Internet Killers {Love&MrQuixotic}

[LoveTheWayYouLie]

Internet Killers​

"We've all got the power in our hands to kill, but most people are afraid to use it. The ones who aren't afraid control life itself." - Richard Ramirez​

Rain pattered on the glass outside the class from of Hall 156 B, lining the window like a small water fall as it poured down. The hum of the projector filled the class room alongside the rumbling sound of the rain outside caused a still quietness over the class room. Only hushed whispers were passed between students in regards to questions and even the professor’s lecture lulled out into a wordless noise. The clicking of the projector changing slides was the break in between the quiet stillness of the room.
 
Vivian’s large blue eyes were set on watching the dark billowy clouds outside the window instead of on the presentation ahead of her. Normally she was the student with the most attention on the subject, her hands vigorously writing her notes and ensuring everything tiny thing was covered in her notes or within her books. To however, was different. Her mind was far from the class room she was sitting in, and she wasn’t even taking notes. Her long and thick blonde hair hung around her shoulders as it framed her face to hide her distant look. Chewing absent mindedly on her plump bottom lip. She was spacing out as she could feel the humming in her veins. 
 
The urge and the desire was starting to get to her lately. She had been doing really well for a long time now, but once her grandmother died and the medical insurance she had on her fell through due to her grandmother’s death, Vivian could feel her mind derailing. Feeling the crawling under her skin, and the feeling inside of her brain that made her feel like she was walking in some strange fog till she could clear herself from the fog. The remedy to think clearly again and to make the tender itching under her skin stop called for measured she could never wrap her mind around. Why did she feel this way? Why couldn’t she just be normal? Normal was subjective of course, but she felt like an alien trapped in a body in a world she was not a part of, nor could she escape.
 
“Vivian, would you like to leave class to focus on your day dreaming? Or would you like to pay attention to my lecture.” The elderly professor expressed from her place at the front of the class, her look was anything but pleased with the lack of interest from the young female.
 
Vivian’s turned her attention back to the class room she was stuck in and came to notice that all eyes were on her, the professor having stopped class to call her out day dreaming. Her milky colored skin flushed a hue of pink along her cheeks, neck and chest. Embarrassed to be called out like that, it only made the twisted feeling inside of her knot harder in her stomach. “…..I’m sorry Professor McCoy, just not feeling very well today….” She said, her voice was light like the coo of a dove and it seemed to easy the annoyance with Professor McCoy.
 
“Pay attention and take your notes, you can sleep at home.” She said flatly before turning herself back to the presentation at hand. A few of the other students kept their eyes on Vivian as she looked down at her books and attempted to make herself as small as possible, reading the chapters that will be her home work for the evening. She knew one of the girls in her class looked at her longer than she should have. Monica Lebowski hated her for things that happened all the way back in freshman year, talk about holding a grudge. Monica called her crazy every chance she could and tried to keep other students from making friends with her because of her actions towards Monica so long ago. But those were bad memories, and best push back into the mind.
 
It felt like an eternity before the projector finally went off and the students began to get their books together to leave for the day. The clattering sounds of students suddenly talking and bustling about filled the once quiet room. Vivian sighed, and slowly began to pack her things. She knew she was walking on the edge of her twisted feelings as everything around her felt amplified twenty fold. A soft pounding began to form along the back of her skull, and behind her eyes as she zipped up her messenger bag.  More than thankful that the day was over and she could hide herself away in her small apartment, and maybe, just maybe held release this tension and crawling pressure.
 
She needed to get her medication filled

Vivian sat down with her messenger bag on her desk, pulling her phone out of her hoodie pocket. Taking a moment to check her missed calls or messages she may have gotten while she was in class. As she did so, Monica walked by her desk and lightly tugged on Vivian’s messenger bag so that it, and its belongings fell to the floor with a clatter. Sharp blue eyes shot up to look at the taller, dark haired girl who wore a smug smile on her face for her actions.
 
“Man, you really are one spacey bitch today.” Monica snapped off, looked Vivian over with a look of distaste. “Go get more drugs, you meth mouth whore.” At Monica’s words Vivian ran her tongue over her perfect white teeth with her mouth closed. What a weird insult to say to someone with nice teeth. The only conclusion that Vivian could come up with was that Monica didn’t really know what ‘meth mouth’ was. Which didn’t shock Vivian as Monica wasn’t the brightest girl. Before Vivian could say anything back Monica had slipped by her and out the classroom door, followed by her small gaggle of friends that chattered on happily about dumb shit.
 
Vivian could still smell Monica’s Love Spell perfume from Victoria’s Secret that lingered in the air from where she had been standing. The scent alone made Vivian mildly nauseous along with the twisting tightness within her that only worsened after that little confrontation she didn’t even incite. She hated Monica and she would love to let her tension out on her. But, having been to enough therapy to know that was frown upon by common people it was best not to do that.
 
Gathering her things back up off the floor now that she was the last one in the room, she straightened everything out and headed out of the class room. The Professor didn’t even say good bye as she walked out already to consumed in whatever was going on with her computer screen. Vivian made her way down the steps of the school where other students stood around and chatted with her friends, she wasn’t in the mood to even speak to the people she would consider friends. She wanted to go back home and lock herself away for a while. Even as her phone vibrated in her pocket from her friend Sarah, she ignored it; Stepping out onto the steps of the college.
 
The rain was still nothing but sheets in its down pour, while other students stood around waiting for the rain to stop. Vivian only put her hood up and headed out into the rain. It wasn’t a long walk from the college campus to her little apartment in the art walk side of town. All the little shops were closed up because of the cold rain, keeping their goods and services within the warmth of their shops. By the time Vivian made it to her apartment she was soaking wet from head to toe. She lived in a small apartment complex of only three other places outside of her own on the top floor. It was an old building that had once been a lot bigger before a fire in the 30’s burnt down the other half of the homes.
 
