[story] listen closely
author: ruri-chan (nataku_chan)
email: baddies_miko [at] hotmail.com
It is always a difficult thing to work for an antisocial psychopath. Especially one as particularly unbalanced as The Mortician - given the name because the victims were found with their corpses further disturbed long after what was assumed to be an already painfully excruciating death. However, the term “work” would insinuate that an exchange of money was being done. This was not entirely true. Yes, Aidan Burroughs was paid from time to time, but that was merely to get the supplies needed for work to be done. It was very difficult for a man that the country is looking for to buy groceries, after all.
And, as lovely as the thought was, he did not like to think of himself as some live-in housekeeper. The connotation was of some fluff-head girl-or-boy toy that baked cookies while the men went into the basement labyrinth to torture and maim victims. No, that wasn’t quite right, because sometimes he did participate in the killings - and, sometimes, the after burial rights. (Nonetheless, he would like to know why it was always basement labyrinths, because it seemed so terribly cliché. He would think that it would be easier if it was a room in the house rather than having to maneuver down the tunnels each time a new victim is brought home. Still, he could understand how cleaning said room would become quite a chore after awhile).
Aidan wasn’t the some brainwashed victim who joined forces with this murdering bastard. Though, he could honestly see that happening. His “boss” could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. But, no, he joined of his own wishes. He had no relation to the man other than that he dabbled in his “field of work.” Their beginning interactions were not one of the smoothest, either. Oh no, The Mortician was quite suspicious and occasionally would have tirades in Aidan’s face that would spray saliva and other secretary fluids. (Please, he meant merely mucus and the occasional cutting of flesh, rather than the belief that he was some crazed fan boy after the insane man’s “goodies.”)
He also wasn’t quite sure what terminology would be best to describe him. Henchman referred back to the point that he was paid for his job, when it was already established that that wasn’t the case. It also insinuated that he was frightened of The Mortician. This he would not deny. Who wouldn’t be concerned for working with someone so unbalanced? There was a very thin line that separated the boundaries of ally and liability.
Ally meant that they were on the same page and some sort of trust between them. They weren’t even on a first name basis, which he felt was a little rude considering that the man knew his name, but nevertheless, understood the need. What was the old saying; “Good help is so hard to find these days.” As silly as the saying was, it is very hard for someone to truly trust another human being. Unless, said people are into S&M, but that is more of a sexual romp than actual “real interactions.”
Anyway, even kinky dominatrix ladies probably have issues really opening up to everyone in the real world. So, it was a moot point to bring up. Still, he did, because it reminded him that there were some sexually deviant people that put his “insanity” to shame.
The word “sidekick” made him either think of Robin or the technological device with the same name. He could see how The Mortician was like Batman. He did constantly brood in the back of the labyrinth while scouring cities to find the next person for Aidan to bring home. But, neither of them had any costumes or signal. Not like anyone would want a signal to summon them, but it was still the principle of the thing.
Regardless, Aidan did not like being called “a familiar.” It was true that given his rather unique birth, he was imbued with certain talents that no other human had. Not only that, but he still referred to himself in human nouns rather that “mythical creature.” However, it wasn’t like he looked any different from any other person. He couldn’t morph into some animal form nor had any sort of kinesis - this was a pity, because he thought it was particularly unfair for a man such as himself to have to clean up with his bare hands. Rather, he was what one could consider a lucky charm.
“A person could get away with murder” would be the saying - now pun - which would work best when speaking about his abilities. The correct terminology would be that the individual under Aidan’s protection simply disappeared. People just ignored the existence of the individual. They knew the person was around and could converse, but never hold a clear, cut memory of said person. It wasn’t quite a conscious thing, which he learned in his youth. Rather, as soon as he or someone else vocalized a connection with him, they were under contract with Aidan. This was as simple as saying, “This is my friend, Aidan Burroughs.”
Thankfully, it only extended onto one person until the connection was broken - either through verbal dismissal from the contract, or capture. Once caged by another individual, his powers became null-and-void. Also, his abilities - unfortunately or fortunately - did not extend onto him. Therefore, he could still be easily caught if he wasn’t repulsively careful. And, while he often thought to mention this to The Mortician, it would mean that he’d most likely be locked in some room to minimize the chance of capture. This all-in-all was not an appealing thought, so he kept this little tidbit to himself.
His ability would increase as long as the bond remained between both himself and the person. Eventually, it would slowly erase their existence from everyone they met. For homicidal maniacs, this was a wonderful thing. For average people, the need to be known by more than one person was quite important. It usually drove people insane that their history was being eradicated without knowing why. Really, Aidan would try to tell them, but they became so distraught that it was just impossible to talk to them. When suicide became imminent, he made sure to have them denounce him before death. If still connected to someone when they die, so too does he.
Still, he wouldn’t say that he worked for him because he was afraid of him. No, it would be silly to say otherwise. As a sign of trust, Aidan had explained how to officially kill him. This act of trust came about shortly after The Mortician had unsuccessfully tried killing him when he had first come around. It resulted in quite a stir when Aidan got back up off the bloodstained floor. And, it took long awhile to explain who and what he was, before the man would stop threatening to kill himself so that he wouldn’t be taken in. In retrospect, Aidan believed it to be very unwise to have told The Mortician about his only weakness. And, he knew that his folly would eventually bite him in the ass.
Though, honestly, it was to keep the man from researching too much about his background. Besides, the official text on familiars was mercifully very hard to come by. It took certain channels, which his poor deranged boss was too mistrustful to take, in order to find any real solid facts about familiars. Nevertheless, unless he was some sort of masochist (and he was very sure he wasn’t), that wasn’t the reasons for why he was doing what he was doing. Either way, sadist would be a better term to describe his nature, but he never took any real sexual pleasure from killing people. In fact, the killing was quite anticlimactic, which tended to annoy The Mortician. But, he couldn’t help it if he would always find himself humming Another One Bites The Dust by Queen.
Perhaps, it would be simpler if his reasoning for “joining forces” were clear. Aidan wasn’t horribly disfigured, which built up an unimaginable rage and hatred for the society that shunned him. No, he was quite handsome, in fact. Oh, he wasn’t vain; not in the least. He merely had enough pride in himself to believe what he saw in the mirror was “good.” Not “adequate,” but “good.”
It wasn’t like he could turn heads or even cause much of a stir in the hormonal pool of desire. He didn’t have some six-pack (though, dragging bodies - both alive and dead - around did wonders for the body) nor a well-shaped face (whatever that meant). As far as height went, he was slightly shorter than the average male (5’9”). Still, he would best be described as lengthy. Merely because it always seemed like his limbs were just slightly longer than the rest of his body. Yet, somehow, he was able to appear proportional.
His hair could be described as a kind of dark ginger shade. While he kept it short, the top tended to appear a bit longer than the back. It gave him (an unfortunate) stereotypical emo look with his bangs always in his face. To keep from them interfering with his sight, he would moose his hair so that it had more of a preppy school boy swish.
(Yes, he did enjoy naming his hairstyles, because what else was there to do when The Mortician would rant and rave about whatever homicidal maniacs ranted and raved about? Honestly, Aidan tended to drown out his constant talking with superficial thoughts. He always knew the crazies were lonely, but he didn’t think that gave the man the right to constantly talk to him whenever they had a free moment. Personal space would be nice, but he’d rather not end up tied to some chair about to have his innards removed should he mention this aloud.
