Pops. His dirty blonde hair fell into his eyes, though it was obvious they were a bright blue. He nibbled his lip teasingly as he stretched, making a soft grunting sound as his fingers grazed the yellow box, only pushing it farther away. Jace smiled and stepped over to him, reaching up and grabbing the box easily, handing it to him.
“Oh... thanks,” the boy smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. He blinked his large blue eyes.
“No problem,” Jace smiled. “Being tall has its advantages.” He chuckled. The man wrinkled his nose.
“Being short doesn’t really have any advantages,” He grumbled, though a smile slipped through.
“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of cute,” Jace looked him up and down. The man looked shocked before blushing and smiling.
“I’m Emeth,” he introduced himself.
“Jace.” Jace held out his hand, and Emeth took it, shaking it gently.
“Thank you for the help, Jace,” Emeth held up the box of cereal. “I won't survive without my Pops fix.” He laughed.
“No problem,” Jace chuckled. “Just let me know if there’s anything else you need above five feet,” he laughed. Emeth smiled.
“Actually...” Emeth bit his lip again. “The soda in aisle three is a bit too high...” he smiled. Jace couldn’t help but smile wider. He was cute when he bit his lip.
“I can help with that,” he chuckled, and followed him to aisle three.
“He was amazing, friend. He was so beautiful... and nice...” Emeth bit his lip. “Have you ever been on a date before, friend?” Emeth asked him. Foster glared at him from his chains. His mouth was now scabbed over, the front of his chest covered in blood. “I wonder if he’ll call me.”
The beautiful black haired man who had flirted with him had made his day. Before they left the store, he gave him his phone number. Emeth had never been on a date before. He wondered what it was like. But he couldn’t think about that now, now he had to work.
“I need to go...” he said suddenly. He stood and headed for the door, but stopped. He glanced over at the freezers in the corner. He bit his lip thoughtfully before walking over to it. “I supposed the old one is getting kind of... egh,” he grumbled and headed over to the long freeze, opening the top. Foster frowned, unable to see inside the freezer from where he sat on the floor against the wall. Emeth reached his hand in, not far, but enough so that Foster could only see his wrist. What he pulled out, made Foster gag.
Emeth held a very pale and ice covered head. At first he thought it must be a prop. Some sick joke the madman had bought from a halloween store. But it was obviously real. He didn’t know why he thought Emeth wasn’t capable of murder, it was very obvious he wasn’t right in the head and that Foster wasn’t the first ‘friend’ he had brought home. His stomach rolled a second time when he held up a second head, this one female.
“What do you think friend? Which one goes with my eyes?” He held up the heads, ones jaw was open in a silent scream. Foster looked at the heads of the two innocent victims, and then looked into the cold eyes of his captor.
As Jace moved silently into the house, he rolled his shoulders. The Latex suit was hot, but necessary. It didn’t take him long to find the sleeping man. It was so nice when he took care of them while they were asleep. The look of pure shock on their faces was so much it almost made him giggle every time.
Johnathan Myers was a pig. A cop who used his power to bully women into sleeping with him, and if they declined, he would rape them. To Jace, he was subhuman. Forget a fair trial, and innocent until proven guilty. Johnathan Myers was guilty, and Jace was his judge, jury, and executioner. As the thought rolled through Jace’s mind, he held up a saw, inspecting the pristine blade in the dim light from the bathroom, which hadn’t been turned off.
He stepped forward and played the cold metal of the blade over Johnathan’s body, not waking him. He wouldn’t be kind to this one. The last he had been merciful and killed him before making his body easy to clean up. But this one... he wanted him to suffer. He reached for his hand, a knot already tied. It just needed to be slipped around his wrist and then around the bed frame. He would be tied before he could even fully wake up. Then, all Jace needed to do was shove the ball gag in his mouth. Sex shops sometimes had the most wonderful tools. He chuckled quietly as he reached for his hand and stopped.
“Hello...” he mumbled, looking at the thick rope that was already tied around his wrist. This guy must have been into some kinky stuff. Jace’s head snapped up when he heard a sound from the bathroom. It didn’t make sense. He lived alone, he had watched this house for a week or two at least and hadn’t seen a sign of anyone. Had he brought someone home? It was a Wednesday, who goes out on a wednesday night? He swore and began to leave the room quickly when the bathroom door opened. He was caught. He was dead. They were going to execute him. The police would come and put him in handcuffs, and he would be brought to jail, and he would die.
The thoughts flooded his mind so much that it took him a good thirty seconds of silence and staring to realize the person in the bathroom most definitely was not a one night stand.
Emeth flushed the toilet as he straightened his face, and returned to the bedroom. The man he had chosen for tonight (he had no clue what is his name was) was already knocked unconscious while Emeth tied him up quickly, and prepared for a long night of muffled screams and a whole lot of blood. He had gotten there not long after the man had gone to bed, staying up late to finish some work. He knew he was a cop. The blue uniform and gun by his bed proved that much. But besides that he knew nothing about the man, not that he really cared. He was just a quick fix for his blood lust.
What Emeth did care to know, was that he was not the only one in the house. Besides Mcgruff the crime bitch over there in the bed, another man stood nearby. At least he thought it was a man. When he had first stepped out of the bathroom he thought maybe the guy had a mirror he hadn’t noticed before, reflecting his image. But then he remembered he wasn’t wearing black. Or latex. He also wasn’t six eight. Or carrying a saw. The two men stared at each other for a long time, neither saying a word. Jace smiled behind the face he wore, stretched over his own. He would get two fixes for his blood lust tonight.
Jace blinked behind the latex mask. Did he... did he catch another murderer in the act? How interesting! What were the odds? Maybe they could be friends. Swapping stories and tools of the trade. He wondered if he had a taser. He always wanted to play with one but had put off buying the stupid thing. It took him a moment to snap out of it.
