Internet Killers [ Mr Quixotic & Dovakitten]

This RP revolves around a serial rapist/killer and his accomplice. Please do not read on if you are squeamish, as it is detailed.

"A woman's body was found in her home today..."

The magic words to pull her honey brown eyes away from the binder of notes as she looked over the rim of her black, plastic frames at the television screen to see if there were any pictures of the woman's body. She took a sip from her glass of red wine as she continued to watch, but it was only a reporter standing outside of the house where the incident had taken place. Chewing her lower lip, she tried to resist the urge, "You said you were done," she told herself. But before she knew it, she was sitting at her desk in front of her computer screen.

Feverishly, she typed and clicked to bring up the forum she'd been browsing for months now, where she'd be able to find pictures or videos of local rapes and murders that she saw in the news. At first, she'd watch them with little apprehension, she'd even touch herself and get off while watching. It wasn't until after that she'd feel sick about what she'd done and vow to never look at such things again, but she never stayed away for long. Before she was able to begin her search, there was a notification that someone had responded to her thread.

A few weeks ago, she started a thread with links to her favorite videos:

Is anyone truly capable of doing these things? Sometimes I wish I could be closer. I wish I could be part of it, but I don't think anyone on these forums could be.


Every response she'd gotten was from someone simply agreeing with her and letting her know they understood how she felt. Some people claimed they had done things like this and sent her "original" videos that she knew were fakes. It was a total bust, but what else did she expect? Still, with child-like anticipation, she opened the thread to see what new response there was.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The urge was building. He could feel it in every fibre of his being, and it had begun to consume his thoughts. Soon it would be the only thing he could think about. The only thing he wanted to think about. That desire to hurt and maim. To make a woman beg and plead for her life. To cause her to scream in terror, and bare her teeth in agony, as blood-stained tears flowed down her cheeks. To watch her eyes, and see the dawning realisation within them that it wasn't a dream, that he wasn't a man capable of compassion or mercy, and there would be no last-minute stay of execution. What aroused him, more than anything, was that look. The one that flashed across their faces as the last shred of hope was torn away, and they accepted, finally, that they were going to die. At least death would relieve them of their pain.

The first time he'd dared act on his impulses - impulses he couldn't recall ever being without - had been just on a year ago. The next, eight months after that, and now, only four months later, he knew that he'd soon need to do so again. The initial victim had been a prostitute, snatched off the streets, raped, throat cut from ear to ear, and dumped by the side of the road. The second he'd taken more time with, but still not enough to completely satiate his needs. A runaway, who'd naively accepted his offer of a ride. The man had felt no guilt or pity as the blood drained from their bodies, and life faded from their eyes. He'd watched, unmoving, until he was sure they were dead. It had taken the young hitch-hiker almost an hour to succumb to her wounds. Both times, he'd removed a trophy.

Afterwards. No remorse, no regret. Just satisfaction, relief, and the feeling that a void within him had been partially filled. If only temporarily. The one sensation he experienced which could remotely be called an emotion, was a slight sense of fear. Not of himself, or the acts he had perpetrated, but at the possibility that he may be caught, and imprisoned. He had no record, and his fingerprints were not on any file or database, but one never knew what evidence he'd left behind. However, the man had been careful, and as time went on without a knock on the door, his confidence grew. He'd murdered twice, without consequence. He could do it again. As often as he liked.

Still, the fear that lingered in the back of his mind was enough to stop him from acting until the urge simply became too strong to resist. In the meantime, he had his videos, and the message-board. Which he logged onto now.

His fingers clicked the keys, and the man scanned the screen as the page came up. He had no concerns, the connection in his apartment was totally secure. That was his job. Internet security. To all appearances, he was just another average, mid thirties, brown-haired, blue-eyed, white collar professional, who'd draw no attention in a crowd. The only negative his peers ever uttered was that he wasn't much of a socialiser.

A hand brought a can of Pepsi to his mouth as he saw the usual names logged on. A bunch of big-noting assholes who got off talking about what they'd love to do, but didn't have the balls to carry out. Swapping fake snuff videos, and pretending to know how it felt to take a life. He was sure none of them did.

Then he saw it. The thread which had aroused his curiosity when first posted.

Is anyone truly capable of doing these things? Sometimes I wish I could be closer. I wish I could be part of it, but I don't think anyone on these forums could be.

The phrasing had piqued his interest. Not someone claiming to have committed an act, or expressing a desire to do so, but whose wish was to be close to them. Part of it. The more he'd thought about it, the more convinced he became the author was a woman. Unusual. The man's hand moved to position the mouse pointer on the reply button and click, then he leaned forward to type:

These men are all talk. They wish they could be like me. To really and truly have taken a life. To have been there, and have felt the power. To play God, To BE God. Those videos don't do it justice. You have no idea what it's like. Have you seen a pig being slaughtered? Heard it squeal? That's how they really sound when you stick the knife into their gut, and twist. You couldn't handle the reality, honey.

The man fell back in his seat with his eyes fixated on the screen. He hoped the use of the final endearment, and any reaction it induced, would help confirm if his intuition was correct about the person at the other end of the screen being a woman. That was, if they were online, and dared respond at all.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

All talk. BE God. how they really sound. reality, honey.

It was like the words were imprinted on her brain as she searched Google for videos of pigs being slaughtered. The squealing made her stomach turn, leaving a bad taste in her mouth as she frowned in disgust. The very same feeling she'd gotten from that term of endearment he'd left her with. Without even bothering to stop the video, she simply flicked her mouse towards the 'X' and closed the tab entirely. Bringing her right back to the thread she posted.

She reached for another sip of her wine as she read the reply again and again. Analyzing the way each word made her feel. He was different from the others, this reply actually gave her the creeps if she was being honest. He didn't ask if she wanted to know what it was like, he simply told her she didn't and that she couldn't handle the reality. For that, she resented him. Instead of offering her fake pictures and videos, he gave her something to really compare it to. And while she was disgusted by it, she still wanted to know exactly what it was like.

Out of all of it, she continued to imagine the knife in the gut and a twist. The final flinching of the body as blood oozed from the wound and life drained from eyes focused on nothing.

Honey. That part made her heart race every time she came to it. Did he know she was a woman? Her scarce profile page listed her as male and her username was Anon676, completely neutral. So, how had he known? She decided that he was perceptive because killers had to be perceptive, right? Something about the way she'd worded her post gave him the slightest hint that she was a woman. After another long moment of thought, shook her head and chuckled at herself as she sat down the wine glass.

Lightening fast strokes across the keys brought forth another reply:

I didn't claim to have any idea, honey. But I highly doubt that you have a clue either. What's got you so worked up? Bad day at the office? Girlfriend wouldn't give you a hummer? Oh, a freak like you probably wouldn't even have a girlfriend but I'm sure you like to pretend.

Don't talk to me about reality and what I can handle when you can't get a grip on your own reality.

Without reading it once more or even a second of thought, she just clicked reply. The moment the site redirected her to the thread, she winced at the sight of her reply. It was a great deal more abrasive than she'd originally intended but the more she typed, the more agitated she became about being called 'honey' and the assumptions he made about her. "I could handle it," she told herself but spoke aloud, at the screen as if she was telling him.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

He finished the last of his Pepsi, scrunched the can flat, and dropped it on the desk. Casually he picked up a remote, and hit the on button. Directly in front of him, on the expensive flat-screen tv mounted on the far wall, came up a video. His profession paid well, and had many other advantages. One was that he worked for himself and set his own hours. If he wanted to disappear for a while he could, without suspicion. Another was that he was often called in to block access to, or erase disturbing material, and a lot of that material ended up on his hard-drive. The curious thing was that the man had his own set of principles. Anything involving underage victims was immediately reported to the authorities, and he had been responsible for a number of arrests.

What he did transfer to his home computer gave him the links to locate more. If you knew where to look, there was plenty to find. Most of it was obviously fake, but some of it came close enough to approximating what he had experienced to give him food for thought. Such as the one that played now. He increased the volume in time to hear a high-pitched female screech. The noise reverberated off the apartments sound-proofed walls, and echoed around him.

On screen, a woman - naked and bloody, with arms and legs spreadeagled - was bound to a tree. A hooded figure emerged from off-camera to slash at the woman's torso with a large hunting knife, then shoved the handle into her pussy, before he disappeared from sight. One final insult to the woman's already battered and ravaged body. The viewers were left to watch her head loll back, eyes pop open, and torso first convulse, then go limp. Rivers of blood ran down her skin and pooled in the pile of dead leaves at her feet as the grainy film faded to black. The scream died with her.

The man sported an erection as his eyes drifted back to the computer monitor, and he tensed when he saw the message waiting. Not one quick to anger, even when in the midst of perpetrating his acts - it was better to remain calm and in control, in order to properly savour them - he felt a flash of annoyance and irritation at her reply. "Bitch". He muttered to himself. At least the response confirmed in his mind that the person on the other end of the conversation was a woman. One who taunted him with the same endearment he had used with her. Honey. Not to mention the rest of her message. Taunting him. Who the fuck did she think she was?

Without conscious thought, he clicked reply, and his fingers tapped the keyboard:

"Why have a girlfriend when I can take any woman I want? The last to refuse me a hummer had her tongue cut out. Did you know they can still scream? What about you, let me guess? Some lonely spinster, sitting there with her hand between her legs, wishing someone even cared enough to rape her? Getting off on other peoples fantasies. Or maybe you're a dyke?

His lips curled into a smile, but not one of mirth, as he moved to click, 'send'. Then he hesitated. He'd spoken to plenty of men on the forum, most of whom claimed to have raped and murdered themselves. However, each and every time, it had turned into a competition and, as their claims became more bizarre, he'd known they'd been lying. He'd also known that they hadn't believed him, and that pissed him off. What was the point of telling the truth if no-one was to believe it? Of having a secret if there was no-one with which to share? Or boast to.

The message still on the screen, he took a deep breath, then inserted another line:

So have you heard a pig squeal? I bet you just googled it. How did it sound? Can you imagine that noise coming from a human being? How long do you think they can last before their vocal chords give out?

Tell me. Why are you here, what are you looking for? If you really want to know what I'm capable of, what I've done, how it feels, ask. If you can handle the truth.

The man added one final comment before he sent the message into the ether:

Don't let fear stop you. I don't know where you live.

With that, he positioned the mouse pointer on the tracking application installed on his hard-drive. Unless she was hiding behind some high-tech masking software, he'd have her IP address within minutes. From there it was incredible what he could find out. Technology truly was a wonderful thing.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

For a moment she just watched the screen. Refreshing the page every few seconds only to be crushed to see there was no reply yet. She wasn't entirely sure why she was so eager to get a reply and she reminded herself that whoever it was, wasn't any different from all the other men on this board. They wanted to pretend. They wanted to scare someone, but she wasn't scared.

With an empty wine glass in hand, she walked to her kitchen to refill the glass instead of sitting in front of her computer waiting for a reply. She tried to think of something else, planned out how she would go about her next day as she sipped from the glass, but it wasn't long before she was right back in her computer chair. Again she refreshed the page and flicked at the scroll wheel to see another reply from the same guy.

Her eyes scanned the screen and she scoffed at his insults before she was slightly unnerved. He was making it very clear that he knew she was a woman despite how hard she'd tried to hide the fact. He even went so far as to make a fairly accurate guess about her orientation. No one had ever caught on until now. But still, it seemed she'd struck a chord with him and that made her think he had a bit of a temper. She always thought an actual murderer would have to be very calm and his temper ruined her fantasy but excited her all at once.