Of course, it wasn’t like he could be killed by conventional means.)
Unfortunately, if kept out in the sun for long periods of time, his hair actually would start to turn slightly blond. Of course, at those times, it looked like Aidan highlighted his hair, which he wasn’t too keen on. It was bad enough that he had to go to the salon more than twice a week, because the chemicals used in some of The Mortician’s more elaborate tortures did a quite number on his follicles. He’d rather not worsen his image by having it thought that he highlighted his hair, too.
Thank goodness the disposal of corpses usually happened at night; thus, keeping the sun exposure to a minimum.
And, despite the loathing he has for his sun-activated multicolored hair, his skin was unusually sensitive to UV radiation. Ten minutes in direct sunlight was more like ten hours for him. Yet, oddly enough, his skin wasn’t any lighter than any “normal Caucasian.” Consequently, latent albinism was out as a reason for his sensitive skin. Either way, Aidan blamed it on global warming.
He also had his physical imperfections - slight indentions on the side of his face that could almost be mistaken for misplaced dimples if it weren’t for the fact that they were always present regardless if he was smiling or not. Such wounds came when a girl swung a broken board at his head. The nails from said board had actually pierced straight into both his cheek and gums. Surprisingly, it was not that difficult to explain this to a doctor. Merely, the explanation that he had gotten into a drunken fight was enough to not raise any eyebrows. No, he was just called “a dumb ass that should learn to keep his mouth shut.”
So, perhaps, it wasn’t his physical attributes that allowed people to think that he was handsome. A better explanation would be that Aidan was thought to be attractive because of his personality. He was seen as a very pleasant person. It was also a well-known fact that familiars usually had gentile natures to begin with. Though, Aidan believed that one’s nature isn’t quite by how nice they speak or act, but rather the reasoning for the actions that take place. Just because he did occasional nice acts did not mean that he himself was nice. He forgave people that mistake though; it was a common misconception.
On weekends, he went along roadsides picking up garbage. This wasn’t really done for anyone’s benefit, but because it disgusted Aidan to have to walk through said gunk each time he had to drag a body down into a ditch. Did anyone realize how easy it would be to snag his clothes on a piece of tin and have it lead back to him? So, while picking up trash, Aidan would damn the advances in forensic science.
During Christmas time, he would always give cash to the donation buckets outside of Wall-Mart. Though, he only did it for the ‘thank you’ that he got from the bell ringers. If he got no ‘thank you,’ he would promptly steal the bell and chuck it into the parking lot. Unsurprisingly, he usually was cheered for this by the passersby.
And, despite popular belief, he did have a childhood. It wasn’t like a full-grown man could appear in one night, magical or not. Besides, simplicity was best. Babies were naturally very difficult to make; if one tried to make a man, well, that was just going through way too much trouble than need be. It just took patience. Magic can only solve so many problems before the person has to start owning up to their own. But, that was beside the point; Aidan adored his childhood - after his father died, of course.
In high school, he had three girlfriends. They were lovely little things, but as far as high school girls go, very superficial and constantly fretting over if they were liked for their “depth.” (Though, now that he is older and realizing he is just as superficial, he can relate. Sad as that revelation is.) He also knew what that said about him - that he had a “thing” for vulnerable girls. This was slightly true. Aidan had felt obligated to ease these girls concerns by building up their self confidence.
For as much as he liked to think that he was a woman-hating villain, he actually found the fairer sex to be “all right.” Generally, they tended to slip below his radar as amusingly as that statement was given his ability, but the particularly weak ones did become “blips.” The world was harsh enough without someone telling them that they’re pretty or making them feel loved outside their immediate family. It makes it easier for said girls to accept that they’re actually worth the time of society.
Altruistic intentions were always lost, unfortunately, because the little teeny-boppers merely got a big head and took their arm-candy for granted. Unfortunately, they would soon realize that their romantic life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. There was no point in having a boyfriend if no one would notice them. It was one thing to be falsely adored to build a shattered self esteem; it was another to be completely shut off from the rest of the world because of the artificial admiration. Even old friends could hardly remember the girls’ names. His girlfriends thought that they were just jealous, but it became apparent that they weren’t when even their family was beginning to forget.
Thankfully, the first two renounced him for being unworthy for being his girlfriend before killing themselves.
Aidan had read some pages on himself from his father’s journal entries, which really were the only basis for any of his thoughts and beliefs about his ability. Yet, he couldn’t quite believe what he was reading. Still, after the third girlfriend, he finally had documented proof of what his “affect toward” his contracted was. He tried to make it right by cutting ties with her, but, well, it was very difficult for anyone to handle that much loneliness along with losing the only person who seemed to still care.
Still, for all his efforts, he was considered “a good boy” by society’s standards.
Aidan always liked to pause and let that sink in as he related this to some victim, because really, who else did he have to talk to? Sure, it was all right for The Mortician to talk about what he wanted to, but as soon as Aidan wanted to talk about what interested him, the man up and disappeared. If he was more prone to feminine outburst, he would be quite upset. As it was, he merely compensated by having long, agonizing talks with those they brought home. This usually gave them the false hope that they could reason with Aidan to be let go. It was a nice thought, but Aidan just wasn’t suicidal enough to let them go. Honestly. If The Mortician is sent to death, he’s sent to death. This doesn’t seem to sink in with these people, but at least he had an alert audience to his bitching. In return, he tried to be as polite as possible. Captive or not, it was nice of them to listen instead of just scream.
Still, he supposed that he could always explain his actions under the reasoning that his father was a killer, also. Though, the term “father” was obviously used rather loosely. Additionally, Aidan didn’t think that his fact should allow him to get off the hook for anything. Just because someone has a lousy parent does not give them the right to become a lousy individual. They are born into certain circumstances, but it does not mean they should always live in those circumstances. Still, he could honestly say that his “childhood” was particularly fucked-up.
He supposed that he wasn’t destined for a normal life, given the relationship that his father had with his mother. It is one thing to say that his father dabbled in “satanic rituals;” it would be another that he birthed a familiar via the ribcage of a woman. His father referred to it as “the reverse Adam and Eve.” Regardless of the bastardized religious undertones, Aidan couldn’t help feeling bad for his mother.
Unfortunately, it was very important to choose the species of “the mother” wisely, because it would determine the species of the familiar. The lucky people were the ones that were born with familiars. But for those that were not, they had to make their own. Furthermore, the process itself was rather painful. To put very lightly. Most people did not dabble in such arts. Those that did made sure to be careful with what they chose.
Normally, people would choose small animals like cats or birds; humans were just too taboo in the summoning, which creates a karma backlash. It made the offering be considered tainted. Animals had “pure destinies” while humans had particularly “murky destinies” - for lack of better descriptive clarifications. Fate never knew what kind of life the person would live, given both the human capacity for free will and the fact that most humans by nature were bastards. Even the nice ones. Hence, explaining his rather nasty ability for anyone that doesn’t want to be caught under criminal law.
If that were not enough, Aidan still retained some memories of his birth - both events leading up to and after.
