Three
First week of school is over. So far, I haven't really found anything to complain about. The food is brilliant (pancakes yesterday!) and it's much closer to a lot of fun stuff than my last school. Nice.
My main reason for updating is that the murder/blood/sex original fic I'm writing (I really need a better name for that one) is coming along nicely, and I wanted to post another bit of it if that's okay with you? I think I'll call it Ironwings. It is now officially my Third Year Project, and I have cleaned it up. It's more R-rated now than NC-17.
First bit
Second bit
The knife did end up on his mantelpiece. There is sat, day after day, gleaming, alluring, loving. It seduced him, that knife. Slowly it went into his mind, spreading sweet nothings and promises of death in his head. He felt it with him every day, sometimes he even thought it was in his pocket when he for a fact knew that it was at home, safe and sound. He became obsessed with it. He hurried home from work to see that it was still there, and it always was. He started to think that he’d die if it left him. He began thinking of it as a woman.
He called her Lottie. He didn’t know why. It was a name he’d always liked, a name that he would like to give a daughter of his, should he ever get one. Since that seemed unlikely to happen, he called his knife Lottie, and he thought of her as a beautiful, firm woman with flashing steel-grey eyes and a waist that his hands fit perfectly around. He fantasized of leading his Lottie down the aisle, her wearing a gorgeous white dress and looking at him with all the love in the world in her eyes. He imagined giving her his vows. He imagined her allowing him to take off that dress and make love to her in the dark.
He would tell her that he loved her. She would say the same. That was what Inspector Tyler Davies thought in the darkness once night came.
And then the dreams began. In his dreams, he was young again. Not the uncomfortable twenty year-old he had once been, but a man secure of himself. A handsome man. A man that all the girls wanted in bed, and all the boys wanted to become. He’d made different choices in his life, and had become a general, oh yes. A young, handsome, rich general, who could have anyone he wanted.
But there was only one he craved. His Lottie came to him in his dreams, sometimes as a woman, sometimes as a knife. She always gave him sweet satisfaction. When she was a woman, the night would be a red ocean of desire and he’d wake up in the morning covered in sweat and very much in the need of a shower.
When she came as the knife... Oh, it was almost sweeter when she did. It was always when he’d had a long day at work, when Princeton had had his nose especially far up Davies’ ass, when people had given him a hard time. Then she came, and his hands closed around her, and he felt her cool hands on his chest. She’d conjure up images for him, images of Princeton, of his boss, of that lady who’d given him a parking ticket. And he’d kill them all, and he’d enjoy it.
He always felt particularly pleased with himself after a night like that, and found himself longing for them more frequently. They gave him more satisfaction than any woman or man could. Those nights he spent in fury, in crimson dreams of retribution and revenge, tasted sweeter than anything had ever done before.
Soon she only came to him for that. He didn’t even miss the feeling of her body moving rhythmically against his.
Then came the night when he told her he loved her. He had just gutted Princeton for the third time in an hour, and every second had been pure bliss. So he said it out loud. Told her how much she mattered to him, how much he looked forward to this, how much he loved loved loved her.
She had manifested herself before him, smiling. “You really do love me, baby?” she cooed. “Are you man enough to show me?”
He slept with her on the ground where the image of Princeton lay bleeding. He barely remembered anything of it afterwards, but he knew that it was the most satisfying thing in his life. Never this close. She made him feel young again.
His hands touched everything that was her, wanted to make a picture for later. Her nails cut deeply into his back, but it simply heightened the pleasure, the thrill.
Yesss...
Just as he was about to let it go, she grabbed his head and forced him to look her in the eyes.
“It’s time,” she whispered. “Now.”
He felt the knife in his hand. It was familiar to him now, just like a natural extension of his arm. Without even thinking, just doing what he had been doing every night for weeks and months now, Davies raised the knife... And just as his climax was reached, his arm moved on its own and cut his Lottie’s throat from one side to the other. Her scream was the choir of angels.
-***-
He awoke from the dream, painfully lonely and wishing she would be beside him. She wasn’t, and Davies felt like he might cry. He had been visited in his dreams for so long now that he’d forgotten what it was like to wake up alone. It annoyed him. It annoyed him very much.
He got up from his bed, sat on the side for a moment, blinking. He looked at his alarm clock. Three AM. Shit.
“Lottie?” he murmured in the vague hope that she would come.