She brought her glass to her lips as she continued to read, nearly choking when he guessed that she'd googled the pigs being slaughtered. She cocked her head to one side as she thought about his questions and it wasn't until she read the final line that she realized she was holding her breath so that she inhaled sharply. For a long moment, she sat there, faced with a post the likes of which she had never read. She lifted the glass to her lips before she emptied it in one go, eyes still plastered to the screen.

Slowly she reached for her mouse again and clicked not the reply button, but the one that read "PM."

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

It sounded awful, but it only piqued my interest. Now I need to hear a human make that sound. I need to know it's real. I need to know you're not full of shit (and I still think you are, by the way.)

I'm here because I'm sick like everyone else on this forum. I'm looking for

She paused. The cursor blinking on the page as if it was taunting her to type exactly what it was she was looking for. But she couldn't even be that honest with herself so she certainly wasn't going to be that honest to a stranger.

I'm looking for an experience. I want to see a woman tortured slowly. I want to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I want to know what death looks like.

I don't want to hear your fantasies that you try to pull off as real. I want to know.

Her mouse hovered over the 'Send' button as her heart's thumping made itself noticed and breathing wasn't as controlled as usual. "Don't let fear stop you. I don't know where you live." She saw the line of text as if it was in front of her now. He didn't know where she lived, so why was she so apprehensive to send it? She laughed herself for the second time that night. "He's not even for real," she told herself and clicked.

Your message has been sent.

It floated on the screen like an ominous omen until she closed the browser and got up from her chair to go to bed. She told herself that she was going to bed this early because she had to go jogging the next morning before going to work. Truthfully though, she was running away. Frightened that all of her fantasies were about to come true, that a monster she created was soon going to turn on her. If a night's rest could post-pone that for just a few hours, she would take it.

The next morning her eyes blinked open before the alarm even went off, but she turned it off anyways and got out of bed. She only washed her face and brushed her teeth before pulling her hair back into a ponytail and putting on a pair of leggings and a sports bra. Her body was toned but without much muscle definition and not without it's curves that were handed down to her by her mother. The sun wasn't even up yet when she walked over to her neightbor's house and knocked on the door. While she waited, she started to stretch, lifting either leg up until her ankle touched her bottom and holding it there before switching to the other side. She knocked again and finally a chubby woman came to the door.

"Sorry, I had the hardest time getting out of bed. How do you do this every morning, Analise?"

The brunette just shook her head with a sympathetic smile, even though all she could think was that this woman was wasting her time, "Good morning, Whitney. Ready to go," she asked without answering her question. The was simply that Analise wasn't lazy, that she prized her body more than she did a few more minutes of sleep or the taste of the crap that most people were willing to put in their bodies. The answer would have been cruel and the mask that was Analise Helm was not cruel.

The pair of them jogged, not quite at a pace Analise was happy with. In fact, she was starting to regret agreeing to help her neighbor get in shape as they had to stop every few minutes for the heavier of the two to catch her breath. Finally, the made it back to their homes, "See you tomorrow," Analise chimed but the other didn't respond as she was still trying to catch her breath by the time Analise was inside. She showered and got dressed for work. She wore a black pencil skirt that was almost too tight to be professional with a white blouse and a tailored jacket that dipped in to accentuate her small waist which was enough to implicate her overall hourglass figure. Her long, thick, dark brown hair was pulled into a tight, neat bun that made her almond shaped jade green eyes seem even more catlike. She didn't wear much make-up, just enough to highlight her best features and she didn't even bother covering the smattering of freckles just below her eyes. She was just a bit above average height for a woman but her heels made her stand at six feet and she quite liked feeling that tall.

Her day consisted of translating at the local police department. The FBI was interviewing a suspected member of a Korean crime syndicate that appeared not to understand English. While Analise realized this was a lie because he was able to respond without hearing her entire translation, she didn't bring it to their attention as it wouldn't have made him anymore likely to 'talk.' After that, she managed to make it to her class on time. She gave an hour long lecture on the importance of syntax that seemed to bore the vast majority of the students despite how excited she was about it. The rest of her day was spent in her office on campus as she worked on her dissertation until there was hardly anyone on campus anymore.

Kicking off her shoes the moment she came home, she tossed her keys on the small table beside the door as she leaned forward to pick up her shoes by their heels and shut the door behind her. Normally, she wouldn't bother to lock her door. She lived in a nice neighborhood that was far from the inner city so she usually felt safe, but tonight she paused a moment before turning to lock it. Immediately, she turned on the news and turned it up loud enough to hear while she was in her bedroom undressing only to slip into an over sized band t-shirt with holes in it. She meandered into the kitchen to fill a glass kettle with water and set on the burner as she untwirled her hair from it's bun so it hung to one side of her shoulder. Rather than watch the kettle she returned to the living room to sit in front of her computer, chewing her lower lip as she logged into the forums to see if there was a message waiting for her.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

He switched off the television, and sat back to stare at the computer screen. With the light's off - the man liked the dark - the only illumination came from the glow of the monitor. His fingers lightly tapped against his thigh, and his brow furrowed in thought. The woman had definitely made him curious, and his initial inclination was to think that it was some kind of trap. He'd heard the authorities sometimes trawled the boards, in search of perpetrators, or for information. That possibility didn't concern him in the slightest. To all intents and purposes, his posts originated from the desolate outback of Australia. A place named Wolf Creek.

His thoughts were disrupted by the ping of a message arriving. When he saw that this time it was a PM rather than a reply to the thread, he shook his head in amusement. The bitch was making it easy for him, and his tracking software immediately began to chug away on the hard-drive. Software most people didn't know existed - another advantage of his profession. He'd have her IP address within minutes. As he waited for the application to do its work, he read the message. The man expected another taunting reply, and wasn't surprised to see that she still didn't believe him. However, what really caught his attention was the third line.

I'm looking for an experience. I want to see a woman tortured slowly. I want to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I want to know what death looks like.

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he read that. One of excitement.

"I want to see a woman tortured slowly. I want to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I want to know what death looks like."

He whispered the words to himself, slowly, as if savouring the taste of them. Many times he'd had a similar fantasy. Of being able to share his experience. In a way, that's what he did on the message boards, but to actually have someone with him when he took a woman? When he tortured her, and brought her to the brink of death, only to give her hope, before taking it away once more. That would be the ultimate.

His hand shook a touch as it reached the keyboard. Contrary to the popular belief of psychopaths, he was capable of feeling many emotions - the man enjoyed nothing better than a lazy Sunday afternoon appreciating the latest comedy, or cheering his favourite sporting team on-; empathy and pity were just not amongst them. Maybe he wasn't a psychopath at all. Just because he enjoyed raping and killing didn't mean he was crazy.

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

Why should I care if you believe me? I'm the one who has lived it. Who has looked into their eyes, and laughed in their faces as they screamed like a stuck pig, and begged me to let them live. Then, later, begged me to let them die. Me. Not you. I know. You can only imagine.

I'm not sick. My parents aren't divorced. I wasn't abused or neglected as a child. I'm not some poor white-trash who has had a hard life, or suffered trauma. I do what I do, because I want to. Because there is nothing better, more arousing, than holding the power of life and death in your hands. It's what I am. It's who I am. It's what I do.

That's the difference between you and I. You think you want it, you think you want to know. But, do you really? Once you hear those screams, you'll never forget them. If you're wrong, that sound, and the look in their eyes as they finally resign themselves to death, will haunt your dreams forever. If you want to know, I can show you. But, I ask again, do you really want to know. Are you strong enough?

He was testing her, just as she tested him. His eyes scanned the message, and the cursor hovered over the send button. Then he moved to open his favourites folder, and inserted two hyperlinks below the next line of text.

What am I capable of, what have I done?

He'd book-marked every news article on his previous victims, and that was what he sent now. Unsolved cases. The first, a street-walker who'd been raped, strangled, and her throat cut with enough ferocity so that she was almost decapitated. The other, an eighteen year old runaway, whose partially decomposed and mutilated body had been discovered in a nearby forest by an unlucky couple on a weekend camping trip.

Message Sent

The man waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. A glance at his tracking software brought a smirk to his face. Her IP address had popped up and, what do you know, she lived in the same city. A half hour passed before he hit the refresh button to double-check that his computer hadn't frozen. Another ten minutes, twenty more. A full hour had passed. "Fucking whore". He must have scared her off. His eyes darkened, and his fingers drummed the top of his desk.. Taunting him, calling him a liar, then running away when things got too hot. He laughed without mirth. And she thought she could handle death? If she wanted to play games, he'd play right back.

Her IP address soon led to her home address and, from there, her name. Analise Helm. It rolled off his tongue. Not long after, thanks to the DMV database, he had a picture. The man took in her features, the long brunette hair, and bright green eyes. She was attractive, and appeared normal. Then again, so did he. Appearances could be deceiving.

He printed the image as he sent a further message.

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

I hope you slept well. I was thinking that maybe we should talk face-to-face? What do you think Analise, would you like that?

Message sent

That should send a scare through the bitch. He had a full schedule tomorrow during daylight hours, but his evening was free. She wanted him to prove himself, he was more than capable of doing so. However, she'd also need to pass his test. And if she decided that she didn't want to play any longer? Not a problem, he'd ensure she received the experience first-hand. He couldn't lose.

The man shut down the computer, and headed for bed. He slept like a baby.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

She noticed there were two messages from that same guy. She looked at the time stamps to see that one was sent about an hour after the other. He waited up, "How chivalrous," she thought with a small smirk playing across her lips. Eager to see what he could have possibly replied with, she opened the message that was sent first. Her eyes practically rolled into the back of her head when she read the first question as an exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Every time she questioned someone authenticity, they would hit her with that question. If he really didn't care, why was he still responding?

It was almost enough to make her delete the message and just move on with her life, but out of curiosity, she read on. She scoffed when he claimed that he was a perfectly well adjusted adult. A good sign that someone is crazy is that they don't believe they are. And if this guy was truly capable of the things he claimed he was, he was sick. The thing was, she'd had a pretty good childhood too. Her father died before she was born and her mother committed suicide when she was just a few weeks old, but her aunt and uncle raised her just fine. She didn't even know her parents so she never had a reason to be sad about it. She was well-adjusted with a really sick fetish, she decided.

But, do you really?
Yes.

Are you strong enough?
Yes.

Just thinking about being beside the man that could laugh in the face of a dying woman made her pulse race. She revered that man. She would worship that man. Her eyes refocused on his message and she nearly pouted as she thought, "But this isn't that man." She rested her cheek in the palm of her hand as she scrolled down to see links that was supposedly his work. She read through each one, she'd heard about these cases before, tried to find better images of them. "Bullshit," she said aloud with a knowing smile on her face.

She closed the message to go back to her inbox so she could see the final message where he threw a tantrum about her not replying. What she read, however, was completely unexpected. Her lips parted as the talking on the television seemed to fade away until she felt like she was in a sound proof box. Her eyes were stuck on her name. Her name. He knew her name. She didn't even blink as her breaths came through short and fast.

Suddenly, the high pitched scream of her tea kettle pulled her out of her stupor causing her to nearly jump out of her own skin. She placed a hand on her chest to feel her heart thumping hard against her chest as she stood from her chair. Almost in a daze, she walked into the kitchen, checking her front door on the way to be sure it was locked.

She asked herself what she should do as she pulled out a coffee mug and set it down on the counter. She thought about calling the police, but how would she explain her presence on the website? She placed a chamomile tea bag in the cup before pouring the boiling hot water over it. She held the string from the bag and bobbed it in the water as it steeped until she suddenly became angry. She shouted as she picked up the too hot mug and hurled it into her cabinets, the ceramic exploding into pieces.

