Fan Fiction ❯ The Insane (One-shot) ❯ One-Shot

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Okay, I wrote this after I saw Sin City and after I read I giant book on serial killers. I know this isn't the typical serial killer. Please don't tell me about that because I know! The usual serial killer is a young to middle aged white male that had problems with his mother, an abusive father, or a weird death. I totally know that, but I wanted to throw in something new and different. This is totally not me, but I just felt like writing something new and different. So go ahead and tell me what you think. Flames will be accepted, but please don't be too harsh.


I once had a friend that was always obsessed with death. She told me once that she was going to become a mercenary when she was old enough. She also said that when she did, she would have a mark that she would leave on all of her victims so the police and the public would fear her. They would fear her symbol, and they would fear her beyond all other things. I never really had any thought about it. She had always been a little off, but one day, while I was watching the news, I knew it was her. I hadn’t seen her for a great while, six years or so after that conversation. I never thought she would really hurt anyone, aside from herself occasionally. But she had stopped when I had told her to stop.
I was the only one able to reason with her. The only one. Not her parents, the scum sucking shrinks that tried to analyze her, not any relatives or boyfriends, or even any other friends aside from me could tell her what to do. That’s why I was worried. I didn’t know where she was. Not a clue in the world. But back to the news. There had been a double murder outside of a church at around midnight. It was only two bums, but the man who let them into the church late at night, a janitor, said that they had always worn crosses, and when he was called to ID the bodies, they weren’t wearing the crosses. He said that they weren’t expensive at all, just sterling silver maybe.

I knew that her mark was crosses.

I knew how her pattern would evolve because she told me how it would. She had everything planned to the tee. She told me she would start picking off bums, and then move on to hookers and the like. I hoped that the pattern would follow, because I wasn’t going to get a face full of tattoos for this to stop for nothing. So I waited a few weeks. She followed the pattern. Three hookers dead in two nights, their crosses missing.
She was following her pattern, so next would come children, then teenagers. Boys before girls, and always with her mark, the crosses. She said that she would always wear her mark, so everyone could see. But since most everyone that knew her thought she was a mindless schizophrenic and a suicidal troubled person, no one would think anything of it.

I had to track her down.

I met with a tattoo artist after four children and five teens were killed, crossed removed. Her next target would be Irish people who wore Celtic crosses, but the first time she would strike them would be on St. Patrick’s Day. That was two months away. Since I didn’t look Irish at all, I would have freckles tattooed onto my body. Face, arms, legs, the works. I also scheduled an appointment to have my hair dyed red and permed to make myself look more like the classic Irish stereotype.
When I finished, I was barely recognizable as myself. She would think I was just another Irish person to pick off. I moved to an Irish neighborhood in Chicago, the one she said that she would “hunt” from. I knew that I would get close enough to her because on the television reports and from what she had told me as a teenager, she bit through the person’s jugular vein. That way, she wouldn’t leave fingerprints or anything else; just DNA.

She wouldn’t sway, not after so long.

I walked out of the church very late, St. Patrick’s Day night. I was wearing a rather gaudy Celtic cross, hopefully big enough to entice my old friend’s lust for blood and the kill. I heard a slight jangling behind me, and I knew it was her. I didn’t turn to look, I just knew. The jangling must have been from her “collection” of crosses from people. I had to get to a secluded place; maybe an alley so she could be alone with her “victim.” I did as I thought, and turned into an alley, and I walked at a leisurely pace, waiting for her to catch up with me. She did, and I heard her very close to me.
“I know who you are and what you want,” I said, without turning to even look at her. I heard the footsteps and jangling stop. My voice was still the same, and she recognized it instantly even after so long.
“You can’t be who you sound like. She was forgetting about me before I even she left me alone. It’s my condition, not her that’s here… It’s not her,” she said.

“You have to stop. You always listen to me.”

“I don’t want to. I planned this so long. No one suspects because I’m crazy, and a girl. I’m not a middle-aged ugly white male. I’m a young woman that’s kinda pretty, even though she’s crazy. She doesn’t want to stop, the public knows who she is, and I don’t want it to stop.”
“I want you to stop. What do you want me to do to make you stop?”

“I want to kill you, and then I’ll kill no more.”

I turned to look at her. She looked very different than the fifteen year old I had left so long ago. Her hair had grown out and it went to her waist, and it was blonde, almost the color of butter. Her skin had the pallor of snow. Her eyes were sharper, more alert, and even greener than they had been when I left. But in the sharpness, there was something else. Maybe… pain and regret.
“You don’t want to kill those people because you want to. You killed them so you could find me.”
“Yes. I needed you to come back to me so I have a friend and so they and her will be quiet and alone, gone. She missed you, and I do did too. We both want to kill you so you can be with us forever. If we eat your blood, we’ll have you with us forever. Then you can’t leave me and her.”

She looked me full in the face and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“I didn’t mean to leave you. The medicine they put you on kept me away. They wouldn’t let me see you.”
The crosses she wore, there had to be almost twenty crosses around her neck, some shared chains with others, and she even had cross earrings through her earlobes. Her shirt was just a plane turquoise colored t-shirt over which she wore a tan jacket. She wore plane blue jeans. Basically, she was dressed almost exactly like me. She looked like I used to. I didn’t like to know I was going to die, but I didn’t want anyone else hurt.
“I will kill you so no one else it hurt by you. And by her. So neither of you hurt each other or me anymore. Together, we’ll be safe.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”

I leaned my head to the side, and she walked up to me.

“Don’t be angry at us. We love you too,” she said as she leaned in to my neck. I could feel her teeth. They bit into my neck, and I could feel blood spurt everywhere. There was a chunk out of my neck, and I knew because she was chewing it, slowly. Like she was savoring the taste. She looked down at me, and all of the blood that was pooling around my head and making my hair stick to my face. I was lying on the ground. I felt everything go black, and she knew she was waking herself and me and the people up.

“It’s time for your medicine.”

“No, I just got my her me back and she and I want to stay together. I haven’t seen her for six years and she eats veins and necks and I was stopping me from killing anyone else. The people knew us and she wanted to make me stop so I could be safe because she is the nice one and I was hurting people and eating their necks. You need to let her stay so I can be free!”
“I’m sure dear. You were a werewolf Amazon vampire hunter last week too,” the nurse said to us.
“She’s confused. She wants to be herself, but she’s crazy,” I said, twirling my finger around the side of my head.
The nurse nodded. She pulled a syringe out of her uniform’s pocket. “Now you need your medicine.”

“NO!”

I fought, but still the medicine slipped into my veins and I was paralyzed once again. Why won’t they believe me! I was alive singe the sixteenth century when I drank an Immortality potion for my youth and beauty! But I am in chains and restraints surrounded by my people’s crazy lunatics! I am their queen, but I took the reverse surum that made me this way.

I am insane and dead by sedatives.

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