Everything was as it should be.
Everything in its place.
That which was broken found its form again.
That which had been bled found its vein in the ground.
Hand in hand.
Lips parted into happy smile as it seems like his prayer would finally be answered.
The woman lied on the pentagram, tied to it.
Bound in a fetal position by rope.
A brilliant white light illuminated the room before a face appeared in the center of the pentagram; it seemed almost like a twisted window into some nameless world. It was ill-formed and without gender, what could only be described hair fell over its face, showing a large gaping mouth, taking up the space of the eyes and nose. Opening its mouth, a scream rattled through the air of the house, shattering the window panes of upstairs’ rooms. Still, the man continued to watch the creature with warm, welcoming face. Clumps of what must be flesh reached out to press against the “opening.” Ground trembled, furniture everywhere in the house snapping in half. The makeshift altar shattered as though made of glass, tumbling to the floor.
Her stomach started to swell.
Closely connected to the birth of a small rodent, the pregnancy lasted for one week. Each day, her health deteriorated a little more. It started simply with unable to stop coughing. Soon, the coughing accompanied vomit. Her stomach drained empty yet still her body tried to purge itself from the creature. Dehydration set in easily enough. It was almost negligible from the tremors that plagued her body each day - rupturing vital organs with each attack. Neurological pathways were the last to go. It gave her a few moments peace as she could no longer feel the pain engulfing her body. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through such pain then slowly lose the sensation in one’s body. To still be able to see her body convulse, yet not feel it as it did so.
The pregnancy forced her life to last those days before finally granting her death. Yet, Aidan could not think that would be much of a comfort. What was left was devoured from the inside out. Thus, he did not as much as break out her ribcage as her ribcage collapsed in on itself. The skin easily sunk around the open cavity as the baby lay crying. Like any “good father,” his named him right away. Aidan was happy to be given a relatively normal name rather than something completely ridiculous. Though, he was sure that his father named him such as to hide his identity. It wouldn’t be too cunning to name him “Familiar” or “Chest-Boy,” after all.
Honestly, his father didn’t know that he would hit the jackpot with Aidan’s ability; he just wanted to see if it would work. The woman had actually been a willing volunteer from the satanic coven that the two were from. Of course, she didn’t quite sign up for the excruciating death that awaited her. But, Aidan supposed that that’s what happened when people dabbled in things that they knew nothing about. Furthermore, his father didn’t fully appreciate his son’s ability.
Unfortunately, his father wasn’t the antisocial sociopath type; no, he was the narcissistic psychopathic type. The two only had six years together before his father's past was completely erased. He handled it by picking up a "hobby" of sorts. One of which that he shared with Aidan on his sixth birthday. His father explained the finer points of killing. He did so by demonstrating in a crowded street by taking a shovel and driving it deep into the eye region of an approaching pedestrian. It was then his father renounced any connection to Aidan before running into street to be hit by an oncoming SVU. This left a six-year-old in a crowded street with no one to listen to his crying, because everyone else was too busy screaming about the two very random deaths that just occurred.
Aidan considered that to be unimaginably cruel, but he had time to get over it.
That was also one of the few murders that he remembered witnessing.
And that was something coming from a man who had cracked the head open of a young man with a hammer and chisel, scooped the brain contents out, just to set the genitals of said man in the empty cavity. He liked to think that it was symbolic, but really, he thought it was just funny. Puns were made. Oh, how they were made. He let himself ride on a wave of hysterical laughter until The Mortician ordered him to take his plaything outside for the police to find with some cryptic bullshit craved into his chest. Aidan wanted to write something about penises, but The Mortician forbade him from that.
For, as horrible as it may sound, he has found that all the murders that he has committed run together. It was like summer vacation during his school years; he never knew what day it was because he did the same - or close to the same - thing each day. Variety was the spice of life, but because The Mortician just had to have a set MO; Aidan purchased a calendar so that he could keep track of the days. Still, he could - as he’s sure everyone could or would - remember his first actual kill.
The tip of the marker squeaked across the steel as he wrote in elegant handwriting “Bonesaw” across the side of a bucksaw that he had gotten from the hardware store. It was the last touch to his entire little set-up. ‘Course, he doubted that the cops would really care just how much time he spent on it, which dampened his mood just slightly. In spite of everything, it was surprisingly hard to find a young teenage girl who had roughly the same physical characteristics as Fiona Young. That alone had taken him up to four days to find.
Fiona Young was someone that The Mortician had kidnapped. Her parents were wealthy so they were making quite a loud fuss about their missing daughter. It was plastered all over the news, and his dear boss was becoming worried that they would never be able to prepare his masterpiece. Aidan had gotten used to The Mortician referring to all of his deaths as masterpieces, but really, it was just shoddy work. But then, Aidan supposed that even Michelangelo had his critics.
Still, when The Mortician started ranting on his paranoia, it usually meant that the man was planning a mass suicide. Aidan had been “working” for the man for over a few months to realize his habits. Even antisocial sociopaths had habits, after all. It was then, that Aidan suggested finding a look-alike to get them off their trail for awhile. Really, he could have just reminded the crazy that he had nothing to really worry about, but that would be a lie. Aidan had been along with him to kidnap her, which would mean that there was something to worry about. (Aidan really thought that it would have been better to just kill her before the parents could start the media circus, but par usual, it was his boss’s scheduling that got them in trouble.) Regardless, The Mortician adored the idea, but was too afraid to go out; thus, it was Aidan’s first job.
He supposed he should have been nervous and frightened about taking a life, but his childhood had prepared him for such steps.
It wasn’t terribly hard to kidnap the young “look-alike” (only her body was similar to Fiona’s, in height, weight and age, the face was nothing close to the young Miss Young’s, but that hardly mattered). Late on the fourth night, he had approached her with a fake badge, flashing it too quickly for her to see that it was indeed something that could be bought for less than a dollar at a thrift or toy store. Aidan, with his sweet smile and kinder voice, played the role of a police officer who needed her to come with him as something tragic had occurred in her household.
She had left her friends and went with him. He stopped them in front of one of the slum’s many apartments where she was eventually knocked unconscious with a cloth covered in chloroform over her mouth. Carrying her up to the apartment, he had kept his baseball cap low, sunglasses, gloves always on, and his coat collar pulled up. He could hardly care if people saw them together, as the area was known for sexual escapades, but he would rather not have someone somehow identify him. Aidan supposed that he looked rather suspicious as it was, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to call the police about him, at least, not yet.
The young miss had been properly tied up blindfolded and gagged during her unconscious state. She was tied down to a sturdy chair, hands tied tight to the handles and legs tied to the legs of the chair. It had been set up in the middle of the room, all other furniture moved to the windows, blocking the view inside, and the chair had been screwed down to the floor so that she wouldn’t have the chance to make any commotion. (Aidan was sure that the neighbors were concerned with the sounds of the drill as he worked around the apartment, but they had not said anything to him, which made him a little paranoid.) Still, he had apologized for her (when she woke up) about the inconvenient position and whatever discomfort that she might have been feeling.
