The Rise of the Grim Reaper: Sylvan Sasha Whitney

Chapter One: They Killed So They Were Killed

Chapter One:

They Killed So They Were Killed

COOL METAL KISSED MY wrists as I sat within the empty interrogation room, my hands secured to the table with a pair of handcuffs. The cold air nipped at my thinly clothed toes, white socks soaked with blood as I tapped them against the floor. My dress was in rather bad repair, something Mama surely would have scolded me for. What had once been a dainty baby blue was covered in blood splatters, tattered from the blows and cuts that had nipped at my flesh earlier today. Despite all of the blood and the obvious cuts that marred my flesh I couldn't feel a thing. No pain, no sorrow. Only a numbness.

"Miss Whitney." A man called, prompting me to look up.

I hadn't noticed him come in, yet now he stood before me. He was a large man, far taller than my otets. Blond hair curled lightly over his scalp, dazzling blue eyes settled with a soft look. For a rather burly man seemingly stuffed into a small police uniform he looked rather kind.

"Kakiye? Ya ne govoryu po angliyski." I immediately responded, my tone dull and dead as I lied without pause.

What? I don't speak English.

The burly man chuckled before pulling out a chair and sitting before me, dropping a manila folder onto the desk before me. "Please don't try to play games with me, Miss Whitney. I have your files, from your immigration papers to your school records. I know just how proficient you are in English, not to mention your other subjects. Nearly an all A student, if it wasn't for your gym class."

I snorted, remembering my gym teacher Jean. A horrible woman who wouldn't even give me a decent grade for attempting the class work. Leave it to me to be the only person to have an almost perfect academic record snatched away due to a vile gym class.

"And it wasn't just your academic record that was spotless," he continued, flipping through my records. "You've been quite active with community service since you were in middle school, and went on to volunteer as a candy striper once you entered high school. Word is you were aspiring to become a doctor in the future, a surgeon even."

At this I narrowed my eyes at him, not liking how he laid out the future I once had before me as though teasing me. A future that was undoubtedly ruined by the murders of two others.

Four others. My subconscious murmured, images of my parents and friends flashing before my eyes. You invited them, because of you your parents are dead. You killed them all.

"And just how did you hear of this? Such things wouldn't be within any of my records." I stated, the accent that accompanies my voice when speaking Russian completely gone.

The police officer smiled at me kindly, happy to have finally gotten me talking. "We're a small town, almost nothing happens here. Your friends' psychotic breaks were reported on nearly every news station, as was your confrontation with them."

I scoffed. "Confrontation?" I asked, stopping him mid-sentence.

That was a rather nice way of putting the cluster fuck that was my Christmas dinner. Two people murdered two others, the survivor then murdered those two in turn. An eye for an eye type of deal.

He continued, ignoring my interruption. "The people that you worked with in the hospital have been calling the station ever since you were taken in, providing testimonies of your character and what have you. Even a few of your teachers have called in as well."

I leaned back in my chair, blinking at him slowly. "And what does any of this have to do with me, musor?"

I chuckled internally at the use of my slang, enjoying the way the cops' face twitched. He knew just as I that it was an insult, he just didn't know what I had called him. Garbage.