Blackout

3) Delirium

OWEN LUX WESLEY

Lynn was from Alaska.

Anchorage, Alaska, to be precise. That was where her intriguing accent came from. Granted, she sounded like a normal American, but there was just something so exotic about the way she worded everything. It captivated me—and nothing captivates me without good reason.

"Her mother and father were natives born in that area. She has one brother and one sister," Beau Valentine told me. Our friendship was a weird one, if I was being honest with myself. We met in England while we were both young and it was like everything clicked. Beau controlled a secret underground business that trained children from a young age to do dangerous jobs for high class people. After years and years of rigorous training, they were sent to miscellaneous places around the world to defend, protect, and murder countless people for a high price. When he first told me, I thought he was a lunatic, but when he later revealed it would be his once his father passed, I knew that I had to do something for him to stay beside me. But that's another story for another day.

"What's her brother's name?" I asked him, eager to know more.

"Mason Dupont. He is nineteen and enrolled in Rye University. The campus is in Manhattan."

"Sister?"

"Lisa Dupont. She's in the same university as her brother, but she is twenty-one. Oh, and I forgot to let you know—her mother is currently admitted into a psychiatric hospital and her father is dead." Interesting.

"What happened to him?"

"Don't know," Beau said, his voice gruff. He cleared it and ran a hand through his platinum blonde hair, sliding a piece of paper towards me. "The only thing important there is her date of birth, social, and all that irrelevant crap." I skimmed over the paperwork and he was right. There was nothing on there that was useful.

"Why is her mother in a psychiatric hospital?"

"Her file didn't say anything other than the fact that she was highly dangerous. Did you know that Lynn was a detective?"

"From the start," I murmured, wondering why her record was practically clean. That had me suspicious. She had to have someone that helped her clear some things off her record. "Do you think someone touched her records?"

"Looks like it," Beau confirmed my suspicions. "I'll look into it." His furrowed eyebrows had me wondering what he was going to say next, but a ear-piercing scream distracted the both of us. "Can you take care of that?" He was staring at me with one eyebrow raised, cold blue eyes pressing into mine. I didn't say a word, despite the fact that I was itching to know what was running through his mind.

I instead stood up and tread towards the basement, feeling familiar goosebumps rise on my skin as the screams got louder. My mind flashed to when I got her. I think it was last week, or the week before—I wasn't quite sure. Her name was Sheryl.

"Would you like anything else?" A waitress asked me. I could visibly see the lines of stress that intensified her tired expression. "Or would you like me to bring the cheque?" She was short, plump, and sweaty.

"The check would be fine," I told her. "May I have your name?"

"Sheryl," She said, pursing her lips into a smile. "Is that all?"

"My name is Lux, Sheryl," I muttered, and then rose my voice a bit louder. "I can't help but notice that you're so eager to see me go." She flushed a deep shade of red at my comment and brushed a strand of strawberry-colored hair behind her ear.

"Not really," she admitted honestly. "It's just that my shift ends in ten minutes and you're my last customer."

"Is that so?" I said, running my tongue across my bottom lip. "May I take you out for dinner when you're done, then?" I could see her insecurity threatening to influence her response. There was an easy way to solve this. I simply smiled, and she melted.

"Yes. I'd love to. Just—just let me change and we can get going."

Looking at Sheryl now, she almost resembled the way she was the day I met her, all sweaty and frazzled; only, she was drenched in her own blood. It was quite a beautiful sight, one that had me wondering how my dearest Lynn would look with her endless legs splattered with bruises and her face smudged with blood. Her red, sinister lips coated with just a tad of her own blood...

I shivered and smiled genuinely at Sheryl, who was screaming her throat away. I wondered how she managed to get the gag out of her mouth. I do recall putting it on very tightly, although that was two days ago. I did forget to feed her, too. No wonder Beau told me to take care of her.

"How have you been, Sheryl?" I asked her, pulling a set of gloves on my hands. They fit perfectly. I grabbed the gag that was thrown on the floor beside her and shoved it on her face. She tried to spit at me, but I managed to avoid it. Now, I was angry. I grabbed a handful of hair, tugging her head back. Her veins began to prominently bulge the further I tugged back. "You shouldn't have done that, my dear." My free hand traced her largest artery and I felt a strong urge to cut it open as it pulsated. I really wanted to, but I knew that if I did, then it would be a hell of a mess to clean up. Damn.

I let go of Sheryl's hair. She was still screaming, although it wasn't as loud as it was before. It was muffled. Personally, I'd keep the gag off just to hear her scream for her pathetic life, but it was safer with the gag on. I walked towards the table a few feet in front of her and glanced over my selection of knives that were sharpened to perfection. I outlined my finger over the edge of my favorite knife, one that had jagged, pointed indentations, and then grabbed it with conviction, marching back to Sheryl.

Her eyes visibly widened at the weapon in my hand and she began to struggle against the constraints. I could only imagine how her wrists must be feeling. I bit my lip and traced the knife on her chubby cheeks, knowing that if I added just a little bit more pressure, blood would be spewing down my blade and on her pale, dried skin. Her blue eyes widened chaotically as I gently added more pressure. She was screaming, and it wasn't as loud as I would have liked, but it was enough for me to feel that giddy sensation escalate beneath my heart. I loved doing this.

It was as if everything then happened at slow motion. Tears were leaking from Sheryl's eyes. The moment that one lone tear met the tip of my blade, I added the pressure needed. The blade embedded itself into her skin as if it was butter. Blood spewed out like drizzling rain, coating my blade and then her skin. There was a jagged gap in her cheek and it looked so masochistically beautiful that I had goosebumps. She was screaming so loudly that it was almost like the gag wasn't in her mouth.

I really wanted to cut her jugular, but that would be a lot of mess to clean up. I could just stab her, but there would be a lot of blood, too. I just didn't want to clean it up myself. I could ask if one of Beau's men would do it. I grinned as soon as the thought registered and grabbed a clump of Sheryl's hair, tugging her head back.

"Say goodbye, love," I told her, dragging my now stained blade across her thick jugular. It was a beautiful sight. Her eyes were wide and full of fear and one side of her face coated with fresh, red blood while the other was smeared with dry, brown blood. She was struggling tremendously against the restraints, but she was really only moving a couple of centimeters. I grinned and sliced the knife straight through her jugular. The result was instantaneous. Blood splattered across my face and down her throat.

My heart thudded with satisfaction as I watched in morbid fascination as the life fled her eyes. She slowly stopped struggling and her eyes began to twitch, flutter, and then stop. Her blue eyes were now stone cold, void of any life.

Copper was in my mouth when I detached my hand from her strawberry hair. I spit on her body, throwing my knife to the ground. I removed my gloves and also threw it at her body, leaving the basement. "Beau!" The rush was now gone.

I faintly heard his response. "Yeah?"

"Call one of your men," I yelled to him. "I have to do something. Have them take care of Sheryl."

I had to run into Lynn again.

—

Anchorage, Alaska to the side.