Number Five

🗡TWO🗡

Before setting back to finish her work, Violet turned on the radio in the corner of the dim studio to distract herself from the ever increasing pain in her shoulder and to mask the tense, uncomfortable atmosphere this silent man caused. Modern music started playing, songs Violet found irritating yet catchy. Humming along mindlessly, Violet focused on passing the needle along his alabaster skin, etching permanent black lines into his skin as if onto a blank canvas. The geometric design he chose was intricate, made up of a series of twists, knots and swirls that fit together like pieces of a jigsaw. Violet was proud of that piece. Proud of her work.

When an add break came on, Violet's arm suddenly jerked up, almost tearing the man's skin. Cursing, Violet transferred the needle to er other hand and flexed her muscles. The pain had intensified to sharp, electrical currents shooting down her arm periodically. She decided to bok an appointment to see her doctor first thing in the morning. 

"Are you alright?"the low voice of her client made her jump. Her heart skipped a beat at the simple question, though she didn't quiet know why. 

"Yeah sorry. My shoulder is actin' up is all," she replied with false casualness. This response seemed appealing to him however, as he sat up a little straighter in the chair.

"What is wrong with your arm?" his voice was almost eager as he asked. 

"Probably just a cramp or something," she murmured, shocked at his sudden interest. The sooner she was finished the better. 

Slowly starting again, Violet tried to ignore the shocks of pain. On the radio, the news had started. Reporting about a new lead in a case about a serial killer attacking women in services. As of yesterday, four women were found stabbed; two nurses, a teacher and a hairdresser. The poor things, Violet thought. She hoped this psycho was caught soon.

"What is your name?" the man asked out of the blue. She wondered why he was so talkative all of a sudden. 

"Violet. what's yours?"

He seemed reluctant to tell her, even though he had to have given his name to the receptionist while making his appointment in the first place. 

"Jordan," he replied after a few long moments. For some strange reason, Violet didn't believe him. 'Jordan' didn't seem to quite fit this usually silent yet articulate man. 

The veil of silence descended once more. After half an hour, Violet had finally finished Jordan's tattoo. Her mind and hand were exhausted, her shoulder on fire. When she told Jordan of the news, he looked to the clock sharply in a panic.  It was just before half eleven. 

"Already? All the detailing is done also?," he questioned quickly, stealing another quick glance at the clock. It was almost as if he wanted it to last longer. Though for what reason, Violet did't know. She merely nodded her head. She was ready for this night to be over. In the background, the radio broadcasted a late-night talk show, something about a new clue discovered on all the bodies of the women. Violet only half listened, too busy cleaning up the station as Jordan slowly rose from the chair. Violet turned to face him a she rattled off the after-care instructions for the tattoo.

 "Now, you gotta keep it wrapped for a week to-" her were cut off as she suddenly screeched in pain. Clutching her shoulder, she stumbled to the long mirror in the corner of the studio. Dragging down  the neckline of her shirt, her eyes widened in shock. There on her shoulder, where she was tattooing her client, a huge bloody tattoo was scratched into her skin. Ragged and weeping. The writing mimicked that of a knife carving into words into her skin. 

Confusion clouded her pain-filled mind as Violet swung around to Jordan to ask if he might have any clue what it meant. Only he wasn't at his chair anymore. Jordan stood close behind her at an angle, just out of view of the mirror. Violet gasped and took several steps back.  His lips were curled in a manic grin, he eyes dancing with menace. In his hand was a long butcher knife, wickedly sharp. 

Before she could react he lashed out, ramming the blade into her stomach. Then into her thigh, as if to prevent her from running . As she collapsed in the middle of the studio, Jordan let out a shrill laugh before running out the door, leaving Violet lying in an increasing pool of her blood. then she screamed. She didn't stop until her throat was raw and dry. She tried to crawl closer to the door, but her body was too weak, her mind growing foggier. 

In the distance, sirens wailed. Someone must have reported her screaming. But they were too far. They were too late. Nobody could save her from the clutches of eternal darkness taht was fast approaching. 

On the radio, the host described how each of the victims had a tattoo on their shoulders. A number, deeply engraved in their skin, one to four. Violet had already come to this conclusion however. She knew when she saw the knife.

The  inscription on her shoulder read; " Number Five."

The End.