11-13-2014, 10:32 AM
He listened...and heard nothing. No sounds down in the cellar. And nothing from upstairs. He wove a faint blue light, enough to illuminate the room as moonlight would, and looked around. Right near the stairs into the cellar were stairs going up to the first floor. The door was partially cracked open, the light streaming in, but that was it.
He looked around and walked slowly, keeping his light still so as to not create moving shadows. Along one wall were shelves lined with regular tools and garden implements. The wall next to it had a shelf with jars and cleaners and other things. And the third had barrels stacked. The last wall had the stairs he descended from. That was it. The room was maybe 15 feet by 10 feet. And there was no one here. He did notice something on the ground near the tools. First he looked around and then knelt, still alert, and picked it up. It was the woman's sword. He slipped it into his belt loop.
He looked up sharply, scanning the room again. No one else was here. But in his mind his focus had already shifted from the woman to the man upstairs. He didn't think she'd leave it, not the way she'd held on to it. He remembered the crime scene. The dead girl- no, girls. Had this woman seen something there that the police had missed, something that told her this was The Butcher?
Darth Malik smiled. Now this was more like it. A serial killer who tortured and killed women. Oh he could have some fun with someone like that. So where had he taken her? Carefully, Malik walked up the stairs- they were concrete so there was no creaking- until he got to the door. He looked behind himself one last time before letting the weave of light go. Then he wove his listening thread- four of them and sent them out the door in random directions. He heard nothing except the sound of the heater fan blowing, the slow hum of the refrigerator, and the click of an old style clock.
Malik pushed open the door, a weave of fire and air at the ready. Just an old couch facing an old flat panel TV. The walls were a yellow brown and the room smelled musty. He walked forward and looked to the left, seeing the front door and the kitchen he'd looked into earlier. The man's dinner lay on the table, only a few bites taken. On the table were also a pair of media headphones. He came closer and picked them up in his gloved hands. They were old with a radio receiver and 500 TB storage. He hit the "now playing" button and the title "t17" came up in the holographic display in the air. He turned the volume down to 1, put the speaker near his ear and pressed "play". Screams fountained from the headphones, throaty fully bodied from the depths of ones soul, interspersed with quiet from having to breath or pleas and tears. He pressed stop almost at once. He knew those screams. He knew what caused them. This was the guy. And now he had that stupid girl who'd thought to hunt him.
He noted that the holographic display also had other information. The device was tied to a home security system. "Perimeter breach- cellar." So that was how he knew. He put the headphones down and walked to the bedroom, Force senses at his fullest. There were only a few rooms, a bathroom and a couple bedrooms. There was nothing in the first room that was strange. But then again, dust settled over most of the stuff in there. It wasn't used. There was a picture of a severe looking mother and a child that looked odd. The other room though, was lived in. A TV and a bed was pretty much it, windows boarded up, dirty clothes covering everything. He didn't touch the TV or the drawers. He had a feeling what he'd find. Trophies and recordings, most likely, so that he could relive his moments while in bed. The lotion on the nightstand was half empty.
But no man and no girl. Could they have left? He would have heard a car start. There had been a car. He went back out to the living room and peered out and it was still there. So they still had to be here.
Malik breathed deeply, feeling the Force flow through him and he smiled. It was time. This one, more than any other. He would beg and plead as those girls did. The girl. Malik's nostrils flared, his head filling with rage and anger...and anticipation. This one would be the best he ever had.
He went back downstairs, alert, using his listening weaves, his ball of blue light. This time, he studied the cellar space while mentally reviewing each room upstairs, placing it in relation to down stairs.
He shook he head. Far too small. One of these was a fake wall. He wove a cube of air to sheath the walls and floor and then hardened it. No sound would penetrate now. Another weave ripped the tools and rack from the wall leaving it bare. The white paint was brown with dust and cobwebs and scuffs. No seams appeared. He did the same with the shelf, jars breaking and shelves clattering to the ground. Finally came the wall with the barrels. There it was. Hinges and a door. There was a biometric lock on it but that was a joke. He wove a thread of fire around the seams of the door and then used air to slide it out gently.