He was toying with her. He was playing a game and she was losing just by being so concerned for her safety that she would think to call the police on him. She had said she wanted to know what it was like and if she backed down now that just made him right. No, that wasn't the point. It wasn't about being right, it was about taking advantage of an opportunity. If he was the real deal, she should want to meet him, right?

She walked back into her living room with purpose and sat down in front of her computer to immediately press 'Reply.' She stared at the screen a moment as she told herself to be calm. What were the chances that whoever this was lived in her town? She remembered the articles he linked, they were incidents that happened in the surrounding area. Still, could he really know where she lived? She told herself the only reason she was responding was because there was no way he'd actually show up at her door. Because a sane person wouldn't invite a killer to their front door, and she was sane. But she was actually feeling hopeful, hopeful that he would come.

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

So, you figured out my name? Cute trick. You're really taking it a step further than all of the other losers on this forum. I must applaud your effort, but I'm not afraid.

Sure. Let's meet, but you'll have to find me. I'm a bit of a homebody so it shouldn't be too difficult, right?

She pressed 'Send' and slowly she breathed in, then out before leaning back in her chair.

Now that the fear and anger had subsided, there was only excitement as she pressed her knees together to feel a squish between her legs. She clicked until a favorite video of hers popped up on the screen before she clicked the full screen icon and sat back. A woman's face, swollen and bruised was almost completely red. Her eyes trailed down to the large hand of a man that was wrapped firmly around her neck as he grunted with each thrust of his pelvis. The woman clawed desperately at his wrist and arm until her eyes started to roll to the back of her head, but just before that there was a light in her eyes. The sudden realization that it was all over as her pitiful life rushed past her eyes, her hands falling limp as her tongue stuck out of her mouth.

Analise exhaled as her entire body seemed to relax and she was sitting low in her chair, legs spread as a familiar warmth took over her body. She reached down with her hand, her fingers snaking under her panties as she started to play with herself. It wasn't long before the woman in the video was lying completely still save for the thrusting of the man, her tongue hanging unnaturally far from her mouth, her face now pale blue.

It wasn't long before a shiver ran through her body as she inhaled sharply through her nose and let her head rest on the back of her chair. She stared up at her ceiling a moment before she closed the video that had already ended. She turned off only her monitor and crossed to the kitchen to clean up the mess of shattered coffee mug and tea. Her hands shaking as she worked, as she wondered when he would show. If ever.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The man's internal body clock woke him at 6am, as it did every day, regardless of how many hours he'd slept, alert and refreshed. He didn't require coffee to pep him up like so many others, but enjoyed the taste so, after he showered and dressed, he brewed himself a cup, and sat at his computer. He was curious to see if the women had answered. He blew the steam from his mug, and lifted it to his lips as checked the message board. He wasn't totally surprised to see that she hadn't. Probably scared the shit out of her with the use of her name. The man chuckled at that thought, and picked up the photo which still lay on his desk to bring it close to his face and focus in on her jade green eyes. "Are you for real, Analise Helm? I'm going to find out."

The urge that had been building for the previous months was still there, but it had changed. As he dropped the picture to the desk he felt totally calm, and in control. Just as he'd been immediately prior to taking his two previous victims. The time was close. Whether the next would be the woman whose image lay before him, he was unsure. The man would discover the answer that night, when he paid her a visit.

The day passed in a blur. Interminable meetings with white collar clients - a Law Firm whose website had been hacked, and a Government Agency who had ignored his advice to upgrade their server, and now had been hit by a barrage of spam. He wanted to strangle them for their stupidity. However, by 4pm his work was done, and he had time to research.

What he discovered un-nerved him a little. Analise Helm. Parents dead. Adopted by aunt and uncle. Never married. No children. Worked as a translator, and was currently assisting the FBI in an investigation. It was the last which occupied his mind, and the phrase repeated itself over and over in his head. Assisting the FBI. Assisting the FBI. Assisting the FBI. As he entered his blue Ford Taurus he pondered that fact, and his next move. Was the bitch playing him? It was true that he had no record, but with both of his victims he'd neither worn gloves or a condom. Which is why he needed to be careful. If he was ever suspected, and required to give a DNA sample, the police would have more than enough evidence to secure a conviction.

He'd contemplated taking precautions, but quickly dismissed the idea. The 'wet work' and naked physical contact was the rush; that feeling of the victims nails scratching his wrists as they struggled to escape; the veins which throbbed against his fingertips as he slowly increased the pressure on their larynx, the release of his seed deep inside them as they gasped for breath, and kicked out in terror; the warmth of the blood that spurted onto his skin when he sliced through a vein. Without that, it would be nothing.

The man parked his vehicle a mile from Analise's address. He'd timed his arrival for just after sunset, and reconnoitered the area as he made his way towards her residence on foot. He'd seen nothing suspicious, but he wasn't going to be stupid enough to burst into her house, only to be met by the FBI. He'd need to change plans. He walked casually - a man on a leisurely stroll - and took in the surroundings.

He'd not seen another living soul by the time he'd arrived at the end of the street, and that gave him the confidence to return close to where she lived, and think about what he was going to do. He stood there, unmoving, and stared at a house across the road. However, it wasn't Analise's residence, it was her neighbour's. As he'd approached, a figure had stepped across a lighted window - that of a woman - and it had given him an idea. He watched for half an hour, then as sure as he could be that she was alone, he made his move.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi there, I'm looking for Analise Helm" The slim and athletic, brown haired and bespectacled blue-eyed man, who wore a pair of crisp khaki pants, and white buttoned dress-shirt with pale pink tie, smiled at the woman who'd answered the knock. He appeared anything but the serial rapist and murderer he truly was.

"Oh, Analise. She's next door". The woman waved her hand in that direction, and seemed almost disappointed that the attractive visitor hadn't come seeking her. That would soon change.

As she spoke, the man's eyes darted around what else he could see of the house. Reassured that she was indeed alone, his next movements were as quick as a snake. "Scream, and I will fucking kill you". One hand had pressed a blade to her stomach, and the fingers of the other clamped her throat. In less than a second, he had her pinned against the foyer wall, and kicked the door shut behind them. "Anyone else here?" Her lips quivered, and tears welled in her eyes as her head shook side to side. "Good. You and I are going to have a talk".

His only regret was that he couldn't take the time to really enjoy it. He was here for information, and wary about making too much noise. The woman was weak - a couple of slaps, a punch in the gut, and the threat of his cigarette lighter, quickly elicited all that he needed. Analise Helm did live next door. No, she I haven't noticed any visitors lately. Analise works as a translator, for all sorts of people, including the FBI. If anything strange was going on, she would have told me. We're great friends, we jog together every morning. The man rolled his eyes; he didn't think Analise would be the type to befriend this gossipy bitch. She might even be glad to see her dead.

He left her a few minutes later. The woman's lifeless body lay naked, bound to her kitchen table with arms and legs spread, and a pair of panties stuffed in her mouth. Blood sprayed from a gaping wound in her throat, and a crucifix had been carved into her abdomen and chest. The last was an afterthought. He wasn't a godly man, in fact quite the opposite, but thought it may throw the police off the scent, and have them on the hunt for some religious nutter. He'd also ejaculated on her body. There was one other thing, but he'd leave that for Analise to discover.

The man cleaned up in the bathroom, then let himself out the back door. He glanced up at Analise's house with a smile, and whistled quietly as he made his way back to his car. He'd brought a change of attire - jeans and a t-shirt - and slipped into them, throwing his blood-stained clothes in a plastic bag. He hadn't eaten since lunchtime, so after putting a few miles between him and the scene of the crime, he pulled into a McDonald's. The man stuffed the plastic bag into a dumpster outside the restaurant, then walked inside to place his order; Two Big Macs, large fries, and a hash brown, with a regular coke. Killing always made him hungry.

He carried his tray to an empty table, and opened up the laptop he'd brought with him to make use of the free wireless. His eyes focused on the PM with the subject line, 'Pig Squeals'. She must have opened his messages, and he was curious to see how she'd respond to the use of her name. The man showed no reaction as he took in her taunts. If he'd received them that morning, he might have been pissed, but now, if anything, they amused him. She'd soon discover, without doubt, that he was a man of his word. Was she a woman of hers?

She did have a set of figurative balls, he had to give her that. As he popped a french fry into his mouth and re-read the second line, he allowed himself a chuckle. He'd expected her to be totally freaked out, but she either had more strength that he'd given her credit for. Or covered her fear well.

Subject: Piq Squeals

Message:

Not afraid? Do you always leave mid-conversation just when it starts to get interesting, without saying goodbye? Not very polite, Analise.

Unfortunately, I'm not great with directions, and must have mixed up the address. Some lady named Whitney answered the door. Claimed to be a friend of yours? Don't worry, I didn't rape her - chubby women aren't my type.

If you go visit, I'd appreciate a favour. I dropped a ring in all the excitement and would love to have it returned. It may have rolled under the living room sofa.

If I hear this item on the news tomorrow, you're next!

Message sent.

What he'd neglected to tell Analise was that the ring was still attached to poor Whitney's finger.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

After cleaning up the mess she'd made after her short tantrum, Analise decided her day had been long enough and that she should just head to bed. No more messages. No more forums. She tumbled and rolled all throughout the night, her troubled subconscious leaving her restless. But still she awoke before her alarm, that she only set as a precaution, even went off.

Like every morning, she went out for a jog, stopping by her neighbor's home to knock. When Whitney never came to the door, she thought it was strange but proceeded with her morning as she usually would and just assumed the woman had already tapped out. Normally her morning jogs were the best way to clear her head, but today all she could think about was the correspondence between herself and the so-called killer.

When she returned home, winded after pushing herself harder and longer than she usually would, she went directly to her computer. Typically she'd be getting dressed for work but she had the day off and planned to use her time working on her dissertation, after she checked her messages. Again, he flaunted his ability to see through whatever glamour she attempted to put up in her messages as he chastised her for running scared from their conversations. "I have a life. I can't just sit here and chat with some lonely, basement dwelling, neckbeard all night," was the response she already had lined up in her head, but she read on and her heart stopped.

Before she had time to register exactly what he meant, Analise dashed out of her house and banged on the woman's door, calling out her name in a complete panic. She paced on the woman's porch, shaking her head from time to time as she told herself it wasn't possible. If something happened to Whitney, that meant this guy was for real and she'd only been able to continue her banter with him because she'd convinced herself he wasn't. But there was proof beyond that door, so why was she still standing outside?

Analise hopped over the banister of the porch, to the side of the house and made her way around back. When Whitney had gone out of town, she asked Analise to come by everyday and feed her cat so she knew there was a key to the back door under a plant she never watered. But when she attempted to unlock the door, she realized it was already open. She took a breath, turned the knob, and opened the door.

Immediately the rancid smell of what could only be rotting flesh struck her as she gagged before placing her wrist over her mouth and nose, but still she pressed on. Aside from the smell, nothing seemed to be out of place until she found her way into the kitchen. Her eyes fell upon the overweight body of one the most uninteresting women she'd ever met laid out on the kitchen table where they'd drank coffee together from time to time, while Analise pretended to be interested.

Her hand dropped to her side as the smell that had disgusted her so just moments ago, no longer held her attention. She took a step forward, noticing the wound that killed her. Then another step and another until she was standing over the woman's body, leaning down to get a better look at the gaping wound. Green orbs rolled up to see the pair of panties in her mouth.

