Sad Savior

ONE

Sadie

It's the feeling. You understand? The feeling. I have my knife, it's gorgeous. Do you see it? Tracing your fingers across the blade, ever so slightly, wow. This is the blade that is going to kill, for who knows what time. I've named her Scarlet. Like blood, almost. She's a girl, of course. Women are stronger. So here I am, dressed and ready. Blonde hair perfect, but it won't stay that way for long, now will it? I run my fingers along my body, so slim, covered in the tight black dress I've had for so long. It was my mother's, you know. Before I killed her, along with my excuse of a father. I circle my ring around my finger, also my mother's, and sigh. I slip Scarlet in my combat boots, run a trace of pink lipstick across my lips once more, and leave the place I call home. Or, at least for this week. I'll be gone before the name Sadie brushes off your lips in a ghostly whisper.

The mid-October wind wraps around me as I walk down the busy street, looking for my next victim. My "home" is in the middle of bar city, men dripping from each corner. My brown eyes land on a man, mid-twenties maybe. Light brown hair, the just-fucked vibe screaming from it's messiness. Just my type. I pick up my chin and walk towards him, my boots making heavy enough steps to make the man's blue eyes land on me. "Hey, pretty lady. What you doing out here?"

I touch his flannel clad arm, tracing my fingers along it. "Bored." The word drips sexily from my tongue as I continue my tracing.

"Oh, I see. Well, mind if I buy you a drink?" The man asks. I look at his left ring finger, a wedding ring covering it. I smile to myself. A married man. Perfect.

"Honey, let's skip the small talk and just take me home, yeah?" The man tilts his head at my statement.

"How old are you?" Of course. That question.

"Eighteen," That wasn't a lie. I am eighteen. "Come on, baby. Take me home. I'll do whatever you want." His phone rings and he reaches for it. "Don't answer that." His hand drops.

The man meets my eyes and I narrow mine, compelling him. Seducing him. My mouth raises into a crooked smile. "Name?" He asks.

"You'll find that out later." I grab his arm. "Take me home. Your wife's not home, no?"

"Business trip." The man replies. His eyes never leave mine.

"Good. Lead the way."

Shane

I throw my phone across the room when Uncle Adam doesn't pick his phone up, again. Jesus Christ, it's not that hard, right? Aunt Caroline isn't home either, hasn't been for days. "Business trip." Bullshit. Adam messes around with sleazy whores, and Caroline gets the hell away from here whenever she can.

So here I am. Locked up in my damn room, alone. All I really have is my guitar and my sketchpad, but neither of those sound fun. Adam told me to stay put, not to leave. He said he "needed to get out" which really translated to "Caroline isn't home, I need to get laid."

For fuck's sake, I'm almost eighteen. Two weeks. Why am I living with them? Yeah, my parents are dead but COME ON. Why them? I lay back against my bed and stare up at the ceiling, covered with band posters. A photo of my mom, dad and I stay in the middle of the tattooed guys. "Mom, Dad. Come back." I whisper that as I close my eyes.

I wake up from the sound of the front door slamming against the wall, loud kissing noises following. "Fuck's sake," I mutter, pulling myself up.

"Shit, Shane," I hear my uncle call.

"Who?" A woman says. Young as I can hear.

"My nephew." Adam sounds breathy. Come on dude, you're twentynine. Why this chick?

"Great," The woman says, her voice quiet. Next I hear a body slamming against the wall hard, then a loud moan. Kinky much? "Mind if I play some music?"

"Whatever," Come on, Adam. Stop talking like a teenager. Next thing I know, the song "Sad Savior" by Taking Back Sunday fills the house.

"Skin against skin covering bone, on the body you're in, is aggressively slim." I lean back on the bed. At least this victim has good taste in music. A voice fills over the lead singer's voice, alto toned and beautiful. "Yeah, you earned the clothes you put on it. Cover up where you've been. Leave those scars at home, let them slide down the length of your spine, cross your knees and down to your feet. They slow our momentum each time.You're reminded they're there." The voice draws me out of my room and into the living room where my uncle and the woman are.

The woman is blonde, tan and beautiful. Her eyes are dark, layered by a thick line of eyeliner, bangs lingering on them. A tight dress traces her slightly curvy body, thick combat boots on her feet. She didn't look more than my age.

But what made me make the noise that escaped my mouth was the knife tracing along my uncle's throat. He wasn't making a sound, completely still. She didn't hear me, thank God. I covered my mouth quickly. "You don't have to pretend to be an orphan anymore." She screamed the lyric before slicing my uncle's throat, making him fall to the ground. I screamed, following a whisper of her name. Her head shots up.

This woman, this girl, she was Sadie. A cold blooded killer who seduced and compelled innocent people every since she killed her own parents. She got rid of the bodies easily, leaving no trace. No evidence. I didn't know she was still around. She's eighteen, I thought she stopped at sixteen. Nobody even believed in her. The girl's brown eyes met mine, her knife dripping blood onto the floor. The next thing I knew was grabbing her and pinning her to the ground, throwing her knife across the room. The song was looping over as I knocked her out.

This girl had to stop. She's not as strong as she thinks. And I guess I'm stronger than I look.