“Who are you?” he asked, forgetting the man was asleep beside him. The man in the bathroom turned his head, like a confused dog, before stepping forward. Now that he was closer, Jace could see he wasn’t wearing any protective clothing. Instead, he was wearing a face. The pale skin was gross and discolored. Metal hooks were imbedded in the skin, thick cords wrapped around the back of his head from each of the hooks. Another cord stretched from the forehead of the second face, back down where the man’s hair parted, and hooked onto one of the other cords in the back. It made an effective mask and Jace couldn’t see anything that would reveal who this man was. Though, it was especially gory, as dried blood had stained his face. He was guessing the face was fresh. Not just a murderer. A serial killer! Suddenly, to Jace’s left and face-guys’ right, their shared victim began to stir.
“Ugh... what the...” He raised his left hand and put it to his head, obviously the other man hadn’t finished tying the man up. Jace wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a scowl underneath the face mask. Face-guy walked quickly over to the bed, grabbing a piece of rope from the floor and gripped the man’s wrist, a frown wrinkling his second face. “Who are you people? What are you doing in my-” The man was cut off as face-guy pulled out a knife and put the blade just under his eye, pushing hard enough to draw blood. His face went pale and Jace saw the eyes behind the face twinkle as he smiled at the man’s fear. Those eyes looked so familiar. He blinked. This man was going to kill the cop. This was HIS kill. HE found him, HE watched him, and there was nothing he could do that was going to stop him. He put a hand on the second man’s arm, stopping his rope tying. Face-guy looked down at the hand on his wrist, and then up at the latex-clad killer before him. He forcefully shook off Jace’s hand and, without missing a beat, swung the knife at the other serial killer, who scowled in return. The saw wasn’t any good for a fight, meant for cutting through something that was stationary. He tossed it aside and tackled Face-guy. It was a risky move. He was armed, and the knife most definitely wasn’t dull. But Jace was bigger. Much bigger.
They struggled on the ground for a moment, Face-guy’s knife just out of reach. Suddenly, his head snapped up and he looked at the doorway. Jace heard him gasp as he struggled to get out from under him. But this time he wasn’t struggling for the knife. Jace frowned and then remembered the cop. He turned to look and realized the man had freed himself while they fought, and had taken off out the door. He grunted in anger and stood up. Due to his big size, he was forced to the back of the line as Face-guy made it out the door first. They struggled down the stairs, shoving and pushing each other the whole way down like brothers rushing to reach their favorite toy before the other.
Jace thought that was a good way to think about it. This man, this police officer, he wasn’t even a person anymore. At least not to them. To them he was just an outlet. Face-guy made it out the front door first and stumbled onto the porch as the cop reached the street.
“Somebody help me!” he screamed, so loud that dogs began barking several streets over. “Help!” Blood dripped down his face from where Face-guy had knocked him out. Lights began to flicker on and Jace’s heart sped up. If somebody saw him....
He took off. His feet hit the sidewalk loudly and it took him a moment to realize his weren’t the only ones. Face-guy was right behind him. Whether he wanted revenge against Jace for making him lose his kill, or was just trying to make a quick escape down the nearby alley like Jace, he didn’t know. But he didn’t stop to ask. They took off, Face-guy a few paces behind Jace. After reaching Safety, Jace turned around and realized Face-guy was gone.
Foster swallowed as Emeth rampaged. He suddenly didn’t look so small and weak as he flipped over the large tables holding his ‘tools’ and he beat the walls and floor with his fists. He turned towards Foster suddenly, eyes wild.
“Why!?” he screeched, for the thousandth time. He hadn’t hurt Foster yet, but he had a good feeling that the tortures Emeth loved so much weren’t far off. He crossed the room, headed for Foster who was chained tight so that he was standing up straight and couldn’t move. He got into his face, grabbing handfuls of his hair in his bunched up fists, before his blue eyes changed again, turning soft and innocent. He fell to the floor and cried. “It was MY toy!” he whined, like a child. “I wanted to make him scream...” he said, dreamily. As if he was imagining the ‘wonderful’ sounds of the mans death shrieks.
“I’m sorry,” Foster said. He didn’t know what had actually happened, but he did know that Emeth hated it when he was met with silence.
“No you’re not. You don’t care about me,” Emeth said, showing a moment of sanity. “You’re just here because I won't let you leave.” He wiped his nose, a trail of snot dragged across his long sleeve shirt. “You know I’ll kill you.” He sniffed again, his eyes beginning to dry. “I’ll make YOU scream,” he reached down and held up a scalpel, looking at the blade in the dim light. The moment of sanity was lost, as he fell back into his usual state.
“I care about you,” Foster lied. “We’re friends, right?” He plasterd on a fake smile. Emeth stared at him before returning it, eyes glazed over with insanity.
“Friends.” He stood up. “We are friends.” He moved back across the room and began picking up the tables he threw so easily a minute ago, now straining with their weight. Foster swallowed. He really did just want a friend. Maybe if he could pretend, he would let his guard down. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He had spent over a month with Emeth, if he was guessing right.
“So, friends tell friends about themselves, right?” he hesitated. Emeth looked up at the wall, thinking.
“Yes,” he said simply, offering no more.
“Okay... okay then.” Foster felt his heart rate climb, he wasn’t just playing a game anymore. If he said the wrong thing, he would be killed.
‘No, not killed,’ he corrected himself. ‘Tortured, and then killed.’ He let his eyes scan the rows of sharp tools that Emeth was placing back on the tables.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Foster pressed. Emeth looked around, eyeing him with narrow eyes.
“Why?” he asked.
‘Oh god he doesn’t believe me. I never was a good actor. Who knew that ditching Drama back in high school would lead to my death.’ He let his mind ramble as it began dimming from lack of oxygen. He had stopped breathing he was so terrified.
“Just curious. Lets make it a game, yeah?” he asked. Emeth’s eyes lit up.
“A game?” He smiled.
“Yeah, a game,” Foster nodded, sweat dripping down his brow. He hoped Emeth wouldn’t notice.
“That’s great! I loooooooove games!” He clapped his hands and ran over to Foster, who still dangled from the ceiling. “What are the rules?” he asked.
“The rules?” Foster hadn’t thought that far. “The rules.” he said again, the insane man standing before him waiting patiently. “The rules are...” Foster swallowed. “I ask you a question about yourself, and then you answer. Then you get to ask me any question, and I have to answer. We just go back and forth like that,” Foster smiled.
“No points?” Emeth seemed to pout.