She didn’t. He was still alone. Suddenly he felt angry. Why did she have this power over him? Why was she the one in charge? He was the strongest of them both, he had the power and the strength like no one else, and he had his knife. He wouldn’t stand for being alone. He needed companionship, and he needed it now.
Of course, there were always the prostitutes. They were up at this hour, certainly. He had money. He could be close to them.
Davies got up and dressed himself. He felt as if he was running a fever, and his hands were shaking so much that it was hard to close the zipper and button his jacket.
“I’ll find a girl,” he mumbled to himself, and he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ll find me a nice girl, everything will be okay.”
Yesss…
He didn’t even bother with shoes. He just fumbled with his keys to lock the door to his shitty little apartment, and left. The cool night breeze did nothing to calm him down. He walked briskly, fighting off the images of Lottie and his dream.
“Hey baby, lookin’ for a good time?” asked a woman suddenly.
He looked up at her, trying to focus on her face through the mist. She wore heavy make-up in black and white, and her dark eyes shone brilliantly. She was dressed in a deliciously short skirt that had to be quite cold on such a chilly night, and a see-through blouse. Her underwear was black. She was quite young.
She’d do.
He didn’t remember what he said to her, or what she answered, but before he knew it she was kissing him hungrily and fumbled for his zipper. Davies frowned. Something was wrong. She wasn’t his Lottie. She was all wrong. She was nothing but dirt and filth, and not like beautiful, perfect Lottie at all. What could he do? He must do something.
So he did.
He forced her to stand before him. Her scream was cut short when he smiled and stabbed her in the chest.
-***-
Davies looked at the corpse critically. The hooker looked even less appetizing now than she had alive. He saw the dirt under her fingernails, how her blouse had hidden red rashes and shallow cuts on her back, how her hair was dirty and uncombed. He wrinkled his nose. How could he ever have allowed such a filthy whore touch him? He’d probably be sick from it. She was better off dead.
It was strange that he felt no shame or regret about what he’d done. If he felt anything at all it was... content. He’d had a problem, he’d felt a craving, and he’d allowed himself to act on it. He felt free. No one would miss a filthy girl like that, at least no one who mattered.
He smiled lazily and pulled the knife out of her. Blood gushed out, rapidly at first and slower when no heart continued to pump it around. The blood sprayed over him, dripped over his face and into his mouth. It made him want to do it again.
He felt Lottie’s arms around him.
“She wasn’t you,” he said slowly.
“You missed me that much, darling?”
“I always miss you when you’re not here.”
She smiled tenderly. “That is so sweet. And now you’ve been such a naughty boy,” she scolded him playfully.
“Can I do it again?” he asked hopefully, not taking his eyes off the dead woman on the ground.
“Yes, darling, you can. But no more tonight. You have to leave now, or people will see you. And we don’t want people to see you, now do we?”
He shook his head in silence.
“Good boy. Now go back to your apartment and rest. You should look good at work tomorrow.”
“Come back with me.”
She smiled like a cat. “Very well then, my big boy, you go home and wait for me. I’ll clean up your mess first.” She nodded towards the hooker. “It’s my time to have fun...”
She licked her lips and kissed him forcibly. It made him sweat.
“Don’t take long,” he murmured. “I’m not a very patient man.”
Lottie only smiled. “Go now.”
-***-
Davies had an odd smile on his face for days afterwards, something that his almost-friends at the station noticed but never commented on. He walked around in a sort of perpetual haze, rarely speaking, as if he was savouring each second.
The prostitutes that they had brought in the previous night kept well away from him. They knew a killer when they saw one, even if they never said a word. Who’d believe them even if they spoke? The best they could do was pretending that he was just another man, another cop, another enemy. But they knew. They saw the look in his eyes.
The corpse of the hooker was soon found, of course. The smell of a decaying body is not pleasant, and it’ll make people notice. Her remains, what was left of them, were discovered five days after the murder. Her body had been completely drained of blood, the wound in her chest was covered with flies and maggots, and the rats had nibbled her toes and fingers. The stench was unbelievable.
But the death of a whore was never investigated. The cop on duty wrote her off as being a victim of a jealous john, and no one gave it a second thought.
Not even the killer did. He was in seventh heaven with his Lottie, who would replay the murder for him every night, always letting it end in that satisfying stab. She was his angel. His salvation. His one true love. They would always be together.
So came the day when it went wrong. It must go wrong, after all. Things always did. But it started nice enough, at least Davies thought so.