The elderly woman who lived below her smiled as she passed by her window, even though she didn’t see her and kept on walked into the building and up the steps that took her to the second floor. Unlocking her apartment and stepping inside. It was a small studio apartment, with a set of steps that took you up to a loft where her bedroom was. The furniture looked older, but was covered in thick blankets. Oriental designed carpets lined her old hard wood floors and framed painted pictures covered the brick on her walls. Vivian stopped just at the mat by her door, and sighed. Removing her wet shoes and leaving them at the door before she quickly moved to the bathroom as to not get the floor to wet. Stripping down to nothing as she tossed her wet clothing over the shower curtain, a chill was in the room as Vivian shivered and wrung her wet hair out in the sink.
 
The quiet in the apartment was haunting as the pipes in the old buildings walls moaned when other people turned on their water or heat. Still naked Vivian walked from her bathroom and turned on the space heater for her living room area, the small kitchenette and upper floor in the loft. She grabbed up a part of loose fitting sweat pants and tossed those on, with some fuzzy mismatched socks. Throwing on t-shirt two sizes to big that had pizza slices all over it that read, ‘Yea, I’m into fitness, Fittin this whole pizza in my mouth.’
 
Lying back on her bed, she took a deep breath as it felt like her whole body was pin pricked with tiny hot needles under her skin. She had to find release, and the only way she was going to get it was by caving to the sick desire. Reaching out blindly to her night stand till she found her stack of tossed around hair ties and picked one up. Forcing herself to sit up and tie that wet mess of hair up into a messy bun. The term, ‘Hot mess’ pictured her perfectly. Chewing on her bottom lip as the fog in her mind started to thicken, she moved mostly without full understanding of her actions.
 
In the small kitchen area of the apartment, she turned on her coffee maker. The warmth form the space heaters was starting to inch away the chill in the room and the soft hum of rain echoed in the quiet area. The TV remote sat on the counter as she picked it up and turned on the TV before opening up the fridge door. Looking for anything in her mostly empty fridge. She didn't want to eat really, she wanted to feel release. But reluctantly she took the left over Chinese out of the fridge and opened up the white box. Grabbing a fork out of one of the drawers, she leaned on the counter and ate her cold noodles.
​

'Jessika Lokem and James Benson were charged today in the savage rape and murder of their daughter.'

'30 car pile up on the high way due to semi crash on I 70 North. Many proclaimed dead at the scene.'

'Cherie McManhon is missing, reward for her safe return'

'Campus rapist Micheal Johnson goes to court today for the rape and attempted murder of three girls at Blue Water's Community College.'

“Fucking pussy.....bet he was a fucking retard too.” Vivian said to herself through a mouthful of noodles as the news report showed a picture of rapist and she nearly choked on a laugh while she was trying to swallow. “Oh my god, he's a fucking Mongoloid” She continued to snicker as she walked around to the thick and comfortable couch. Must of the things in her apartment were older looking because she had gotten everything from her grand mother's death. Sitting down she sat her food on the wood coffee table as only the new lit the small living room area. Laying back with a sigh she closed her eyes.

The sheer idea of those woman being raped made her heart race and Vivian tossed an arm over her eyes. “God...what the fuck is wrong with me?!....” She screamed in the darkness of her apartment. “Seriously! Normal people don't think about this fuck up shit...stop it Vivian.” She argued with hers[/size]elf, as her mind continued to fantasizes about those pretty girls being made to scream. She was just as beautiful and could have just as easily been a victim. But her mind didn't think about that.

With a pathetic whine Vivian kept her eyes covered with one arm while the other slipped into her sweat pants. Pawing lightly at her sex, losing herself in the mental image of those girls being hurt. The urge to scream lingered on the back of her throat as she arched off the couch. Panting heavy as she fingered herself before she came quickly. It had been a long time since she touched herself and....her fantasy was just to go to hold onto. Working herself through her orgasm, she removed her hand from herself and sighed, just laying there for a moment. Hoping that her action would be able to ease the tension she was feeling within herself but it only proved to make it worse.

“Fuck.......” she muttered to herself as she dropped her arm off her eyes and sighed, looking at the news on the TV that had moved on to something but adopting puppies or some shit. With a roll of her blue eyes she sat up and grabbed her lap top. Opening it up and turning it on, she jumped up and over the back of her couch to get a cup of coffee. Much like the excitement a drug addict felt while cutting a line, she smiled and made herself a cup of coffee. She wasn't excited about the coffee, she was going to creep the dark corners of the internet for her favorite things. The murder forums, complete with pictures and videos! Her neighbors only thought she liked to watch horror movies. Oh, if only they knew the truth. That the pretty girl in apartment 39 B was a little sicko.

Spending a few hours just cruising through lots of pictures, and big talkers on this site. She would have just went past the message she saw, but she was feeling curious tonight and clicked on it. Only for her quick reading to slow down as she read. There was something in the tone of the message that issued a challenge. It was most likely issued to everyone that happened across this forum but it felt slightly personal to her. Vivian straightened from her slouched Indian style posture on the couch as she sat up, her eye brow cocking.

“Hmmm....” She said and that mischievous smile came to her plump pink lips. She moved her mouse to open a message to write back with this mysterious person on the other end of the computer.

“I can see you have little faith in those that say they can handle you. Which is a good thing to have. Little faith in everyone is sensible.

But, my question I could pose to you....if can you handle me?

Would you be open to see the challenge in someone else, or to look into another persons eyes and see the same mirrored sickness? Would it excite you?

I can take it. But how do I know YOU can take it, you talk big on here, but are you really?
Prove to me that you not all talk and I'll take on the offer of 'Joining you'.