Don't worry, I didn't rape her - chubby women aren't my type.

She looked into Whitney's glossed over eyes, suddenly unable to remember what color they were, "Bummer," she murmured to the dead woman that had been so unfortunate to not even get laid before being brutally murdered. As the urge to stick her fingers inside the wound and squish around started to take over, she leaned up and looked down at the crucifix. Her brow furrowed as she thought of his other victims and she wondered why he was suddenly marking his victims.

It was then that she remembered the end of his message and looked over her shoulder into the living room, where grey and white striped cat was huddle over something. Licking and chewing. She crossed over to living room and stood in front of the cat that was licking at would could only be a severed finger, "Kitty, no," she chided the cat that was not giving up it's bounty. She swatted at the cat, mewing it's displeasure as it darted off so she could have a better view of the finger. A finger with a ring on it.

you're next!

A number of things ran through her mind as she stared down at the swollen finger. She could leave it there. She could leave the body. She could just leave. The state, the country. She could run.

Or she could pick it up and play.

She crossed back over to the kitchen, glancing at the horror scene on the table as she made her way to the cabinets and found a small, plastic, sandwich bag. She picked up the finger using the bag, rolled it up and shoved it in the pocket of her windbreaker. She stood there a moment longer before she screamed as loud as she could. Another neighbor on their way to work heard the shrill cry and came to find her in the back yard, bent over a pile of her own vomit. He dared to go inside the house to see what had caused Analise to become so upset before he came back out and called the police on his cellphone.

She spent the rest of her day at the police station, after she went home for a shower and to put the severed finger in her freezer, she thought her pen pal might want it back. She pretended to be upset, she cried hysterically to the point where the police had to wait to speak to her. All while thinking of the way her throat opened up like a second, bigger mouth for her to do all of her talking and eating with.

When she was finally brought home in a squad car, there was a news team that arrived on the scene and she was bombarded with questions despite how distressed she appeared. But then she looked into the camera, "Whoever did this... You're nothing and I'm not afraid of you." Before she could say another word, a police officer began shooing the press away as he guided her to her home.

Analise went inside, shut the door behind her, and smiled. This was the most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to her in her entire life and she wanted desperately for it to continue. She decided that she wouldn't message him yet, she wanted him to see her on the news. To see that not only had she got someone to call it in, but that she'd given a statement and was bold enough to taunt him on television. Still, she sat in front of her computer, unable to sleep, waiting for a message from him.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The man finished his meal, and felt a sense of peace. His hunger satiated, for both food and killing, he tapped his fingers against the keyboard, and re-read the messages from Analise. He knew what she looked like, where she lived, and worked, but he still didn't really know her. What drove her desire to post to the message board, and engage in conversation with him? What he was doing, really, as he contemplated those questions, was passing time in the hope that she'd respond. Possibly she was at her neighbours right now. How would she react, how would she feel? So much more graphic than what was shown on film, it was the smell of death, more than the sight, which got to most people.

His eyes closed as he relaxed and replayed the night's events over in his head. The images and sounds returned in full, glorious, detail. Whitney's expression of pure terror; her shaking body, quivering lips, and quaking, tremulous voice when he'd pressed her against the kitchen wall, and held the blade to her chin. The scream - not a loud one - of disbelief and shock as he'd slapped the woman, then slammed his fist into her soft gut with enough force to cause her to keel over and expel every last breath of air.

The manner in which she'd squirmed from his touch, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land as he'd brought out his cigarette lighter, and pressed the cold metal to her arm. She'd wanted to beg him to stop, but had been unable to form the words. Then the expression of pure relief as she'd dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around his legs, and breathlessly thanked him when he put the lighter away, and promised that she would be safe. If she just told him what he needed to know. The stupid bitch had believed him.

He'd laughed minutes later when, almost in slow-motion, her two hands moved up to clasp her neck, and her eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Her gaze lifted to his, then flitted down to focus on the flow of blood which had suddenly erupted from her throat. He'd cut her jugular, then dug the point of the knife into her skin and twisted the blade. Her face screwed up in pain, and Whitney emitted a soundless scream. Air whistled and gurgled through the ragged hole he'd cut, and all colour drained from her face. She'd finally realised what he had done.

The man had stood motionless, one hand curled in the kneeling woman's hair, and the other holding the knife at his side, until her body went limp, and eyes glazed over. She'd barely still been breathing when he'd stripped her naked, bound her with her own clothes to the kitchen table, and stuffed the panties in her mouth. His exertions had aroused him so he pulled his cock from his pants and ejaculated on her stomach. By the time he'd selected a kitchen knife from the block that sat on the counter, with which to carve the crucifix into her skin, she was dead. At least her weight problems were now over. Every cloud had a silver lining.

He was aware most serial killers left a distinct signature, and tended to stay within their own ethnic group. They usually also selected prey of a similar nature; whether that be age, physical appearance, the colour of their hair and eyes, or just easy marks such as hookers and runaway's. Although his initial two had been the latter, they'd nothing else in common. He wanted this scene, and Whitney's wounds, to be appear sufficiently different, so that the three crimes wouldn't be immediately connected to each other. If at all.

The hooker was African-American, no younger than thirty, her body bruised and battered by his fists, with no cuts to her body. Except for the slit throat. The runaway had been an eighteen-year old Caucasian, and he'd mutilated her with a sharp blade, before he'd finished the job with a tyre iron. He'd then sat back to watch the brain fluid leak from the hole in the skull, and listen to her babble and moan incoherently, until such time as she joined the Grim Reaper. None of her lacerations exhibited any religious symbolism. Whitney was neither hooker nor runaway. She was a middle-income, middle-class, thirty something woman, living in a nice, safe neighbourhood.

The man whistled as he finished the crucifix with a flourish, then chopped off her finger. He'd removed an ankle bracelet from the whore, and a navel ring from the other, but this was his first body part. Although he wasn't some sick fuck like Jeffrey Dahmer, who planned to eat it - that was just wrong - it still would have been more fun if she'd been alive and conscious as he performed the amputation. However the man had other priorities, and beggars couldn't be choosers. He tossed the severed digit under the sofa for Analise to discover.

After returning to the present in the restaurant, he checked a few websites for breaking stories on the murder, but found none. It had been after midnight when he'd finished with Whitney, and he decided that Analise had either discovered what had happened to her chubby friend - and was terrified out of her wits - or had retired for the night, and not yet read his message. He hoped it was the second. The killing had relieved his urge, but also left him wired and wide awake. The man knew there was no point in returning home, he'd be unable to sleep.

Analise's street was dark and silent when he re-entered half an hour later. No lights, no flashing sirens, no sign of life at all. That reassured him that Whitney's body had not yet been found, and that his new pen pal wasn't working with the FBI to set up some kind of trap. He settled in the vehicle with a pair of binoculars taken from the cache of hunting gear kept in the trunk, and waited. He'd parked on the corner of a side street which gave him both an escape route, and an unobstructed view of Whitney's and Analise's residences.

His body straightened when a short time after sunrise, he heard a door open and shut. And, there she was. Good Morning Analise. He lifted the binoculars, and zoomed in to follow her movements. She was headed to her neighbours, and he felt a strange sensation flow through his body. Excitement? Fear? Nerves? Adrenaline? The man wasn't sure, but it was unlike anything he'd ever previously experienced, and made him want to slide down the window and scream for her to hurry.

"Fuck". His hand slammed against the steering wheel as she casually knocked on the door, waited a minute or two, then gave up and set out on her jog. He should have known by her relaxed countenance that she hadn't walked up expecting to enter a murder scene out of some horror movie. She was yet read his message.

The man was tempted to follow, but decided against it. She'd be back. He debated his next move, and was still doing so when she returned. His gaze followed her into the house, and he had his fingers on the car-door handle when she came bursting back out. The expression on her face was completely different than it had been earlier, and he felt that sensation again. Even more strongly this time.

He knew the layout from the previous night, and as Analise banged on her neighbours door, then made her way around the back, he slipped from his vehicle, and cautiously entered Whitney's yard. He arrived just in time to see Analise through the kitchen window, holding her nose and dry retching. However, she seemed to recover quickly, and was soon taking a good, close, look at her first corpse. Then she disappeared from sight, only to reappear moments later, with a plastic bag which she slipped into her jacket pocket. No prizes for guessing what that contained. Good girl.

He considered waiting and greeting her outside, but still wasn't entirely certain of her reaction. The man didn't want to have to end up killing her right there and then, so instead he quietly left the yard, and returned to the car. He'd message her later. By the time he heard the scream of (fake?) terror come from Whitney's he was in the drivers seat. He passed a few police cruisers, with sirens screaming, and headed in Analise's direction, on the drive back to his apartment.

His day was busy with more clients, and the man had an incredible ability to compartmentalise. He pushed the mornings events from his mind - not totally, but enough so that they didn't consume his thoughts - until he arrived home. The first thing he saw as he fired up his computer, and switched on the television, was Analise plastered all over the evening news.

It was as if she was stared straight at him. "Whoever did this... You're nothing and I'm not afraid of you.". His jaw dropped in shock, and his body began to shake in anger. The fucking bitch had done exactly what he'd told her not to. He was going to kill her. Then, he took a deep breath, and calmed down. He'd remembered the finger. Was she just taunting him again, and putting on an act? If so, the woman had a future in Hollywood. There was only one way to find out.

Immediately the item ended, his attention turned to the message board:

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

Tsk, tsk, Analise. Do you have a death wish? I just saw you on the evening news.

Don't be concerned, I'm really not angry. Your performance was quite entertaining, and it reminded me of how attractive you are. The things I could do to you. We'd need a week.

Unlike poor Whitney. As I mentioned, chubby woman aren't my thing. You did see her naked, didn't you? Not a pretty sight. It was a struggle to get it up, let alone ejaculate. We still had fun though, and I even managed to make her scream. It's a wonder you didn't hear it next-door.

Oh, and before I forget. How was your day, did the police ask about my ring? I believe it's still missing.

So, Analise, would you like to tell me where it is? The pocket of your wind-breaker perhaps? Or were you smart enough to place it in the freezer? That's what they do in the movies, isn't it?

I'm happy to come looking if you'd prefer not to answer.

Message sent.

Let's see how the smart-ass bitch responded to that.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The waiting was the hardest part. After she'd come home, she was so excited and felt more alive than she had her entire life now that she knew he was real. He was a real killer that had shared one of his victims with her. Just idea that perhaps he'd allow her to actually see him in action filled her with glee. But as time passed, she started to wonder what would happen if he decided she would be his next victim. What if this was all an elaborate way to find his next target? Her face dropped and her shoulders slumped at the idea as she refreshed the page again only to find there was still no new messages.

As she waited to hear from her mystery man, she started wondering what he was like in real life. She imagined he had an average looking wife who made up for her looks by being able to cook and clean really well. They probably had a couple of kids that he very likely ignored and they were slowly growing to hate him. His desire to kill woman probably made it difficult to make love to his wife and she was throwing herself to every man that paid attention to her. She knew she was completely wrong about him, but it excited her to think that this killer was also a family man.

Suddenly, she remembered that she had hardly eaten anything all day as her stomach announced it's misery. Analise walked into her kitchen to make something to eat but found herself standing in front of the open freezer, starting at a three month old, half eaten pint of Ben & Jerry's that her last girlfriend had left. Behind the ice cream was the finger she'd taken from Whitney's home, Whitney's finger that her mystery man had chopped off. Everything seemed to slow down as she continued to stare at the ice cream; her breathing, her heartbeat, the hum of electricity in her home. He'll kill you, Analise. Everything sped back up to it's normal speed as she shut the freezer door and looked in her refrigerator to find a bottle of pinot noir that she had been saving for when she finished her dissertation.