The pair were out walking, like young lovers do. They were leaning on each other, touching each other, kissing each other. It must have looked odd to the people that couldn’t see Lottie, but neither of the pair cared. The only important thing was that they were together, and that they always would. He had his hand up her blouse, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. She leant in to kiss him, but stopped suddenly and turned around. At first he simply thought that she had heard something interesting and that she would come back to him right away, but she didn’t.
She had spotted someone that entranced her in the very same way that she had entranced Davies in the beginning.
It was a young man, in his early twenties. He had an insecure look about him, but his smile was sincere and warm. His hair was a light brown and it curled around his ears. He looked sweet and innocent, and Davies’ Lottie stared at him as if she had never seen anything like him in her life. The strange thing was that he met her stare and smiled uncertainly at her. He saw Lottie. No one but Davies usually saw Lottie.
“Lottie?” mumbled Davies. “Shall we go?”
She slowly turned around to face him again. Her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t look like the lean woman he had come to desire more than anything. She looked younger. Her hair had gotten a golden shade to it instead of the ebony he knew, and her eyes were flashing in midnight blue. She was still beautiful, but her beauty was more juvenile, more childish than before. It was not his beauty anymore.
“Yes?” she cooed. “What is it, darling?”
“We have stayed too long. Shouldn’t we get back to the apartment?”
Davies was starting to get nervous, and he hated that. It was a sign of weakness. But losing Lottie would be worse. He felt a rage come over him, stronger than anything he’d ever felt. He wanted to own Lottie, to lock her away with him forever, to have her and kill her and allow her to make his dreams come true. If she’d leave then... he would die.
She smiled prettily. “Oh yes, of course we shall. But first we must go to the Police House. You have forgotten your gun there, darling. You need your gun.”
It was true, he had forgotten it. How peculiar. He was always so careful when it came to his weapons. It was obvious that they had to go and get it. Who knew where it might end up otherwise?
“Let’s go, then,” he said, and took her by the arm.
She was very silent as they walked to three blocks to the Police House. It was as if she was planning something to herself. She was smiling in a slightly nerve-wrecking way, and walked as if she was floating on clouds. It made him angry. It was a very bad idea to make him angry these days.
“Lottie,” he growled.
She turned her lovely face towards him. “What is it?”
“I want you. Now.”
“You have me.” Her smile turned into a grin. “Now.”
“I want you to blow me.”
She waved it away. “Not now, darling. When we get home I will.”
“That’s not good enough. I want you to blow me now, right here.”
Lottie’s eyes flashed. “You think you can tell me what to do? You think you’re strong enough?”
He grinned, and he knew he looked scary now. He could feel the strength in his muscles, and the knife in his pocket. He knew he was stronger than she was.
“I think I can make you do what I want.”
She laughed as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Oh, little Tyler Davies, my darling, you are a strong one. But you’ll never be stronger than me.” She sauntered up to him, pressing her breasts against his chest. It aroused him against his will. “See?” she whispered. “It’s not that difficult. I have the power.”
“I have the knife.” When he said it, it felt as if he wanted to make sure he really had it, that it wasn’t just a trick.
Lottie snorted. “The knife is nothing but a trinket. It cuts through anything, but I am its carer, not you. The power will always lie with me.” She laughed a tinkling laugh and pecked the corner of his mouth. “Be a good boy and do what you’re told now.”
He gnashed his teeth, but bit back his fury and went inside the building to find his gun. It would be fine, everything would be okay if he’d find his gun. That young man would never see Lottie again, and she would return to him.
“Good morning, sir,” said Princeton eagerly and saluted him. “How are you? That is a... great tie for you. Err.” He trailed off, probably spotting the hellfire in Davies’ eyes. “Can I get you anything, sir? Coffee, maybe?”
Davies brushed by him. “No.”
“Oh. Okay, then. Eh. Anything for the lady, then, perhaps?”
Davies stopped and spun around, glaring at Princeton. “What did you say?” he hissed. “What lady?”
Princeton gestured towards Lottie, who had sat down in a large leather chair, the picture of a modest and somewhat shy girlfriend. “That lady. Perhaps she would like a cup of coffee?”
Davies felt how his rage grew. Princeton saw Lottie? No one was allowed to see Lottie! She was his! She didn’t belong to anyone else. And especially not to that little suck-up Princeton.