I hope you kill me if I throw up. “

She sent her message without any hesitation, a wider smile coming to her lips. The crawling sensation under her skin got worse as she shivered. But she was not cold, only the light from the TV and the computer lit the pitch black apartment. A part of her mind told her that speaking with anyone on any of these sites like this was a bad idea....but she couldn't help herself. She needed a FIX. She knew to trust her gut, and right now it was telling her....no screaming at her...to message this person.

Cupping her coffee mug close in both hands, she took a sip and watched her computer screen in anticipation. At times she made herself watch some TV to try and stifle out the desire to stalk this site anymore.

 

[Mr Quixotic]

Pete Norris, thirty-three year old Internet Security consultant, rapist and multiple murderer, was restless. As he had been for the past month, since the death of Analise Helm. She'd been His fifth victim, but very different from the rest. Ms Helm, he'd met on the dark net, and she'd offered him an opportunity that he'd never before contemplated, and that was to join him in his spree. Not, as she may have believed, as a partner, but to Pete, as a witness; a live human being, to be there as he raped and tortured his victims before he ended their lives. Someone to watch as he perpetrated his acts, and caused them to beg, cry, crawl, and scream for mercy. Sure, Pete's acts received attention on the evening news, but no-one knew it was he who'd ended their lives, or administered the pain, and the dichotomy of being a psychopath with an ego was that, whilst he craved attention, it was the very thing that could bring him undone.

Then along had come Analise, and finally, he thought he'd discovered what he hadn't until then realised he longed for. A female strong enough to stand with him, and revel in the suffering of others as much as he. She'd been his equal the entire way, taunting Pete Norris, and displaying no fear or hesitation when they eventually met. There, she'd expressed her desire to be by his side when they selected a victim, and watch as he brutalised, fucked, and killed her, and he'd believed her capable of delivering upon her promises. As he did, Analise too, would revel in the sights of smell of death and dying, and the delightful noise of a woman being made to scream like a stuck pig as blood and tears slid down her cheeks, and her face screwed up in agony. However, the woman had lied, and he'd lost the opportunity of having a living witness who knew, with absolute certainty, that it was Pete Norris who played God.

In the end, Analise had been just like every other woman. Weak. She’d stated she could cope with the sight, the smell, and sounds of death, the expression of realisation, the screams, and the wounds. She’d even selected the victim herself. Engaged her in conversation, and talked her into the vehicle, where the triple murderer and rapist waited. Assisted in binding her arms and legs, and taunted her with what was to come as Pete had driven them through the dead of night, until they were so far into the woods that the pale moonlight barely filtered through the canopy of leaves above, and left the small clearing shrouded in shadow. Somewhere they’d not be stumbled upon, where a woman's screams would not be heard, where the man could enjoy himself, and test Analise's resolve.

At first, the high hopes he'd held had been boosted with her actions, and he'd believed Analise may be true to her promise. But as Cherie McMahon’s clothes were cut from her supple young body, and the blade sliced through her skin, Pete had noted it. The doubt in Analise’s eyes, the nervous shuffle of her feet, the way her gaze attempted to shift away, the soft cough and splutter that broke through the still night air. Still, he'd said nothing, and continued his work. Cutting, slicing, goading, slapping, kicking, punching, until finally his exertions had aroused him enough that he could no longer wait. That’s when he fucked her holes in turn, if fucking was the appropriate word. Every action was designed to cause torment, to elicit another high-pitched squeal of terror, anguish and despair. To hurt.

The girl’s eyes had glazed over, but Pete hadn't allowed the bliss of unconsciousness to claim her. A slap, a twist of the blade, a splash of water, the application of his lighter to her sensitive flesh. Her screams were music to his ears, her struggles, what he lived for. It was the aroma of frying skin, the stench akin to that of roasting pork, that finally did it. Analise Helm, face pale and breath heavy, had, with a groan of pure desperation and horror, thrown up.

If she could have had escaped then, she would have. Fortunately, however, that was impossible with the precautions he'd taken. As flames lit the night sky, and lapped at the screaming, screeching and writhing body of the young woman whose legs and thighs he'd doused with gasoline and set ablaze, Pete had shaken his head in disgust and disappointment. "I believed you could handle it, Analise. I believed you were strong. Lying, fucking whore."

Her arms and legs were bound, a choke collar placed around her neck and attached to a short chain, the other end of which was hooked to the top of the driver's side car door. It left Analise Helm unable to move her head, and with her eyes propped open with matchsticks, to look away, either. Of course, she'd resisted, but Pete had insisted. She needed to continue to prove herself, and he didn't want a knife in his back if she had doubts, or couldn't deal with the reality. She'd screamed and fought, and kicked and scratched, but he'd possessed the superior strength.

The first strike of his steel-capped boot had snapped the chain, and almost taken her head clean off. It possibly would have, if the momentum hadn't been stopped by the metal frame of the vehicle door, which created a wet, thudding sound, comparable to that of a water-melon striking the ground after being dropped from a ten-storey building. Pete Norris had thought he'd killed her, however the groan of pain, and gurgled breathing, he heard emanating from her mouth and newly rearranged nose, told him that she'd merely been knocked unconscious. The next strike cracked her ribs, then he'd thrown water in her face, and entertained himself by adding a little fuel to the fire; Cherie remained alive and kicking, but had stopped screaming; and reveled in the sight of the other woman's throes of agony until Analise had regained enough of her senses to be able to feel what came next.

At least the dyke experienced a cock before she'd died. Pete's ego would have loved to believe that the howls and moans he'd elicited from Analise had been due to his sexual prowess, but he was realistic enough to know that they'd instead been caused by the serrated blade placed between her broken second and third ribs, strategically positioned to avoid any major organs, but deep enough so that each thrust forced it to twist and turn inside her, and the tattooing of her face against the metal ridge of the vehicle's roof as he'd raped her.

