A Kiss On Bloody Lips

Frank stumbles on a serial killer that's been terrorizing his city for weeks, and gets more than he bargained for when his obsession comes to a climax

Frank flipped off his friends and stalked off. Jerks. It wasn't his fault he couldn't share smokes- no place around would let him get away with buying any and all the clerks knew he wasn't 18. Fuck, he didn't even have a license. You didn't need one to ride around a shitty half-broke bike.

He turned on his mini police scanner and plugged in his headphones as he hiked back to his bike, lighting up one last cigarette. He was hoping to get some more news on the serial killer loose in the city. Guy was like clockwork every two weeks, and tonight was the night to look out for him. It was always someone missable that went missing, but after enough people started talking, the rumors were rampant. Homeless people were the ones he went after, mostly, though they didn't have much to go on other than word of mouth- not many of them wanted to go fill out a report at the police station, a local news station had guessed. They only reason they even knew that the killer was even killing people was the find of two bodies, both of them drained of blood and ripped to pieces, that washed up in a pond at a park not too far away.

Frank unchained his bike and kept listening, putting the walkie-talkie sized object in his hoodie pocket. Nothing so far. Just a few calls for domestic violence. Typical. At least it wasn't at his house this time. Last week he had come home at close to two AM, after an unsuccessful hunt for clues, he had come home to four cop cars parked in the drive way. He just kept moving, that time. No need to get involved in that.

He was about to turn it up a little and ride home, listening to the static and numbered calls, when he heard the sound of a scuffle not too far away. Curious, he walked his bike over to the edge of a small alley between two old abandoned buildings. It was barely three feet across, and nearly impossible to see in the darkness, but... there was no mistaking what he saw.

Someone had obviously finished the fight. A body was limply pressed up against the wall, and they had their face pressed up against the loser's neck. Frank was about to turn away and not get involved in something he shouldn't, when he saw the winner pull back. The body against the wall dropped to the ground with a thud. He watched as the person- a guy, by their black silhouette- reach down. Frank assumed he was going to go through the other guy's pockets when there was the sound of ripping fabric and a lower, wet noise followed by a sharp CRACK. He wasn't sure what that could be, until he saw the guy lift up a leg and toss it to the side like it was nothing.

He watched, almost frozen, as the killer- this was the serial killer, there was no question there- ripped the guy limb from limb and tore apart his torso after ripping the head off. Shit... he just found the guy he had been looking for since he first made the news... Frank briefly thought back to the wall of his room that was covered in tacked up newspaper clippings and internet print outs before he was drawn back to the present.

The guy picked up a manhole cover like it was a piece of paper and started shoving the body parts in to the sewers before letting the metal cover drop back down with a clang. It startled Frank enough for him to step forward and act before he thought about it. "Hey!"

It took him a second to realize that the killer had grabbed the front of his shirt and pinned him against the wall in the alley. It happened fast enough to make him dizzy, and he couldn't keep a shit-eating grin off his face. He did it. He had found the serial killer.

"Who the fuck are you." The demand was quiet but the two hands on him- one gripping his shirt and pressing against his chest, and the other gripping his neck, still slick with blood- were a little louder.

"F-Frank Iero," he stuttered out. "You've got blood all over your fucking face!" He tried to focus on the person in front of him but he was choking and feeling a little dizzy. The man holding him up was a little taller than him, with dark hair that he couldn't tell the color of in the dark. The blood dripping down his face and down to his neck and chest was nearly black against his pale skin, and Frank wondered what it looked like smeared on his own neck.