the first time i actually felt a knife in my hand. an actual knife, as in the ones forged for actually harming things, was when she pushed one through it, my left i mean. i remember clearely, how the cold steel felt as it slipped through the muscles and skin, i remember watching the whole process almost in slow motion, the glint of light off the tip of the blade from the buzzing electric bulb above, hanging from the browning wire .it pulled against the fibres of my flesh (for a collective term) and i felt it litterally seperating cells and carve a notch into the one of the bones that support my fuck you finger.
there was pain of course but at this point i was rather more concerned with what she was doing to the other girl in the room. the one that was tied up in the corner. gently sobbing, veins of mascara, following physics, dripping large black charcole polka dots down the creased neckline of her blouse.
i wanted to watch. it was wrong i know, sick even. but being raised in a middle class family from a good part of town u were never privy to this sort of scene unless you paid for it. but this was real, this girl in the corner, whoever she was, wasnt acting a part, she wasnt tied up because someone wanted her to be, well she was but it wasnt allowed. this girl was being forced to endure an experience that would make up the pen=ultimate moment in her existance, she was being given a gift. you couldnt buy this sort of thing anywhere. lucky bitch.
i looked at my hand, it was shaking now and the pain was quite bad. a crimson stream was running from the wound down my fuck you finger and dripping onto the oily grimy concrete floor making a black reflective pool like a mirror, i was tempted to look at myself but i had seen too many film characters do this sort of thing and i didnt want to detract from the reality of the situation.
gentle quiet delicate sobs were creeping from the girl in the corner lets call her lucky to save confusion, she was pretty, which now i thought about it was probably the reason she was picked. im sure in violas fevered mind it was alot more complex than that. it was probably the exact curvature of her hips as they ascended gracefully to blend with her lower waist, or the way luckys lips pouted when she was content. it was probably an amalgamation of many aesthetic qualitys she was lucky enough to have the dna to grow but i was getting off point. her face shone and gleamed despite its mascara smeared fascade. she was scared of course, her adrenaline screaming through her veins, giving her the shakes. a primal urge to bolt, but even if she could bolt she would probably wind up in a worse state than here, the derilict warehouse was derilict for a reason.
i had seen viola attack before but there was something different about this one, perhaps it was jealousy but i doubted it, given violas cold intellect ,jealousy wasnt much of a concern anymore. maybe she just held herself back a little too long. at the beginning of the maneauver she was a good eight feet away from the cowering lucky, sobbing lucky. i missed the beginning of it but in a blurring sudden flash that made me jump she had rushed lucky so fast and drove the other knife into her shoulder with such brutal ferocity that there was a booming sound as it came out the back of her shoulder blade and impacted the wall behind her. luckys scream was muffled by the gag and her white blouse rapidly grew as red as my fuck you finger.
violas breathing was getting heavy and laboured, she turned her back on me as she suddenly became aware of this also. she slowed her pulse after the initial attack and paced a slow tiny circle, her hair falling across her face as she fixed poor lucky with a glance. thats all it was, but it was a look of such force that, i swear, the room shifted, like a heavy weight had smashed into the wall. let me tell you about viola.
i first met viola at a recital. a friend of mine played in an excellent classical quintet. my friend was a multi instrumentalist but the cello was his true love. and he played with skill beyond his short tutelage. his hands were versed in the subtleties of many instruments so the dexterity of his hands was far beyond the requirements.
i noticed her in the lobby of the function hall as i first arrived with my friend, she caught my attention instantly but not for any erotic reason. yes she was beautiful but she wasnt my type and besides, i wasnt that type of guy, i had always had baseline conventional tastes. i just found that anything beyond the required basics eventually became more effort than it was worth. which would eventually prove itself totally false but not before proving itself true
her hair was cut into a short bob which accentuated her fine carved features. to look at her then i would never have guessed that inside her pampered priveleged existance a thing of such abject sharp viscousness could stir. perhaps then it was sleeping, curled around her spine, waiting for the right hormonal signal, perhaps from me. maybe it wasnt sleeping, maybe its tendrils probed every cell already, perhaps the attractive well mannered young woman that skirted around inside her long coat was in fact just a thin paper puppet, a clever deception, a, what were they called in the animal kingdom,? oh yeah, a lure! perhaps the insatiable thing inside her was the real her, maybe if i just scratched her skin gently perhaps it would scratch away and flutter to the ground like gold leaf and reveal the hungry, blood thirsty thing that operated the human cover.