Unfortunately, for two days, he would have to leave her alone and that was too much of a risk. After all, with all his planning, he had completely been skimping on his duties for The Mortician and had not been able to make a proper meal for Miss Fiona, only able to get her take-out food for the first four days. He thought it was very rude of him to not properly treat a “guest” - even a kidnapped guest - properly. Still, that left the mistreatment of the other kidnapped young girl, but he remembered the old saying that not everyone can be happy. Still, he was glad that the day had come when he had all of his planning finished. Finally, he would be able to rid himself of a little of the guilt that he had been harboring about the tied up (dead) girl in his newly rented apartment (under an alleged name, of course).
“I must apologize for all of this.” Aidan had started as soon as he entered the apartment, “bonesaw” tucked underneath his jacket, closing the door behind him. The young girl had been dead for two days, her neck slit with a pocket knife. The flies were starting to collect in the bloody mess, and it made his nose twitch at the smell.
“It really was supposed to go a little smoother, but work caught up, and I’m sure that you understand how that is some times? No, well, you didn’t work yet, do you?” He sighed to himself, feeling like he wasn’t properly apologizing, and that she wasn’t ever going to have the chance to listen to his apology either.
The saw came out of its “hiding place” as he walked over to her, not slow and deliberate as that would be just too cruel, considering all that he had put her through. Reaching into his coat, he found a large black garbage bag which he opened seconds later. Cutting off the hands was only a precaution that she would not easily be found. He would rather that the police believe whatever they wanted to believe about the young girl. Aidan realized that that was a little on the cruel side, considering all that he already put her through, but thought that it was just another necessary act that had to be done. The limps and saw were placed in the bag, wrapped up carefully, and set aside for him to grab later.
The shotgun had been sitting in the bathroom, fully loaded and waiting for use. It was one of those many weapons of crime lord henchmen that were not under any license or registration. He took the time to clean off his face, as it was slightly red with all the blood. Aidan had made sure now to open the door of the apartment as there was no way that his neighbors would ignore the shotgun blast. He made sure to open one of the windows leading to the fire exit before he continued on with his plans.
Walking back into the main room, he leveled the shotgun to the girl’s head, taking a good few steps away from it before firing. Hardly anything was left to constitute a head, but just enough of a “shelf” for him to set the Polaroid of Miss Fiona Young on it. The police would realize that it wasn’t Fiona purely from the blood type and the fragments of red hair still around the apartment wall. Regardless, it would allow The Mortician to get his stupid masterpiece over so that neither of them had to commit suicide so that they wouldn’t be caught by the police.
Grabbing the bag of hands, he hopped out of the window and ran down the fire escape before anyone would be able to stop him. The shot would wake up the people, and eventually get someone to call the police about that. So he had a very small window of time to work with. Taking off his jacket in the hallway, he stuffed the garbage bag inside of it as he folded the jacket around his arm. It was one of the few times he didn’t wear one of his nice suits, but a simple black tee-shirt and jeans. So nondescript and it bugged him for the obvious reason that he loved his suits.
Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped the blood off of his face and hair, careful not to smear it, before putting it back into his pocket. He kept his steps casual and without hurry, taking the stairs exit to his immediate left before the hallway would fill with people curious of the loud shot, already in his mind hearing the door knobs turn. Now it would only be a matter of time before someone would call the police. Steps were taken two-three at a time before exiting through the front and heading down the sidewalk as though nothing had happened.
Down the street to the back alley of another apartment building, he tossed his thrift store black coat into the fire of a homeless man. The man seemed to be a mixture of confused and grateful as the fire was dying. Gloves were taken off and folded neatly into his back pants’ pocket. Walking out of the alleyway, finally taking off the baseball cap, Aidan breathed a sigh of relief before starting to head back to the hideout and start to think of what he was going to make for dinner.
The rented car had remained back at the apartment building, but he couldn’t do much about that. It was rented by the same name that had got the apartment. Fortunately, for each place, he had gotten someone else to sign for him. He paid someone off the street to rent the apartment for him; explaining that he had bad credit, but really wanted to start again. However, it took him fifty renditions before he found a bleeding-heart that would do it. The car was rented in a similar fashion as the apartment, so, no one actually saw his face except for the people who rented in the false name - and they were already handled by The Mortician.
If there was one thing the man didn’t like, it was loose strings. He constantly would babble about tying everything up. Aidan thought that that sounded far kinkier than probably meant, but it wasn’t a stretch to believe that he had a gutter-mind. It wasn’t that he even thought about sex in the conservative sense. No, Aidan considered sex as something that needed to be properly documented and explained to the other species. He thought people needed to do more studies, but unfortunately, humans just were not that open about it. Though, he couldn’t blame them; humans did more things to themselves in the bedroom (and sometimes out) that can hardly be healthy for the individual or even remotely logical.
It was always better to keep that to oneself.
Aidan stared up at the ceiling as it slowly started to fill with red. He was slightly amused at the tangents his mind had taken as he waited for the onset of death to slowly engulf him. He just couldn’t help but wonder what people were going to think when they found their bodies. And, he also realized that it took a surprisingly long time to die, but he couldn’t say that he deserved a fast death. However, his wasn’t particularly agonizing as it was just obnoxiously slow. But, pain came in many ways. His was in time; he couldn’t imagine what The Mortician must be going through. Though, his sudden spiteful nature hoped that the man was suffering greatly for his stupidity.
Par usual, The Mortician had broken into a rant while in the kitchen. Aidan warned him several times that he had just waxed the floor. One could only imagine the bloodstains that were made from dragging bodies through the kitchen and out the front door. But, he was ignored and could only watch as the man lost his footing. It was oddly amusing to watch him flail about in the air; though, less so when the back of his head connected with the corner of the counter. The sudden red and chunk of flesh that spurted across the counter top was not a comforting sight. And, at the same time, Aidan felt a sudden tingle along his neck. It took him half a second to wonder what it could be before it felt as though someone drop kicked the back of his head.
His head lurched forward before it lobbed backwards like some shaken rag doll. Balance was lost as he fell backwards onto the floor. His hair felt wet and sticky as his ears submerged in his own blood. He didn’t know how long he sat staring at the ceiling, how long he sat thinking about what people were going to call him and think, before turning his head to look in the direction of The Mortician. His ear filled with blood, making him temporarily deaf. Though, he was slightly sure that his senses were already slipping out the back of his head. Still, he finally figured out that his real reason for joining was, because he was lonely.
This person didn’t care if his entire past was erased; it actually benefited him in the long run. Aidan supposed that he could have chosen any serial killer to a familiar to, but it was more fun to be the one that everyone thought would be caught easily. Yet, for him, finding The Mortician was quite difficult. Simply verbalizing the contract meant he would be drawn naturally to where the man was - or rather, know where he was. But, being as paranoid as he was, The Mortician moved around sporadically before Aidan found him. He wished he had something to allegory it to, but he was trying not to be superficial or needlessly foolish at the moment. It just tended to ruin the lovely mood that he set for himself - sappy.
“Uh-ya,” If he had the strength, Aidan would roll his eyes. He sounded like some retarded child smacked across the face with a two-by-four. Still, he knew that at least that if he could hear his own voice then so could The Mortician. “Wuh-a uor a?”
“Uh?!”
Aidan had one last thought before the rage for the dying man’s inability to decipher a simple question slipped into a sea of red that swirled down into black.