Darth Malik stepped into the dank hallway. He noticed the walls had been covered in sound suppression material. It made sense. But he could hear just fine now, down here. The screams echoed.
Weaving fire and air, he strode through the hall.
He looked around and walked slowly, keeping his light still so as to not create moving shadows. Along one wall were shelves lined with regular tools and garden implements. The wall next to it had a shelf with jars and cleaners and other things. And the third had barrels stacked. The last wall had the stairs he descended from. That was it. The room was maybe 15 feet by 10 feet. And there was no one here. He did notice something on the ground near the tools. First he looked around and then knelt, still alert, and picked it up. It was the woman's sword. He slipped it into his belt loop.
He looked up sharply, scanning the room again. No one else was here. But in his mind his focus had already shifted from the woman to the man upstairs. He didn't think she'd leave it, not the way she'd held on to it. He remembered the crime scene. The dead girl- no, girls. Had this woman seen something there that the police had missed, something that told her this was The Butcher?
Darth Malik smiled. Now this was more like it. A serial killer who tortured and killed women. Oh he could have some fun with someone like that. So where had he taken her? Carefully, Malik walked up the stairs- they were concrete so there was no creaking- until he got to the door. He looked behind himself one last time before letting the weave of light go. Then he wove his listening thread- four of them and sent them out the door in random directions. He heard nothing except the sound of the heater fan blowing, the slow hum of the refrigerator, and the click of an old style clock.
Malik pushed open the door, a weave of fire and air at the ready. Just an old couch facing an old flat panel TV. The walls were a yellow brown and the room smelled musty. He walked forward and looked to the left, seeing the front door and the kitchen he'd looked into earlier. The man's dinner lay on the table, only a few bites taken. On the table were also a pair of media headphones. He came closer and picked them up in his gloved hands. They were old with a radio receiver and 500 TB storage. He hit the "now playing" button and the title "t17" came up in the holographic display in the air. He turned the volume down to 1, put the speaker near his ear and pressed "play". Screams fountained from the headphones, throaty fully bodied from the depths of ones soul, interspersed with quiet from having to breath or pleas and tears. He pressed stop almost at once. He knew those screams. He knew what caused them. This was the guy. And now he had that stupid girl who'd thought to hunt him.
He noted that the holographic display also had other information. The device was tied to a home security system. "Perimeter breach- cellar." So that was how he knew. He put the headphones down and walked to the bedroom, Force senses at his fullest. There were only a few rooms, a bathroom and a couple bedrooms. There was nothing in the first room that was strange. But then again, dust settled over most of the stuff in there. It wasn't used. There was a picture of a severe looking mother and a child that looked odd. The other room though, was lived in. A TV and a bed was pretty much it, windows boarded up, dirty clothes covering everything. He didn't touch the TV or the drawers. He had a feeling what he'd find. Trophies and recordings, most likely, so that he could relive his moments while in bed. The lotion on the nightstand was half empty.
But no man and no girl. Could they have left? He would have heard a car start. There had been a car. He went back out to the living room and peered out and it was still there. So they still had to be here.
Malik breathed deeply, feeling the Force flow through him and he smiled. It was time. This one, more than any other. He would beg and plead as those girls did. The girl. Malik's nostrils flared, his head filling with rage and anger...and anticipation. This one would be the best he ever had.
He went back downstairs, alert, using his listening weaves, his ball of blue light. This time, he studied the cellar space while mentally reviewing each room upstairs, placing it in relation to down stairs.
He shook he head. Far too small. One of these was a fake wall. He wove a cube of air to sheath the walls and floor and then hardened it. No sound would penetrate now. Another weave ripped the tools and rack from the wall leaving it bare. The white paint was brown with dust and cobwebs and scuffs. No seams appeared. He did the same with the shelf, jars breaking and shelves clattering to the ground. Finally came the wall with the barrels. There it was. Hinges and a door. There was a biometric lock on it but that was a joke. He wove a thread of fire around the seams of the door and then used air to slide it out gently.
Darth Malik stepped into the dank hallway. He noticed the walls had been covered in sound suppression material. It made sense. But he could hear just fine now, down here. The screams echoed.
Weaving fire and air, he strode through the hall.