The Arcane: Alistair Mann

CHAPTER 11 ALISTAIR MANN PART TWO

Alistair Mann glances at his chauffer driving the elegant Rolls Royce Phantom. Its beautifully hand-crafted interior would stun any observer. The expertly crafted exterior matching in elegance. The pair often go on rides together. Rachel driving in the front and her aging billionaire father in the backseat across from her on the passenger's side. As she drives around Eau Claire they talk, albeit rather strangely, at least for the daughter. Her father was diagnosed with dementia one year ago now and it has rapidly progressed, which only adds to the things she would pour out to her therapist. Her therapist is not a nice fellow, rather sadistic if anyone else but her were to know his truths. Most of the time during their sessions his inappropriate flirtatious remarks would lead to him taking advantage of her. But Rachel feels like she deserves it, she finds the abuse healing. It is the only time she feels something other than the pain and misery that comes with taking care of her senile father.

"Doctor," Rachel calls back to her father the billionaire always insisting that people refer to him with that moniker, even his own daughter. He feels as if it asserts his intellect over those around him thus giving him easier control over them. "How have your urges been?"

Alistair Mann's head and upper torso contort suddenly, like a sudden tick. Then he mumbles something inaudibly before clearing his throat and saying in his deep and gravelly voice, "I think I killed someone recently, it was a nice family. Quite a shame really."

"Oh?" Rachel inquires, "Who did you kill?"

"The Cormorants I think their name was."

Rachel looks at her father through the rearview mirror and says, "Why did you kill them?"

She hates playing into her father's fantasies, but her therapist insists that it is the best way for them to be dealt with. She would prefer slapping him on the side of the head and beg her father to wake up. Wake up from his nightmarish dream that he is inevitably dragging her down into. She doesn't like violence, Rachel is a peaceful and quiet soul, but if that is what it would take to help her father, she would do it with love.

Alistair Mann responds, "A voice told me to do so. His name is...Larry, I think. I said no at first, but his nonstop begging, nagging, left me no choice. And in the end, it felt like a release and a relief."

Rachel slows the car, stopping at a light. She bites her lip before saying, "When did this voice first contact you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe several months ago."

Deciding that their drive had lasted long enough Rachel starts to bring them back home. Soon they pull into the large driveway, with landscaped tulips and cedar trees on each side. They look dreary with clouds overhead blocking all sun.

+ + +

A wicked grin spreads across Alistair's face as he plunges a serrated dagger into a maiden's heart, then lung, then the other lung. He plunges the knife into the girl before him again and again never relenting. Blood sprays everywhere. It flings onto the walls and floors with satisfying splashes. Panting, Alistair Mann gets to his feet, the woman lying still on the floor having died from her wounds long before the crazed man stopped pummeling her. He takes a step back, the stone floor clacking beneath his polished shoes. He is in the medieval wing of his vast mansion. Modeled after the great stone castles from the medieval and Victorian era, it is one of the bigger wings of the strange billionaire's estate. Large archways and towers rise high above the other parts of the building all made of stone.

Alistair Mann steps into a large and now unoccupied bedroom, his cane clacking on the stone floor. He remembers the day he killed that maiden; he remembers the day he killed all of them. He looks down at his purple suitcoat and trousers. A dark blue vest and white shirt peak from underneath. The man smiles slightly remembering the beautiful blood that soaked his clothes. He remembers its lifelike smell, the freshness of it. Nothing compares to the high right after killing some worthless piece of crap. Alistair Mann walks down the large stone hallway. Armor stands and other various decorative furnishings dotting the great walkway. He passes room after room, imagining the people he killed there. All servants who worked for him at the time were females. The handmaidens who helped clean up the scenes never said a word, not to him nor anyone else. Fear was always the prevalent emotion in all their minds.