she was gone from sight in a minute and that was all i saw of her for weeks and she never even entered my mind after that til i saw her at the coffee shop. the recital that evening was excellent, a rousing emotional performance that truly justified all the pomp and flattery that followed.
the coffee shop on winner street was a tiny concern, family run, i was always against franchise. especially where coffee was concerned. it was november, late, so it was naturally freezing outside. i was on my fourth cup of the morning.
i stepped inside and took a few seconds as the door closed to take in and enjoy the warmth and scents in the air. the usual stereotypes littered the furniture, the speccy young lecturer sat at the window. better wifi reception there, the aging intellectual sat by the fireplace reading tolstoy or berkov, frowning into his black coffee, the young troubled couple sat in the dark near the ugly student artwork hung but never sold, just like them, locked in a strange holding pattern, there was no love between them, it was painfully obvious but something held them together. probably something ugly like the painting. and there she was, standing in line, and by the look of things doing the exact same thing i had just been doing. i thought about maybe asking if she wanted coffee with me, not through any desire to sleep with her but just through curiosity. i was a big believer in fate at this point and i figured seeing as our paths had crossed twice i wandered if her presence would bear any importance in my future. we stepped forward in unison as the blonde at the counter smiled and produced a pad complete with pen. she ordered a latte to go. and paid with a twenty. then stared intently out the window without lifting a hand from the counter.
i order lots of coffee and privelaged girls that attend classical music recitals never ordered a plain latte. the usual order eventually became an amlgamation of several different coffees usually with some form of shaving or sprinkles or foam or cream involved. not her. a simple latte, her demeanour was that of casuall irritation. it didnt seem as though she was impatient, she wasnt laden with bags made of epic expanses of cardboard with string handles, she was becoming something of a topic.
i was about to begin my usual act of apathetic ignorance when she span on me and said "have coffee with me" i was almost too shocked to notice this was in no part, a request.
so that was how i met viola. we talked about mundane things for a few hours. i guess she saw more in me than is saw in her, although i was happy not to look, because she was the one who invited me to her friends party. her friend, mercedes, whos father owned a shipping company, i was assured was quite brainless so i wouldnt have to talk to her much and her coccaine habit required she use most of her oxygen sniffing hard and not asking me questions. suited me fine.
that was when viola hinted she may be dangerous. she didnt kill anyone or harm anyone that i know about that night but she let me see a flash of the knife she carried.she didnt show me like, "hey check out my chrome hunting knife!" but a flash when she knew i was looking was subtle hint enough. i spent that evening trying to observe viola in her natural habitat, she mingled effortlessly, none of the edge she usually carried was present in her that night. she seemed to possess an ability to become a totally different person at will. and as this became apparent more of her personality unlocked itself. she was intelligent, ruthlessly so, and clearely saw the life she led and the people she shared it all with for what it is. i would have said its great to be priveliged. it allows me all sorts of pleasures others cannot afford, her response would have been "yes but its all ultimately pointless given that one day we will all die" she had a very strong argument if you could call it that, she just realised something everyone else had overlooked, even me. that yes this life was nice but it eventually became a prison. if u didnt break out you were gonna die there. people expect u to be a certain type of person and viola was not that type. where other rich attractive young ladies enjoyed jewellery, shopping and desperate suitors, she enjoyed the feeling of frenziedly slicing a person with an interestingly shaped implement until unrecognisable.
the first time i was aware of this fact was a few weeks later. nightclub, vip, she had called me a couple of times but i had been busy, with what i had no idea but i wasnt around and could never rouse the drive to call her, i was having difficulty finding reason to put the effort in. i didnt want to sleep with her, she carried a knife which was usually reason enough for rational people to avoid her, and the more i knew about her the more i had the sneaking suspicion i wasnt going to like her more.
