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crueliirony · 4 years ago

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vihilum:

@crueliirony

He’d heard screams – unmistakable wailing that carried through the wind, and haunted him. It was easier to stay in the woods, and he didn’t mind sleeping alone in the forest. He’d been trekking through the woods for days. Ace didn’t know what he was looking for while he was out there, but he might have hoped for peace.

Peace didn’t come as easy.

There was a cabin nestled deep – in every woods there were dwellers longing to hide from the world, and the secrets they buried were shrouded from the world behind the trees. He’d grown up in this kind of cabin. He recognized those screams. If there was a language he understood with absolute clarity, it was the howling.

Every state had a serial killer begging to be discovered.

By the time he reaches the cabin, the screaming has stopped, and his chest is so tight he forces himself to stop running and think. He couldn’t act on pure impulse – Ace had no idea what to expect. He couldn’t just waltz inside. He had to be smarter about this. He takes his time scoping out the place, circling it, scrutinizing each window, each possible entrance, and once he’s got some semblance of a plan, he gets closer.

He doesn’t wait – when he sees the coast his clear, he gently pushes open the window and enters the house. There is no other movement – he hadn’t been noticed, he hadn’t been heard, and he intended to keep it that way. There’s a pistol in his backpack, but he’d left it out back – all he had on his person was his glock knife, attached to his boot. He didn’t want to draw attention by firing a gun – and Ace wanted to pretend he didn’t need it.

He finds the girl downstairs – she’s just a kid, and his eyes don’t travel any lower as he peels his jacket off and drapes it over her frail figure. Her clothes were tattered, and he clenched his jaw at the sight of the scarring along her exposed shoulders, the bruising across her jaw. At his gentle motions, she stirs, and before her mouth parts to let out a shriek, he clamps his palm over her mouth, a single digit before pursed lips.

Be quiet.

It registers in her eyes, and she nods once, and he moves his hand from her mouth. He reaches for the bindings and unties them – she is free, rubbing at her wrists, pulling away from him immediately. He doesn’t follow as she retreats. He lifts his hand, pointing above them.

“How many of them?” His voice is barely audible, but she hears him, lifting up two digits. He exhales slowly, head swiveling towards the stairs behind him. “What’s your name?”

“Melanie.” She is timid, soft-spoken, withdrawn to shadow, but she peers at him curiously, watching him as closely as he watches the door above them.

“Can you stay here, Melanie?”

She nods her head.

Approaching the start of the stairs, he unties his laces and removes his boots, lifting the knife to his hip’s holster, more accessible, so he can easily creep up the steps. He’s on the first step when he feels a hand at his shoulder, and Melanie is close behind him – her eyes are bleary and she looks terrified.

“Will you come back for me?”

There is only one answer. He nods.

There’s movement just outside the door, and he goes up, step by step. He can hear her shuffling up the steps slowly and he breathes in deep, gaze dragged to just under the door’s crack.

He reaches for the door knob, twists, and enters, hand at his hilt, blade drawn – there are two figures, and at the sudden opening, the robust man standing by the sink reaches for a girl in a simple blue dress, kitchen knife at her throat, and Ace instantly regrets the decision he’d made to not bring the pistol. He doesn’t lower his blade fast enough, and the man cuts the girl’s throat, and tosses her body aside. She falls flat onto the ground and Ace jumps forward, plunging his knife forward, the blade piercing through the man’s chest.

There’s a squelching sound, and Ace gasps, chestnut hues dropping to where the kitchen knife had penetrated the flesh between his ribs. The man presses in deeper, and Ace seethes, pushing his own knife into him until he stops moving. He withdraws, and the knife falls to the ground. There’s movement behind him, and Ace turns, the handle of his knife clenched tightly, and he sees Melanie in a state of hysteria.

She’s glancing at the two figures on the ground, and she begins to unravel, arms flailing, rushing towards the door. He looks towards the front and he sees a silhouette outside – a shotgun lifting up high, armed just outside, guarding the door.

“Melanie, no, stop!”

She doesn’t. She lunges towards the door, hand twisting the knob – the shotgun goes off, and Ace drops to the ground, palms slamming against the floor. Melanie’s head explodes, bits scattered across the ceiling, the floor, blood splattering everywhere. Ace doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move a single muscle. Her body is still upright, by the door. She twitches, and then the body falls in one swift motion, thudding onto the floor.

If her head was still attached to her body, she might have been looking in his direction – instead, Ace gazed at the gaping hole where her face had been, blood pooling all around her, spreading until it nearly reaches him, and that’s when Ace slides back, back hitting the wall, eyes flickering towards the door – there was a hole in the wood.

