He is simply in denial. So deep in the pile of lost memories that he is living in a fantasy realm. No negative emotion can touch him, like he was evading the plague, but he was holding back his anger. He was concealing it poorly, in fact. His blue eyes were normally ringed by a pale olive green, but when I saw that shift--that darkening tornadic sky within those eyes, I knew. I knew he was going to kill people. Perhaps that was indeed what I had wanted. I was a criminal, a woman evading the justifiable law. Morally, I knew I was in the wrong. I knew that this is not what I had wanted, but I yearned for him to realize that I needed someone in my life. I craved for a trusted ally--more than Isabel was. When I saw that unhinged rage roil within his eyes, the olive green forcibly affecting the weather that surrounded him, I knew I could not let him take it out on innocence. Oh, yes, I have killed innocent people, but for his sanity and peace of mind, I needed him to snap out of whatever unrestrained fury that broiled in the pits of the olive green gaze.
It was indeed true, what he said, Mount Rainier did erupt. It did and while I still could not fathom that I was indeed the true reason for said eruption, I refocused my attention on different targets. An array of people who were nothing more than stains on the fabric of our poorly handled mortality. Despite the will to continue living as an assassin, I went silent. Oh, I continued venting pent up rage upon my living room wall, but it was simply not enough. I fell into almost a melancholy state. When a text from him flew to my phone, I could do nothing but smirk. How could one person be so blase to their own emotions, that they do not realize that it will eventually come out in the worst ways possible. If I continued to kill, that rage would only build more--and it would turn into a nonstop chase. I could not afford that, could not afford being known to be responsible for deaths. Instead, I continued digging into his employer and his partner's history.
I knew they were responsible for my supposed death. I knew the signs, recognized the way in which they spoke about me to Nero. Oh, it was so easy, almost too easy to infiltrate the federal bureau of investigation. My eyes and ears? Another helpless person who held no true ill will towards me, however I managed to charm my way into their arms. I knew that they probably suspected me just using them, however frequently, he questioned my motives. When I gave an answer, he would simply nod and promptly leave the house. So much better, I mused softly. I needed the public's fear and admiration.
Serial killers always gain stardom, they become hapless and twisted versions of the Beyonces or the Justin Timberlakes of the world. They gain a cult-like following, and in extreme cases of serious issues, gain people who fall head over heels for them. While I did not crave that sort of attention from the public, I wanted it from the media. The media spoke of me like a ghost stalking the streets at night, slaying helpless victims. I was no Jack the Ripper, in fact I was no surgeon. I killed with ease, stalked my prey like a lioness does to weakened gazelles. Lava and the resulting fire is uneasy to trace without a source of the fire. Why should Nero's supposed allies be any different? My ally, he went by the name Agent Copperfield, was a man of few words. When he was employed into Nero's division, and thereby having closer eyes on him and my targets, I suspected nothing. There were no ill feelings toward Copperfield, Nero or Jones. In fact, I grew rather fond of Copperfield and typically when that happened, I was bound to erupt violently.
I had enough! You want something done right the first time, you do it yourself! I stalked Copperfield--I eased my way into his place of residence. I allowed his dog, a yipping Shetland Sheepdog whose rather large brown eyes sparkled with excitement, to adapt to my scent, to silence once I entered the house. There was an alliance blossoming between Copperfield and Caleb that I did not feel comfortable with. They spoke together more than they did with Nero. Nero could never see when he was being used like a toy even if it smacked him in the face. Caleb attempted to murder me--me. How would you feel if a loose ally was becoming buddy-buddy with the man who killed the love of your life. Granted, Nero had left me. At first, the rage had simmered. It fled the moment my fists connected to the walls of my house. However, with each report from Copperfield, he spoke like a man infatuated with my killer rather than being my neutral informant.
I did not wish to do this--I had several complex adversaries, but I was not pleased with the level of disregard for the oath Copperfield had taken. The yipping dog was easy--well I did not exactly kill the loyal friend and I did not have the heart to do so. I was cruel, yes, embittered also, but an abrasive woman toward animals? No. Absolutely not. I stalked the house, my footsteps memorizing each crevice and placement of rugs that littered the house. However, let me say this, Copperfield's death was not my doing. I do not douse the house in toxic water, watching with baited breath as the water becomes an inescapable ocean. When I found the dog, pawing at the motionless body of Xavier Copperfield, I froze. He was my kill--he was mine and somebody stole him from me.
I scooped up the dog, however I felt an intense heat consume the house. I glared and the house had erupted into a building caked in blood colored fire. Oh God. Did he--did he actually--Nero what have you done?
It could not have been him--He was a cop! What was happening? Lowering the dog into the front seat of my car, I snap the door shut and pull out my phone.
You do not know me. Copperfield was one of your tools was he not? I do not need you keeping an uncomfortably close watch on me. I got rid of him as he is simply a proxy--unimportant. Frankly, he said some abhorrent things about you.
I am not a maiden in need of defending now, Nero. I am no longer that defenseless princess you dreamed of me being.
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The Eruption of Mountgomery
FantasiaBlaise Vesuvius was everything that society despised. Isolated since an early age, she was used to betrayal, she was used to being alone. After two cops-in-training, try to assassinate her directly linked to her abilities, which she knew not up unti...