from the minute we walked in the door she became the perfect slinky predator, dancing effortlessly through the crowd, occasionally kissing someone, pretty girl, handsome boy. attractive person, she appeared the picture pefect socialite, popular, attractive harmless, the guy she took through the peach coloured drapes of satin found out otherwise.
its quite amazing the things you can get away with under peoples noses. while straddling him in fullview of me, sat across from her, she planted a run of gentle, pink coloured kisses from his mouth down his chin and across his throat. she covored his mouth with one hand, with the other in a swift movement all but disemboweled him. i think a few yards of intestine were left inside. after the initial spray and splatter. he struggled for a bout four minutes, she held him down and calmly stabbed into him in fast deliberate movements with controlled pauses between each stab. it was strange, her actual strength must have been a lot more than her frame stated. because i didnt see,the initial slice, i was wise enough to find interest in the stitching of my shirt. but the aftermath spared me nothing. amidst the carnage there i sat too stunned to move, too apathetic to care much. there was blood spatter across the massive arrangement of large padded seats as well as in an arc, across one of the drapes, whipped off of the blade in the follow through. it astounds me to this day how a young woman practically dripping in blood can throw on a coat and walk through a club full of people and not get questioned...welcome to the financially induced stupidity of the upper classes,
our car (her cheauffer driven audi) was waiting outside, i wondered on the ride home, while she sat across from me, caked in dry blood, playing with her knife, twirling its point against her fingertip, if that was why she really did it, was she doing it because they were mostly so stupid? private schooling with the best teachers but no one person with the sense to wonder why someone is drenched in blood so obviously not her own, was it some sort of punishment? a revenge of some sort? was she lashing out , was this an attention starved cry for help? geared up several notches to make sure of its noticability? the city flashed past the tinted glass, soon we pulled up at my house.
we hadnt said a word since the murder, we did nothing with the body, left it for security, but still something needed to be said. she was looking at me with those sacharine green eyes searching perhaps?
"you wanted me to see that?" i said in dry ascending tone, the atmosphere was charged, clearely she wasnt a fan of explanations
"and what do you want me to do about it? i mean, what were you hoping my reaction would be?"
here i am, sat in a car, with my psychotic new playmate, obvioulsy a descendant of jack the ripper, discussing how i am to handle my implication. sometimes i wonder if the situations i find myself in are a cause for concern?
"well obviously, i dont want you to have nightmares...."
"well dont worry bout that, i pay my therapist well"
i noticed here she didnt blurt out dont tell anyone, it took a while for it to sink in. she honestly didnt care about consequences. i looked down and made to step out when she said
"strange question for someone to ask isnt it? surely its obvious what i want, u seem to be the one questioning things, i would ask your therapist about that"
and her chauffer closed the door, slid in the driver seat, and the shiny trinket rolled away down my drive.
the next few days i was dubious to answer any of my phones. i needed time to get straight in my head what it had all meant. more importantly, did i care? did iwant to be implicated in a murder, she probably wouldnt be prosecuted, she had left dna at the scene but whether or not that would have been corrupted is a debate i was not willing to start, she was also unconnected to the victim, poor bastard, so theres no motive, i presume she would keep the weapon so no weapon to be recovered. i was confident she would get away with it but, it was hardly an accident. she prowled til she found something she deemed worthy, lulled him into security and killed him without a seconds hesitation. she obviously didnt know him so there really was no motive other than her own satisfaction. was it true? had all this actually happened? it was almost too fucked up to say let alone actually mean it. a young lady i know is a knife weilding psychotic and kills people in a very blatent fashion,
did i want to be part of this? what if i was to say no? would she kill me? no, she let me watch after all, why?, she, after all, was the one who spoke to me in the coffee shop, she was the one taking me to partys and vip nightclubs in cheauffered cars, she wanted me to be part of this! but why me? did she see the apathy in me, does she think one day ill join in? maybe she just needs a confession? maybe she feels its all pointless unless someone is there to witness her in all her primal glory, in her most vibrant and intimate moment.....who the fuck knows what her motivations are! she feels compelled to kill people in abrupt and violent ways. but i didnt ignore her calls for long. as much as i try to justify it to myself by saying next time ill intervene, next time ill stop her, maybe she wants that all along! i knew it was all bullshit. me being there made me as guilty of the crime as she was. but like i say, i didnt do any of those things. and i cant tell you why. i cant for the life of me fathom what part of me couldnt say no to it all. i didnt enjoy it at all but something had started with us two and i felt powerless to stop it.