Eventually, she'd ended up on the funeral pyre with Cherie, and Pete had watched with an amused, satisfied expression until both women were nothing but charred flesh and bones. The young woman had a head start, and it had taken Analise an hour longer to succumb to the flames.

"Goodbye, Ms Helm."

Pete Norris spat directly in her face, or where it had once been, as one final insult, before, with the sky now lit with the first rays of the sun, he departed the scene.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ohhhhh fuck." Pete groaned, and shuddered in his chair as he re-ran the events of that night through his mind; each detail as vivid as it had been at the time. His legs writhed, chest heaved, and he panted and puffed, then collapsed in his seat. A moment later, his eyes opened, and reached for a tissue to wipe up the ejaculate, zipped himself in, tossed the soiled paper into the wastebasket, and allowed his gaze to drift to the monitor of the laptop in front of him.

Analise Helm may have been dead, but the concept she'd ignited in him, lived on, and the man's blue eyes widened, and he jerked forward in the chair as, for the first time, in weeks, he noted the blinking cursor that told him that a message awaited. With the lights darkened, Pete's hand shook slightly in anticipation as he lifted his Pepsi to his lips, and clicked to read what had been sent. Expecting to be disappointed as he read the response, the message, instead, intrigued him. Was this the one? There was only one way to find out, and Pete pulled the keyboard forward to type out a reply.

The only faith worth having is in the fact we all die. It's unavoidable, however some slip away peacefully of old age in their sleep, whilst others go before their time, in extreme pain.

As to whether I could handle you, that is the wrong question. The last woman who challenged me, and believed she could cope, is now nothing but a pile of bones and burnt flesh, laying with another in the woods, infested by maggots, and being picked apart by forest animals. Forever alone, and forgotten by all, except me.

Why should I prove myself? I know what I'm capable of, and that I speak the truth. What have you ever done?

Despite the arrogance of his words, and hesitation after Analise, Pete didn't wish to drive the approach away, so he paused for a moment, before completing the message.

Tell me, why are you here and what is it it you desire. Are you simply another voyeur, getting off on imagining that you'd be incapable of in reality, or do you search for more?

PS: If you throw up, I'll keep you alive, and discover just how long a human being can last.

Message Sent

As the words disappeared into the ether, to appear in front of the anonymous correspondent at the other end, Pete released the breath he'd been holding, and fell back in his chair, still as a statue, and unblinkingly watching the screen.

 

[LoveTheWayYouLie]

Vivian was watching reruns of X-Files in her dark apartment, why? Because she wasn't a very social girl. She could have been out that night and having a blast as the club. She was lean, her body was beautiful and so was her pretty little face with blonde hair. But, she just wasn't interested in that sort of thing. Her friends texted here most of the night and she gave them the same shit ass excuses.

'Sorry, I don't feel good.'

'Not coming out tonight, homework'

It was all a lie, she was in her pajamas with her hair in a messy bun. Spending her evening with her lap top and coffee. Not to mention to find if the truth really was out there!? Her lap top sat open off her coffee table as Vivian took a blanket around her legs and leaned on her legs while she sat Indian style. Big blue eyes glued to the show as she sipped her cinnamon bun creamed coffee. She'd rather be here, than out there with those other humans. It only made the deep humming inside of her bones worse. Seeing girls that made her teeth grit, or boys that groped her ass that made her want to rip the skin off their very bodies.

So, this was just easier on her sanity and everyone else around her. Often time her grandmother had locked her in her closet when she started to rage and flip her shit. This was the adult version of 'closing herself off'. It was the small sound of a message blinging on the site she came to from time to time that made her jump and nearly spill her coffee. “Mother fucker...” She grumbled and licked the warm coffee off her hand and sat her coffee down on the table, eyes looking to the computer. She got a message back?! That was weird....normally when she called people out on here they called her a bitch hater, and ignored her.

Leaning over she grabbed her laptop and placed it in her lap. Her head was cocked all the way over as she read the message. The words made her shiver, but not in a way of fear and a smile crept to her face. Once she finished she was quick to pulled out a reply to this. Her fingers moved like lighting over the keys as she chewed on her plump bottom lip.

“Oh, that was a beautiful thing to say.” In reference to some finding death in old age and other in pain. It was a strange thing to answer to that, but that was how she was.....

“What have I done? I'm sure its nothing compared to you. If you are what you say you are.”

“I'm here to release this desire, this....ache in my bones...the fire in my muscles....I need to be set free. I feel like there is something inside of my crawling and twisting deep inside, and I need to let it out. I need to feel the bodies, I need to hear screams and the blood...I need...to be more. That is why I am here, I'm seeking more.”

“If you accept my offer, I'd like to attempt fulfill it....

PS. Good, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Once she sent the message she leaned back against the couch. Her heart was beating quicker, someone was really speaking with her about this and the rush alone was enough to make pin pricks along her skin as she shuddered. Setting the lap top down and shook her hands. This couldn't really being happening could it? She wondered if this guy was as full of shit as the others....or was this one for real. He didn't talk like the others through her reading his messages. Perhaps this one was true, and just the idea of it being real nearly made her throw up. Not out of fear, but of sheer excitement. She grabbed up her blanket and gripped it tightly and kicked her legs in excitement.

“Oh please oh please oh please” She muttered, her eyes looking at the screen before she shook her head. “Oh for fucks sake, Vivian get a fucking grip! He's full of shit and you know it.” She bashed herself and dropped the blanket and sighed, laying down on the couch and looking back at her episode of X-Files. It was a false hope that would never come true.

