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When The Blood Runs Cold
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When The Blood Runs Cold
A murderer surveys his victim, while trying to certify that he has done the right thing and satisfying his twisted humour.
Jack M Brown
19, studying Mathematics at Southampton University.
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When The Blood Runs Cold
Jack M Brown
Her half squirming body coughed up its last breath before he let go, and then dropped her to the ground beside the padded sofa. The room was dim, and only the moonlight drifted through the large room as the killer slumped into a seat.
"Cheers," he said, tinkling a glass of cool wine in the direction of the corpse. He smiled as the refreshing liquid engulfed his parched throat. The blood had run cold.
He hadn't known her, but that didn't matter to him. What mattered was the price and his soul had been bought. Why should he care? He was making a very good living. Morals didn't affect this man, and in this case, she had been no different.
She was beautiful, in a dead kind of way, the killer was thinking, swirling the liquid around the glass, before taking another gulp.
She had struggled. He liked that - a challenge - a worthy victim. They had all been worthy, I suppose, as they all struggled and fidgeted, not wanting to die. No one would stand still and let the pain get to them. It just didn't happen.
The blood had stained the cream carpet. A more delightful discovery for her husband, maybe. The one who had payed him wanted it messy, and it could not get more so.
The killer walked around the living room, eyeing the large expensive paintings that were hung on each wall. While doing so, he unwrapped the surgeons gloves from his hands, placing the small knife upon a cabinet next to a large mirror. He looked at himself, smirking at a job well done, knowing that he would get paid a substantial sum for his job.
He had killed many times before. He was a professional. Knife. Gun. Rope. Even a television set once. Each time was a new thrilling experience, and worth all of the effort.
He walked back to the lady, face down on the ground, leaking from where he had cut her. The killer turned her over, revealing the wound. Her clothes were torn in the struggles, and her blonde hair was ravaged into a shocking sculpture. Some of it was stained with her own blood.
He kissed her silently on the lips, that gargled with blood. Cold. The killer slammed the knife into her forehead, coughing up more. The blood had run cold.
Was the job getting to him? No, he liked it. Maybe time to take some pride in his work. He'd never done that before.
|READER'S REVIEWS (12)
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"It's not my place to state my opion about this story, because you didn't ask for it, but I will point out what I believe to be unflattering flaws in the work. 1. If he's such a professional assassin, why does he stick around? 2. If the reason is because he's a psychopath, keep in mind psychopaths don't make very effective assassins 3. Whether he be a professional assassin or reasonably intelligent psychopath, he might know better than to remove his gloves at the crime scene and risk losing them. 4. Same with the blade 5. Why in the world would you leave a saliva sample there, if you're so good? and 6. If the body has already turned cold, then he's been there at least five minutes after the assassination, far too long for a professional assassin." -- The Advisor.
"No. 7: It takes an extremely sharp blade and collosal amount of force to penetrate the bone of the forehead. Even if he had been successful at this, it would be an amazing amount of wasted energy, especially before any quick getaway." -- The Advisor.
"You make some valid points in the actual plot. However, I have to say that I like to explore characters, and sometimes make them as dark as I can. In this piece, it was not my intention to be as realistic in action, but to portray a sadistic character. Thankyou for your comments anyway." -- Author.
"A strange story, obviousley by a very strange possibly sick and twisted author who i think should pe locked in a padded room and forgotten!" -- Lawrence Griffin, United Kingdom.
"Time will tell on that one" -- Author.
"Anyway, it wasn't that bad was it?.....C'mon, who says he's not a psycho or something." -- Author.
"NOOOOO! Anything but the cream carpet! Ah, well, nothing that good dose of Vanish won't clear up." -- manintheshack.
"Odd, gross but in a way Very good!" -- Ian Goodall.
"Really enjoyed this one. Perhaps I am "sick" too!!! As for the technical things, having never been a professional assassin, I didn't care about that aspect unless the mistakes had been glaring !!! The story reminded me of one of mine; same sadistic bent. Anyway, campers, whatever happened to suspension of disbelief??? Also, thank you, Jack, for reviewing my poem, "Ravenous" !!!!!" -- Judith Goff, Tampa, FL , Usa.
"Twisted. I like twisted. " -- R. Bennett Okerstrom.
"Nuts" -- CR.P.
"Good work! I loved when the psycho slammed the knife into the womans forehead and left a mess of blood on the carpet for her husband to find. " -- Brennan Walters, Lacey, Washington, America.
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© 2002 Jack M Brown
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