The Elven Killer

Part 6: Clover's Perspective

Clover laughed maniacally, feeling giddy with happiness. "Job complete!" Grimacing, he wiped some of the saliva and blood off of his bare shoulder. Stars danced in his faded green eyes as he thought of the amount of money he'd be getting for murdering an infamous yet dangerous thief. Searching through the house, he found several priceless artefacts, including the missing necklace known as [name]. He'd always thought of it as a cliche name, but it was still worth millions of dollars. But... why was it here, of all places? Just sitting on the top of a cabinet for anyone to take. Glancing around, he grabbed it and shoved into his pocket, before glancing up to see a strange door. Freshly painted, the door was white with a weird symbol... A bright green clover on it.

"What the fuck...?" He murmured, reaching out and putting his hand on the metal door handle. Surprisingly, it wasn't rusted as he pushed the door open. At first glance, it was a normal room, with faded green walls and white tiled flooring. However, looking closer, he spotted a large wooden desk that had several drawers, and with strangely familiar drawings hanging on the walls. They were all extremely different, some of a woman holding her son, and others of a boy standing over her dead body. He'd wanted to forget, but the pictures had drawn him back to the reality of his past. Quietly walking towards the desk, he picked up the nearest image and observed it closely. It was just as he'd thought. This strange man, Darius, knew what had happened to him as a child. However, he didn't care. Darius had completely disappeared from his thoughts, all he could comprehend was the memory of his mother.

In the painting was a small, almond-skinned teenager, with pointed elf ears and a slight smile on his face. Sparkling green eyes glared down at the corpse in front of him, not caring about the blood covering his lean body. The image needed no context, he knew exactly what it was showing. The boy had killed his mother, she lay lifeless on the ground with her dark brown hair covering her extremely dark-skinned face.

It was him.

He'd killed his own mother at the age of 16, simply a year before his hair had turned as white as snow. And the man he'd just murdered knew about it somehow.

Pistachio green eyes glistening with unwanted tears, Clover stared around at some of the other images. One was of him hiding in the forest to try and escape the police, aged 15, another was of him being stabbed in the stomach by one of his past victims. Sighing, he lowered his pained gaze down to the item that sat on the desk. Several miscellaneous things were scattered around the place, but one small pile of items caught his eye. An extremely old necklace with rope instead of chain to tie around his neck and an iron-cross-shaped golden locket to add to the authenticity. Rust decorated the outside of it, but he recognised it nonetheless.

"This... Did he take this off of me while I was asleep? I can't believe I didn't realise I wasn't wearing it," He mumbled, placing it around his neck, his skin getting goosebumps wherever the cool metal touched his skin. Slightly confused, his eyes continued to scan the jewellery that laid in front of him, one being of a card-shaped earring that had an ace of clubs on it.

"Heh, didn't I steal this from my mother? It's in such good condition, what the fuck? Well, I guess I'm not complaining." He grinned, wincing at the feeling of reopening his ear piercing while he put the pair of earrings in. Oh, the memories came flooding back as he stared down, his concern growing at each item he looked at. More paintings hung on the wall, and he eventually found the confidence to look at another one, picking it up and observing it closely. Although faded, the image was clear. Clover was sitting in the middle of a burning building, extremely panicked but with no way to escape and no-one to help. Droplets of water finally fell down his face as he unconsciously rubbed his free hand on the burn marks that decorated his collar bone. Tossing the painting onto the ground, he quickly went out of the room, grabbing his shirt and hurriedly putting it on while he walked. *That bastard...* He thought, his heart racing with anxiety. How had Darius known what he'd experienced? How/why did he have his jewellery? And why the fuck was his shirt added to the collection? These were the questions that Clover asked himself, but he knew he'd never find the answer, now that his target was dead. Heading down all of the stairs down to the first floor, he ran out of the house towards the place that he'd seen his victim fall at... But nothing was there. No blood, no body, no sign of him having been there at all.