Davies acted purely on raw instinct as he slammed Princeton up against a wall. The younger man howled with surprise and anger and reached for his baton, but he was too slow. Davies hit him. Once. Twice. The feeling of Princeton’s nose breaking underneath his pummelling fists was immensely satisfying. It was like the fantasies Lottie had given him, but even better. This felt real.
He was dimly aware of someone giggling behind him, but disregarded it. The only sound that mattered was Princeton’s whimpering cries for help, and the crunching of breaking bones. Davies lost himself in the beats, and he fought to keep going even though people ran up and hold him back. This only sparked his fury, and he found himself wishing for a weapon, any weapon at all.
For the last time, Lottie made his wish come true. He felt the knife in his hand and smiled. This was just like a dream. Maybe that was all it was. Just a daydream that he would wake up from and find himself back with his darling Lottie, who would never leave. All he had to do was... kill. He’d done it so many times before, in his precious dreams. And it wasn’t real. He wouldn’t get in trouble. So where was the harm?
He allowed the knife to slide into Collins’ guts. His old friend barely gave a sound, but his eyes widened from the pain and his mouth opened to form words. Davies didn’t hear him. He was lost in a cherished dream, and stabbed and sliced madly after anyone and anything that came close enough. The giggles he’d heard grew as Princeton gasped and clung to his bleeding leg.
And then... there was... a shot... And...
Nothing.
-***-
The newspapers called it the Police House Slaughter. Two casualties, John Michael Collins (36) and Andrew Barton (29), and ten injured, one seriously. No one knew what had sparked the “brawl”. What was known was that Inspector Tyler Davies (37) had suddenly snapped and killed two colleagues with a knife no one knew he had. He would have caused more damage, had not courageous young Princeton McCraw found his gun and very neatly fired two shots into Davies’ head.
Another thing that no one knew was where the knife went. Witnesses of the massacre could only say that it had reminded them of another knife that had been seen on the scene of another murder not three months ago, when Breckin Aileen Walsh was found with it in her hand as she stood bent over her dead lover. But then again, there must be many knives like that. Who knew? It might just have been a coincidence.
But on the evening that very same day, a young man by the name of Peter White found a very strange-looking knife on his way home from work. He picked it up and put it in his pocket almost automatically.
He had very strange dreams that night.
Previous Chapter------------------------------------------------------------------->Next Bit
***********
I'm having an ice-cream craving.
My main reason for updating is that the murder/blood/sex original fic I'm writing (I really need a better name for that one) is coming along nicely, and I wanted to post another bit of it if that's okay with you? I think I'll call it Ironwings. It is now officially my Third Year Project, and I have cleaned it up. It's more R-rated now than NC-17.
First bit
Second bit
The knife did end up on his mantelpiece. There is sat, day after day, gleaming, alluring, loving. It seduced him, that knife. Slowly it went into his mind, spreading sweet nothings and promises of death in his head. He felt it with him every day, sometimes he even thought it was in his pocket when he for a fact knew that it was at home, safe and sound. He became obsessed with it. He hurried home from work to see that it was still there, and it always was. He started to think that he’d die if it left him. He began thinking of it as a woman.
He called her Lottie. He didn’t know why. It was a name he’d always liked, a name that he would like to give a daughter of his, should he ever get one. Since that seemed unlikely to happen, he called his knife Lottie, and he thought of her as a beautiful, firm woman with flashing steel-grey eyes and a waist that his hands fit perfectly around. He fantasized of leading his Lottie down the aisle, her wearing a gorgeous white dress and looking at him with all the love in the world in her eyes. He imagined giving her his vows. He imagined her allowing him to take off that dress and make love to her in the dark.
He would tell her that he loved her. She would say the same. That was what Inspector Tyler Davies thought in the darkness once night came.
And then the dreams began. In his dreams, he was young again. Not the uncomfortable twenty year-old he had once been, but a man secure of himself. A handsome man. A man that all the girls wanted in bed, and all the boys wanted to become. He’d made different choices in his life, and had become a general, oh yes. A young, handsome, rich general, who could have anyone he wanted.
But there was only one he craved. His Lottie came to him in his dreams, sometimes as a woman, sometimes as a knife. She always gave him sweet satisfaction. When she was a woman, the night would be a red ocean of desire and he’d wake up in the morning covered in sweat and very much in the need of a shower.
