Fatal Introductions Chapter 3 Part 1

The bloody blade swung wildly toward her.  The mid-twenty year old, red headed woman had not been expecting the first strike. She was not expecting the attacker to be this persistent and resistant to her defenses. The more she thought she would be safe the more determined the man became.  The ginger hair matted against the slice on her forehead.  The mortal shell, she called herself, was being destroyed piece by piece.  She kicked a lobby room chair in his direction.  She had no idea why she felt the need to duck into a closed doctor’s office when she felt threatened. She was trapped.

The previous murders had gone by with a true ease.  Yancey was facing a fighting victim for the first time since he had begun the cleansing the urges had driven him toward.    The kill shots were quick and relatively painless.  The urges told him he did not have to take the same approach with this young woman.    Although he was not aware of crimes the red haired woman had committed, he knew she had to suffer.  She did not deserve the mercy of a clean kill.  She deserved a painful ending.  The blade flicked out toward her once more as the attacker was intent on causing her blood to flow.  There was no need for him to not want her to suffer.  The woman he did not know had been a mortal enemy since his creation.

Flesh tore as the serrated part of his blade bit into her arm as she swung to block a killing blow.  The strike shattered through the bone in her arm, separating the limb below the elbow from the rest of her arm.  A small patch of skin kept it attached and dangling in place.  Through immense pain, she knew her survival depended on her to stay focused.  She dodged a strike toward her thigh that was meant to immobilize her. She pulled her freshly separated arm into the crook of her good arm, while she began to head out toward the door.  Entering here was a mistake that had trapped her. The attacker allowed a path back to the door.

The attacker was not going to let the woman go as he narrowed the distance.  He exuberated an incredible amount of strength and speed.  The boost matched his determination in pursuing the kill.  He was going to end her.  The urges pushed him on with the task. He had no choice but to give into them despite what he felt was right or wrong.  The urges took control of his being until he completed the task they were pushing him towards.  The task this time was the death of this woman.

Blood marked the path that the woman was taking.  It was not difficult to track her as the severed limb left a trail.  Yancey was not a skilled tracker. He was guided to complete the task that his instincts urged him toward. The blood trail on the ground became increasingly scarce but there was still enough to follow.  The steady stream on the pavement had turned into drops of the red liquid.  The drops were growing more spaced apart the further down the trail the predator followed.  His prey was gaining speed or had found a way to seal the wound.  Most likely, a tourniquet Yancey surmised.

He had long given up fighting the draw to kill.  He did not have a random blood lust he knew when he met someone if they needed to die.  Sometimes, it was a brief encounter or passing that sealed the fate of his victim.  Yancey knew how to make the kill swift and painless.  After the encounter, he would go and prepare.  He would find a Bible verse that would catch attention about the victim and he would mark the page.  The killer would then be pulled to the victim until a moment allowed him to complete the deal.  The woman he was pursuing did not agree that her life was going to end.  She had given him more struggle than any of his previous encounters.

A formerly severed arm struck out from a shadow knocking Yancey to the ground.  The woman’s strength was almost equal to his.  The ground hit his back with a force as the blade lunged from his hands.  The spray of a defensive chemical met Yancey’s face, burning it.  The tears clouded his vision as everything was a haze.  The hazed vision did not associate the woman’s voice with her body as she spoke.  “You picked the wrong woman, didn’t you?”  The words were a taunt.

The throbbing pain immediately took prominence as Yancey’s head caught a solid strike.  The force and feeling made his head spin.  He no longer thought he was murdering the woman. Yancey would be forced to kill her for his own survival.  He felt his own blood trickle down along his ears.  Thoughts during the killings were always random, but never did he question if the task should be done. Today, he questioned if the task could be done.

He wondered if it had become time to pay the price of the mantra he had chanted to get through the killings.  No evil deed should go unpunished.  The words he strongly believed that allowed him to pass the day’s guilt free.  He did not know whatever crime or offenses the victims had committed but he strongly believed he had a purpose.  He wondered if the encounter he was suffering through was his punishment.  He had so much blood on his hands that it was impossible to keep a separation of whose blood left stains on his psyche anymore.

Yancey always held a doubt that he was nothing more than a psychotic killer.  The pain of dying he felt at this moment could be proof the thought was correct.  He tried to wash his doubt away in prayer in the church well after hours.  He could talk openly without fear of being judged by his fellow man.

The weapon he had chosen was a modified machete that was bought at a department store.  He changed it to be a serrated sword like weapon.  He cared for the blade as if it was a part of him, stealing a small amount of Holy water to clean it after every kill.  The acts would label him to be a genuine lunatic in any court of law.  He knew how society judges.

The worst part of this encounter was how frail the woman appeared to him.  Yancey had gone after her, thinking it would be an easy task.  She now stood over his body ready to deliver the killing blow to his skull.  Yancey could not help but wonder if his vision was still distorted as she gripped a pipe pulled from the nearby fence with both hands.  He knew he had cut through her arm.  Before the woman could end his thoughts, Yancey found himself surprised as his arm gripped his blade and drove it into the woman’s heart.

The blood seemed to sizzle on the blade as he tore the gore covered metal from her chest.  The eyes of both participants dropped to locate the gaping hole that was where her heart should be located.  A look of sorrow filled her face before it lost all color.  The body slumped to its knees.  “You have sealed both of our fates.”  The last words escaped with her last breath.  Yancey knew they would haunt him for a time.  The pain he was suffering turned into anger.  He wanted to take it out on the body that was in front of him.

The need to be quick was being interrupted as the night would soon bring out curious eyes.  A bloody body attracts attention, especially in an alley way that was probably a make shift bathroom for the nearby establishments.  Yancey felt a bit trapped between frustration and fear of being caught.  He could feel the commotion of the fight already drawing some passerby to his location.  He had to flee.  Quickly setting the Bible down at the victim’s feet, it did not take long to open it to the book-marked page.  The task was complete

Lowering his head, Yancey pushed through the growing crowd.  He had to get out of the area before anyone caught a good glimpse of him.  There was no time to set up the scene like he had done in all the other murders.  He knew the rush would be a mistake.  The rush would open a door to find him.

The fear of being caught and punished was not the issue.  Yancey was a proud father and husband.  The punishment they would receive from the public eye would probably be more than he would wish on them.  The young boy would never look at him with the look of awe that he held for his father once it was revealed what his activities were.  Yancey’s wife had to have a clue but he hated confirming it.  He knew at this moment the risk he had put the family in.  The risk many of his ancestors had dealt with and lost.  The shock of the scene would never allow those who had seen his face to ever forget him.

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