Walking across the rusted rooftop, Patricia Hartwell took great pride in sitting down iattered pstic lounge chair and the age that the Cross-Killer had created earlier in the day. Using a set of binocurs, Patricia smiled at the futility of the emergency crews and e operators trying to up the mess within the river. “Annoying little ants, you know that she’s going to do it again.” A dreadfully unpleasant half-dead female voice cackled. “Yet, the handy-work should bring the real target out from the shadows. e visit me, Special Agent.”
Tossing the binocurs to the side, Patricia happeo catch a glimpse of her bd green gangrenous skin. “This shell is deteriorating quickly.” Once sidered a fairly good-looking and well-built firefighter of thirty-five years, Patricia Heartwell had seen maer days. Silky brown hair that draped to the bottom of her neoeared stingy, vine-like and coated in a sheen of oil that matched the look of a s. Patricia’s eyes used to be pools of brown uanding and hope that helped people in a pinch, given her job as an EMS worker. Opaque and shaped like sharp, deadly diamonds, the pretty orbs ged to solid objects of hate and chaos that matched her neearance.
“Yes, Patricia…you cry. Empower me.” The voice gurgled and coughed up muddy phlegm then tinued, “It’s taken me about ten months to get this meat bag to this state.” Patricia ran her dirty hands through her hair and ughed. “Face it, Patrio longer exists. No more b life of tiny fires and useless talking, retired at fifty and useless.” She stood up from the chair and headed for the door that led deeper into the four-story building. “You now have a great title and will be remembered well beyond the fifteen minutes of your little retirement party.”
Feeding off of the personality within her, Patricia reached for the broken doorknob and watched the rust break and float off into the air. “Don’t worry, meatsack…Your time is almost up. Enjoy being…” She walked dowairs, headed to her test victim. “...The Cross Killer. Forever immortalized for death aru.”
Taking the time for a deep breath, The Cross-Killer ehe st of the dead fish smell that permeated the building, The Cross-Killer took the time to think of how she would hahe man known as Noah Osborn. When the familiar feeling of her stomach turning as though it would wretch, she knew she had the pn. “Very iive…I like it. Should bring enough fear to feed from and prepare fent Miller.”
The Cross-Killer’s hideaway was genius for the time and usefulness. An old and abandoned fish processing pnt that had been built ie sixties and early sevehat serviced most of tral Virginia with various saltwater and freshwater fish.
Simplicity had been what the designer of the building intended. Four walls made with der block with little pces for venting and a few windows, and a ceiling made from iron and steel much like a normal warehouse. Beyond where there used to be four roll-up doors, was a decrepit and rotting pier where the processing pnt could unload the boats as they came in and delivered their cargo of rockfish, oysters and blue crab only found in the Chesapeake Bay. Subsequently, it is the fish and oysters that left the smell behind that The Cross-Killer ehe most. She could easily close her eyes and picture the yout of the floor where workers would quickly separate the catto their own bins, and quickly stuffing the items in packed dry ibsp; Over the years, the st permeated the entire building, seemingly oozing from the walls itself.
The Cross-Killer made her way through the big hall to one of the smaller out-of-use freezers and opened a door to reveal her test captive, Noah Osborn. “How are you…” She started to speak and noticed that the man was either passed out or asleep. “...We ’t have this.” Emitting a low gurgling ugh, She walked over to Noah and spped his face. “Wake up mb. You will have plenty of time to sleep while you hang on the crucifix.”
Feeling the hard sp-punoah blinked his eyes open and looked upon his kidnapper with disgust. “Proud of yourself?” He tried to retort. “age is the word of the month thanks to you.” He spat on the floor he Cross-Killers feet.
“So defiant while strapped to that metal table, Noah.” she winked one of her diamond-dead eyes and reached for a drill. “I really enjoy the fact that I get to add your lovely blood to the fish blood all over the floor. Just think about it like this, I am preparing you much like you’d scale a fish and discard its innards just to e the flesh after nearly burning it.” She snarled, “You flesh beings are se. No matter.” She squeezed the drill trigger a bit and watched the stainless steel pin twist. “Just like your fish, you get to feel every bit of what is about to happen.” She walked around and k in front of Noah, “You have the fortune of me trying something new. It might be a bit rough without any sort of pain reliever, so I have these.” She id out five little pens, “Epinephrine. I ’t have you dying in the process, that would defeat the purpose.” She turned Noah’s head to look at his crucifix. “You see that? You get hooks. So it's going to be like your flesh is tearing from your bones.”
Fear slowly creeping into Noah’s voice, the man attempted to get himself out of the situation he was in. “You know, you don’t have to do this. You have already made your mark.” He paused due to his teeth chattering, “You are already a legend in the eyes of other killers and stalkers.”
Patricia turned Noah’s head to face the fuzzy tubed television and strapped him firmly in pce. “ry, Noah.” She pressed the button to make the drill zing again. “There are rules though. Thirty-one days in October, thirty-one days of death. Halloween and your demons demand it.” She snarled. “Iingly enough, you are the only o begging for their life, but rather trying to talk me out of it.” Patricia reached down and squeezed Noah’s triceps and found the thickest part of his humerus. “No lying, this is going to hurt. Do your best to watch the strangeness oube.” The Cross-Killer pressed the steep tip of the drill against Noah’s arm and depressed the trigger. Within a sed the drill twisted into the skin and muscle of the man’s arm, sending blood a all over the table.
Unbelievable paied from Noah’s arm and made the once proud sleuth-man scream out in unbearable pain. “PLEASE!!! ST—STOPPP….” He begged and tried to squirm as the metal dug into his arm and finally into the bone. When the smell of burning bone reached Noah’s nose, he tensed up and began to wretch to no avail. Agony rippled through his mind and in a fsh, he thought that this must be how it felt to get an amputation. “W—WHY!!!???” He scream-cried ahe drill retreat, providing a little relief.