over the next month i watched her kill various people, her taste, it seems wasnt restricted to the young rich and beautiful, she killed the homeless, she killed the old, she killed whomever she felt like killing. she would never reveal to me why she picked her victims, maybe she had a system, maybe she just thought, next person i see gets it! but the only constant in the whole thing was the savagery of the attacks. bodys left mutilated and torn, drenched in claret, she even once drank a pint or so of blood from a victim but she vomited it back up on the way home.
and that i beleive brings us almost up to speed. we found lucky in a bus stop, we offered her a lift. once she was in the car viola was almost insatiable. she attacked the moment the car was in drive. she battered lucky lightly so as not to leave bruises. i stared out the window and listened to massive attack and focused on breathing. when lucky was unconcious and tied up viola fell back into the seat next to me with a slightly out of breath huff. relaxed for a moment then grinned exitedly inwards with genuine glee, she was excited. she had taken to keeping her favourite knife in an oaken box under her seat she had many different knives but her favourite was the hunting knife, 9 inches of water sharpened carbonised stainless steel. classic bowie knife shape. she would sometimes just stare at her reflection in its mirror surface.
we pulled up close to the warehouse, one of the doors was already on a single hinge so didnt take much to gain access. lucky was led to a room it appears viola set up during her day, a small brand new generator had been rigged into just the one light. the single bulb hanging, swinging from the browning cable. lucky was screaming now, her throat losing the ability to make noise, no doubt dry through fear, her eyes darting around between blinking out mascara filled tears viola was pacing now, i had never seen her do this before, she was always looking like she was enjoying herself but now, this was different, she was looking like an animal, feral and ferocious. she was even i think quietly snarling. lucky was scrabbling back against the wall, knife buried up to the hilt under her collarbone, its point scratching the breeze-blocks behind her but she could cower no further, i suddenly had the feeling something had changed here, the dynamic had shifted somehow, violas hands, the fingers were curling, looking more and more like claws. she roared suddenly and pounced from her pacing spot onto her prey, amidst the struggle i thought the ropes hed loosened as her hands suddenly became free, not that she could use them for anything except defending herself, viola was straddling her deperately struggling lucky and slashing at her with the claw hands she was developing, i first thought she was using them as rudimentary clubs till i saw the bloodied strips of clothing being scattered into the air and falling down, suddenly the fight ceased, luckys arms dropped to her chest, lascetated and stringy with torn muscle fibre when viola suddenly dived flat. there was a choked screaming and a muffled snarling then the sickening tearing of flesh and viola sat up slowly amongst the arterial spray. she turned to look at me, her eyes fire, her mouth and maw bloody and chewing. she had torn poor luckys throat out with her teeth and was now eating her flesh. the look in her eyes was one of childlike approval. suddenly it became clear to me she needed approval, that was why she got involved with me. she saw my apathy with everything and figured i probably wouldnt turn her in, i looked again at her eyes, she had stopped chewing and her eyes were welling up. she had expected taking her savagery to new apexe's would finally gain my approval but she was met with a shocked expression she crumbled so quickly, one moment a proud feral killer, the next, a blood soaked child, terrified and alone. i was never attracted to her until that point. the edge had gone and a vulnerable warmth was left in its wake.
viola lay in the corner next to lucky, an unfeassibly large dark pool of oxygenated blood sorrounding them both causing viola to slip as she tried to pull herself as far into the corner as she could get. her sobs were agonised and tore through me like splinters. i sat next to her and took her bloody form in my arms, she was limp and had lost all strength, gone was the animal savagery that had propelled her with such velocity across the room, gone was the strength she had when pinning down bigger victims than herself, all of what made her the viola i knew was gone and been replaced by a blood soaked young woman terrified and in pain at her own frustrations. her questions, her desires, i saw now everything she was trying so hard to conceal! her ever changing manner, her cool, confident fascade, inside, beneath all that she was just as brittle as everyone. she jus thought killing would bring us together.