“Points? Oh uh, yeah... you get a point when...” he struggled to think of something. Anything. “When you answer the question. You lose points if you don’t answer it, or don’t answer it honestly,” Jace said. Now Emeth, the psychopath that he is, would feel like he had to tell the truth. Then, when Foster got out of this hell hole, he could have information to give the cops.
“Great! I’m going to win,” he winked.
“We’ll see about that...” Foster chuckled nervously. “So, I’ll go first, okay?” he asked, Emeth nodded. “What... uh what was your mother’s name?” Emeth thought.
“Janice,” he smiled. “One point for me! How old are you?” he asked. Foster was almost surprised. He had taken the time to find him, watch him, break into his house, kidnap him, torture him, and hold him hostage all this time. But he didn’t even know how old he was.
“I’m twenty five,” Foster said, choking back tears. He wondered if he would reach twenty six.
“Hm... that’s nice,” he nodded. “One point for you, your turn,” he smiled.
“Oh, okay. Do...” Foster thought. “Do you have any family?” he asked. Why was no one ever in the house? At least not that he could tell.
“Nope,” Emeth shook his head, his hair shaking around his pale face.
“Why not?” Foster asked, forgetting the rules.
“Well, I murdered my mom,” he said, wistfully. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Foster swallowed, feeling sick. “My father left when I was young, I haven’t seen him for years.” He shrugged. “No brothers or sisters... I had an aunt once,” he added, excited that he remembered her.
“What happened to her?” Foster was afraid of the answer. Emeth’s eyes grew dark, the murderous personality coming out in him.
“Have you ever had venison?” Emeth asked.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Foster said, realizing Emeth was well aware that the game was over.
“I answered two of yours, it’s my turn. I get two questions now,” Emeth said.
“No. I’ve never had venison,” Foster swallowed. The very air around Emeth had grown dark and heavy, as if he was locked in a room with a tiger. The air itself was afraid of him.
“My father used to hunt a lot. He would bring home venison, rabbit, duck, etcetera,” Emeth waved his hand dismissively. He was now walking slow circles around Foster, looking him up and down. “Second question,” he said, suddenly. “Did you know that deer make a very distinct sound when they’re shot? It sounds almost human,” he whispered in Fosters ear, not waiting for an answer to the question he asked. “Not when they die, but when they’re hurt. Really bad. Do you know what it sounds like?” he asked, stopping behind Foster. Foster felt tears drip down his face.
“No,” He tried to keep his voice from shaking but knew he didn’t succeed.
“Sorry, Foster. It looks like I win,” Emeth giggled from somewhere behind him. Foster relaxed a moment, confused. Then he felt the burning sensation as Emeth jabbed his thumb into Fosters eye. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Just when he thought he couldn’t scream anymore, Emeth gave his thumb a few twists from side to side. “Now you know what it sounds like.” The words barely reached Fosters ears through the sound of his screeching. “That makes you a liar,” he giggled, and removed his thumb from Fosters damaged eye. Blood cascaded down his cheek as he sobbed loudly, vision gone in his right eye.
“I told you I would win, friend.” He headed for the door, an echo of laughter in his voice. “Don’t try to challenge me like that again,” he said, his voice serious. He opened the heavy metal door and stepped through. He paused, halfway in the doorway. “Oh, and my aunt?” Foster raised his head.
“I ate her.”
Jace pounded his fist on the table. All that work, wasted. All of his planning. His palms itched and he couldn’t stop pacing. It felt like he had chugged a gallon of a dangerous mixture of energy drinks. He needed it. As much as he tried to convince himself he killed for justice, to balance out the world. He knew there was a darker side to him. He wanted to punish people so bad. The law wouldn’t take care of them. So he would, and he would now.
Jace slipped on the latex hood, enjoying the feel of it over his smooth skin. It made him hot, and even sweat. But in the cool winter months like this it was just warm enough. He wasn’t concerned about the weather now, all he knew was that it was hunting season.
He had been watching the house for months, though didn’t plan on hitting it for another month or so. The cop needed to be taken care of first, but of course there was that unfair change of plans. He didn’t often kill spontaneously. He prefered to think out his plan well, even breaking into houses to memorize the layout before he made his move. Spontaneous meant dangerous. That might as well have been his motto.
The sun had set several hours ago, and now the only thing that greeted him as he stepped out of his car was the pitch black of night and the soft chirp of crickets. He stepped into the house, no one ever locked their doors in the suburbs. The thick scent of pot reached his nose through the small holes in the mask he wore. He wrinkled his nose and continued through the house. For once it was empty. He knew it usually had several different people in it. Filled with drug addicts coming down from their high or just starting a new one. The glass table in front of the couch had several rows of coke lined up, all the tables were covered in syringes and other items that made Jace’s skin crawl. They were sick, and he was the cure.
He climbed the stairs slowly, knowing the top floor wouldn’t be as empty as the bottom one. Only one room was used as an actual bed room, the others just had a mattress and (if the room user was lucky) a dirty blanket. Jace went directly to the room. He opened the door, and smiled underneath the latex that covered his face. Prey spotted. The man, if you could call him that, was young. Probably only eighteen or nineteen at the most. But still, track marks ran up and down his arms, and he was scrawny, his ribs peering out from the dirty sheets covering most of his body. Jace swallowed, his heart race increased as he realized he was about to rid the world of one more scum bag. He stepped forward. He hadn’t brought a weapon. One of his ‘rules’ if you could call them that, was that he wouldn’t just kill. He would punish. There was a difference.
Killing was what the man (he had began to call him ‘Face’ in his mind, though obviously that wasn’t his name) was going to do last night. He was going to punish. Killing was senseless, meaningless, justicless. Punishing was exactly that. An eye for an eye, so to speak. He remembered reading something in high school about how in the middle east a thief would have his hand cut off, a liar would have their tongue removed, and so on and so forth. He always agreed with the idea. Take away the instrument of the crime, and there could be no more crime, right? Wrong. Why not take it a step further? Remove the decay from the world so that it couldn’t produce new decay. By killing this man, this drug user, deal, and addict, he could (potentially) end the reign of terror he had over the hundred or so junkies he had coming to him for their fix. He could show them that what they were doing was wrong, and he could do it all while having a blast.