 

[Mr Quixotic]

The apartment was cloaked in darkness, just the way Pete preferred it, with the curtains drawn, and the only illumination, the soft glow emanating from the laptop screen. It was also dead silent, and the man's remained silent withh his thoughts were occupied by the mysterious woman who'd contacted him. At least, he assumed it was a woman, however, on the web, you could never be totally certain.

If it was a woman, would she run, or would she play, as Analise had done the first night. After a few moments, with his torso still, his reached for another can of Pepsi. A sweet-tooth, and coffee, he considered his only vices. Rape, torture and murder didn't count; they were purely leisure activities. Pete was a patient man, and could remain still for hours when hunting for a victim, and he did so as he awaited a reply. The movement of his arm to bring the can to his mouth, and a soft sigh as the sugary liquid made its way down his throat was the only evidence that a live human being occupied the sofa.

The response came quicker than expected, and Pete placed the beverage on the coffee table, and drew his the computer towards him. His lips curled up in a tight smile, and the murderer nodded in appreciation as he read:

I'm here to release this desire, this....ache in my bones...the fire in my muscles....I need to be set free. I feel like there is something inside of me crawling and twisting deep inside, and I need to let it out. I need to feel the bodies, I need to hear screams and the blood...I need...to be more. That is why I am here, I'm seeking more.

Simultaneously, a shiver went through his entire body, accompanied by a sense of anticipation. Just that paragraph - the tone, content, and the way she's expressed herself in a manner which matched his own desires and emotions - encouraged him to further their correspondence. Pete's piercing blue eyes, which could at times charm and enchant, and, at others, be filled with ice-cold hatred and contempt, remained on the words as he tapped his response.

I am who I am, and am what I am.

Video's and photograph's do not do it justice. To peer into their soul as the blood drains from their bodies, the light from their eyes, and screams from their throats, is a power to behold. To be the one to cause that, is the ultimate power, and it requires a strength that only few possess. Do you?

You intimate you have only fantasies, and lack in experience, so how do I know you are worthy to be present to hear those screams, and witness that special look when they finally comprehend there will be no escape, nor mercy, which has the capacity to arouse like nothing else on this Earth.

Are you prepared to offer up yourself, cognisant of the fact that if you prove incapable, 1 will torture you, slowly, and mercilessly, and the pain you endure will be beyond your capacity to even imagine. Would you deal with Satan in order to satiate your desires? How deep do they run?

The man's fingers departed the keyboard as he paused to read his reply, and tapped the top of the wooden coffee-table. He'd met Analise here, and although, in the end, she'd proven inferior to her promises, she'd been real. How was he to ascertain if this woman was also? Pete's IP address still led to Wolf Creek, Australia, and the internet expert was safe whilst behind the screen, but out in the real world? He needed to ensure he wasn't being entrapped.

That is my offer, or part of it, as there is more. How am I to know you are what you claim to be? Prove it. Give me your name, age, and in which city you reside. No lies, or you'll never hear from me again, until one night, laying in the dark, I appear as the Devil in the flesh, by your bedside.

Then tell me, who in your life deserves to die?

PS: I didn't offer a choice.

Little did the woman know Pete's occupation, and that with scant information he'd be able to track her residential address, and uncover her life story. If what he discovered, pleased Pete, he'd continue on with the second part of the plan that had occurred to him, though he'd still need to be careful, and take precautions.

Once she'd been complicit in the death of another, and continued to communicate with him, then any apprehension that she was in collusion with the authorities would recede. If it caused her to seek shelter, or reconsider, then she'd forever be aware that she'd provided her name, and of the possibility he could hunt her down. And if she neglected to respond at all? It would take longer, but the man was confident that he'd still be able to locate her, through the messages already received.

Pete Norris, sporting another erection as the fantasy of finding a partner to bear witness to his acts came closer to fruition, crumpled the empty Pepsi can in his fist, and tossed it in the trash. She'd better be fucking real, or what had happened to Analise and his other victims would be but a picnic, compared to what he'd do to this bitch.

 

[LoveTheWayYouLie]

Blue eyes looked to the time on the far corner of her of her lap top and looked at the time, it was growing a bit late. She was normally passed out by now from sheer boredom. Everything in life always seemed to bore her. But tonight, snuggled in her blankets on the couch and watching the X-Files, she wasn't bored. Thanks to this secret man on the other end of a computer screen. She had sent her message quickly, and she didn't think twice till about twenty minutes later as she laid down in a curled up ball on the couch. Maybe she should show some restraint? Was she coming off to edger and needy? She second guessed herself till she shook her head.

“It doesn't matter. If shit comes from it, then it comes. If it doesn't, it doesn't. This is a fucking bull shit sit anyway. People always posting fake snuff videos and shit.” She muttered to herself and snuggled her head into the pillow and sighed. What if this was real? Just the idea made her heart race. Laced with fear and excitement at the thought of being able to....breath. She never felt like she could breath.

Reaching out she fished out a baby corn from her left over Chinese and ate it, allowing herself to get lost in the episode of X-Files before she looked confused. “This is just an X-Files version of The Thing.....heh...” She smiled at that and sighed, but the moment the computer chimed with a new message in her in-box, she suddenly jerked up in the mellow darkness. Her big and beautiful smile came to her face, it was rare for her to even give a full smile in her life. Pulling her lap to into her lap she opened the message and read with joyful eyes.

Swallowing hard, but not out of fear as she read the words. He wanted to know who she was, and if this was real too. This made it almost to real for her and she wanted to scream with glee. Reaching over she sipped her coffee and took a few moments to hold back with a reply. Considering her options if this was true. If this man who he said he was, this was be a complete change in her life. If she was still on her medications she would be to doped up to even consider something like this. Her medications dulled her to hardly being able to make her own coffee. But since she had been off it since her grandmother died, everything was starting to get to sharp and real. If she fucked up with this man, he'd kill her. Was that something she was willing to wager?