Palm slowly gliding along the floor, he inched to the right slowly, head tilting to see if he could spot the perpetrator. There was no one outside – not anymore. Like lightning, his gaze flickered to every window until he saw a silhouette obstructing the moonlight down the corridor. He listened – that’s when Ace heard the footsteps continuing around the house. Just as Ace was looking for the assailant, the assailant was looking for him.

He’s on his hands and knees as he tracks the shadow’s movement through the house – he’s walking under the window, so even if the man outside peeks his head over, he wouldn’t see Ace. Each crawl forward is delicate – he’s trying his best to be silent as they both reach the door. One reach to his boot and he grabs a sheathed blade, withdrawing the knife from his shoe.

The door opens, and he sees the outline of his figure against the wall – a shotgun aligned perfectly with the man’s sights. But Ace was knee level, so when the man finally steps into his cabin, Ace cuts the man’s heel in one motion, the quick slice through flesh disturbing the silence, followed by a startled scream. There’s a scuffle as Ace lunges for him, pulling him down to the ground, digits curled around the shotgun – they’re both pulling, and when the gun goes off again, the man lets go.

The barrel is jutted just under the man’s jaw, and Ace is propped up against the shotgun, holding it to the stranger. He squeezes the trigger, and crimson explodes all around him, dousing him red – blood droplets flutter from his eyelashes as he blinks at the gaping hole underneath him, the gun wavering in a shaky grasp, until he drops it, and it clatters to the ground besides them.

He’s breathing hard, and he gets up, walking towards Melanie, where her figure lays besides the door. He drops to his knees and reaches for her hand, digits curling around her palm. He’d failed her. She was dead because of him. If he had stayed out of that house, she might have lived, and like he once had, escaped on her own. He’d changed the ending to her story by getting involved. Her hand is limp in his, and he withdraws, turning to glance around, at all the bodies strewn around him.

They all would have lived if he hadn’t intervened.

But here he was – heart still beating.

Then he hears a soft gasp – there’s a sharp intake of breath as he turns around. The girl in the blue dress. The girl’s throat had been cut but she was still breathing, taking large, rasping breaths, hands twitching by her side, convulsing. He’s by her side in an instant, hand lifting her back – she’s got wide emerald eyes, and when she’s upright, a glob of blood falls from parted lips onto the wood.

He doesn’t hesitate. He simply acts – he moves her to her feet, he guides her out the door, and he takes the truck he’d noticed parked out front. Once he guides her into the passenger seat, he rips his sleeve down to his wrist, and lifts it up, wrapping it around her neck, lifting her hand to press it against the wound, “Keep that in place,” it’s the only order he gives before he starts driving, peeling through the woods with conviction.

He knows the way.

Every breath she takes has him on edge, pressing the pedal until he’s going past one hundred, and the neon sign of the emergency exit is close by. She’s still alive. She can make it. It’s been seventeen minutes, and the blood has soaked through her dress, and she watches him. She’s made her peace – she’s fading. Her hand touches his wrist.

“Look at me.”

His eyes leave the road – drawn to hers. The car skids, but he doesn’t look back until her eyes close, and he glances back to the road, stopping abruptly as he parks in front of the sliding glass doors. He’s out of the car, and carrying her out of the passenger side door. He’s calling for help, and the nurses rush forward to take her from his arms before loading her onto the gurney. Her head falls against the cushion, and her eyes open.

When she looks back – Ace is gone.

SHE DOES NOT SLEEP , she dreams.

dreams of little girls with pretty blue dresses who paint white roses red and chimes of the tick, tock, ticking clock that echoes ever on.

map your mind, alice. tick, tock, tick. listen, Alice, listen! palms press to ears. tick, tock, tick. look, alice, look! eyes shut. tick, tock, tick. the train of thought derails and she steals a second to herself. get a grip, alice, and see what they show you. follow them. follow the sound of screams. there you will find them. find them, alice, find them!

her hands cold, fingers frigid to the touch, too cold. she need no set her sight to them to see their color now pales. they will soon be numb, like the lower extremities. lips part, but breath is hard to inhale, ribs too heavy with the weight of what lies on top. deep, dark dirt of earth. the beat, beat, beat of a beating heart beneath the breastbone is hard to hear, barely a hum. faint now, far too faint. an exhale and everything is still. so still, so silent. and at peace.

map your mind, alice. pull it apart and put it together again. this is a dream. dig, alice, dig!

ring, ring, ring.

she pulls herself from sleep, digs herself out of her dreams to the sound of an incoming call. a wristwatch tells her it’s three a.m. and she answers. “ no, not asleep, ” voice vacant, far off, “ i’m closer. i can be there in twenty. bring coffee. i’m in need of a couple of cups. ” the call comes to a close and she props herself up on elbows, eyes on a crime scene collage taped to the headboard of the motel bed, just above the tips of her toes. lifeless little girls with pretty blue dresses wet with blood.

she dresses and is out the door in under ten minutes. ten more and some several red lights later, she is at an emergency entrance met by a male nurse. a forego of formalities and she is taken to the room restricted from the rest by two cops who stand sentinel. “ i need to know the details. tell them to me, ” she says, matter-of-factly, “ begin at the beginning and end at the end. ” curiosity has a way with a witness. focus on one facet and you pave a precise path for him to follow, for he’ll tell you of the things he can connect to it and make no mention of the thousand others that can make or break a case. do not draw the dots for him to connect. let him lead. do the digging after the dirt sets.