She returned to her desk with a half full glass of wine and the bottle which she set on the desk as she pulled up her browser before even sitting down to see that she had a notification. Analise sat up straight as she finished the glass, poured another, and then opened the message.

A smirk played across her lips when he mentioned seeing her on the news, proud that he'd seen her, but when she learned he wasn't angry she found herself less excited. She laughed at herself thinking that she really must have a death wish if she was disappointed that he wasn't angry with her. Images of Whitney's naked, brutalized body came flooding back and she had the most unsettling feeling. It was as if she actually felt remorse. She hadn't when she was standing over her body, her wound open wide and staring at her, but now it was as if it was really real. It was like it was nothing but a daydream before but now she felt it.

She decided he was doing this on purpose, he was trying to dredge up some sort of emotion that would make her fall back and it wasn't enough. When she did finish reading the message, she looked over her shoulder at her living room windows as she tipped over and peeped out the drapes. He'd watched her when she found the body. That was the only way he could know that she put the finger in her pocket or what she was wearing. Had he watched her put it in the freezer too or was that just a good guess? She wasn't sure. Her eyes scanned the cul de sac she lived on as she chewed her plump, lower lip but she didn't see anything unfamiliar before she moved back to her chair and sipped on her wine until she finished the glass and pressed reply.

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

You have so many questions today... I'll start with the ring.

I'm afraid I was very broken up about discovering the body of my good friend and neighbor, so it's hard for me to recall whether or not the police asked about a ring. I know that you asked me to find it but I was unable to find anything that belonged to you. Perhaps you should be more careful next time.

Also, that was no performance. I must thank you for my first experience with a corpse, it made me realize how unafraid I am of death. I don't want to die, but death is actually quite beautiful. Whitney looked better than she ever had alive. However, you still mean nothing to me and I'm still not afraid of you. If you wanted to kill me, you would have come to my house and killed me. Not Whitney.

Really, that's been bothering me. Why are you messaging me? Why are you so intent on proving how hardcore you are? You know what I think? I think you want a friend, a like minded individual to share your interests with. Is that it?

Meet me. Then tell me why we're playing this game because, honestly, I've grown tired of it. Now that I think about it, I'm bored with you already.

P.S. It just so happens I have a week off, more than a week if I want. It seems I'm not emotionally or mentally stable enough to handle the world after seeing my friend's corpse.

Analise hit 'Send' and leaned back in her chair to continue drinking her wine. It wasn't long before the silence became deafening but she didn't want to watch the news. Instead, she turned on some music and started silently screaming as she tried to breathe. The events of the day, the choices she made were all crashing down on her; specifically, taunting someone who'd just killed her neighbor to send a message. She was starting to panic but told herself not to let it show just in case he was watching. Was he watching? Paranoid, she looked over at the windows even though the curtains were drawn.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The man was hungry. After sending his message, he warmed up a microwave meal, and returned to the living room, with that and a Pepsi. After rape, torture and murder, sugary soda's were his main vice, and he usually didn't drink alcohol. Not alone anyway, he'd been to known to consume a few beers on those rare occasions he socialised with his peers, and the odd glass of wine when he dined with his parents.

Which reminded him, he was due to pay them a visit. They lived in the same city, and his mother had been constantly pestering him to pop around for dinner, and asking when he was going to find a nice girl, settle down and get married. The man had been in a few relationships, but they didn't last long - the sex was too rough - and his mom had blamed the women. What was wrong with them, you're handsome, intelligent, and have an important, well-paying job; you're a great catch. Sometimes parents really didn't know their children. Next time, he might take Analise.

That thought made him chuckle as he plopped on his sofa and flicked on the television. She hadn't been forgotten, but his favourite sitcom was showing, and he'd had a long couple of days. He needed to switch off for a few minutes. Once done with the show and his appetite was satsfied, the man dropped the dishes into the sink, empty soda can in the trash, and returned to his desk. He'd heard the ping of a message arriving during one of the commercial breaks, and could only assume it was from Analise. What would she have to say this time?

His brow furrowed, and lips pursed as he read it. Then read it again. And again. The man's expression became pensive and, without realising he'd done it, one hand had curled into a fist. She was a snooty fucking bitch, and appeared to be deliberately goading. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and sat back in his chair. Anyone who watched would have thought him asleep, or meditating, as his entire body stilled, and he mulled over everything that had happened.

Was Analise toying with him, as he was with her? Was she truly not frightened in the least? That couldn't be true. If she hadn't told the police about the ring, what had she told them, and would the authorities be waiting inside if he called around, and knocked on her door? Most of all he wondered if she'd meant what she said in regards to not being scared of death, and if she'd genuinely be willing to meet

He also contemplated his own motivations. Why did he care, what did he, himself, want? The man found the answer to those questions difficult to come by, but what he did know was that the idea of Analise - a woman -, watching, encouraging and possibly participating, as he raped and tortured another, excited him. Was she right, did he want a friend, a like-minded soul he could talk to, and share with? Or did he just want to showcase his talents?

Regardless of the answer, which still wasn't clear, by the time he'd re-opened his eyes, he'd framed his response to Analise in his head, and felt more relaxed. He couldn't envisage that she'd have spilled all to the police - not from the comment she'd made about how beautiful Whitney had looked, and the request for a meet, along with the fact she'd appeared engrossed at the vision of her friends corpse, and had taken it upon herself to remove the severed finger from the scene. If he was wrong, and she had? That would make things even more exciting than they already were.

Subject: Piq Squeals

Message:

I'm a curious man.

You just made me laugh - yes, I can laugh, Analise. I don't believe a word that you wrote. I heard the fake scream from your very good friends back yard, and I saw the way you inspected her corpse, as if you were a kiddie unable to hide the excitement on her first excursion to the Zoo. It was written all over your face.

Your performance may have fooled others, but it didn't fool me. Believe me, I, of all people, know when a woman is broken, and a scream is real. However, I promise to be more careful next time, and not leave anything incriminating behind. I was in a rush..... scared of alerting the neighbours, you know?

Whitney did look beautiful, I must agree. Probably for the first time in her life. Death is nothing to be afraid of, it's the process of dying that hurts.

Do you have any idea of how close I was yesterday. Did you feel my eyes upon you? I could have taken your life before you were able to blink, if I were that way inclined. Why didn't I? Well, hookers, teenage runaways, and overweight housewives don't present much of a challenge. You, however, are different. What's the kill, without the hunt?

On the other hand, I may be looking for a friend - even a man such as me becomes lonely sometimes, Analise (Don't be sad). I'm unsure of the answer myself.

I'm enjoying the game, but if I'm so tedious to you, why answer at all, or suggest we meet? Is it me you're trying to convince, or yourself? I'm the game-master, you are merely a piece on the board. It ends when I decide it ends. Not you. If you truly want to meet, then let us do so.

Midday, the day after tomorrow. Central Station. Platform Three. Bring the ring, no Police. I'll be watching.

Until then Analise. If you dare. If not, I'll be seeing you another time.

PS: We should spend that week together. Your place or mine, or shall we take a road-trip?

Message sent.

The man sat back, and exhaled the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. A lot of what he'd written was guesswork, and all he could hope was that he'd hit the nail on the head, at least partly. Adrenaline surged through his body, in anticipation of the possibilities, and also at the fear which lurked at the back of his mind, that he might be making a terrible mistake. Though that wasn't a major concern. He was smart, and would just need to ensure all his bases were covered.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

As time dragged on while she waited for a response, Analise became restless and decided to busy herself with grading papers she'd recently collected from her students. It wasn't long before she gave up on that endeavor as the wine started to cloud her mind and she settled on something that would take a little less of her brain capacity. She sat on her living room floor with her half finished bottle of wine and read the stack of comic books she'd picked up a few days ago, every one of them of the horror genre.

Half way through the comics, her computer chimed and she looked up, narrowing her eyes to see the notification she'd been waiting for. She put down the comic book before she crawled over to the desk and pulled herself up into the chair, raking her hair back only for it to fall again and cover half of her face as she clicked.

A smile played across her lips as she read and he answered so many of the questions she hadn't even posed to him, questions she hadn't even thought of yet. He had been watching her, watching her close enough to know that her shriek of terror was all a farce. Her breath caught when he clarified that it was the process of dying one should be afraid of and confirmed her fear that this was all a game to make the kill more fun, but still by the time she'd finished reading, she was giggling as she instantly replied.

Subject: Pig Squeals

Message:

I wouldn't believe me either.

A change of scenery might be nice, let's make it a road trip.

I'll see you soon, but for now I'm off to bed. Care to join me?

LOL

She was already turning away from the computer when she clicked send and stood from her chair, standing for a moment as she tried to regain her balance. She walked across the room, retrieving the empty bottle of wine and the glass she'd foregone about halfway through the bottle. She placed everything on the counter, too drunk and tired to clean it up right away before she made her way to the bedroom and sank into her bed.

The next morning she woke to the blaring of her alarm and reached from under the mountain of blankets to turn it off before she sat up. Rubbing her eyes a vague memory of the message she'd sent came to mind as she groaned in annoyance at herself. She'd not only ignored a large portion of his message, which was abnormal but she'd invited a perfect stranger who wanted to kill her into her bed. She didn't even like men.

Half aggravated, half disgusted she dragged herself out of bed to begin her day like every other. She washed her face and brushed her teeth before changing into a sports bra and a pair of leggings, walking into the kitchen as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. As she'd told herself to the previous night, she placed the wine bottle in the recycling bin and washed out her glass before drying it and putting it in the cabinet. When she approached the door, she slowed to put on her tennis shoes and stepped outside, putting in ear buds as she surveyed the neighborhood. Once it seemed like all was well, she started on her jog, grateful to be listening to her favorite music again instead of Whitney's endless blathering.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The man's name was Peter Norris, and Peter Norris had no intentions of meeting Analise Helm at the train station. That was too dangerous. If she were in cahoots with the FBI, or changed her mind and contacted the authorities, it would be easy to block the entrances and entrap him. He may be able to take a few of them down, and go out in a blaze of glory, which is how he envisaged going out if it came to that. Suicide by Cop was a much more attractive proposition than spending the rest of his life in jail - when it came to rape, Pete preferred to be on the giving side. However, he'd still lose, and the man didn't like losing.

Additionally, it may give Analise too much time to think and get cold feet. However, with the meeting arranged, and a time and place set, she'd have something to concentrate her fears on, so that the last thing she'd be expecting was a surprise visit in the meantime. That may cause her to not be as careful about security as she otherwise would have been, and it was what the man was banking on.

He'd just pushed himself up from the seat, when a new message arrived, and his first reaction was one of surprise and confusion. He scanned it again, and again, wondering at the brevity, and 'LOL' at the end, not to mention the invitation to join her in bed. Had his last message scared her, and it was a reaction caused by fear, or nerves? Was it a show of bravery? Was she drunk? Did she somehow still think that this was all just a game? Pete contemplated those questions for a few seconds, then shrugged and closed the tab without responding. He'd be finding out soon enough, from Analise herself.

Peter spent the next hour making phone calls to reallocate his appointments for the rest of the week, and doing some googling. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and where to find it, and it was no more than a quick refresher course. Pete had studied before in the event that he ever needed to make use of the implements which were stored in a leather case in his bedroom closet. Time for another excursion.