He picked up a dirty syringe from the bedside table, and filled it as much as possible with the dealers drug of choice. He smiled as he looked at the disgusting piece of plastic and metal, before climbing onto the bed and covering the mans mouth with a latex covered hand. He used his other hand to raise a finger to his lips, covered by latex, and made the familiar ‘shush’ motion. The mans eyes were wide and struck with fear, and also the edge of his last high. He made Jace sick. He showed the man the syringe, and this only made him more confused. Without a second thought, Jace pushed the needle into his neck, and emptied its contents into his bloodstream. The man’s eyes went wide as he was given more than he would ever even think of taking. He began to panic, as Jace carefully filled the syringe again, and again, and again.
As the man died from his overdose, he would realize what he had done wrong. He would beg for forgiveness. But he wouldn’t receive any, not an ounce. It made Jace smile.
“You know, you’re really not that tall when you’re not getting things off the top shelf, for me,” Emeth smiled.
“Yeah, I guess the open spaces makes you seem less midget like, too,” Jace joked. Emeth laughed and pushed him playfully.
“Thank you again for lunch. You really didn’t have to pay.” He blushed.
“It’s fine. You don’t eat much anyways, you scrawny thing.” He poked him in the ribs playfully.
“Hey,” Emeth giggled and pushed Jace away again, laughing as he continued to poke his belly and ribs. “This park is really beautiful.” He looked around, after the poke fight had stopped.
“Yeah, my wife and I used to come here a lot,” Jace said, without thinking.
“Wife...” Emeth said, shocked but trying not to show it.
“Oh, Jesus. Sorry... it’s not like that,” Jace said quickly. “She died, a few years ago.” He had a sad and distant look in his eyes.
“Oh... I’m very sorry.” Emeth wrapped his smaller hand in Jace’s big one, comforting him.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking,” he said hesitantly.
“We were mugged. The guy panicked when he heard sirens, which weren’t even coming for us,” Jace shook his head. “He panicked and fired blindly, she died a few days later in the hospital,” Jace said.
“I’m so sorry, Jace.” Emeth stopped him and wrapped his arms around the big man. Jace accepted the hug and felt a few tears trickle out. “You really loved her, huh?” Emeth asked. Jace nodded.
“I knew I would never be able to date another woman again. But it feels different when I’m with a guy. I have no doubt that I loved her, and other women. But men can fill that void just as well, without the guilt of feeling like I’m cheating on her somehow,” he shrugged.
“I hear that a lot. It’s kind of common. Don’t feel like you’re some weirdo,” Emeth laughed. Jace laughed with him.
“Yeah... so what about you? Any past relationships I should know about?” he asked.
“No... well... actually. There is one,” he blushed.
“What?” Jace asked, now very curious.
“This one,” Emeth giggled nervously.
“What do you mean?” Jace was confused.
“This is the only... uh... relationship? I’ve ever been in. I’m not even really sure if this counts as a relationship. You know what? Just ignore me,” Emeth laughed nervously again.
“You’ve never dated?” Jace said, surprised. Emeth shook his head, blushing and not making eye contact. “Wow...” Jace whispered. He honestly didn’t know how that was possible. Emeth was obviously not socially savvy, but he was gorgeous, and that was normally all most guys needed. He was also clearly intelligent.
“Yeah...” Emeth seemed a little saddened by Jace’s reaction.
“Lucky me, I get first dibs,” Jace smiled down at him. Emeth blinked, shocked, and then returned the smile.
“So what do you do for a living?” Emeth said, changing the subject.
“I work for a moving company, what about you?” he asked.
“I’m a janitor at a high school,” Emeth smiled.
“Beautiful, smart, and kind-hearted. I’m lost, Em. Why haven’t you dated before?” Jace asked.
“Oh...” he laughed, blushing at Jace’s complements. “It wasn’t really a matter of not wanting to... I was just never asked out.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why,” he nibbled his lip.
“Well, you’re asked out now.” Jace smiled, and threaded his hand through Emeth’s again.
“So...” Emeth hesitated.
“What?” Jace urged him on.
“So, we’re like, a couple?” he asked, hopefully.
“Yeah, we’re a couple.” Jace let his arm fall around Emeth’s shoulder, bringing him in tight and close to his body. Emeth inhaled his scent and smiled, he liked his new boyfriend.
Foster hung from the chains limply. His eye had finally stopped the searing pain that coursed all the way to the back of his head, resulting in a giant migraine. Now it just throbbed every now again, the pain finally tolerable. When Emeth had returned to the ‘playroom’ (as he called it) he had forced a small group of pills down Fosters throat. He still had no clue what they were, but they made him tired and the pain had dulled. If he had to guess, he would say painkillers.
“He’s so beautiful... he told me I was beautiful... do you think I’m beautiful?” He looked up at Foster, who just stayed silent. He was tired of talking to the maniac. No matter how much it looked like he was normal, or insane. Foster had to remember he walked in both worlds and that was almost more dangerous. One minute he really believed Foster was his friend, the next he was blinding him with his thumb. Emeth shrugged when he received no answer. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks... he thinks I’m pretty.” Emeth sat on the rusty table and swung his legs lazily. Suddenly, his eyes turned dark and the air around him once again seemed thick and hard to breath. He slammed his fists on the table.
“Who the hell was that guy that ruined my kill?” he asked, angry. “All in latex...” he mumbled, fiddling with a hammer.
“I’m going to go back. He looked so good just sitting there all asleep with his hands tied,” Emeth said. “It’s been a couple of weeks, I’m sure he’s home and everything has calmed down enough then, right?” He hopped up off the table and walked over to the refrigerator. Foster felt his stomach turn as he opened first one, and then the other. Finally finding his ‘mask’ he strapped it on around his head, the bungee cords holding it tight to his skin. He adjusted it so he could see through the holes where the eyes used to be, and smiled.
“I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
If he didn’t go back, it would be breaking his code. He didn’t kill just to kill, he killed for justice. If he let this one go, then why not one more? Another? How about he just stopped entirely? He wouldn’t let that happen. As he watched the house, waiting for the lights to go out, he saw it. The figure across the walkway, on the other side of the house. Even from here he could see the disgusting pale flesh of his skin-mask.
