“Hm. I wonder if you’re having fun? Can’t see you without a light. How’s it going? Are they treating you nice?”
Varian slammed his fist against the small door. “You fucking motherfucker!”
“Ah ah. That mouth is the main reason you’re in there. I’ll give you one more chance. Say please.”
One more chance his ass. Saying please would probably only get him more of these thing thrown on top of him.
He swiped more off of his chest as he thought about what he could do. On the off chance that he could kill them all, he couldn’t guarantee that they that they would throw more in with him. He also didn’t have a clue as to what these things were.
He swallowed his pride, killing another of the bugs that jumped on his arm. “Please! Please let me out!”
“Such a tempting plea. Okay. This old game was boring me anyways.”
The small door slid open, so easily that Varian questioned if there had been any trouble with it in the first place. He raced to it, swiping the knife left and right to kill any of the bugs in his path. Even as he did so, there were still some on the ground. They crunched under his weight. He could feel them burst open upon his knees and hands, leaving behind slime and old shells. He gagged as he finally made it out of the stuffy tunnel, smelling of death that was unique to insects.
As if the bugs could chase after him, he closed the door as tightly as he could, using the strength he had left in his fingers. He ran his hands all over his body, making sure he was clean of any live bugs that might have made it out with him. Even after the third time searching his body, he could still feel the legs running along his skin and moving through his hair.
Still holding the knife, he backed up and stood on his feet. He felt like at any moment the small door would burst open and the rest of the live bugs would run right for him. Two steps back and he ran into something else he hadn’t been expecting.
The familiar static of the speaker box crackled in his ear. He gasped as a hand grabbed the wrist that held the knife.
“Woah, buddy. Careful where you put that thing.”
He jumped and twisted away from the hand and the body, but when he tried to move, another hand stopped him. With his hand held tight, he ducked under his own arm and made an attempt to slip out of the grip while keeping the knife in his hand. That knife was perhaps the only thing on his mind besides escaping the tight grip.
He struggled against the person holding his hand, who he guessed was his kidnapper. They fought easily against him to keep the upper hand, fighting off his thrown punches and kicks with uncanny grace. It wasn’t until they caught his other hand that he stopped and simply gazed into what could only be the eyes of his enemy.
Their face was hidden behind a white mask. It was a simple mask that could have been picked up anywhere; however, a small speaker was built in where the mask’s creepy lips were supposed to be. This must be the voice distorter and the source of the crackling sound.
Behind the mask, there was a human being—a man or a woman—he didn’t know, but a human none the less. The first thing that came to his mind was the dreaded “why” question. A question that in itself damned it from the start. Curious as a human can be, the question “why” was cancerous far more times than not.
As if knowing the thoughts that ran through his head, the voice shook their head. They knew somehow what he thought, on a level that Varian couldn’t contemplate. They too hated the question “why”.
“Promise not to gut me?” The voice joked.
Varian tilted his head. “Isn’t that a little too ironic for you?”
“Nothing’s too ironic when it comes from a killer.”
“I doubt that.”
They tapped the handle of the knife while keeping a solid grip on his wrist. “How about it? Try and stab me if you want, but if you want out of here you’ll have a damn hard time finding the exit.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why are being calm about all this? Shouldn’t you be trying to little harder to—“
He swallowed the words. Even though he felt like he should be confident that didn’t meant that he was. He looked away as if the voice was looking right at him. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he didn’t like the idea of meeting them anyway.
“Should you be trying harder to hurt me?”
He swore they were grinning behind that mask.
“Give me the knife.”
Slightly defeated, he loosened his grip on the handle. The knife fell to the floor, but neither of them made a move to grab it. They held his hands up, their fingers covered in black gloves that he hadn’t noticed until then.
It made sense. Wearing gloves would keep things cleaner. It ruled out the hassle of worrying about prints littered everywhere.
“What’s next in this game of yours?”
He felt a lump in his throat. His words sounded bold, but the way he said them—how he couldn’t get the quiver out of his voice—revealed how much he wasn’t in control of himself.
Their hand almost knocked his head back as they grabbed his chin.
“Didn’t we just go through this?”
Their fingertips were needles piercing his neck.
“Now, try to be more careful with your words. I’d hate for our fun banter to get…messy.”
The hands lost their grip and drifted to his shoulders. Numb, he went with the flow, letting the hands turn him around.
In the middle of the room was a large tub.
And in the tub was a body.
Fear. Cold, chilling, fear.
It made its way to his head and wouldn’t leave.
He stood there, frozen, staring at the girl’s lifeless body. Her long curly brown hair shined in the low greenish lights. Blue and purple bruises covered her body like soft kisses lovers would leave behind. However, those marks were made by someone who was less than loving.
Her lips were parted, soft like ones he’d seen before but on another.
Hazel. She looked like Hazel. So scarily similar.
The girl’s lips were parted in a way that looked natural. As if she were only breathing.
The water in the tub was a virgin clear. Ripples fanned out on the surface as droplets fell from the girl’s chest. Her collar bones were sharp and defined. Every shape from her delicate hands positioned on the sides of the tub to her soft feet could have been from a finely detailed painting. She was an artist’s dream.
It was almost like a clue, a puzzle piece being put into place. Somehow seeing this imagery set everything into stone. The way they talked and the way they were built should have clicked for him, but for some reason, it was this murder that made him realize.
They—the person behind the voice and mask—was a he.
As if summoned, he slid his hands around Varian’s waist and pulled him back against his chest. His hand touched Varian’s cheek and guided his face to turn toward his.
“Can you see it?”
He turned Varian to face the girl.
“Do you see the beauty in her? There’s so much to say on how one’s body is beautiful even when it’s void of life. It’s strange how this shell can harness such a powerful entity. A soul is almost parasitic in a way. It drains this beautiful vessel, only thinking about itself.”
The arm tighten around Varian’s waist. The fingers searched along his skin. His breath hitched as the fingers hiked higher over his stomach. He didn’t know what the man was looking for. He didn’t know if he wanted to know what the man was looking for.
The fingers stopped above his stomach. They pressed a little deeper, feeling him with no hesitation.
“If I imagine hard enough, I think sometimes we can take what is left.”
Varian was lost for breath. He shook his head, afraid of where this was going.
The man was mad. There was no question about it. Whatever kind of ideals he had, they weren’t going to be anywhere close to sane.
“Like…what’s left inside?”
“Hm. Like the remnants of that person from when they pass.”
Varian didn’t have a clue as to what the man was going on about. It was almost like he was talking about gobbling up the leftover spirit inside the body. Which was a bunch of bullshit.
“I suppose you don’t get it either. Most don’t.” The man sighed and rested his chin in the crook of Varian’s neck.
The mouthpiece touched the tip of his ear.
“To discover what has been left behind, you have to consume.”
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