Fucking idiot.
the end
email: baddies_miko [at] hotmail.com
It is always a difficult thing to work for an antisocial psychopath. Especially one as particularly unbalanced as The Mortician - given the name because the victims were found with their corpses further disturbed long after what was assumed to be an already painfully excruciating death. However, the term “work” would insinuate that an exchange of money was being done. This was not entirely true. Yes, Aidan Burroughs was paid from time to time, but that was merely to get the supplies needed for work to be done. It was very difficult for a man that the country is looking for to buy groceries, after all.
And, as lovely as the thought was, he did not like to think of himself as some live-in housekeeper. The connotation was of some fluff-head girl-or-boy toy that baked cookies while the men went into the basement labyrinth to torture and maim victims. No, that wasn’t quite right, because sometimes he did participate in the killings - and, sometimes, the after burial rights. (Nonetheless, he would like to know why it was always basement labyrinths, because it seemed so terribly cliché. He would think that it would be easier if it was a room in the house rather than having to maneuver down the tunnels each time a new victim is brought home. Still, he could understand how cleaning said room would become quite a chore after awhile).
Aidan wasn’t the some brainwashed victim who joined forces with this murdering bastard. Though, he could honestly see that happening. His “boss” could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. But, no, he joined of his own wishes. He had no relation to the man other than that he dabbled in his “field of work.” Their beginning interactions were not one of the smoothest, either. Oh no, The Mortician was quite suspicious and occasionally would have tirades in Aidan’s face that would spray saliva and other secretary fluids. (Please, he meant merely mucus and the occasional cutting of flesh, rather than the belief that he was some crazed fan boy after the insane man’s “goodies.”)
He also wasn’t quite sure what terminology would be best to describe him. Henchman referred back to the point that he was paid for his job, when it was already established that that wasn’t the case. It also insinuated that he was frightened of The Mortician. This he would not deny. Who wouldn’t be concerned for working with someone so unbalanced? There was a very thin line that separated the boundaries of ally and liability.
Ally meant that they were on the same page and some sort of trust between them. They weren’t even on a first name basis, which he felt was a little rude considering that the man knew his name, but nevertheless, understood the need. What was the old saying; “Good help is so hard to find these days.” As silly as the saying was, it is very hard for someone to truly trust another human being. Unless, said people are into S&M, but that is more of a sexual romp than actual “real interactions.”
Anyway, even kinky dominatrix ladies probably have issues really opening up to everyone in the real world. So, it was a moot point to bring up. Still, he did, because it reminded him that there were some sexually deviant people that put his “insanity” to shame.
The word “sidekick” made him either think of Robin or the technological device with the same name. He could see how The Mortician was like Batman. He did constantly brood in the back of the labyrinth while scouring cities to find the next person for Aidan to bring home. But, neither of them had any costumes or signal. Not like anyone would want a signal to summon them, but it was still the principle of the thing.
Regardless, Aidan did not like being called “a familiar.” It was true that given his rather unique birth, he was imbued with certain talents that no other human had. Not only that, but he still referred to himself in human nouns rather that “mythical creature.” However, it wasn’t like he looked any different from any other person. He couldn’t morph into some animal form nor had any sort of kinesis - this was a pity, because he thought it was particularly unfair for a man such as himself to have to clean up with his bare hands. Rather, he was what one could consider a lucky charm.
“A person could get away with murder” would be the saying - now pun - which would work best when speaking about his abilities. The correct terminology would be that the individual under Aidan’s protection simply disappeared. People just ignored the existence of the individual. They knew the person was around and could converse, but never hold a clear, cut memory of said person. It wasn’t quite a conscious thing, which he learned in his youth. Rather, as soon as he or someone else vocalized a connection with him, they were under contract with Aidan. This was as simple as saying, “This is my friend, Aidan Burroughs.”
Thankfully, it only extended onto one person until the connection was broken - either through verbal dismissal from the contract, or capture. Once caged by another individual, his powers became null-and-void. Also, his abilities - unfortunately or fortunately - did not extend onto him. Therefore, he could still be easily caught if he wasn’t repulsively careful. And, while he often thought to mention this to The Mortician, it would mean that he’d most likely be locked in some room to minimize the chance of capture. This all-in-all was not an appealing thought, so he kept this little tidbit to himself.
His ability would increase as long as the bond remained between both himself and the person. Eventually, it would slowly erase their existence from everyone they met. For homicidal maniacs, this was a wonderful thing. For average people, the need to be known by more than one person was quite important. It usually drove people insane that their history was being eradicated without knowing why. Really, Aidan would try to tell them, but they became so distraught that it was just impossible to talk to them. When suicide became imminent, he made sure to have them denounce him before death. If still connected to someone when they die, so too does he.
Still, he wouldn’t say that he worked for him because he was afraid of him. No, it would be silly to say otherwise. As a sign of trust, Aidan had explained how to officially kill him. This act of trust came about shortly after The Mortician had unsuccessfully tried killing him when he had first come around. It resulted in quite a stir when Aidan got back up off the bloodstained floor. And, it took long awhile to explain who and what he was, before the man would stop threatening to kill himself so that he wouldn’t be taken in. In retrospect, Aidan believed it to be very unwise to have told The Mortician about his only weakness. And, he knew that his folly would eventually bite him in the ass.
Though, honestly, it was to keep the man from researching too much about his background. Besides, the official text on familiars was mercifully very hard to come by. It took certain channels, which his poor deranged boss was too mistrustful to take, in order to find any real solid facts about familiars. Nevertheless, unless he was some sort of masochist (and he was very sure he wasn’t), that wasn’t the reasons for why he was doing what he was doing. Either way, sadist would be a better term to describe his nature, but he never took any real sexual pleasure from killing people. In fact, the killing was quite anticlimactic, which tended to annoy The Mortician. But, he couldn’t help it if he would always find himself humming Another One Bites The Dust by Queen.
Perhaps, it would be simpler if his reasoning for “joining forces” were clear. Aidan wasn’t horribly disfigured, which built up an unimaginable rage and hatred for the society that shunned him. No, he was quite handsome, in fact. Oh, he wasn’t vain; not in the least. He merely had enough pride in himself to believe what he saw in the mirror was “good.” Not “adequate,” but “good.”
It wasn’t like he could turn heads or even cause much of a stir in the hormonal pool of desire. He didn’t have some six-pack (though, dragging bodies - both alive and dead - around did wonders for the body) nor a well-shaped face (whatever that meant). As far as height went, he was slightly shorter than the average male (5’9”). Still, he would best be described as lengthy. Merely because it always seemed like his limbs were just slightly longer than the rest of his body. Yet, somehow, he was able to appear proportional.
His hair could be described as a kind of dark ginger shade. While he kept it short, the top tended to appear a bit longer than the back. It gave him (an unfortunate) stereotypical emo look with his bangs always in his face. To keep from them interfering with his sight, he would moose his hair so that it had more of a preppy school boy swish.
(Yes, he did enjoy naming his hairstyles, because what else was there to do when The Mortician would rant and rave about whatever homicidal maniacs ranted and raved about? Honestly, Aidan tended to drown out his constant talking with superficial thoughts. He always knew the crazies were lonely, but he didn’t think that gave the man the right to constantly talk to him whenever they had a free moment. Personal space would be nice, but he’d rather not end up tied to some chair about to have his innards removed should he mention this aloud.