Emeth smiled behind his mask as the last light was finally extinguished. Now he would wait another hour or so to make sure he was asleep, and then he would pounce. A sheen of something caught his eye and he turned. There, in the bushes across the way, a latex covered man watched him.
His kill forgotten, Jace disappeared around the side of the house. ‘Fuck that guy, who did he think he was? This was HIS kill, why would he come back?’ He thought to himself. He was so lost in his inner rage, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. He didn’t, anyways, until Face tripped in his haste to catch up with the man in front of him. His toes caught on an upraised root and he stumbled, catching himself before he could fall and impale himself on the sharp knife he carried.
“Who are you?” Latex asked, glaring at his would-be-pursuer.
“Who are you?” Face asked in return. His voice didn’t match his size. It was threatening and even sent shivers down Latex’s back. He wasn’t some first-time kill-high junkie. He was real. ‘Another serial killer. What are the odds of me actually meeting another serial killer?’ Latex almost felt like he was meeting a celebrity. Then he remembered how the cop had gotten away, and frowned.
“Back off of the cop, he’s mine. Just leave and don’t come back and I’ll let you go,” Latex said.
“Bite me.” Face was obviously sneering under his mask, not threatened in the least by Latex.
“I’m not a child.” Face held up the knife as Latex stepped forward, threatening him. “I’ll kill you in a heartbeat, little boy. I wonder what your screams sound like...?” he chuckled softly under the mask.
‘He’s a murderer,’ Latex reminded himself. ‘That means he’s committed crimes.’ He bit his lip, ‘He’s another piece of decay to be removed from the world.’ He shoved the thoughts of how he was the same out of his mind, and stepped forward. His hammer in hand.
“Then let’s play,” he challenged, already panting from excitement. He took a swing, the sledgehammer missing by a few inches as Face dodged under and sliced at his stomach with the knife.
“I want to spill your guts,” Facee laughed, obviously not right in the head. Sure, Latex was a serial killer, but at least he knew what he was doing was nuts. That made him sane, right? Because crazy people don’t know they’re crazy? This guy was very obviously crazy.
“Not tonight,” Latex mumbled, dodging the small but deadly knife. Face caught himself on the wall of the house, and Latex saw his opportunity. He swung the mini-sledge hammer and met his mark. There was a chilling crack and Face stiffened, before he began to scream. Latex let the hammer fall back to his side. Face pulled his hand close, a red mark of his blood remaining on the wall. Latex had slammed the sledge hammer down over his poor hand, crushing it.
“My blood....” Face growled, looking at the mark.
‘Maybe he’s not as insane as he looks. He knows that he can’t leave evidence like that behind,’ Latex thought.
“You’ll pay for that.” His eyes glowed behind the mask. He picked up the fallen knife with his right hand, the un-crushed one, and moved towards Latex again. He dodged the hammer’s swing towards his face, and managed to get closer to Latex, knife gleaming in the moonlight. Latex inhaled sharply, realizing he made a wrong move and would pay for it. Being so close to him, Face was unable to get decent room for a good slice, or even a quick stab. When he sent the knife to Latex’s heart, he was disappointed when it met with the fleshy side of his arm. Latex screamed and dropped the hammer. He tried to pull away, which made it worse. Face let the knife drag through his skin, creating a deep six inch long gash in his left arm. The screams of the two fighting men finally took effect and a few lights in the neighborhood began to flicker on. Latex growled, as did Face.
“This is your fault!” Face cursed him, waving a finger at the larger man.
“Fuck off,” Latex snapped. Sirens wailed nearby and Face swallowed, time to disappear. But Latex... his new target... what of him? He didn’t know Latex was thinking the exact same thing. “I’ll find you, and I’ll kill you.” He pointed at him with the mini-sledge and ran off somewhere into the night. Face watched him go, before turning and retreating back home. He supposed he would just have to play with Friend now.
Emeth sat on the horizontal freezer, looking up at the ugly ceiling of, what Foster now knew to be, the basement. He held a sharp scalpel in his hands, twirling the object back and forth in his hands. His hand was covered in a thick blue cast, a piece of it coming up to form a finger brace around two of his fingers. He hadn’t said where he had gotten the injury, and Foster didn’t feel much like asking.
“How do you kill a killer?” he whispered, breaking the silence. He turned his head and looked at Foster, expecting an answer. Foster swallowed.
“It’s just a matter of getting to them before they get to you,” he said, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Hmm...” he said quietly, before swinging his legs over the side and looking down at his feet dangling an inch or two above the floor. “But how?” he asked. “I could string him up. Let him suffocate.” He stood and began pacing around the room, still playing with the knife. He glanced over at Foster. “I would just have to free up the chains...” he said thoughtfully. Foster swallowed, he didn’t want that. Being alive here was still better than being dead anywhere else.
“Wouldn’t he die too fast?” he asked, swallowing. “Wouldn’t you want to play with him?” he questioned.
“I do enjoy playing...” he stopped walking and looked at the wall. “I wonder what a murderer tastes like...” he whispered, his eyes weren’t the bright and wild blue they normally were. They seemed dull and tired. Maybe his pain pills were numbing him out a little. Foster hoped so. He had been so distracted by his new boyfriend, Jace, and his new arch nemesis, a man he called Latex. He had spoken about him, and touched his hand bitterly. It didn’t take much for Foster to put two and two together. From some far off place, the doorbell rang. Fosters eyes went wide and he lifted his head, looking up at the house above.
“The doorbell?” they both said at once. Their heads snapped back down and they looked at each other. Suddenly, Emeth was next to him and held his mouth tightly with his good hand.
“You’ll be silent, do you hear me?” he hissed. “If I hear a single peep out of you I’ll sew your mouth shut.” He tossed him to the ground, another shocking reminder of his hidden strength. Foster nodded, as much as he wanted to be rescued, he knew Emeth wouldn’t hesitate to kill him and whoever was at his door to hide his secret.
“Jace?” His eyes lit up when he opened the door.
“Emeth, hey... uh... I’m sure you didn’t mean to forget... but... uh...” he was bright ride. “We had a date... that you missed... I’m sure something came up and you just forget to call... I just wanted to make sure you were okay...” he bit his lip. Emeth searched his mind for the information and found it stored away behind thoughts of Latex. That dickwad. He would make him scream. He snapped out of his trance and his face fell.
