Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 26

As he feasted, the sirens grew louder, the distant wail a symphony that seemed to crescendo with each bite. Yet, the hunger within him was insatiable, a beast that demanded more. He moved from her thigh to her stomach, the muscles still spasming with the last vestiges of life. His teeth sank deep, tearing through skin and muscle with a sickening ease.

The candles flickered, casting long shadows across the floor that danced in time with the strobe-like flashes of blue and red that now bathed the apartment in a grim, rhythmic light. The sirens grew closer, the thump of heavy boots on the stairs outside a warning that his time was running out. But the hunger was all-consuming, a maelstrom that drowned out the approaching storm.

Y/N took another ravenous bite, his teeth tearing through flesh and sinew, his eyes glazed with a madness that had long ago devoured any semblance of humanity. He felt alive, invincible, as he feasted on Selena's lifeblood. Each mouthful brought him closer to the precipice of satisfaction, the coppery tang a symphony of power and dominance.

Finally, sated, he pulled away, the corners of his mouth stained crimson. He stumbled back, panting, the axe slipping from his hand to clatter against the floor. His eyes fell to Selena's ruined form, a macabre still-life painted in shades of red and white. He felt a strange sense of peace wash over him, the chaos of the world outside almost forgotten.

But the sirens grew louder, a persistent reminder of the approaching danger. He took a deep breath, his heart slowing to a steady, calming beat. It was time to clean up. He moved to the bathroom, his footsteps sticky on the floor, the taste of her still coating his mouth. He turned on the faucet, the water cascading over his hands like a cleansing waterfall. The warmth of it was a contrast to the coldness that had claimed his soul.

He washed his face, scrubbing away the remnants of Selena, watching the red swirl down the drain with a detached fascination. His reflection stared back at him, a mask of calm indifference. He took a deep breath and stepped back, the water running clear once more. He reached into the closet and pulled out a fresh shirt and slacks, his movements methodical as he dressed. Each button, each cufflink, was a step back into the armor of normalcy he had so expertly crafted.

The sirens grew distant, the flashing lights outside his windows a strobe in the mirrored walls of his penthouse. The rain had stopped, leaving the city washed clean, a stark contrast to the crimson mess he had made of Selena. He stepped out of the bathroom, the plush carpet squelching beneath his bare feet. With a sigh, he slid into a pair of loafers, the leather cool and comforting against his skin.

Y/N paused at the bedroom door, the axe discarded on the floor like a forgotten toy. He took a moment to appreciate the macabre artistry of his work, the way the blood had spattered the walls and pooled on the floor. Then, with a final look at Selena's corpse, he turned and padded down the hallway to the living room. The knocking grew more insistent, a pulse that matched the one in his head.

He took a deep breath, his reflection in the hallway mirror a serene portrait of control. With a practiced ease, he slipped into his role, the mask of normalcy sliding over his features like a second skin. The blood washed away, the monster hidden beneath layers of polished charm and Wall Street sophistication.

The knocking grew more insistent, the sirens a cacophony outside his fortress of glass and steel. Y/N approached the door, the pistol cold and comforting in his hand. It was a tool, a means to an end, a silent guardian of his twisted secrets.

With a deep breath, he swung the door open, the cool night air a strong contrast to the warm, metallic scent of blood that clung to him like a second skin. The two policemen on the other side took a step back, their eyes widening at the sight of him, naked from the waist down, reminding him that he has forgotten to put some pants on.

"Is everything okay, sir?" one of them asked, his hand resting on the holster of his service weapon, a reflex born of suspicion and fear. Y/N's smile was reassuring, a well-practiced facade that slipped into place as easily as the pistol in his hand.

With a swift, almost graceful motion, he brought the detective's gun to bear. Two shots rang out, the muffled pops echoing through the corridor like the sound of champagne corks at a distant party. The officers' eyes widened in shock, their bodies jerking as the bullets tore through them. They crumpled to the floor, their lifeless forms a rough contrast to the gleaming marble of the hallway.

Y/N's heart raced, the thrill of the kill like a drug coursing through his veins. He stepped over the bodies, his bare feet splashing in the pooling blood. His mind was a whirlwind of chaos, but his actions were precise, almost mechanical. He stripped the officers of their uniforms, the fabric sticky with the warmth of their lives. He pulled on the first one, the fabric tight around his muscular frame, and then the second, layering the authority of their profession over his own monstrous nature.

The mirror in the hallway reflected a twisted parody of a law enforcement officer, bloodstained loafers peeking out from the bottom of the pants. He tucked in the shirt, the fabric sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. He adjusted the utility belt, the cold metal biting into his waist. The hat sat at a jaunty angle, a silent mockery of the men he had just killed. The transformation was complete; he was now one of them, a chameleon in a sea of blue.

With the practiced calm of a man who had done this a hundred times, he strode out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. The cops outside had gathered like flies around a rotting carcass, their eyes scanning the floor, the walls, the air for any hint of what had transpired above.

Y/N looked at them with wide, terrified eyes, his voice shaking as he pointed back at the building. "He's in there," he shouted, his words echoing down the corridor. "A crazy guy with an axe. He just killed my partner!"

The cops outside snapped to attention, their eyes scanning the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. The flashing lights from their cruisers painted the scene in a strobe of blue and red, casting shadows across the hallway.