Of course, it wasn’t like he could be killed by conventional means.)
Unfortunately, if kept out in the sun for long periods of time, his hair actually would start to turn slightly blond. Of course, at those times, it looked like Aidan highlighted his hair, which he wasn’t too keen on. It was bad enough that he had to go to the salon more than twice a week, because the chemicals used in some of The Mortician’s more elaborate tortures did a quite number on his follicles. He’d rather not worsen his image by having it thought that he highlighted his hair, too.
Thank goodness the disposal of corpses usually happened at night; thus, keeping the sun exposure to a minimum.
And, despite the loathing he has for his sun-activated multicolored hair, his skin was unusually sensitive to UV radiation. Ten minutes in direct sunlight was more like ten hours for him. Yet, oddly enough, his skin wasn’t any lighter than any “normal Caucasian.” Consequently, latent albinism was out as a reason for his sensitive skin. Either way, Aidan blamed it on global warming.
He also had his physical imperfections - slight indentions on the side of his face that could almost be mistaken for misplaced dimples if it weren’t for the fact that they were always present regardless if he was smiling or not. Such wounds came when a girl swung a broken board at his head. The nails from said board had actually pierced straight into both his cheek and gums. Surprisingly, it was not that difficult to explain this to a doctor. Merely, the explanation that he had gotten into a drunken fight was enough to not raise any eyebrows. No, he was just called “a dumb ass that should learn to keep his mouth shut.”
So, perhaps, it wasn’t his physical attributes that allowed people to think that he was handsome. A better explanation would be that Aidan was thought to be attractive because of his personality. He was seen as a very pleasant person. It was also a well-known fact that familiars usually had gentile natures to begin with. Though, Aidan believed that one’s nature isn’t quite by how nice they speak or act, but rather the reasoning for the actions that take place. Just because he did occasional nice acts did not mean that he himself was nice. He forgave people that mistake though; it was a common misconception.
On weekends, he went along roadsides picking up garbage. This wasn’t really done for anyone’s benefit, but because it disgusted Aidan to have to walk through said gunk each time he had to drag a body down into a ditch. Did anyone realize how easy it would be to snag his clothes on a piece of tin and have it lead back to him? So, while picking up trash, Aidan would damn the advances in forensic science.
During Christmas time, he would always give cash to the donation buckets outside of Wall-Mart. Though, he only did it for the ‘thank you’ that he got from the bell ringers. If he got no ‘thank you,’ he would promptly steal the bell and chuck it into the parking lot. Unsurprisingly, he usually was cheered for this by the passersby.
And, despite popular belief, he did have a childhood. It wasn’t like a full-grown man could appear in one night, magical or not. Besides, simplicity was best. Babies were naturally very difficult to make; if one tried to make a man, well, that was just going through way too much trouble than need be. It just took patience. Magic can only solve so many problems before the person has to start owning up to their own. But, that was beside the point; Aidan adored his childhood - after his father died, of course.
In high school, he had three girlfriends. They were lovely little things, but as far as high school girls go, very superficial and constantly fretting over if they were liked for their “depth.” (Though, now that he is older and realizing he is just as superficial, he can relate. Sad as that revelation is.) He also knew what that said about him - that he had a “thing” for vulnerable girls. This was slightly true. Aidan had felt obligated to ease these girls concerns by building up their self confidence.
For as much as he liked to think that he was a woman-hating villain, he actually found the fairer sex to be “all right.” Generally, they tended to slip below his radar as amusingly as that statement was given his ability, but the particularly weak ones did become “blips.” The world was harsh enough without someone telling them that they’re pretty or making them feel loved outside their immediate family. It makes it easier for said girls to accept that they’re actually worth the time of society.
Altruistic intentions were always lost, unfortunately, because the little teeny-boppers merely got a big head and took their arm-candy for granted. Unfortunately, they would soon realize that their romantic life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. There was no point in having a boyfriend if no one would notice them. It was one thing to be falsely adored to build a shattered self esteem; it was another to be completely shut off from the rest of the world because of the artificial admiration. Even old friends could hardly remember the girls’ names. His girlfriends thought that they were just jealous, but it became apparent that they weren’t when even their family was beginning to forget.
Thankfully, the first two renounced him for being unworthy for being his girlfriend before killing themselves.
Aidan had read some pages on himself from his father’s journal entries, which really were the only basis for any of his thoughts and beliefs about his ability. Yet, he couldn’t quite believe what he was reading. Still, after the third girlfriend, he finally had documented proof of what his “affect toward” his contracted was. He tried to make it right by cutting ties with her, but, well, it was very difficult for anyone to handle that much loneliness along with losing the only person who seemed to still care.
Still, for all his efforts, he was considered “a good boy” by society’s standards.
Aidan always liked to pause and let that sink in as he related this to some victim, because really, who else did he have to talk to? Sure, it was all right for The Mortician to talk about what he wanted to, but as soon as Aidan wanted to talk about what interested him, the man up and disappeared. If he was more prone to feminine outburst, he would be quite upset. As it was, he merely compensated by having long, agonizing talks with those they brought home. This usually gave them the false hope that they could reason with Aidan to be let go. It was a nice thought, but Aidan just wasn’t suicidal enough to let them go. Honestly. If The Mortician is sent to death, he’s sent to death. This doesn’t seem to sink in with these people, but at least he had an alert audience to his bitching. In return, he tried to be as polite as possible. Captive or not, it was nice of them to listen instead of just scream.
Still, he supposed that he could always explain his actions under the reasoning that his father was a killer, also. Though, the term “father” was obviously used rather loosely. Additionally, Aidan didn’t think that his fact should allow him to get off the hook for anything. Just because someone has a lousy parent does not give them the right to become a lousy individual. They are born into certain circumstances, but it does not mean they should always live in those circumstances. Still, he could honestly say that his “childhood” was particularly fucked-up.
He supposed that he wasn’t destined for a normal life, given the relationship that his father had with his mother. It is one thing to say that his father dabbled in “satanic rituals;” it would be another that he birthed a familiar via the ribcage of a woman. His father referred to it as “the reverse Adam and Eve.” Regardless of the bastardized religious undertones, Aidan couldn’t help feeling bad for his mother.
Unfortunately, it was very important to choose the species of “the mother” wisely, because it would determine the species of the familiar. The lucky people were the ones that were born with familiars. But for those that were not, they had to make their own. Furthermore, the process itself was rather painful. To put very lightly. Most people did not dabble in such arts. Those that did made sure to be careful with what they chose.
Normally, people would choose small animals like cats or birds; humans were just too taboo in the summoning, which creates a karma backlash. It made the offering be considered tainted. Animals had “pure destinies” while humans had particularly “murky destinies” - for lack of better descriptive clarifications. Fate never knew what kind of life the person would live, given both the human capacity for free will and the fact that most humans by nature were bastards. Even the nice ones. Hence, explaining his rather nasty ability for anyone that doesn’t want to be caught under criminal law.
If that were not enough, Aidan still retained some memories of his birth - both events leading up to and after.
Everything was as it should be.