When she came as the knife... Oh, it was almost sweeter when she did. It was always when he’d had a long day at work, when Princeton had had his nose especially far up Davies’ ass, when people had given him a hard time. Then she came, and his hands closed around her, and he felt her cool hands on his chest. She’d conjure up images for him, images of Princeton, of his boss, of that lady who’d given him a parking ticket. And he’d kill them all, and he’d enjoy it.
He always felt particularly pleased with himself after a night like that, and found himself longing for them more frequently. They gave him more satisfaction than any woman or man could. Those nights he spent in fury, in crimson dreams of retribution and revenge, tasted sweeter than anything had ever done before.
Soon she only came to him for that. He didn’t even miss the feeling of her body moving rhythmically against his.
Then came the night when he told her he loved her. He had just gutted Princeton for the third time in an hour, and every second had been pure bliss. So he said it out loud. Told her how much she mattered to him, how much he looked forward to this, how much he loved loved loved her.
She had manifested herself before him, smiling. “You really do love me, baby?” she cooed. “Are you man enough to show me?”
He slept with her on the ground where the image of Princeton lay bleeding. He barely remembered anything of it afterwards, but he knew that it was the most satisfying thing in his life. Never this close. She made him feel young again.
His hands touched everything that was her, wanted to make a picture for later. Her nails cut deeply into his back, but it simply heightened the pleasure, the thrill.
Yesss...
Just as he was about to let it go, she grabbed his head and forced him to look her in the eyes.
“It’s time,” she whispered. “Now.”
He felt the knife in his hand. It was familiar to him now, just like a natural extension of his arm. Without even thinking, just doing what he had been doing every night for weeks and months now, Davies raised the knife... And just as his climax was reached, his arm moved on its own and cut his Lottie’s throat from one side to the other. Her scream was the choir of angels.
-***-
He awoke from the dream, painfully lonely and wishing she would be beside him. She wasn’t, and Davies felt like he might cry. He had been visited in his dreams for so long now that he’d forgotten what it was like to wake up alone. It annoyed him. It annoyed him very much.
He got up from his bed, sat on the side for a moment, blinking. He looked at his alarm clock. Three AM. Shit.
“Lottie?” he murmured in the vague hope that she would come.
She didn’t. He was still alone. Suddenly he felt angry. Why did she have this power over him? Why was she the one in charge? He was the strongest of them both, he had the power and the strength like no one else, and he had his knife. He wouldn’t stand for being alone. He needed companionship, and he needed it now.
Of course, there were always the prostitutes. They were up at this hour, certainly. He had money. He could be close to them.
Davies got up and dressed himself. He felt as if he was running a fever, and his hands were shaking so much that it was hard to close the zipper and button his jacket.
“I’ll find a girl,” he mumbled to himself, and he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ll find me a nice girl, everything will be okay.”
Yesss…
He didn’t even bother with shoes. He just fumbled with his keys to lock the door to his shitty little apartment, and left. The cool night breeze did nothing to calm him down. He walked briskly, fighting off the images of Lottie and his dream.
“Hey baby, lookin’ for a good time?” asked a woman suddenly.
He looked up at her, trying to focus on her face through the mist. She wore heavy make-up in black and white, and her dark eyes shone brilliantly. She was dressed in a deliciously short skirt that had to be quite cold on such a chilly night, and a see-through blouse. Her underwear was black. She was quite young.
She’d do.
He didn’t remember what he said to her, or what she answered, but before he knew it she was kissing him hungrily and fumbled for his zipper. Davies frowned. Something was wrong. She wasn’t his Lottie. She was all wrong. She was nothing but dirt and filth, and not like beautiful, perfect Lottie at all. What could he do? He must do something.
So he did.
He forced her to stand before him. Her scream was cut short when he smiled and stabbed her in the chest.
-***-
Davies looked at the corpse critically. The hooker looked even less appetizing now than she had alive. He saw the dirt under her fingernails, how her blouse had hidden red rashes and shallow cuts on her back, how her hair was dirty and uncombed. He wrinkled his nose. How could he ever have allowed such a filthy whore touch him? He’d probably be sick from it. She was better off dead.
It was strange that he felt no shame or regret about what he’d done. If he felt anything at all it was... content. He’d had a problem, he’d felt a craving, and he’d allowed himself to act on it. He felt free. No one would miss a filthy girl like that, at least no one who mattered.
He smiled lazily and pulled the knife out of her. Blood gushed out, rapidly at first and slower when no heart continued to pump it around. The blood sprayed over him, dripped over his face and into his mouth. It made him want to do it again.