Vivian looked around her apartment then nodded, it was. Let him kill her, she didn't care.

She pulled open the tab to write him back.

Videos, photographs, and all the like are nothing to me. They hold no pleasure, no realness. I'm sick of being fed cardboard when I want steak. I need this or I will surly die....I need to feel the rush, I need to release before I go insane. I'll do anything you would need of me to accept me into what you claim you do.....

I offer myself, yes. If I falter....make my death so painful that I will know no other torment in my life....

I agree to your terms.

My name is Vivian Kathrine Voughnom
My date of birth is 1994
I'm 22 years old
I live in Buffalo NY.

If you need anymore information than this, I will more than happily deliver.

Who in my life deserves to die? Heh, this is a good question. Her name is Monica Lebowski. She is 24, and lives here in Buffalo NY. Brown hair, brown eyes and big hawk nose.

Vivian didn't even think twice to giving Monica's name to this faceless man, as she would rather kill Monica herself it would be nice to know that whore was out of her hair for the rest of her life, and could no longer walk the streets of the world to infest with her nasty attitude and hateful comments. She also didn't think about giving her information to him. Fuck, she would have even given her social security number if he wanted it. She just wanted to see that this maybe true.

The constant patter of rain still filled the room and the low sound of the tv show as she hit send. Taking a deep breath, she sat the lap top down on her coffee table. If only she knew how similar...and how different they already were. She laid back down and laid her face in her pillow and moaned. Her body was buzzing with the anticipation of this correspondence.

 

[Mr Quixotic]

Although Pete's thoughts were consumed by the possibilities of what this anonymous women had to offer, and his nerves were on fire with anticipation, his outward demeanour remained calm and relaxed, his hands steady, and his countenance neutral. Neither smiling, nor frowning, his lips were pressed together, and his eyes unblinking. What hour it was, or how much time had passed since they'd begun their communication, he didn't know.

What he was cognisant of what was that there would be no sleep until she responded, and if the information he'd requested was provides, after he'd completed his initial research. Not that the murderer required much rest, most nights an hour or two sufficed. The questions he'd asked were those anyone who used the net were warned to avoid answering truthfully, as those three pieces of information were the key required to unlock the persons entire life. Just how much access it granted, the Internet expert was unsure if the woman on the other end of the screen was aware of, but he was. Once gained, he'd be able to research her history from childbirth, and track every future movement. However, that all required her to reply with the truth, and whether she would or not was the sixty-four-thousand dollar question.

The threats he'd issued had been deliberately designed to either scare her away so as not to waste any more of his time, or to gauge, from her reaction, if she was potentially capable. The man held his breath, and watched the clock in the bottom right-hand corner tick over another minute as he waited, however, once more, he wasn't required to display his full measure of patience. She must be sitting right next to her computer, and the speed of her replies encouraged him, though, simultaneously increased his wariness.

When he clicked on the message, Pete's gaze immediately sought her name and location and, for the first occasion when he discovered it had been supplied, his countenance displayed visible emotion. "Gotcha", he whispered under his breath, as he swiftly opened up a second Google tab, accessed the Department of Motor Vehicles Database, typed in her full name, and then returned to the message.

My terms are dependent on your abilities, and if I like what I see when we meet. I must admit that I'm encouraged so far.

Pete paused as a ping emanated from the laptop speakers, and he switched back to the second tab to review the results of his search. Seven women on the Eastern seaboard, named Vivian Kathrine Voughnom, however only one with the given birth date, and a licence issued in Buffalo, NY, which the murderer swiftly pulled up a copy of.

He scanned the face that appeared on the screen, piercing the pixels of her blue eyes with his own, and lifted a hand to brush her cheek and chin with his thumb. "Hello Katherine," he whispered, and maintained his gaze on the attractive young woman's image for five minutes or more, before he completed his reply.

Your eyes are very pretty, blue, just like my own, though as we agree, photographs do not do reality justice, and I'm certain I'll find them more enticing in person. Hopefully I won't be required to claw them from their sockets with my bare hands, for a keep-sake. Though, that does sound rather pleasurable, doesn't it?

Possibly, I may do that with Ms Lebonksi. Should I supply photographs as I commit the act, or instead make you wait to hear the details on the evening news? Are you aware the media never provide the full story, or reveal just how sick and grotesque the damage was? Knowledge of exactly what some of their fellow human beings are capable of would drive the public into a frenzy.

You shall hear from me again. Or not.

Message completed, Pete submitted it, then relaxed in his seat to contemplate the situation. After a minute or two, he reached for the keyboard to commence a search on Monica Lebonksi, and set about booking flights to Buffalo NY, and arranging a meeting with a client he had located close-by to provide cover whilst he finished his research and reconnaissance. On both Vivian and Monica. Which would become his victim, if either, would be decided after he arrived. Possibly, it could be another woman altogether, someone closer to Vivian, to see how dealt with surprises, and for Pete to gain a better understanding of her true emotional strength.

After all, who really cared about the death of someone they despised?

 

[LoveTheWayYouLie]

Vivian was fully aware of what she would be giving this man if she told him, if he looked hard enough he could find her hospital records from when she was a young girl. She knew that if he was asking these things he was searching for her and she wanted it. She could have turned a spot light on her apartment to get the attention she was craving and needed from this man. If what he offered her was true, she was on edge just thinking about what it could mean. She really needed to take her medications, but she didn't have the money. Sorry grandmother, she was off the handle now. No longer was she so sedated that she could hardly make it day in and day out....now everything burn inside her so intensely she felt like screaming.

It was wrong to give your information over the internet, and really bad to do when you're creeping on a site like this. But, in Vivian's mind.....if someone sought to stalk her or kill her they were most likely not as dangerous as she was, so she dared them to hunt her down. If they were some pathetic man that thought he could rape some stupid girl, they would be grateful confused. Vivian itched for a man to get close enough to her in a violent way....just so she could pierce his skin.