Everything in its place.
That which was broken found its form again.
That which had been bled found its vein in the ground.
Hand in hand.
Lips parted into happy smile as it seems like his prayer would finally be answered.
The woman lied on the pentagram, tied to it.
Bound in a fetal position by rope.
A brilliant white light illuminated the room before a face appeared in the center of the pentagram; it seemed almost like a twisted window into some nameless world. It was ill-formed and without gender, what could only be described hair fell over its face, showing a large gaping mouth, taking up the space of the eyes and nose. Opening its mouth, a scream rattled through the air of the house, shattering the window panes of upstairs’ rooms. Still, the man continued to watch the creature with warm, welcoming face. Clumps of what must be flesh reached out to press against the “opening.” Ground trembled, furniture everywhere in the house snapping in half. The makeshift altar shattered as though made of glass, tumbling to the floor.
Her stomach started to swell.
Closely connected to the birth of a small rodent, the pregnancy lasted for one week. Each day, her health deteriorated a little more. It started simply with unable to stop coughing. Soon, the coughing accompanied vomit. Her stomach drained empty yet still her body tried to purge itself from the creature. Dehydration set in easily enough. It was almost negligible from the tremors that plagued her body each day - rupturing vital organs with each attack. Neurological pathways were the last to go. It gave her a few moments peace as she could no longer feel the pain engulfing her body. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through such pain then slowly lose the sensation in one’s body. To still be able to see her body convulse, yet not feel it as it did so.
The pregnancy forced her life to last those days before finally granting her death. Yet, Aidan could not think that would be much of a comfort. What was left was devoured from the inside out. Thus, he did not as much as break out her ribcage as her ribcage collapsed in on itself. The skin easily sunk around the open cavity as the baby lay crying. Like any “good father,” his named him right away. Aidan was happy to be given a relatively normal name rather than something completely ridiculous. Though, he was sure that his father named him such as to hide his identity. It wouldn’t be too cunning to name him “Familiar” or “Chest-Boy,” after all.
Honestly, his father didn’t know that he would hit the jackpot with Aidan’s ability; he just wanted to see if it would work. The woman had actually been a willing volunteer from the satanic coven that the two were from. Of course, she didn’t quite sign up for the excruciating death that awaited her. But, Aidan supposed that that’s what happened when people dabbled in things that they knew nothing about. Furthermore, his father didn’t fully appreciate his son’s ability.
Unfortunately, his father wasn’t the antisocial sociopath type; no, he was the narcissistic psychopathic type. The two only had six years together before his father's past was completely erased. He handled it by picking up a "hobby" of sorts. One of which that he shared with Aidan on his sixth birthday. His father explained the finer points of killing. He did so by demonstrating in a crowded street by taking a shovel and driving it deep into the eye region of an approaching pedestrian. It was then his father renounced any connection to Aidan before running into street to be hit by an oncoming SVU. This left a six-year-old in a crowded street with no one to listen to his crying, because everyone else was too busy screaming about the two very random deaths that just occurred.
Aidan considered that to be unimaginably cruel, but he had time to get over it.
That was also one of the few murders that he remembered witnessing.
And that was something coming from a man who had cracked the head open of a young man with a hammer and chisel, scooped the brain contents out, just to set the genitals of said man in the empty cavity. He liked to think that it was symbolic, but really, he thought it was just funny. Puns were made. Oh, how they were made. He let himself ride on a wave of hysterical laughter until The Mortician ordered him to take his plaything outside for the police to find with some cryptic bullshit craved into his chest. Aidan wanted to write something about penises, but The Mortician forbade him from that.
For, as horrible as it may sound, he has found that all the murders that he has committed run together. It was like summer vacation during his school years; he never knew what day it was because he did the same - or close to the same - thing each day. Variety was the spice of life, but because The Mortician just had to have a set MO; Aidan purchased a calendar so that he could keep track of the days. Still, he could - as he’s sure everyone could or would - remember his first actual kill.
The tip of the marker squeaked across the steel as he wrote in elegant handwriting “Bonesaw” across the side of a bucksaw that he had gotten from the hardware store. It was the last touch to his entire little set-up. ‘Course, he doubted that the cops would really care just how much time he spent on it, which dampened his mood just slightly. In spite of everything, it was surprisingly hard to find a young teenage girl who had roughly the same physical characteristics as Fiona Young. That alone had taken him up to four days to find.
Fiona Young was someone that The Mortician had kidnapped. Her parents were wealthy so they were making quite a loud fuss about their missing daughter. It was plastered all over the news, and his dear boss was becoming worried that they would never be able to prepare his masterpiece. Aidan had gotten used to The Mortician referring to all of his deaths as masterpieces, but really, it was just shoddy work. But then, Aidan supposed that even Michelangelo had his critics.
Still, when The Mortician started ranting on his paranoia, it usually meant that the man was planning a mass suicide. Aidan had been “working” for the man for over a few months to realize his habits. Even antisocial sociopaths had habits, after all. It was then, that Aidan suggested finding a look-alike to get them off their trail for awhile. Really, he could have just reminded the crazy that he had nothing to really worry about, but that would be a lie. Aidan had been along with him to kidnap her, which would mean that there was something to worry about. (Aidan really thought that it would have been better to just kill her before the parents could start the media circus, but par usual, it was his boss’s scheduling that got them in trouble.) Regardless, The Mortician adored the idea, but was too afraid to go out; thus, it was Aidan’s first job.
He supposed he should have been nervous and frightened about taking a life, but his childhood had prepared him for such steps.
It wasn’t terribly hard to kidnap the young “look-alike” (only her body was similar to Fiona’s, in height, weight and age, the face was nothing close to the young Miss Young’s, but that hardly mattered). Late on the fourth night, he had approached her with a fake badge, flashing it too quickly for her to see that it was indeed something that could be bought for less than a dollar at a thrift or toy store. Aidan, with his sweet smile and kinder voice, played the role of a police officer who needed her to come with him as something tragic had occurred in her household.
She had left her friends and went with him. He stopped them in front of one of the slum’s many apartments where she was eventually knocked unconscious with a cloth covered in chloroform over her mouth. Carrying her up to the apartment, he had kept his baseball cap low, sunglasses, gloves always on, and his coat collar pulled up. He could hardly care if people saw them together, as the area was known for sexual escapades, but he would rather not have someone somehow identify him. Aidan supposed that he looked rather suspicious as it was, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to call the police about him, at least, not yet.
The young miss had been properly tied up blindfolded and gagged during her unconscious state. She was tied down to a sturdy chair, hands tied tight to the handles and legs tied to the legs of the chair. It had been set up in the middle of the room, all other furniture moved to the windows, blocking the view inside, and the chair had been screwed down to the floor so that she wouldn’t have the chance to make any commotion. (Aidan was sure that the neighbors were concerned with the sounds of the drill as he worked around the apartment, but they had not said anything to him, which made him a little paranoid.) Still, he had apologized for her (when she woke up) about the inconvenient position and whatever discomfort that she might have been feeling.