“Jace, I’m so sorry. To be honest I totally forgot, I didn’t mean to stand you up,” he apologized.
“Oh, it’s okay... uh... what happened to your hand?” He frowned and pointed at the limb covered in a blue cast. Emeth laughed.
“Funny story, I was moving things around in my office and the guy holding the other end of my bookshelf dropped it, crushed my hand.” He wrinkled his nose and held up the unmoving limb. “Funny, huh?” he laughed.
“Yeah, not so much.” Jace took the hand carefully. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He stroked the hand.
“Oh... uh... yeah... I’m fine.” Emeth blinked, he cared about him....no one had ever cared about him before. “It hurts a little but they gave me some pain meds, they just make me really tired.” He blinked again, with heavy eyelids and smiled. Jace looked at him.
“How about you make the date up to me and we go rent a few movies, grab some junk food, and camp out at my place?” Jace asked. Emeth’s eyes glowed. His place? He wanted him over at his place? He wondered what could happen at ‘his place’. It seemed like some foreign and mystical land where anything could happen. How could he refuse?
“That sounds amazing... let me just change my clothes into something else...” he looked down at his sweat pants and ripped t-shirt.
“No no no. You’re fine. It’s supposed to be comfy. You look great in anything, anyways,” Jace smiled. Emeth grinned.
“Thank you...” he smiled. “Let me grab my wallet and-”
“Come on, lover boy.” Jace laughed and pulled him outside by his good hand, giving him just enough time to shut the door before he pushed him into his car.
Emeth smiled happily as he leaned up against Jace’s chest. He had been dozing on and off and had no idea what the movie was even about, all he knew was that his back was up against Jace’s broad sturdy chest. He could feel the heat resonating and savored every minute of it. He looked up at him, looking over his beautiful face. He blushed and looked down again. Suddenly he felt Jace’s hand sliding down his waist and began heading even farther south. He inhaled deeply, the sensation making his cock surge to life. Without a moments hesitation, he turned and kissed Jace passionately. Jace began unbuttoning his pants frantically, as Emeth began peeling back his shirt. He had enough moment of clarity to frown when his hand brushed a piece of rough material. He opened his eyes and glanced at the bandage wrapped around his upper arm, but it was quickly forgotten when Jace sucked his earlobe into his mouth and gently nibble the tender flesh. Emeth moaned and melted into a useless pile of mush.
“Not here, you deserve better than some nasty couch,” Jace whispered, between nibbles and kisses. Emeth didn’t register the words but nodded, walking backwards as Jace pushed him towards the bedroom. They stumbled through the house and fell onto the bed, kissing each other passionately. In seconds they were both completely naked. Jace ran his large hands up and down Emeth’s smooth, thin body. He made the other man moan with pleasure when he snaked a hand behind his back and kneaded his ass roughly. “Is this okay?” he mumbled between kisses. Emeth answered him by stroking his half hard cock until it was standing at full attention. It began to leak precum, coating Emeth’s hand. He kissed Emeth’s neck and played with his small brown nipples, bringing the little buds to firm peaks. Emeth pulled away and bit his lip.
“I’ve never... I want you to be my first,” he whispered, blue eyes trusting. Jace smiled and felt tears brim his eyes. He stroked his cheek and nodded. He grabbed a condom from his bedside drawer and a small bottle of lube.
“Turn onto your stomach, love,” Jace kissed his neck as Emeth lay on his stomach, giving Jace all the time in the world to drink in his milky white ass. Jace smiled and kissed a trail down his spine, ending up just above his ass. He smiled wider as he poured a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and began toying with Emeth’s hole. Soon, the man beneath him was writhing with pleasure, soft moans and begs spilling from his thin lips.
“Oh God... oooooh... J-Jace... Jesus! God please fuck me!” he begged, backing his ass onto his fingers, making them sink in and fill him. But he wanted more.
“Just hold on, baby,” Jace kissed him once more before he opened the condom and rolled it onto his decent sized cock. He tossed the wrapper into the garbage and lined up with Emeth’s hole. “Take a deep breath and exhale slowly,” he said. Emeth did as he was told and drew in a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out in a slow but steady stream. Jace pushed his cock in, breaking past the tight ring of muscles. Emeth’s breath caught and he froze, before he began to exhale again. Jace continued to push until Emeth was out of breath and he was almost all the way in. “Are you okay?” he asked, kissing the back of Emeth’s neck.
“Fuck me...” Emeth begged, voice filled with lust. Jace did as he was told and proceeded to pound the younger man into oblivion.
Not long after, Emeth dragged his fingers through the pools of cooling cum on his stomach. Before Jace had finished, he pulled out and ripped the condom off his rock hard cock, before pumping his cum all over Emeth’s smooth stomach. Emeth had enjoyed the feeling, watching Jace above him with the look of pure pleasure on his face. But now it was over. Jace had tried to stay awake but had quickly fallen asleep, Emeth curled up in his arms. His head rested on Jace’s chest and he listened to his slow and steady heartbeat. He looked up at the sleeping man, his strong solid features, and his rough skin. He wondered what that skin would look like dripping with blood. He looked at the soft sleeping face and wondered what it would look like twisted into a scream of pain. He wondered what those screams would sound like. Emeth bit his lip and curled back up, keeping his eyes closed as he went back to listening to Jace’s heart beat. Tears fell from his face. The moment Jace had been inside him had been so perfect. It was the first time he had felt sane in a long time. It seemed like there was nothing more than that moment. The love that was being shared between them. The soft touches and firm kisses. He missed it. Now he was back. Back to how he always was. He sobbed quietly as the insanity krept back around his tired mind.
It hadn’t taken long. It was as if both Face and Latex had known that they would meet that night at the cop’s home. Neither of them cared about the cop anymore. He was just a pawn in the game now. A meeting point where they could be sure they were to find the other. Neither of them knew what they were going to do, how they were going to do it, or how much they would make the other scream (that was mainly Face) but they both knew that they needed to be there. So they waited and they watched. Both stood in the same spots they were in a few nights before, blue eyes and green eyes glaring at each other from the shadows. One through the shiny black latex, and the other through the pale rotting skin covering his face. Both held large knives. Latex had decided sharp was the way to go when your enemy was so fast, and you were so slow. His size wasn’t always a blessing.
