The Sociopath Who Ate My Cereal

"Its the Candy Man's lucky day."

Chapter 7

We'll play the song of love and be reunited once again.

My world felt frozen. Time actually stopped. I stared at the box and my gut ate at itself. I stared at the rotten roses, the once rich ruby red color were now a soggy stained inky black.

A once beautiful flower became nothing but a disgusting memory.

I watched as the maggots were happily making a home on the dead flowers. I felt bike rise up my stomach and settle on my chest.

I choked down the puke but ended up vomiting all over anyway. With tears burning my eyes, and my throat stinging in pain all I could do was struggle to compose myself.

What the hell was going on.

It was over.

That's what He said. He ended it. He put him in a fucking coma. It was all over now. He held me in his arms, and in an uncharacteristic moment showed kindness. He whispered in my ear and assured me it was all over.

Right before he got dragged out by the police.

It was all over. My greatest fear was pretty much turned into a living vegetable. Even to this day that said vegetable was still rotting away in the hospital.

So these flowers that were so familiar couldn't have been sent by my nightmare.

The only person who could have sent it was that same person who saved me. The very same sociopath that crawls into my bed every night.

I wiped my mouth, so angry I couldn't even feel disgust as my own puke.

"Fuck you Lucas. Fuck you."

I took the box, walked to the curb and threw it in the garbage.

.

.

"You're a fucking dick!" I screamed as I walked into the garage. After the flower incident I walked to Lucas's house to ream him out. Only to find out from his parents Lucas had gotten a part time job at the local garage down the street.

I felt fire course through my veins and all I was in for was blood.

Lucas fucking Avery's blood.

"What the fuck?" Bellowed an angry voice from under the car I had just yelled at. Rationally I should have known to make sure the person I wanted to yell at, was actually that person. But I hadn't. I didn't know who was more surprised, Emmet Morgan, or me. "Candice wa-wh-a-at, what are you doing here?"

Still to angry to really form words I didn't answer his question. "Where the hell is Richard Ramirez?"

Emmet's green eyes looked at me wearily. "Who?"

"American serial killer. Satan worshipper. Terrorized Los Angeles in the 1980s. Nicknamed the Night Stalker Ramirez. MO was breaking into homes. Shooting, stabbing, raping and mutilating his victims. His signature was to smear pentagram a on the walls of crime scenes?" I rambled.