“ he carried her from his car. he called for help. we came and took her from him. she was a mess. blood was everywhere. on her blue dress, soaked into skin … her throat was slit … she was a mess. she was on the gurney in seconds, but by the time any of us looked back, he was gone, ” his stare, off set in thought. “ has she spoken to anyone? ” the question brings him back, “ no, she went straight to surgery. ” she nods, “ good. now i need the names of the nurses who helped you get the girl on the gurney and you can go grab yourself a cup of coffee. ” it’s his turn to nod, but before he leaves her he adds in one last note, “ … there was a sleeve tied to her throat. wasn’t hers. maybe it was his. we saved it with the blue dress. ”

it is a white-walled room where a young girl sleeps soundlessly in a hospital bed and alice seats herself in the chair closest to, papers and pictures lay open on her lap. stare delves the details till she succumbs too, to sleep. seconds, minutes, more or less, and she is awoken by a now wide-eyed girl, startled and unsure of her surroundings. “ you are safe, ” says alice, sure to make mention of this, “ here in the hospital. ” she stands and all that that lays atop her lap falls to her feet. a swear and an apology as she squats to pick up the pieces of papers and pictures now in a mass of mess. the girl stirs, “ him, ” she says, the word is harsh and has her hands at her throat. there is a picture held in hand and alice holds it out to her, “ him? ” the girl nods and again her hand is at her throat where blood bleeds anew through a bandage.

“ blink once for yes, twice for no. ” she lays the picture to the girl’s lap, “ was he there with you? ” one blink. “ did he do this to you? ” two blinks. “ did he help you? ” one blink. “ he brought you here? ” one blink. “ were there other girls with you? ” one blink, and the pulse picks up. “ all in blue dresses? ” one blink, and the blood pressure spikes. “ more than one man? ” one blink and the girl gulps, winces with pain. her hand is sought, found and held within alice’s and it is an instant mistake made. there is pain, precise pain from a physical wound and another, that which is inflicted from something entirely else, the sort that does its damage deep and burrows itself in bone. she lets her grasp go and her hands retreat as if they’ve found themselves in a fire’s flame. “ where? ” the monitor goes off and a nurse is by the girl’s beside to adjust the drip. there is time for one more question, one more answer. “ where were you? ” the girl grips pen and paper handed to her and writes one word before she falls unconscious and alice is ushered out. the one word written is ‘woods’.

“ alice? ” attention amiss. she is in her head, thoughts a trail to track this way and that. “ alice?! ” the name foreign to her, foreign to hear, as if spoken in language long dead, though divine in the way in which it frees her from her herself, digs her out of her head to the here and now. “ sorry, ” is all she has to say to him, her partner, his hand still at her shoulder in attempt to pry her out of the place she seemed to lose herself in. “ where were you right now? ” he asks and she tucks the piece of paper still held in hand to a pocket. there’s no answer to that, “ nice of you to show up. where are my couple of cups of coffee? ” to this, he smiles. “ well, here’s the story, i drank mine and then i drank yours, and then the guilt set in and so i had to head back to dunkin’ and then there was traffic and – ” he stops himself, takes her cue to shut himself up and hands her a large cup of coffee, “ black and sugarless, like your soul. ” she wipes the smile from his mouth with, “ same m.o., she’s one of ours. teen. blue dress. waiting on toxicology and rape kit, but trust me, she’s one of ours. ” he nods in accordance to conversation. “ anything else? ” he has to do the digging now, “ she see any faces, places? heard anything that can help give us something to go off of? anything at all, alice? ” she swallows sips of coffee. “ yea. one other thing, though i’m not sure on how it connects yet. there’s this cold case i’m working on, been for a while now, about a boy taken. he was three at the time, taken from his parents in nevada. his name was lucas vaughn. he would be about my age now. i took up the case years ago. all dead ends. until a while back there was a raid in ohio. the scene was a bloodbath but a few prints were found. they were a match to the boy’s. ” the coffee, cool to her tongue, she swallows in mouthfuls. “ and now. she said he’s the one that brought her here. ”

hours later and the shower steams, clothes in a heap at the base of the bathtub. she got the dreaded call, the girl was dead. died in her sleep, in her dreams. now just another little girl with a pretty blue dress who paints the white roses red.

#vihilum #𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ╱ alice.#𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐈. ╱ normal.

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