"I’m sorry for the clutter- please excuse my mess; how disrespectful of me. Is there something I can help you with? Lost? Mmmm, what a tricky situation."
Eddie taps his fingers across his chin, drumming as he hums, tuneless but in thought. His head tips slightly and he purses his lips in a childish frown, shrugging his shoulders then. The expression shifts into something more animal, a feral grin pulling back to reveal his teeth, hidden before by cracked and split lips. They stretch wide and he opens his arms.
"You’re more than welcome here with me!"
Without hesitation, he grabs for the blade in his belt, lunging forward with it, the other arm still extended. Fingers curl around soft, tender flesh, gripping tighter and tighter as he is supplied with a delicious wet noise. That almost sickly gasp they give every time fuels him more than anything. Just to hear that sweet, almost divine, noise escape so breathlessly— it makes him shiver.
His hand holds tighter around the blade, his knuckles turning white under the effort, his mouth still a perfect upturned curve.
"What was that, darling? Please? No?"
A twist of expression, a quick snap of anger and a jab of his arm, is all it takes. The body goes rigid and then limp, a final aftershock of life bleeding out through the wound in the stomach. The hand around the throat goes loose and it collapses like a sack of potatoes, all control gone. He sighs, nudging the body with the toe of his shoe. He tugs a handkerchief from his breast pocket then, cleaning the knife off meticulously.
"You don’t belong here. A slut like you has no place in my home.”
Shit. Shit. F u c k.
Crouched among the shadows, arms wrapped around her knees, Fallon Grey found herself willing her heart to shut the hell up. The young woman had studied the anatomy of a killer, had poured hours and hours of time researching the monsters of the Western world. She’d interviewed killers who’d slaughtered without remorse, watched medical students slice open bodies without batting an eye. But this was different. This was some off the wall, psychological, fucked up bullshit. As Fallon watched the victim’s body fall to the ground, the air thick with defeat, she had to suppress the need to scream. She watched the agony fade from the man’s features, though even in death, his pain was apparent.
I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.
Fear quickly turned to a ravaging, irrepressibly frantic need to flee. In the dark, she watched as the towering figure of the killer shifted, his features obscured by the unquenchable obsidian, yet the glint of his teeth was like a beacon. Slowly backing against the wall, Fallon started to move away from the man and the crimson stench, to the doorway she’d unwittingly crawled through. As she reached the edge of the room, the distant promise of a flickering light bulb for her eyes to adjust to just a corridor away, she overlooked a fallen object in her path.
The sound of the medical instrument scraping the ground was deafening to Fallon’s ear drums. Before she could pause to assess if the figure had heard, she was ducking out of the room, an internal siren blaring as she pushed to flee from the dark room and the figure.