Unfortunately, for two days, he would have to leave her alone and that was too much of a risk. After all, with all his planning, he had completely been skimping on his duties for The Mortician and had not been able to make a proper meal for Miss Fiona, only able to get her take-out food for the first four days. He thought it was very rude of him to not properly treat a “guest” - even a kidnapped guest - properly. Still, that left the mistreatment of the other kidnapped young girl, but he remembered the old saying that not everyone can be happy. Still, he was glad that the day had come when he had all of his planning finished. Finally, he would be able to rid himself of a little of the guilt that he had been harboring about the tied up (dead) girl in his newly rented apartment (under an alleged name, of course).
“I must apologize for all of this.” Aidan had started as soon as he entered the apartment, “bonesaw” tucked underneath his jacket, closing the door behind him. The young girl had been dead for two days, her neck slit with a pocket knife. The flies were starting to collect in the bloody mess, and it made his nose twitch at the smell.
“It really was supposed to go a little smoother, but work caught up, and I’m sure that you understand how that is some times? No, well, you didn’t work yet, do you?” He sighed to himself, feeling like he wasn’t properly apologizing, and that she wasn’t ever going to have the chance to listen to his apology either.
The saw came out of its “hiding place” as he walked over to her, not slow and deliberate as that would be just too cruel, considering all that he had put her through. Reaching into his coat, he found a large black garbage bag which he opened seconds later. Cutting off the hands was only a precaution that she would not easily be found. He would rather that the police believe whatever they wanted to believe about the young girl. Aidan realized that that was a little on the cruel side, considering all that he already put her through, but thought that it was just another necessary act that had to be done. The limps and saw were placed in the bag, wrapped up carefully, and set aside for him to grab later.
The shotgun had been sitting in the bathroom, fully loaded and waiting for use. It was one of those many weapons of crime lord henchmen that were not under any license or registration. He took the time to clean off his face, as it was slightly red with all the blood. Aidan had made sure now to open the door of the apartment as there was no way that his neighbors would ignore the shotgun blast. He made sure to open one of the windows leading to the fire exit before he continued on with his plans.
Walking back into the main room, he leveled the shotgun to the girl’s head, taking a good few steps away from it before firing. Hardly anything was left to constitute a head, but just enough of a “shelf” for him to set the Polaroid of Miss Fiona Young on it. The police would realize that it wasn’t Fiona purely from the blood type and the fragments of red hair still around the apartment wall. Regardless, it would allow The Mortician to get his stupid masterpiece over so that neither of them had to commit suicide so that they wouldn’t be caught by the police.
Grabbing the bag of hands, he hopped out of the window and ran down the fire escape before anyone would be able to stop him. The shot would wake up the people, and eventually get someone to call the police about that. So he had a very small window of time to work with. Taking off his jacket in the hallway, he stuffed the garbage bag inside of it as he folded the jacket around his arm. It was one of the few times he didn’t wear one of his nice suits, but a simple black tee-shirt and jeans. So nondescript and it bugged him for the obvious reason that he loved his suits.
Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped the blood off of his face and hair, careful not to smear it, before putting it back into his pocket. He kept his steps casual and without hurry, taking the stairs exit to his immediate left before the hallway would fill with people curious of the loud shot, already in his mind hearing the door knobs turn. Now it would only be a matter of time before someone would call the police. Steps were taken two-three at a time before exiting through the front and heading down the sidewalk as though nothing had happened.
Down the street to the back alley of another apartment building, he tossed his thrift store black coat into the fire of a homeless man. The man seemed to be a mixture of confused and grateful as the fire was dying. Gloves were taken off and folded neatly into his back pants’ pocket. Walking out of the alleyway, finally taking off the baseball cap, Aidan breathed a sigh of relief before starting to head back to the hideout and start to think of what he was going to make for dinner.
The rented car had remained back at the apartment building, but he couldn’t do much about that. It was rented by the same name that had got the apartment. Fortunately, for each place, he had gotten someone else to sign for him. He paid someone off the street to rent the apartment for him; explaining that he had bad credit, but really wanted to start again. However, it took him fifty renditions before he found a bleeding-heart that would do it. The car was rented in a similar fashion as the apartment, so, no one actually saw his face except for the people who rented in the false name - and they were already handled by The Mortician.
If there was one thing the man didn’t like, it was loose strings. He constantly would babble about tying everything up. Aidan thought that that sounded far kinkier than probably meant, but it wasn’t a stretch to believe that he had a gutter-mind. It wasn’t that he even thought about sex in the conservative sense. No, Aidan considered sex as something that needed to be properly documented and explained to the other species. He thought people needed to do more studies, but unfortunately, humans just were not that open about it. Though, he couldn’t blame them; humans did more things to themselves in the bedroom (and sometimes out) that can hardly be healthy for the individual or even remotely logical.
It was always better to keep that to oneself.
Aidan stared up at the ceiling as it slowly started to fill with red. He was slightly amused at the tangents his mind had taken as he waited for the onset of death to slowly engulf him. He just couldn’t help but wonder what people were going to think when they found their bodies. And, he also realized that it took a surprisingly long time to die, but he couldn’t say that he deserved a fast death. However, his wasn’t particularly agonizing as it was just obnoxiously slow. But, pain came in many ways. His was in time; he couldn’t imagine what The Mortician must be going through. Though, his sudden spiteful nature hoped that the man was suffering greatly for his stupidity.
Par usual, The Mortician had broken into a rant while in the kitchen. Aidan warned him several times that he had just waxed the floor. One could only imagine the bloodstains that were made from dragging bodies through the kitchen and out the front door. But, he was ignored and could only watch as the man lost his footing. It was oddly amusing to watch him flail about in the air; though, less so when the back of his head connected with the corner of the counter. The sudden red and chunk of flesh that spurted across the counter top was not a comforting sight. And, at the same time, Aidan felt a sudden tingle along his neck. It took him half a second to wonder what it could be before it felt as though someone drop kicked the back of his head.
His head lurched forward before it lobbed backwards like some shaken rag doll. Balance was lost as he fell backwards onto the floor. His hair felt wet and sticky as his ears submerged in his own blood. He didn’t know how long he sat staring at the ceiling, how long he sat thinking about what people were going to call him and think, before turning his head to look in the direction of The Mortician. His ear filled with blood, making him temporarily deaf. Though, he was slightly sure that his senses were already slipping out the back of his head. Still, he finally figured out that his real reason for joining was, because he was lonely.
This person didn’t care if his entire past was erased; it actually benefited him in the long run. Aidan supposed that he could have chosen any serial killer to a familiar to, but it was more fun to be the one that everyone thought would be caught easily. Yet, for him, finding The Mortician was quite difficult. Simply verbalizing the contract meant he would be drawn naturally to where the man was - or rather, know where he was. But, being as paranoid as he was, The Mortician moved around sporadically before Aidan found him. He wished he had something to allegory it to, but he was trying not to be superficial or needlessly foolish at the moment. It just tended to ruin the lovely mood that he set for himself - sappy.
“Uh-ya,” If he had the strength, Aidan would roll his eyes. He sounded like some retarded child smacked across the face with a two-by-four. Still, he knew that at least that if he could hear his own voice then so could The Mortician. “Wuh-a uor a?”
“Uh?!”
Aidan had one last thought before the rage for the dying man’s inability to decipher a simple question slipped into a sea of red that swirled down into black.
Fucking idiot.
the end