05-07-2014, 03:48 PM
Dane followed, fascinated. His mind worked silent as well-oiled gears in his attempts to decipher events. Aria found the body. She kept the knife like the frayed bundle of black hair kept as keepsake in his pocket. He could not understand her.
From his distance, he could hear them laughing. The two girls held hands. The second woman's head glowed an angelic blonde with every street lamp the two passed beneath; Aria's was black as velvet night.
His stroll kept pace as even, gentle steps. His loafers made little sound on the sidewalk. His coat rustled with sleight movements, but his hair lay undisturbed across his forehead; the wind was calm tonight. As was he.
They entered a narrow, two-story building. The first floor was occupied by a corner-store, barred windows dark for the night. He stood on the sidewalk outside for some time, head folded back, eyes oriented upward. When a light illuminated in the upstairs apartment, he moved to the door, and gently checked the doorknob.
Open. He pulled the door with a hint of a smile, and ascended the stairs, careful of creaks, without interruption.
A narrow hallway led to an apartment barely large enough to occupy more than one room. Light gleamed around the framed edges of an ill-fitting doorway, and his hand itched to touch the knob, but instead, he licked his lips and was content to sit alongside.
He rested his head against the wall. Curled edges of peeling wallpaper seams pricked his scalp, but he did not move. He rested his arms on his knees, closed his eyes, and crafted a scene in his mind for every sound made behind the wall. The powers at the edge of his understanding became his in that moment, and with them, the softest of sounds became his knowledge. The pull of a zipper. The swishing of brushed hair. The escaping air from an opened bottle.
He listened, completely still, for minutes innumerable. Somewhere from the distant echoes of the pleasure and pain occurring out of sight, he felt the thin tickle of a spider on his cheek, but he was transfixed elsewhere, and never swiped it away.
More giggling, and Dane squeezed the bridge of his nose. His chest heaved with the strain of keeping himself from entering. This woman, this cold-blooded enigma he could not decipher, normally so isolated by the surface of her watery, self-inflicted graves, tangled in the arms of a stranger. Another woman, oblivious of the monster to whom she sacrificed her body and vulnerability. As indeed, Aria was a monster. Like him. A killer without remorse.
The place he went was dark with blood. It began innocently enough. He put his hands where he imagined Aria's went, and imagined velvety skin flushed hot beneath his fingertips. But soon, what phallic toys pulled noises of pleasure from behind the door, his mind replaced them with the cold edge of Aria's sword, drawn down the woman's stomach like the trailing finger of her lover. The girl's eyes met those of Aria's, of his, winced by the torturous prickle of teasing and pain, silently begging for more, then flared wide when the point plunged into the soft bulge of her lower abdomen.
The laughter was soon replaced with heavy breathing, and Dane could not tell whether it was theirs, or his. He stood.
He pushed on the doorknob with the lightest touch. It was unlocked, but a bolt would not have stopped him.
He stood in the threshold for some moments, drinking in everything his imagination had conjured. The air was thick with scents of cheap alcohol and old meals. The windows drafting cold air, were condensed with humidity.
But it was the two women, tangled in a bed kicked flat of bedding, that held the entirety of his attention. Each glanced over their shoulder, faces flushed, eyes glazed. Aria was otherwise impassive, as though she were not surprised at all by his presence. The other was looking rapidly between each of them as though she were unaware of what secret they shared.
Dane found where Aria had left her sword, and he smiled at it briefly. After closing the door behind him, he began to undress, and went to them.
From his distance, he could hear them laughing. The two girls held hands. The second woman's head glowed an angelic blonde with every street lamp the two passed beneath; Aria's was black as velvet night.
His stroll kept pace as even, gentle steps. His loafers made little sound on the sidewalk. His coat rustled with sleight movements, but his hair lay undisturbed across his forehead; the wind was calm tonight. As was he.
They entered a narrow, two-story building. The first floor was occupied by a corner-store, barred windows dark for the night. He stood on the sidewalk outside for some time, head folded back, eyes oriented upward. When a light illuminated in the upstairs apartment, he moved to the door, and gently checked the doorknob.
Open. He pulled the door with a hint of a smile, and ascended the stairs, careful of creaks, without interruption.
A narrow hallway led to an apartment barely large enough to occupy more than one room. Light gleamed around the framed edges of an ill-fitting doorway, and his hand itched to touch the knob, but instead, he licked his lips and was content to sit alongside.
He rested his head against the wall. Curled edges of peeling wallpaper seams pricked his scalp, but he did not move. He rested his arms on his knees, closed his eyes, and crafted a scene in his mind for every sound made behind the wall. The powers at the edge of his understanding became his in that moment, and with them, the softest of sounds became his knowledge. The pull of a zipper. The swishing of brushed hair. The escaping air from an opened bottle.
He listened, completely still, for minutes innumerable. Somewhere from the distant echoes of the pleasure and pain occurring out of sight, he felt the thin tickle of a spider on his cheek, but he was transfixed elsewhere, and never swiped it away.
More giggling, and Dane squeezed the bridge of his nose. His chest heaved with the strain of keeping himself from entering. This woman, this cold-blooded enigma he could not decipher, normally so isolated by the surface of her watery, self-inflicted graves, tangled in the arms of a stranger. Another woman, oblivious of the monster to whom she sacrificed her body and vulnerability. As indeed, Aria was a monster. Like him. A killer without remorse.
The place he went was dark with blood. It began innocently enough. He put his hands where he imagined Aria's went, and imagined velvety skin flushed hot beneath his fingertips. But soon, what phallic toys pulled noises of pleasure from behind the door, his mind replaced them with the cold edge of Aria's sword, drawn down the woman's stomach like the trailing finger of her lover. The girl's eyes met those of Aria's, of his, winced by the torturous prickle of teasing and pain, silently begging for more, then flared wide when the point plunged into the soft bulge of her lower abdomen.
The laughter was soon replaced with heavy breathing, and Dane could not tell whether it was theirs, or his. He stood.
He pushed on the doorknob with the lightest touch. It was unlocked, but a bolt would not have stopped him.
He stood in the threshold for some moments, drinking in everything his imagination had conjured. The air was thick with scents of cheap alcohol and old meals. The windows drafting cold air, were condensed with humidity.
But it was the two women, tangled in a bed kicked flat of bedding, that held the entirety of his attention. Each glanced over their shoulder, faces flushed, eyes glazed. Aria was otherwise impassive, as though she were not surprised at all by his presence. The other was looking rapidly between each of them as though she were unaware of what secret they shared.
Dane found where Aria had left her sword, and he smiled at it briefly. After closing the door behind him, he began to undress, and went to them.