He felt Lottie’s arms around him.
“She wasn’t you,” he said slowly.
“You missed me that much, darling?”
“I always miss you when you’re not here.”
She smiled tenderly. “That is so sweet. And now you’ve been such a naughty boy,” she scolded him playfully.
“Can I do it again?” he asked hopefully, not taking his eyes off the dead woman on the ground.
“Yes, darling, you can. But no more tonight. You have to leave now, or people will see you. And we don’t want people to see you, now do we?”
He shook his head in silence.
“Good boy. Now go back to your apartment and rest. You should look good at work tomorrow.”
“Come back with me.”
She smiled like a cat. “Very well then, my big boy, you go home and wait for me. I’ll clean up your mess first.” She nodded towards the hooker. “It’s my time to have fun...”
She licked her lips and kissed him forcibly. It made him sweat.
“Don’t take long,” he murmured. “I’m not a very patient man.”
Lottie only smiled. “Go now.”
-***-
Davies had an odd smile on his face for days afterwards, something that his almost-friends at the station noticed but never commented on. He walked around in a sort of perpetual haze, rarely speaking, as if he was savouring each second.
The prostitutes that they had brought in the previous night kept well away from him. They knew a killer when they saw one, even if they never said a word. Who’d believe them even if they spoke? The best they could do was pretending that he was just another man, another cop, another enemy. But they knew. They saw the look in his eyes.
The corpse of the hooker was soon found, of course. The smell of a decaying body is not pleasant, and it’ll make people notice. Her remains, what was left of them, were discovered five days after the murder. Her body had been completely drained of blood, the wound in her chest was covered with flies and maggots, and the rats had nibbled her toes and fingers. The stench was unbelievable.
But the death of a whore was never investigated. The cop on duty wrote her off as being a victim of a jealous john, and no one gave it a second thought.
Not even the killer did. He was in seventh heaven with his Lottie, who would replay the murder for him every night, always letting it end in that satisfying stab. She was his angel. His salvation. His one true love. They would always be together.
So came the day when it went wrong. It must go wrong, after all. Things always did. But it started nice enough, at least Davies thought so.
The pair were out walking, like young lovers do. They were leaning on each other, touching each other, kissing each other. It must have looked odd to the people that couldn’t see Lottie, but neither of the pair cared. The only important thing was that they were together, and that they always would. He had his hand up her blouse, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. She leant in to kiss him, but stopped suddenly and turned around. At first he simply thought that she had heard something interesting and that she would come back to him right away, but she didn’t.
She had spotted someone that entranced her in the very same way that she had entranced Davies in the beginning.
It was a young man, in his early twenties. He had an insecure look about him, but his smile was sincere and warm. His hair was a light brown and it curled around his ears. He looked sweet and innocent, and Davies’ Lottie stared at him as if she had never seen anything like him in her life. The strange thing was that he met her stare and smiled uncertainly at her. He saw Lottie. No one but Davies usually saw Lottie.
“Lottie?” mumbled Davies. “Shall we go?”
She slowly turned around to face him again. Her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t look like the lean woman he had come to desire more than anything. She looked younger. Her hair had gotten a golden shade to it instead of the ebony he knew, and her eyes were flashing in midnight blue. She was still beautiful, but her beauty was more juvenile, more childish than before. It was not his beauty anymore.
“Yes?” she cooed. “What is it, darling?”
“We have stayed too long. Shouldn’t we get back to the apartment?”
Davies was starting to get nervous, and he hated that. It was a sign of weakness. But losing Lottie would be worse. He felt a rage come over him, stronger than anything he’d ever felt. He wanted to own Lottie, to lock her away with him forever, to have her and kill her and allow her to make his dreams come true. If she’d leave then... he would die.
She smiled prettily. “Oh yes, of course we shall. But first we must go to the Police House. You have forgotten your gun there, darling. You need your gun.”
It was true, he had forgotten it. How peculiar. He was always so careful when it came to his weapons. It was obvious that they had to go and get it. Who knew where it might end up otherwise?
“Let’s go, then,” he said, and took her by the arm.
She was very silent as they walked to three blocks to the Police House. It was as if she was planning something to herself. She was smiling in a slightly nerve-wrecking way, and walked as if she was floating on clouds. It made him angry. It was a very bad idea to make him angry these days.
“Lottie,” he growled.
She turned her lovely face towards him. “What is it?”