But she got another message and she sat up, opening it. He said her eyes were pretty and she smiled....he had blue eyes too.....that made her heart rush. She wondered what he looked like since he saw her own picture. But she didn't ask...she would know it was him when she saw him. She just knew it. If she ever saw him....

Licking her lips, she wrote back.

“Thank you....I'm sure your blue eyes are more enchanting than my own.”

“You can do whatever you like, whatever as long as she dies. The news will not be good enough....but anything else will do....I want to see something of her death...” she wrote slowly, was this truly going to happen? The sheer idea had her hands shaking in excitement.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you. I hope to do it again soon.......”

At that, she let out a shaky sigh and closed the lap top once she sent the message and laid back on the couch. What had she just gotten herself into. Her phone vibrated for the fourth time that night. Looking at it she noticed it was Sarah, a quiet nerdy girl she had befriended since college started. She was a sweet girl, and kept to herself. Working at local grocery store and working to be a librarian. She would be considered one of Vivian's only friends.

The text was for Vivian to come over and watch movies with her. Vivian texted her back and said she was sick tonight and couldn't come, but said she would hang out with her tomorrow. Vivian wasn't in a good place to be out in public or around anyone or she might snap. She was wrung so tight she was close to blowing up.

The days passed as Vivian went back to her day to day, doing to school and going home was most of what she did. She locked herself away to keep herself from attacking other people as the itch got harder to ignore. Only Sarah dared to be around Vivian from longer than five minutes. And tonight was no different, as her and Vivian finished up hanging out. Playing video games and eating pizza...till Vivian told Sarah she needed to go home. Why? Because Vivian was feeling the urge, as if she was fighting a wolf inside herself. Sarah never asked why when she was told to leave. She would thank Vivian and leave.

Vivian sighed and shut her apartment door, locking it as Sarah headed down the steps of the apartment and onto the side walk to head home.

 

[Mr Quixotic]

The killer didn't respond to the woman's final message, and instead, continued with his research. It didn't take long to discover more about Vivian; her date and place of birth, previous residences, schooling grades, college applications and employment history, and the deeper he probed, the more he was encouraged that indeed she was who and what she said.

The most interesting discovery was her medical records, and the man's eyes furrowed in an expression of curiosity when he scrolled through the list of her prescriptions, and ultimately arrived at the diagnosis. Unlike Pete Norris, who possessed a perfectly clear mind, fully aware of the inhumanity of his acts, and enjoying them for just that reason, it appeared there might be another driver behind Vivian's cravings. That didn't concern Pete, as long as she was sane - as he considered the term - when they met, of which he was becoming more confident they would.

Next, he moved on to her proposed victim, but the murderer only briefly perused the information. Just enough to ensure her existence, and that she met the description Vivian had provided was all he required, for Pete had swiftly decided that, at least for the time being, Monica would be allowed to live. As he clicked closed her image, the man momentarily wondered what she'd done to spark Vivian's ire, and if his potential partner needed a reason to wish to see another human being suffer. He hoped not, as Pete Norris possessed a wide variety of tastes, and a large part of his arousal was gained from the knowledge that his victims were total innocents, whose only crime was to be unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Content with what he'd found. Pete switched off the computer, and sat in silence for a further hour, with his eyes closed and breathing soft, as his plan coalesced. Eventually, the night grew old, and the darkness both outside and inside increased, he moved from his seat, grabbed a can of Pepsi from the refrigerator and retired to his bedroom to snatch a couple of hours of sleep. The man had a plane to catch before dawn.

Fortuitously, he had no meetings planned for the next week, apart from the one swiftly arranged for the next day in Vivian's home state, and his consultancy profession - deliberately chosen for that very reason - allowed him to work from any location in the world with wireless access. Pete was also an expert at remaining anonymous, and possessed no friends amongst the residents of his apartment building, therefore his absences never drew attention, if they were even noticed at all. The man departed at 4am, and hit the tarmac at Buffalo two hours later.

Forty-five minutes after that, the slim thirty-three year old, attired in a pair of khaki's and white, buttoned up shirt, had parked his rental car and located a café down the street from Vivian's apartment complex, Her image, and vehicle registration, was imprinted in his memory, and after dumping six packets of sugar in to his triple-shot espresso, Pete seated himself at an outside table, absently stirred the drink with a plastic spoon, and fixated his gaze on the entrance. "Wakey, wakey, Vivian, time to come out and play."

 

[LoveTheWayYouLie]

There was no more correspondence between them after Vivian set her last message. This was mildly concerning, so as the evening lingered on, she looked at her computer from time to time but there was no answer from the man on the other side of the screen. She had given him lots of information and she knew what she did was wrong, as this dude could be out right now stealing her bank account and identity and she giggled at the thought. If anyone was stupid enough to rob her shitty ass bank account, ok go ahead. Or if they wanted to take on her life then she would offer that to them as well. So, she didn't care after about five minutes of thinking about someone else living her life. Take it.

Vivian shut her lap top and set back to watching The X-Files and eating her left over Chinese. Her blue eyes from time to time looked to her lap top. She wished she was still talking to this man, she wanted to feel that connection again. But she just assumed he was another punk ass who was sick of talking about fucked up shit and stopped talking to her. What was done was done....

Little did she know that everything about her was being researched. From the shitty as car she couldn't drive to her prescriptions and medical history. Her grandmother had committed her a lot, thinking it would help. When it just made things worse. On the other hand, Vivian felt like she was doing really good without her mind numbing medications. Even though every single day was getting harder to get through.

