A POUND OF FLESH

Through The Killer's Eyes

6

THROUGH THE KILLER'S EYES

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He moves across the room with agility, settling himself down on the couch and kicked his feet up. He let out a content sigh and closes his eyes on the dim room letting darkness envelope him. The room vibrates around him as he hums with energy, he has never felt so alive.

Adrenaline courses through his veins hitting him in heavy waves, he basks in the feeling as it washs over him - the steady thumping of his heart pounds heavily in his ears.

No longer trapped in the monochromatic black and white world he once lived, he scans the world in sharp vibrant Technicolor detail. His eyes appreciate all the subtle nuances in the slight color variations as he takes in the world around him. He could spend hours observing the shadows crawling across the wall, warping and distorting everything in its path. The world around him is wrapped in beauty.

His sense of taste is elevated. A bite of lumpy cold oatmeal sent a thousand fireworks off in his mouth - it is transcendent. In the last month he can not get enough. His firm torso now a bit softer as a result.

The world around him transformed as he did; all it had taken was slashing some whores' throats.

When the blood had pulsated from their gaping necks and their last breathes hitched - he was a god. No one could touch him. Those were his moments.

He shivers with delight thinking about their crimson colored life force staining the earth. How he wishes he could extend that last second - making it last an eternity.

It has alreasy been a week and yet he remembers it with precise detail. Time slowed down during the act, allowing him to etch everything to memory - preserving it there for easy recall.

While the visual is still strong and accurate, the physical high quickly evaporate and with each minute that ticked away the feeling wanes. The fire in his skin lessens to a soft ember, giving way to an uncomfortable itch. The urge to decimate is so strong, it haunts at his mind, and he struggles to push it down.

Stupid boy, a voice hisses in his head, we take trophies. Makes the kill linger. Let's them haunt us forever.

He shakes his head in agreement. A trophy. Next time there will be a trophy.

He will stick to the plan. Killing now is not even fathomable. He has to stick to what he has set in motion, time is already limited, and yet he still has so much left to do already.

***

Ron hated the political tango he found himself dancing. The wide embrace, as both parties worked to dtermine who is leading and following.

A few phone calls and transfers among switchboards and Ron had managed to locate the voicemail box for the detective that was handling the case in Toronto.

It had taken a day before Mick returned the call. "Thanks for sending that stuff over."

"You're welcome, have you gotten anything back from the lab yet?" Ron got straight to the point, there was no need for idle chit chat.

"Yeah - we got nothing. Everything came back to the vic."

"Anything new?" Mick was as forthcoming as a toddler.

"We did some more canvassing, talked to the usual girls to see if there has been anybody interesting lately - nothing that would really point to this...or that they were willing to share. If anything comes up, I'll send it your way, but I have to be honest, I don't see there being any."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." The conversation was quickly leaving Ron with a sinking feeling, his appetite diminished as he stares at the beef and cheese sandwich his wife had made him. The signs of heartburn already starting to crawl up his asophogus.

After a long pause, Mick fills the void, "Do you want the case?" There is an honest curiousity to the question.

As Ron mulls over the various ramifications to his answer, Mick poses a more weighted one.

"I see the similarities, but as murders go, dead hookers is not out there. What makes you so sure this is the same guy?"

***

He thumbs through a handful of files spread out on the mahogany coffee table before him. The dull manila folders create shadows on the polished top of the hardwood. During the preparation he is delighted by the large number of potential candidates that meet his criteria. It has taken long sleepless days of research and planning to narrow it down to the five that currently sat spread out in front of him.

He pours over each one carefully knowing the selection is just as important to the process as the end result. Casting is pivotal, the wrong lead could result in sub-par reviews, the story needs to unfold in the manner previously determined on the bill. The call is set, the first two acts played out and now comes the plot reveal.

This next one will set everything in motion, making his mission much more complicated - the detectives should surely put two and two.

During the process of narrowing his list, he had spent a few days following those he had selected as top talent - to be sure that they were right.

Each of them had met all the critical requirements. All five were beautifully tragic creatures, their lives were cruel and lonely, each day was an accumulation of whoring, sickness, and drink. Society turning their backs on them, as they crawled along among the underbelly.

He would set them free. Elevate them. Make them cultural icons and reach celebrity status that they never would have obtained without his help. By feeding his compulsion, he is their savior, even if they had not wished for it. He told himself he was right, he saw it in their eyes as their meaningless lives slipped away, giving birth to something new. In their final moments they no longer feared the unknown, and after all he was kind to them - he made the pain as minimal as possible before he let their crimson liquid bring forth a transformation within himself. He was eclipsing the creator - and he rejoiced in every moment. He laid himself down on his couch, letting the wave of emotions wash over him and engulf his senses, oh how he treasured the sensation.

The euphoric feeling pulsed through his body, replacing the oxygen in his blood that he once needed for survival.

He will narrow his search down to two potential targets - that way if something went amiss he would still be capable of keeping to his plan. This was of the utmost importance.

He continues to let his fingers dance over the files, waiting for that moment when he would simply know.

Then he knew. It happened. Small currents wash down his arms and shoot through his fingertips when he touches a file. He touches it again. The same reaction happens. He tests this sensation a few more times, all with the same result. He places the file carefully on the ground next to the couch, never taking his eyes off the remaining ones. He continues the simple dance, flicking his fingers ever so lightly.

He has his ladies.

He throws the remaining three files over the back of his couch. They barely made a noise as they land amongst a large stack of paperwork that already rest there - the vast sea of those lucky enough to not have made the grade. As dreary as each of their lives were, Martha and Polly would have gladly traded places with any one of them.

He opens both files and stares at the pictures in front of him. They were interchangeable in every way. A wicked smile crosses his lips. It is almost time to go hunting.

A/N: In the 2nd revision I added a small transition section with Ron to break up the two parts surrounding the killer's mindset. I hope that the added details provide more enlightenment to the case and break it up a little better. This section still needs a third revision at a later time to elaborate a little more...