“I want you. Now.”
“You have me.” Her smile turned into a grin. “Now.”
“I want you to blow me.”
She waved it away. “Not now, darling. When we get home I will.”
“That’s not good enough. I want you to blow me now, right here.”
Lottie’s eyes flashed. “You think you can tell me what to do? You think you’re strong enough?”
He grinned, and he knew he looked scary now. He could feel the strength in his muscles, and the knife in his pocket. He knew he was stronger than she was.
“I think I can make you do what I want.”
She laughed as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Oh, little Tyler Davies, my darling, you are a strong one. But you’ll never be stronger than me.” She sauntered up to him, pressing her breasts against his chest. It aroused him against his will. “See?” she whispered. “It’s not that difficult. I have the power.”
“I have the knife.” When he said it, it felt as if he wanted to make sure he really had it, that it wasn’t just a trick.
Lottie snorted. “The knife is nothing but a trinket. It cuts through anything, but I am its carer, not you. The power will always lie with me.” She laughed a tinkling laugh and pecked the corner of his mouth. “Be a good boy and do what you’re told now.”
He gnashed his teeth, but bit back his fury and went inside the building to find his gun. It would be fine, everything would be okay if he’d find his gun. That young man would never see Lottie again, and she would return to him.
“Good morning, sir,” said Princeton eagerly and saluted him. “How are you? That is a... great tie for you. Err.” He trailed off, probably spotting the hellfire in Davies’ eyes. “Can I get you anything, sir? Coffee, maybe?”
Davies brushed by him. “No.”
“Oh. Okay, then. Eh. Anything for the lady, then, perhaps?”
Davies stopped and spun around, glaring at Princeton. “What did you say?” he hissed. “What lady?”
Princeton gestured towards Lottie, who had sat down in a large leather chair, the picture of a modest and somewhat shy girlfriend. “That lady. Perhaps she would like a cup of coffee?”
Davies felt how his rage grew. Princeton saw Lottie? No one was allowed to see Lottie! She was his! She didn’t belong to anyone else. And especially not to that little suck-up Princeton.
Davies acted purely on raw instinct as he slammed Princeton up against a wall. The younger man howled with surprise and anger and reached for his baton, but he was too slow. Davies hit him. Once. Twice. The feeling of Princeton’s nose breaking underneath his pummelling fists was immensely satisfying. It was like the fantasies Lottie had given him, but even better. This felt real.
He was dimly aware of someone giggling behind him, but disregarded it. The only sound that mattered was Princeton’s whimpering cries for help, and the crunching of breaking bones. Davies lost himself in the beats, and he fought to keep going even though people ran up and hold him back. This only sparked his fury, and he found himself wishing for a weapon, any weapon at all.
For the last time, Lottie made his wish come true. He felt the knife in his hand and smiled. This was just like a dream. Maybe that was all it was. Just a daydream that he would wake up from and find himself back with his darling Lottie, who would never leave. All he had to do was... kill. He’d done it so many times before, in his precious dreams. And it wasn’t real. He wouldn’t get in trouble. So where was the harm?
He allowed the knife to slide into Collins’ guts. His old friend barely gave a sound, but his eyes widened from the pain and his mouth opened to form words. Davies didn’t hear him. He was lost in a cherished dream, and stabbed and sliced madly after anyone and anything that came close enough. The giggles he’d heard grew as Princeton gasped and clung to his bleeding leg.
And then... there was... a shot... And...
Nothing.
-***-
The newspapers called it the Police House Slaughter. Two casualties, John Michael Collins (36) and Andrew Barton (29), and ten injured, one seriously. No one knew what had sparked the “brawl”. What was known was that Inspector Tyler Davies (37) had suddenly snapped and killed two colleagues with a knife no one knew he had. He would have caused more damage, had not courageous young Princeton McCraw found his gun and very neatly fired two shots into Davies’ head.
Another thing that no one knew was where the knife went. Witnesses of the massacre could only say that it had reminded them of another knife that had been seen on the scene of another murder not three months ago, when Breckin Aileen Walsh was found with it in her hand as she stood bent over her dead lover. But then again, there must be many knives like that. Who knew? It might just have been a coincidence.
But on the evening that very same day, a young man by the name of Peter White found a very strange-looking knife on his way home from work. He picked it up and put it in his pocket almost automatically.
He had very strange dreams that night.
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I'm having an ice-cream craving.