After gathering his tools, and changing into a pair of Levi's and a white open-necked tee, Pete Norris left his apartment, locked the door behind him, entered his vehicle, and made the journey to Analise's neigbourhood. Once again, it was dark and silent, with no sign of life. It could have been anywhere in Suburban America. The only thing of note was the yellow crime-scene tape which decorated the residence next door to Ms Helm's. However, there was no movement from within - the techs must have finished their work - and the man sat back to wait.

He knew Analise's morning routine from his discussion with Whitney, and didn't think the murder and mutilation of her neighbour, and cyber interactions with the psychotic serial killer who'd threatened that she could be next, would be enough to stop Analise from undertaking her daily jog. After all, what was more important to a woman than keeping in shape, and ensuring that she looked the best she could. Particularly to one such as Ms Helm, who appeared to be just overflowing with pride if her taunting messages were any indication.

Pete was right. At around the same time as the previous day her door opened, and his nerves tingled in anticipation. "Morning Analise, thanks for inviting me". He appraised the woman, and sat still and silent as she began to jog. He didn't move until she'd disappeared from his sight.

When she had, Peter Norris exited his vehicle, entered Analise's back yard, and within minutes had removed a pane of glass from the kitchen window. That allowed him to unlatch it, and a short time later, he was inside her house. He'd been concerned about an alarm, but heard nothing. This was a safe neighbourhood. The man took a quick glance around her residence, but only an idle one. He hadn't come for the furnishings.

Thirty seconds after entering the house, Peter Norris - rapist and triple murderer - was seated in one of Analise's arm-chairs, with his legs crossed, and the handgun he'd removed from the cache in his trunk pointed at the doorway. It wasn't his favourite choice of weapon, too impersonal, but the sight of it trained on her gut would hopefully stop the woman from running.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Jogging was always the best way for Analise to clear her mind, forty-five minutes out of her day that she didn't spend analyzing or speculating or anything other than focusing on her heart beat and taking even breaths. Today, she did not have that luxury. Every time she thought of the message she'd sent last night, she winced and cursed herself. The only positive she could think of was that she'd at least told him she was going to bed, she remembered it seemed to bother him when she left without saying goodbye. Other than that, it was a disaster that tore down the facade she'd created for herself.

On the return trip home her thoughts strayed to their meeting that would happen the next day, she needed only to survive the night without dying from anticipation and she would be meeting him. She convinced herself that it was a public place and she'd be safe but she started to wonder what would happen if he coaxed her into going elsewhere. The image of her lifeless body in his trunk was all she could envision as she pushed herself to run faster, if she ran faster, she would think less.

When she came to her front door she was almost completely out of breath as she bent down with her hands on her knees in an attempt to get some air. Finally, she stood up straight, about to open her door when she got a call. Her smartphone that she was using to listen to her music was strapped to her bicep which she reached towards and tapped a button to answer the call as she pulled one ear bud out. "Hey, Aunt Becky," she chimed, her voice giving away no notion of her inner turmoil. Her aunt was also an early riser and possibly the reason Analise was an early riser, as a child she woke every morning to help her aunt with chores on the small farm just outside the city. It seemed Aunt Becky saw her niece on the news and wanted to check to make sure she was alright, "Oh, I'm fine, really," she insisted as she paced on her front porch, "I'm taking some time off to recover, the police were very nice." She was having trouble with her masks, she didn't knew if she should seem upset or talk about how prompt and precise the task force on the case had been. "No, you guys don't need to come out here. I know how much Uncle David hates the city. I'm fine, I pro-" She had been talking as she opened her front door and stopped short when she saw a man sitting in her living room.

Quickly, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, "Aunt Becky, I have to go. I'll call you later." Her tone was calm and even. She waited patiently for the woman on the other end to finish her goodbyes, "I love you too." Her breath caught at the end as she stared at the gun pointed at her and wondered if it was the last time she would tell her aunt that she loved her. The phone ended the call as her aunt hung up the phone and part of Analise wished she hadn't, "Pig squeals," she breathed as if she'd only just realized this was the man from the forums. Her knees pressed together in an attempt to remain standing as she started to feel a bit light headed, having a gun aimed at her just after a jog was a bit too much stress for her heart and lungs. A gun. In that split second she started to put her brain to use. If she knew anything about this man, he wasn't going to shoot her. Each one of his kills were up close and personal, and if she was the big game, he'd want to draw out his time with her as long as he could.

Analise gave a small smile as she pushed herself away from the door and took slow steps towards the man in her chair. "It's nice to finally meet you. Please excuse the mess," she gestured towards the scattered comic books on her living room floor, "I didn't know I'd be entertaining company this morning." Her jade green orbs stayed fixed on him, ignoring the gun, ignoring the fear as she made a gamble just to keep up the appearance of being tough and unaffected.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Peter smiled as he saw the cache of horror comics spilled across the carpet, and picked one up to flick through as he waited. Analise certainly had some unusual tastes. The gun remained pointed at the doorway, but his finger had left the trigger. If the previous day had been an indication, it would be at least half an hour until she returned, and he needed a distraction to take his mind off his own nerves.

The man was human, and although his posture was casual, and countenance relaxed, the pages of the comic trembled slightly as he turned them, and his pulse raced. He was still uncertain which way this would go, and how Analise would react on finding him here. Truthfully, he didn't even know his own motivations. Was he here to torture and kill the woman because she had taunted him, and posed a threat to his freedom? Or was it to talk, and ascertain if Analise had been telling the truth about her own desires, and was capable of becoming an accomplice with whom he could share his depraved acts? He wasn't used to being unsure, and didn't like the feeling.

As he heard a noise at the front door, the comic book dropped from his hand, his body stiffened, the handgun rose, and his index finger moved to the trigger. Pete felt a chill run through his body when he heard her voice. Talking to someone on the phone. His eyes darted side to side, and for an instant he contemplated leaving the room, and waiting for the call to finish. However, he realised that it was probably too late, she'd hear the noise, or get a glimpse of him through the open doorway, and that would give her an opportunity to escape. If she screamed, he'd just have to shoot her in the head and leave. Not his preferred option. He enjoyed their chats, and was looking forward to spending some quality time with the woman.

He took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax and listen to Analise's side of the conversation, with his eyes fixated on the doorway. When she stepped into view, he cocked an eyebrow, and the gun in his hand waved for her to come further into the room. The bitch was good, he had to give her that. She didn't scream, faint, or fall to the ground in shock. Her face didn't go pale and her knees didn't buckle, although he thought he noticed a slight trembling, and a brief hint of fear and shock in her expression, as she whispered under her breath and ended the call. Good girl. She was going to be fun either way. A real challenge to break.

"Hello Analise". Pete returned the greeting, and stood up from the chair. "Not expecting company? But you invited me, last night. Don't you remember? The idea had me so excited that I thought I'd accept, rather than wait for our date. I must say, you're a very attractive woman, and I imagine great in the sack? I'm sure I'll find out." Pete shrugged, as if that were a foregone conclusion, and glanced at the comics at his feet. "Don't worry about the mess, I've seen worse. Whitney's kitchen, for example. All that blood. Did I mention I like it rough?" Pete Norris was completely at ease, and in control of himself, as he decided enough was enough and it was time to end the games.

His eyes narrowed, his friendly demeanour changed, and the conversational tone of voice he'd been using suddenly turned cold. Slowly he lowered the nozzle of the gun from Analise's chest, where it had been directed, to her stomach, and he smiled without mirth. "You know, I've read if you shoot someone in the stomach with a small calibre handgun, it takes them an eternity to bleed out. Most of the time, they don't even die. Pure agony. It's something I've always wanted to try. What do you think, honey" Pete cocked an eyebrow, and increased the pressure of his finger on the trigger. "Does that sound fun? You have five minutes to convince me why it shouldn't be you"

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Analise stopped once she was just a few feet away from the perfect stranger in her house and her head tilted slightly as she noticed that he looked completely normal, or would have if it weren't for the gun he was pointing at her. She wasn't sure what sort of hell spawn she had imagined would crawl out of it's basement and into her home when she gave the invitation, but she hadn't imagined he would be quite so handsome. The gun. He was pointing a gun at her, she had to remind herself that now wasn't the time to rank his looks. Especially considering how good looking he was made no difference to her. There was a tug at the corners of her lips as he complimented her and assumed he would soon learn of her sexual prowess. It gave her so much satisfaction to turn men down and tell them she was only interested in the fairer sex, but she was certain that bit of information would agitate him and that wasn't what she wanted to do. Instead, she listened.

The way he spoke in circles had distracted the poor woman enough so that she nearly missed that he'd lowered the aim of his gun. Her lips parted slightly as if she were going to say something as she eyed the gun, but she stayed quiet and her eyes met with his when he spoke again. Analise slowly closed her eyes and opened them again as her muscles tensed when he called her 'honey.' She couldn't say why but when he called her that, it made her want to become violent. Her thoughts couldn't linger on the answer to that question as he posed a life threatening question to her.

At first, she thought of shrugging and telling him she didn't see why it shouldn't be her, that he'd worked hard for the kill and should enjoy it. Her eyes widened as even thinking of responding that way shocked her, she worked far too hard to become the woman she was to simply throw it away because he'd earned it. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of watching her beg either. Analise's brow furrowed as she looked past him, thoughtfully, "I suppose I have a few reasons. The first is rather selfish," her features softened as her eyes focused on him once more. "I'm sure you remember the contents of my first post on the forums? I want to watch you torture and kill someone. I want to enjoy it," she shrugged as she dared to take another step closer, "And while shooting me just to watch me bleed out would certainly give me a first hand experience, I highly doubt I'd enjoy it. Perhaps we could find someone who looks like me, since I tickle your fancy so. Or a black girl, I've always loved black girls. Are you partial to them, too? I recall one of your victims being black or was that just the luck of the draw?"

She waved a hand as if that was completely unimportant as she continued to close the gap between them, "Anyways... The other reason is if I go missing, you'll have quite a lot of pressure on you. I mean, for me to go missing just after I so bravely called out the sick man who murdered my neighbor in cold blood, you'd just be begging for them to come find you. Did you know I work for the FBI? Those boys are really good at what they do. Even when you think there isn't a shred of evidence that could be traced back to you, they find it. Oh, and there's the patrol car that comes by every night now to check on me." She pulled the other ear bud from her ear and draped the length of the cable around her neck, "Lastly, I think I'd like to be your friend," she said it as if even she was surprised at the idea. She smiled, "I think you'd like that too. You didn't really come here to kill me, did you..." Her voice trailed off, "I don't even know your name."

By now she was standing directly in front of him as she leaned forward and gently slid her fingers over his hand that was gripping the gun, her other hand placed on the arm rest while her ample breasts nearly spilled out of her sports bra. She cocked her head, "Come on," she cooed, "put the gun down and let's get to know one another." Using her feminine wiles was something she was very good at even though she didn't put the skill to use often, it was always just so easy given the way she looked.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Peter Norris wasn't totally surprised by Analise's reaction - or more the point, lack of reaction - to the gun aimed at her stomach, and the threat to gut her with a bullet. In fact he was quite impressed, and his admiration for the woman grew, though of course, he wasn't going to admit to that fact. The only noticeable emotion came when he used the word honey. Pete inwardly chuckled, and filed that piece of information away for future use, as he awaited a response.