“What is he doing... he’s just watching...” Latex grumbled, staring across the yard at the shadow in the bushes. He had seen him when he first arrived, he had obviously been waiting for him. They had been standing there for almost an hour. Like a deadly game of chicken. Whoever lost would wind up with a knife in their gut before they could realize their mistake. Latex almost scolded himself. He could be killing criminals right now.
‘How many people has this guy killed and tortured? It’s reasonable to spend so much time focusing on him. To take him out would save hundreds,’ he decided internally.
Face had to admit he was falling asleep. His eyelids hung low, and his breathing grew deep. The gaze he held with Latex was entrancing, almost lulling him to sleep. The clear green eyes were visible even in the darkness of night. He wondered if his blue ones were as bright. He thought he had only fallen asleep for a minute, but that proved to be untrue. What he thought was ‘A’ minute, was really ‘TEN’ minutes. He slumped against the side of the house, the shrub in front of him his only cover. When he realized what he’d done his eyes snapped open. But it was too late, Latex was gone. He searched frantically for his foe, not seeing him anywhere. Suddenly, a glint of a blade shone in the moonlight night air. He moved just in time, as the knife was pushed into the space that his back once occupied. He sighed and made sure his own weapon was at the ready.
“You’re too fast,” Latex grumbled. Face only frowned. “God you’re disgusting. What a sick crazy fuck you are,” he continued speaking, “I wonder what you’re like when you’re not doing this. I’m sure you don’t wear that mask all the time. It’s real isn’t it?” Face felt a twinge of pain. He wasn’t crazy. Just misunderstood... right?
“What about you? That suit a fetish of yours?” his voice was dark and thick with hate as he wanted it to be.
“If I have a latex fetish, then you must have a blood fetish. I notice you drooling under that mask. You just want to get that blade in someones stomach, it doesn’t matter who it is, does it? You sick crazy fuck,” he repeated.
“I’m not crazy,” Face snapped.
“Like hell you aren’t,” he chuckled underneath the Latex suit. Face felt a twinge of something in his chest, familiarity? “You’re the craziest motherfucker I’ve ever seen! You’re wearing human skin!” he shouted.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, raising his unarmed hand to the rotting flesh.
“Crazy. As. Shit,” Latex said each word clearly and carefully.
“I’m. Not. Crazy!” Face screamed and launched himself at the bigger man, both the knives fell from the hands of the two men when they hit the ground, sliding in the dirt several feet away. Face wrapped his hands around Latex’s thick neck and began to ring the life out of his fellow serial killer. He wanted to see him cry, his eyes go red and pop out of his stupid Latex covered face. He wondered what was behind that mask... He was distracted too long by the thought of the pale skin behind the Latex going red with lack of oxygen. Latex grabbed a thick rock by his hand and sent it up towards Face’s... face. He moved just in time to avoid it, but it connected with his shoulder. He screamed and fell to his side, that would definitely bruise.
“It’s time to end you, you little-...” Latex was caught off guard when he saw the sudden flash of blue beneath him. He frowned and turned his head. A blue cast...? Suddenly, he felt two feet connect with his chest and he was thrown off Face, his head making a loud sound as it hit the wall of the house behind him. He caught his breath and by the time he looked up, Face was gone.
“No...” he whispered out loud, before standing up and disappearing into the darkness quickly.
Jace stood outside Emeth’s house, biting his lip. This was ridiculous. There was no way his sweet, loving, adoring little Emeth could be Face. Face was a killer. Face was insane. But most of all, Face was a dick.
He finally stepped up the front porch steps and rang the doorbell.
Foster nearly pissed himself with relief when the doorbell rang. Emeth turned his head and flicked the blow torch off.
“Jace again?” he frowned for a moment, before smiling. “He must have missed me! God knows I’ve missed him...” he whispered, taking off his mask and setting the blow torch and welding gloves down, before making sure he looked presentable in the old stained and cracked mirror against one wall.
Emeth had been ready ‘to play’ when the doorbell had rang. Foster couldn’t help but shiver with relief. But he knew it was short lived, soon Jace would go and Emeth would come back down and resume his games.
“Do I look okay?” He smiled and twirled around for Foster, who nodded quietly. He knew better than to disagree or not answer. “Yay!” he said excitedly and skipped to the door. Foster almost wept. He was so scared. He was beginning to give up hope, beginning to realize he wouldn’t ever get out of here. He would die here and no one would ever know who he was or what happened to him. No one would remember him. That’s when he saw it. The door. The door that was cracked open by the tiniest inch.
“Hey, Emeth, baby,” Jace greeted his boyfriend with a hug and kiss. Emeth invited him inside and they sat down on the couch. Even though Jace knew he was there to disprove his wild and insane ideas that Emeth was Face, he was still so happy to see his love. After they had had sex, and Jace took Em’s virginity, they had become one of those annoying lovey dovey couples you see in the park.
“What are you doing here? We aren’t supposed to go to dinner for another three hours.” Emeth smiled, though there was something behind his bright blue eyes, annoyance?
“Just wanted to drop by and ask you...” there was a sound. He didn’t know what it was, but it was sound. A sound that didn’t belong. Emeth definitely noticed it. His head snapped up and he looked towards the basement steps at the end of the hallway with a deep frown. “Something...” Jace finished his sentence. “What is that?” he said, hearing the sound again. A metallic clanging noise.
“My washer. It makes weird sounds, it’s probably just acting up again. Let me go make sure it’s not going to melt my clothes or anything.” He laughed and got up to go downstairs, though he rushed a little too much.
“I wouldn’t mind you with no clothes,” Jace joked half heartedly, but was distracted. Had Emeth always been this weird? Had he always had those secondary secret looks behind his blue eyes?
Foster could barely reach the lever. Emeth had pulled his chains tight so he was dangling from the ceiling by his aching wrists, he knew he would have problems with his joints if he escaped.