Today was no different. It was a sunny morning, and Vivian had promised Sarah she would go to one of those street sales with her. Getting up, she showered and made herself look human. Vivian was a beautiful girl and didn't need makeup to be stunning, nor did she like to wear it. But she applied a bit of power and eye liner before she let her blonde hair air dry in loose ringlets and waves around her shoulders. Putting on a pair of shredded blue jeans, and a tight Pink Floyd, The Wall shirt. Putting on her combat boots, she looked at herself once more in the mirror before she left. Taking a deep breath.

“You're doing good today Viv, the buzzing is lower today. So just go and try...maybe have some fun” She was just saying things her grandmother used to say to make her feel less crazy when she went to school. So, taking a deep breath she grabbed her wallet off the counter and keys. Heading out, she locked the apartment door and headed out to the street. Walking down street towards Sarah's house. Vivian's car didn't run anymore, but it hardly bothered her as she liked to walk....it helped her feel less confined.

Unknown to Vivian she walked right by the cafe', and didn't even know she was being watched, nor did she care if she was. She walked with an air of daring nearly anymore to try and 'mug' her or worse. They would be shocked to see she wasn't as pretty as she looked when she sliced their throat open. Her hair bounced as she walked, and shown brightly in the sun light.

 

[Mr Quixotic]

The world continued on, but Pete Norris was only subliminally aware of the other customers, scraping of chairs, quiet conversations, and wait-staff buzzing around him; just enough to be able to perceive any danger if it should approach. He'd purchased a newspaper at the counter, and perused it and maintained one eye on the apartment complex. A gang-shooting in the city, and a rape/murder in the corner of the State. Pete smiled and shook his head in contempt when he read that the perpetrator had been captured within twenty-four hours of the crime.

The man had raped a woman who'd lived on the same street, and if there was one thing Pete knew, it was you didn't shit in your own nest. Instead, you selected your targets at random, ensuring that no connection could be found between them, and changed your modus-operandi with each, so that no pattern or signature could be discerned. That was how to evade capture. Then again, the man was probably an opportunist, who'd acted on impulse, and that was the difference with Pete Norris. He always remained fully in control of his actions and emotions, and although his own crime would soon be splashed across the same front page, there'd be no news of his apprehension.

Shortly, a flash of his movement from across the road caught his attention, and he casually lifted his gaze to peer in that direction. Pete's eyes first landed on the shock of blonde hair, then moved to the girl's face, and his breathing momentarily ceased when she walked right past where he sat. It was Vivian, and she appeared even more attractive than in her DMV photo - then again, who didn't?,- however, he was unable to properly see her blue eyes. "Morning, Vivian." Pete whispered under his breath, folded the newspaper, and left it on the table along with a sizeable tip, which elicited a flirtatious smile from the waitress when she collected his empty mug and he bade her a pleasant day.

Where are we off to this beautiful sunny morning? Norris waited for the young woman to move ahead as he further appraised her. She appeared normal enough, from appearances, but then, so did he, and Pete pondered whether she was thinking about her anonymous correspondent, and the previous night's conversation, as she walked. Or did she consider him a hoaxer, who'd played her for a laugh, and, after obtaining her name and address, become bored? How would she react if she became aware that a multiple murder and sadist followed barely a hundred yards behind her. A man, who without remorse or hesitation, could snatch her off the street, stick his knife in her gut, and leave her on her knees, with her hands clasping her stomach attempting to keep her intestines from spilling out onto the sidewalk, and be gone before she'd she'd even had an opportunity to scream.

He could, but that'd be no fun, Pete Norris preferred to take his time with his victims, so instead, he simply closed the gap between them.

 

[LoveTheWayYouLie]

Vivian had no idea she was being followed, nor did she rightly care. If it wasn't a cop at her heels, she didnt care. She feared no one, not even the killer walking a few yards behind her. The streets were busy with people and a hum of sounds. From cars whizzing by and people laughing, talking, and shouting. She had given her emails with the person over the computer some thought, but had put the ideas away because the likely hood of it truly being someone of matter was slim to none. So, she was content with knowing she was going to continue to suffer alone or snap...one of the two.

Once she reached the street festival she stopped by a shaded tree. Looking around as she didn't see her friend there yet. There was a air of discontent when Vivian didn't see her friend right away as that was the only reason she left her apartment at all. But the feeling of her phone vibrating in her pocket made her pull it out. Looking down to read the text message from Sarah.

“Running a few minutes behind! I'll be there soon! Just chill and I'll see you soon! I'll buy you a snow cone.” Sarah knew how to bribe Vivian with food which made the young girl sigh and pocked the cell phone. Lots of people were walking by all talking and carrying on in their own little way. The smell of fair food filled the air, and music lifted into the sky. Vivian swallowed hard and took a seat on the bench near the large tree. She wished she could have as much fun as these people, but the itch in her skin was getting worse, and she swallowed it down. Like a feeling drowning without being able to show it. The wind blew her golden curls and she licked her lips as she watched the people walk by.

Her eyes were not what they should be, they weren't empty sweet pools of blue. No, they were sharp and piercing like that of a hungry tiger. Everything was vivid to her, and as it was running high gear on a machine that couldn't turn off. The lights of the rides blurred like that of a quick snapping picture, and she could see all the people, she could hear almost all their conversations, and she could almost think she could hear their pulse. It pounded like a drum to hard it nearly gave her a head ache. She wanted nothing more than to ease the itch, to fill the hunger, and smooth the ache.

In her young years her grandmother used to be able to see when Vivian was losing it, and would take her to get treatment and lock her away till the urge passed or they gave her enough drugs to dull her. Now that she had not medication she was as sharp as a tack. She was a killer through and through, it gave her breathe. No one knew this of course, no one knew the sick beautiful girl that sat on that bench, waiting for the only image of someone she would have considered a friend.