The man's lips pursed as he attempted to gauge her inner thoughts in the brief time it took Analise to provide it. He'd seen the way she had appraised him, and an eyebrow had raised. What was she expecting? For him to have "murderer/rapist" stamped on his forehead? That image caused his lips to curl into a mocking smile, which remained on his face as she spoke. He didn't issue a word, or react to the touch of her fingers on his skin - not even when they moved to the hand in which he held the weapon - until she was done, and attempted to display no concern or care at her mention of the FBI, or the implicit threat of the nightly patrolman. If Analise could hide her inner emotions so well, Peter Norris wasn't a stranger to doing so either. There was no sign of the nerves he felt, or the chill that ran through his body. His facial didn't expression didn't change, although he developed a tic in one eye, and his neck muscles twitched as he found himself needing to resist the urge to glance at the window and ensure the curtains were drawn.

When she'd finished, and with their bodies almost touching, Pete moved. He lowered his gaze to take a long, lingering look at the cleavage which he guessed Analise had deliberately revealed, and placed his free hand over the top of hers, to stop it from plucking the weapon from his fingers. "The Police, and possibly the FBI, are already searching for me, Ms Helm. I've murdered three times. What makes you think a fourth would provide them with any more evidence than they have now?" His focus left her breasts, and returned to her face. A smirk played across his lips. "I'm getting better at this, not worse. As for the patrolman, night is an eternity away. By the time he's due, you'd either be bound and gagged in my trunk, or naked, bleeding and begging for mercy in some dark, cold, lonely place where no-one could hear your screams. If there's one thing I've learned from our chats, it's that I enjoy the chase. The battle of wits and competition has been more stimulating than I could ever have imagined, and all that attention you received on the evening news made me a little jealous. I crave my own. Not that you'd get the pleasure of seeing them capture me anyway, you'd be dead". The man shrugged, and gently pried her fingers loose of the grip they held on his gun hand, so that he could raise the weapon and touch it to her lips.

"Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, it doesn't matter to me, and whilst I appreciate your offer". The man kept the tip of the gun barrel pressed against Analise's lips for a few moments, before he inched it back and began to run it down her body. The touch was so light, it could have almost been the caress of a lover's fingers. He ran it over the skin of her neck, her throat, her chest, then lower still. It slipped under the material of her bra, and a half-inch of cold blue steel came to rest between her ample breasts. "I'm not one to enjoy women who give themselves up too easily". Pete spoke as he began to draw the material back from Analise's body, and lowered his gaze briefly to take a look at his work. "It's the chase which arouses me. The resistance. The capture. The pain". Then his head lifted, and he smiled. "Nice tits".

The smile became a laugh, and the fabric of her bra snapped back into place, as he withdrew the weapon, ejected the cartridges, tossed the gun on the sofa, and stepped back so that they were no longer touching. "But that doesn't mean we can't be friends. I don't have many of those. People tend to piss me off. You want us to get to know each other. Ladies first. Why isn't a woman like you married, Ms Helm? Can't find a man good enough? Or was my guess correct, are you a dyke?" Immediately the words left his mouth, Pete shook his head and lifted a hand in apology. "I'm sorry, that was incredibly rude. I've been awake all night, and that makes me tired and irritable. Why don't we get down to the real matter at hand".

All mirth and good humour left his expression, and tone. "You want to watch whilst I rape and murder a woman?" He paused momentarily, but not for her to respond - the question had already been answered without prompting, Pete was just choosing his next words. He was capable, but was she? Lingering doubts remained. "If you truly mean it, if you believe you can handle the real thing, we're going to take a drive after we've finished becoming acquainted. A test run, so to speak. I want you to pick her out. In the meantime, how about you brew us a coffee, and show me the rest of the house. I hope it has a basement?"

The murderer and rapist proffered his hand, as casually as if he were sealing a business transaction. "You can call me Pete. Do we have a deal, Analise?"

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

It seemed her warnings had struck a chord with him as she watched his eye and neck muscles twitch. She thought she'd been successful as a smirk played on her lips when his eyes almost immediately dropped to her chest, men were such simple creatures to manipulate. Or so she thought before he placed his hand over hers, wiping that smirk clean off of her face as soon as he spoke. She wasn't at all accustomed to being outplayed by anyone but so far her new friend seemed to have trained for just that reason all his life. Analise was frozen once their eyes met again, but it wasn't fear that made her stand motionless, it felt more like the calm before the storm. The smirk that he seemed to have stolen from her own lips was making it very difficult for her to remain calm, however, as her eyes narrowed and he made it very clear that her scare tactics were not working. His confidence was so aggravating that she couldn't enjoy the fact that her debut on the news had made him jealous. It was even more difficult as he pulled her fingers away with little force, not that he needed to use much since she was already starting to pull away.

Analise took a breath through her nose and did not exhale when he brought the gun to her lips as she tilted her head just slightly away, her eyes still locked with his as he revealed that he was an equal opportunity murderer/rapist. Her nostrils flared as the gun made it's way down her body, gentle but cold like the touch of Death himself. The corner of her lips nearly curled into a sneer as the gun made it's way under her bra, her body pulled forward just slightly as he tugged at the fabric. Still, she connected with all of what he said, her mind distracted by films she'd watched where her favorite scenes were those involving the strong heroine who did everything she could to fend off her assailants. Especially when it ended with her eventual demise. Her brow furrowed as he suddenly smiled at her before complimenting what the good Lord had given her.

As her bra snapped back, she straightened up and took a step back. Unsure if this was the maniacal laughter of a murderer about to kill someone or if he really had tickled himself by catching a peek of her tits, she eyed him carefully and didn't exhale until he unloaded the gun. Her eyes narrowed further as she paid very close attention to his speech pattern, reading between the lines. It was as if what he really meant to say was that he didn't mind being friends with her until he did ultimately decide to kill her. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes widened in shock at the idea, but as he apologized it seemed he thought her reaction was to him calling her a dyke. Honestly, the word didn't bother her in the slightest, few words did. Except for the way he called her honey.

When he seemed suddenly serious, however, her attention was indeed pulled back to the matter at hand. She cocked her head to one side as she stared at his hand and pondered about the deal she was making. She wondered why he wanted a tour of her house or why it mattered if she had a basement. She wondered if she was wrong about what she'd read between the lines, hoped she was wrong as she reached out to take his hand and shake.

"We have a deal, Pete," she said finally as she turned to walk to the kitchen casually, as if she made coffee for serial killers on a daily basis. Inside there were a million alarms going off, screaming at her to seek help while she did everything she could to silence them. Starting the coffee was the first thing she'd use to distract herself from those alarms. "I suppose I should tell you," starting a conversation was the second thing, "Your guess about me was right. I'm a lesbian. Still haven't found the right girl yet. They can never seem to give me enough of themselves or they give me too much." She added the last part as she recalled her latest ex-girlfriend who had practically moved herself into Analise's home without her permission. As she spoke she filled the coffee pot with water, placed the filter, and scooped coffee inside before she started the appliance. She crossed over to the refrigerator where she grabbed a bottle of water and began to chug, somehow keeping in mind that she needed to re-hydrate after her run even after her scare with Pete. Pete, it was such a terribly normal name. The very same name of the little boy who had tormented her by pulling her hair, biting her, and calling her names in the first grade. Her aunt told her not to be upset, that boys had a different way of showing that they liked a girl. The opinion that all boys were stupid was formed then and it stuck with her.

Analise wiped away water from her the corners of her mouth with her wrist before she set the bottle down on the counter and leaned against it with one hand as she stared at him. "What about you? Any special women in your life aside from your mother," she gave the most pleasant small as she took a jab at him that she thought would pale in comparison to him holding her at gun point. It also seemed she was no less snarky in person -after being held at gun point- than online. Coffee started to drip into the pot as she waited for his answer.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Pete was becoming more and more enamoured with Analise. He'd shown the gun, once before, to the prostitute, who'd immediately become such a sobbing, whimpering mess that the offer of a free blowjob if he promised not to shoot had to be repeated three times before he understood what she had said. Pete had agreed, and after she was done, he'd beat her half to death with his fists and finished the job with a knife instead.

Analise, however, barely flinched at the sight of it, or the feel of the cold steel pressed against her skin as it made its way to her breasts. The calmness made Pete curious about just how much it would take to break the woman down enough so that she dropped to her knees and begged for her life. Or her death. That Pete would one day discover precisely how much, he had no doubt. Whether that be in the very near future, or in the months to come when he became bored of her, as he eventually would, was dependent on how their excursion panned out that evening.

The tick in his eye had ceased as he'd ejected the bullets and tossed the gun on the sofa. If there was one thing the man didn't lack, it was confidence in his own ability. From research, what brought most killers of his type undone was not evidence left at the crime scene, but simple coincidence, careless mistakes, or bad luck. He was more intelligent than the rest of them combined, and wouldn't commit the same errors. Pete also held the opinion that you made your own luck.

The comment to Analise about being a dyke, although seemingly offhand, was deliberate. As was the apology, intended to sound sincere and conciliatory, which immediately followed. Pete Norris had many a personality, and the capability to display any one of them virtually whenever he wished. Ms Helm was too cocky and sure of herself for his liking, and the sudden changes were designed to keep her off balance. He thought he'd achieved his goal when he noted the expression of shock cross her features, and assumed it caused by the abruptness of his words.

Pete was tempted to drop his gaze and allow it to linger on her tits, just to piss her off, as he offered his hand. However, he forced them to remain on hers. The man was certain he'd receive another opportunity to appreciate her assets, and what was more important now was to be able to gauge Analise's emotions and thoughts when she agreed to the deal. That she would agree was beyond dispute - a refusal would be as good as signing her own death warrant - , so it was her eyes and facial expression which would tell the real story. Apart from a slight hesitation, which Pete considered natural in the circumstances, her acceptance appeared to be sincere. No hint that she was looking for a way to back out. "I'm glad, Analise. You get to live a little longer". He released his grip, and followed her to the kitchen.

The man leaned against the door jamb, with one ankle crossed over the other, and waited for her to initiate the conversation. He'd expected nerves, or for Analise to query why he'd mentioned the basement, or ask what he had planned that night, so when she instead talked about her sexual orientation, he was surprised. Pete had almost forgotten he'd brought it up. His gaze briefly appraised the surroundings as he processed the information, then returned to Analise. He would have offered to help prepare the coffee - Pete wasn't one of those men who thought it a woman's job to provide dinner and beverages on demand -, but didn't know where anything was, and would just get in the way. The fact she was a lesbian didn't surprise him, though he did feel a slight sense of disappointment upon hearing his suspicions confirmed. As Analise switched on the pot, and moved to grab a water, he stepped into the kitchen. Before the refrigerator door closed, he plucked a bottle for himself from the shelf, twisted off the top, lifted it to his mouth, and finished half the contents in one gulp.

He'd just turned to face her again when he heard the taunt about his mother, and for the first time since he'd met Analise, the man felt a flare of real anger. If there was one person in the world that Pete Norris could be said to feel emotion for - not love, he wasn't capable of that -, it was his Mother, and the fact that his bitch had dared speak about her pissed him off in a way that he couldn't recall happening before. Not even in the midst of his sprees. Without thinking, Pete slammed the refrigerator door shut, dropped the water bottle on the floor, and in less than a second he had reached Analise with his fist clenched, and arm drawn back. With his other hand on her shoulder, he shoved her against the kitchen counter, and let the strike go. The back of his hand, and knuckles, aimed directly for the woman's cheekbone.