‘When I escape,’ he reminded himself. He rocked his body back and forth, swinging the chains just enough to get him a few inches closer. He touched the tip of the lever with his toe. The chains rattled and shook and his wrists cried out in agony. But he was determined. This would probably be his only chance to escape. His only chance to survive. He swung his body harder, nudging the lever a bit more, and more, and more. Suddenly it locked to the ‘loose’ position and he was dropped the last couple of inches to the floor. He quickly crawled, sure that Emeth had heard the sounds. He moved up against the wall he had claimed for himself when his chains were loose enough to allow him to move freely. He fumbled with the loose brick at the base of the wall, pulling and scratching at it. He broke his long nails and still clawed at it until it wiggled loose. There, behind the red stone, was the scalpel.
The scalpel that Emeth had dropped the day he had sliced the gash in Foster’s lips. The scalpel Emeth had grabbed with his toes, thanking all those times he would see how long he could type with his toes before his feet would cramp up, all the times he was too lazy to sit up and get the remote and would pick it up with his toes instead, all the times he dropped a piece of food and tried to pick it up with his toes and throw it away. All those times would be what saved his life in the end. He pulled the scalpel from it’s secret hiding spot and turned just as Emeth entered the room, the door flung open and he ran to Foster, eyes wild with anger. Foster didn’t think, he just acted. Emeth wrapped one thin hand around Fosters throat, but didn’t squeeze. Didn’t scream, didn’t shout, didn’t even breath. He did freeze.
He froze and looked down at his stomach, the shiny blade sticking out of his soft flesh. Staining his shirt with blood, it looked almost fake. Like a prop from a Halloween store. His eyebrows fell into a sad frown. His mouth was suddenly dry and the room felt hot, what had happened?
Emeth hit the floor hard, he knew that much. His shoulder screamed in pain as he hit it on the cold concrete. Foster screamed first.
“Somebody help me!!! Please help!” he screeched. Footsteps came from upstairs, hurried and frantic. Suddenly a man stepped into view. Emeth’s man. Jace. Emeth couldn’t help but smile when he saw his boyfriend. The word still felt nice on his tongue. This was his boyfriend. He wondered if he was getting delirious from the blood loss, his once blue shirt now stained red.
“Jace...” he whispered, happy to see his love.
“Emeth... Holy fuck it was you!” Jace thread his hands through his hair as he looked around at the ‘playroom’. He looked at the half naked man in front of him, chained to the wall. He looked at his boyfriend covered in blood. He looked at the red-brown stained freezers and the mask that had been lazily put on top of them. “It was you...” he sighed and dropped to his knees. He looked at the wound and knew there wouldn’t be any helping him.
“What are you doing? Help me!” Foster screamed.
“Shut up, friend,” Emeth snapped. “I’m talking with my love,” He whispered the last part, the smile returning to his face.
“The cast, I knew it, I knew it!” Jace spoke to himself. “Your shoulder...” he whispered, moving the collar of Emeth’s shirt aside to reveal the dark yellow and black bruise. “I did that...” he whispered. Emeth remembered the bandage on his arm the night they slept together, he had forgotten it until now. He reached up a shaky hand and pushed Jace’s short sleeve shirt up, revealing the bandage. He tore it off and stared at the large gash underneath. The one that had been made by his knife.
“You’re Latex...” he whispered.
“You’re Face...” Jace whispered back. Foster dove down and pulled the ring of keys from Emeth’s belt, fiddling with them to unlock his cuffs. There were so many. Neither of the men were angry. Both just looked at each others eyes thoughtfully.
“I know what it was...” Face... Emeth... whoever...corrected himself.
“What what was?” Jace... Latex... asked.
“The look. In your eyes,” Emeth whispered, voice becoming weaker by the second. “I know what it was. I know why I hated it,” Emeth said.
“Why?” Jace asked.
“It’s sanity,” he said, louder and stronger, tears finally falling to his eyes. “You’re sane,” he smiled. “I’m not,” he finally admitted. “I always used this as an excuse. ‘Murderers can’t be sane,’” he cried quietly. “But they can. You are. You’re in control....” he whispered.
“The look in your eyes?” he asked, knowing that Emeth knew he had seen something in him too, something that had pushed him to capture and kill the mysterious ‘Face’.
“Envy...” Emeth whispered. “I envy you,” he repeated. “I envy your sanity.”
“I’m sorry I crushed your hand,” Jace said, as he held Emeth.
“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m sorry I hit you with a rock,” Jace laughed hard now.
“Yeah, I think you won that one.” Emeth laughed, and then coughed as blood poured from his mouth. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” He looked up at Foster for a moment, who was still frantically searching through key after key after key.
“Yeah,” Jace knew it was stupid to lie.
“Oh... that blows,” he said, suddenly bitter and serious.
“I guess it does.” Jace stroked his hair.
“I don’t hate you. I don’t care that you tried to steal my toy,” Emeth said. Jace narrowed his eyes. How had he never seen the insanity before? He saw it in Face, why not in Emeth? Maybe he just didn’t want to see it.
“I don’t hate you either. I don’t care that you’re some psychotic serial killer. I love you, Emeth,” Jace kissed his cold lips.
“I’ll see you in hell, yeah? I wonder if dying will make me sane,” he asked, before his eyes glazed over and he exhaled for the last time. There was something so normal and calm about his death. He didn’t cry or beg for mercy or forgiveness. He didn’t pray to god. He didn’t ask for a second chance. He didn’t even apologize for all the people he’d killed. He accepted his death. He knew what he had done, and he was ready to pay for his crimes. Maybe there was a secret level of sanity there afterall. Jace was so lost in his thoughts and holding his dead lover, he didn’t hear the chains rattle or clash to the ground as the man in front of him freed himself. He didn’t hear the sound of metal as he picked up a knife from the tables behind him. But he did feel the cold numbness when the knife was pushed into his throat. He watched as his own blood swirled with Emeth’s blood. He felt the life drain out of his body, and his limbs go cold. He didn’t panic, or beg, or cry, or pray, or ask for second chances, or mercy, or whatever. He accepted his death, like Emeth.
‘See you in hell, lover,’ was the last thought that floated into his mind.
“Fucking murderers,” Foster rubbed his wrists, as he stepped out of the basement and into the sunlight for the first time in almost six months.