As quickly as the anger had come, it departed, and Pete regained control. He was good at that. His fist stopped an inch from her face, and the man emitted a mirthless laugh. Instead of striking her, he hooked her chin with his fingers, and his eyes bore into hers. "Scared Analise? I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. My Mother has class. Unlike you. Maybe I should take you to dinner, and you can explain how we met. I'm sure she'll be impressed by what a lady you are?" Pete then leaned forward, placed his lips next to her ear, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "And as far you being a lesbian, I couldn't care less. If I ever decide to fuck you, Analise, your pleasure will have nothing to do with it. Consider that next time you're about to disrespect me."

Finished with the threat, the man straightened, loosened his grip, and turned his back to check the coffee. Friendly Pete reappeared as he carried on the conversation without pause. As if to demonstrate that he was in control, and what Analise may think was of no consequence, Peter hadn't even bothered to wait to see her reaction to his words, or the fact she'd almost been struck by his fist. He was sure he'd soon hear about it regardless. "I'd like to listen to your ex-lover's side of the story, because I envisage you're not the easiest person to be in a relationship with, Analise. Or is just me who brings out your inner bitch?" He lifted a hand to wave off any response, and his tone turned to one of self deprecation. "There's no special women in my life. I've been in a few relationships, but none have lasted. Some say I'm too controlling. Imagine that? Others just haven't been kinky enough for my tastes, or couldn't match my sex-drive. I've never found one that interested me enough to want to keep around. Not alive anyway".

Pete returned the coffee pot to the plate - it was almost ready - and swiveled to finally check on Analise "That's enough sharing. We need to discuss the details of the murder. I don't want you to be a liability, but there's no reason to fret. It's much like losing your virginity. Somewhat nerve-wracking, but once it's over and done with, you wonder what all the fuss was about to begin with. There'll be plenty of other opportunities to get to know each other better once I move in."

As his eyes lifted to find her, a small part of him concerned that she may have thought to pick up a kitchen knife whilst his back was turned, Pete wondered how long it would take for Analise to recognise the import of that last statement. "Where do you keep the sugar?"

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The moment he grabbed her to shove her against the counter, she sucked in a breath of air as her body went rigid and her eyes closed in an attempt to brace herself for the blow. At the same time, she bit her lower lip which had been a failed attempt to hide her smile. It was always the same with serial killers, they were all attached to their mothers in some way and his response to her taunt had proved that point. When the blow didn’t come and she instead felt his fingers at her chin, she opened her eyes to meet with his as she let go of her lip for it to turn down into a frown. It might have seemed like she was afraid or upset and she thought she should be, but she was only disappointed.

His insults didn’t bother her much. She knew exactly what sort of woman she was and classy wasn’t a word she would use to describe herself. But as he leaned in, his warm breath against her ear, she shifted beneath him as she shrugged one shoulder towards the ear he whispered into. His threat that she felt he was more than capable of making good on, didn’t scare her. It did, however, unnerve her that the more they interacted with one another the bolder he seemed to become. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before she became one of his victims and she thought she should come up with a contingency plan. What that plan was, she had no idea.

When he let her go, she lowered herself so she was standing flat on her feet instead of the tips of her toes. A reaction she hadn’t realized she made in effort to get away from him when he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. Analise glared at the back of his head when he turned away as some part of her insisted that she couldn’t let him just get away with making such a threat. She reached towards the counter, still eyeing him as her hand hovered over the knife set before moving away to pull a few paper towels from the roll. She got down on one knee and used the towels to clean up the water that was spilling from the bottle he dropped, her hands shaking out of pure anger and adrenaline as her heart beat against her chest. If she tried to kill him now and if she was successful, she would never have the opportunity to watch him work. And that was a great deal more important than getting revenge over a comment he'd made.

She scoffed when he question if it was just him that brought out her inner bitch as if he were some special snowflake that brought out her inner demon. Her eyes flicked up at him as he waved his hand and she continued patting at the water as not to just swish it around while he talked about his love life. She could have easily guessed any of the reasons he gave for being single, but part of her wondered if it was at all possible for a man like Pete to settle down. Analise wrinkled her nose at the thought as such an image seemed like a waste of a man like him.

It had been her prerogative to not think of their ride or of the woman she would select herself before watching her die. As much as she did want this, she was human and not at all impervious to a case of nerves. But Pete was right, it would be better to discuss such matters to lessen her nerves rather than it be the cause of their demise. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she nearly missed his comment before asking where the sugar was.

Analise stood with the empty bottle and a bundle of wet paper towels that she walked over to the trash can, gesturing towards two ceramic containers on the counter. One read ‘Flour’ and the other ‘Sugar.’ Her mind was still considering all the things that happened in a single moment, the most peculiar part to her was how quickly he went from being calm, to angry, to friendly. Just as she dropped the paper towels into the trash, her head snapped up, “Move in?” She walked over to him and crossed her arms just under her breasts which only pushed them up and together more. “What do you mean move in,” she asked slowly as she narrowed her eyes at him and prayed that she had misunderstood him.

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Analise was on her knees, well one anyway, as Pete's gaze drifted down to locate her. The man thought the position quite appropriate, considering his future plans for Ms Helm. However, discretion being the better part of valour, he refrained from expressing that opinion aloud. Instead, he asked about the sugar, and nodded at the paper towels in her hand. No sign of a knife. "Sorry about the mess". Neither of them mentioned the incident which had occurred only moments before. If anyone had walked in, the scene would have appeared no different from any other occurring in millions of homes across the country at that very same time. A cosy domesticity between husband and wife. Except they weren't married, and the man was a serial killer who'd just threatened to rape her.

As he leaned against the kitchen counter, where Analise had so recently rested herself, Pete made a mental note that they'd need to call in to the grocery store, and pick up a case of Pepsi. He hadn't noted any soda in the refrigerator - the bitch probably survived on tofu and water - so in it's absence, three or four spoon fulls of sweetener in his coffee would have to suffice. He'd just placed his hand on the container when he was distracted by movement in his peripheral vision, and Analise's question. It appeared his statement had finally sunk in. It had taken long enough. Maybe she wasn't as quick on the uptake as he'd given her credit for? Then, as he placed the sugar on the benchtop next to the brewing coffee, and turned to face her, the man mentally scolded himself. That was a touch unfair, the woman had a lot on her plate.

Pete Norris crossed his arms over his chest to match Analise's posture. This was going to be fun. His eyebrow raised quizzically as if to ask exactly what it was she hadn't comprehended, and that cocky, taunting smirk played across his lips. A brief glance at her tits - if she was going to put them on show, why not? - then his focus returned to her face, and Pete sighed theatrically. When he spoke, it was slowly, and clearly, so that there would be no misunderstanding. "What do I mean? Did you think tonight was going to be it, Analise? That we'd find some woman to beat, rape and kill, then I'd disappear in a puff of smoke, and you'd be left alone to get on with your life?" Pete's head shook, as if he couldn't believe her naivety. "This evening is just the beginning. A test run to make sure you won't disappoint. Only after you've proved yourself capable, will I give you what you really want. The opportunity to watch a woman being tortured. Slowly. For that, we need a place to keep her."

The murder of Whitney had satiated his need to kill, and that relief, combined with the chance encounter with Analise, had brought him a new focus. What he spoke about now were his own desires - the killing that night, and any others to follow, would no longer be caused by an urge that he fought to control, but by a want. For no other reason than he'd enjoy it, and if Pete had a willing accomplice to perform in front of, so much the better. Maybe he'd ask Analise to film? "My apartment is too small, and the neighbour's too close, but here? It's perfect. Particularly since the residence next door is currently vacant, and most likely will be for some time. It's always so difficult to sell a place whose occupant has just been brutally slaughtered." Pete's tone had momentarily turned light, and he'd chuckled, as if pleased with his wit. Then he became deadly serious again.

His question about the basement was still to be answered, but if one didn't exist, there were other alternatives. The mans eyes darkened and pupil's narrowed as he inched his face closer to Analise's, and lowered his voice to a whisper. There was an intensity and passion in his demeanour which he hadn't displayed previously. "We can hold them as long as we like. Imagine the possibilities. What we can do, how we can make them suffer" Pete himself didn't even realise he'd switched from the singular, to the plural - multiple women. His eyebrow raised, and although his next words were framed as a question, they carried within them a threat. The murderer wasn't requesting Analise's permission to move in; simply expressing his intent to do so as a statement of fact. "I hope it's not a problem, Ms Helm?"

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The smirk on his face as he eyed her was enough to make Analise want to smack it right off, but she started to distract herself once again. Hitting the man who had just shown how quick and violent he could be was probably not the best route. She thought of the last time she could remember having a room mate. It was in her freshman year of college-- within the first two weeks she had acquired two jobs so that she could afford her own apartment the following semester. She had grown very accustomed to living alone and took great joy in her solitude, the was very little will to change any of that. Let alone allow a serial killer to be the one to change that.

Suddenly, the Pete that most people knew went away and Analise was staring into the eyes of a monster whose only desire was to hold a woman's life in his hands before he snuffed it out. Analise knew that look should repulse her, should cause her to flee, but she only found herself pulled further into him. His idea of keeping their victims in her basement for their sick games made her skin tingle with excitement, but his unstable personality was enough of a reminder to remain diligent.

Analise gave a short laugh when he asked if it was a problem, shaking her head in disbelief at the man before she set her sights on him once more. "That's not at all what I expected. I expect tonight will go very well and hope that we continue these endeavors, I look forward to it," she said with complete confidence. "And I understand that you have little experience with women outside of the depraved acts you impart on them, but threatening to rape a woman and then insisting that you move in isn't the best combination, Pete." She practically spat out his name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth before she shifted her weight so one hip sat higher than the other. "I really like the idea of keeping your playthings in my very spacious basement so that I have front row seats to watch as you toy with them, I really do," she said with a nod. "But you will not so much as sleep here."

She moved closer to him before opening a cabinet closest to him and pulled out a single coffee mug which she sat on the counter beside him. She hadn't pulled one out for herself as she wasn't much of a coffee drinker and only kept it around in case of company or for late nights when she did need a boost. "You can visit your pets as often as you like but we aren't going to live together," she said as she took a step back to offer him a kind smile, "I hope that isn't a problem, Peter."

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

The murderer's eyes had remained locked on Analise's as he'd spoken with his mouth close enough so that she'd feel his hot breath on her face. For a moment, Pete was so caught up in his own imagination, and the possibilities of what lay before them, that he hadn't realised she'd spoken. Then when he did, his muscles relaxed, and he returned to normal - as normal as Pete could be - and listened to her response.

He wasn't expecting Analise to perform cartwheels, or rush to show him where the spare blankets were kept, at his statement that he'd be moving in, and the certainty he displayed that it was a fait accompli, however he anticipated some negative reaction. Anger, fear, nervousness, or for Analise to drop to her knees in a quivering mess? However, what he received was none of those. Just as she'd done every time Pete had attempted to exert control - the original taunts, the gun pointed at her gut, and the threat to rape her - Analise took it in her stride, and didn't even raise her voice. The woman must have ice in her veins.

It wasn't ice that surged through Pete's body, but a heat caused by rage. His first clenched at his side as she moved to take the mug from the cabinet, and his gaze followed her. He imagined sliding his fingers into her hair, so that he could jerk her head back, then smash her face into the kitchen bench-top. Again and again, and again. Until Ms Helm's attractive features were unrecognisable under a bloody mess of bruised skin and broken facial bones. That would get a reaction. Pete took a deep breath, and used the thought, and image it brought to mind, to calm himself down. If he were to harm her now, he may not be able to stop, and as much as she could piss him off, he wasn't quite ready to give up Ms Helm's company.

Pete also knew that Analise was intelligent enough to recognise that he'd threatened her twice already that morning, and hadn't carried through either time. If he did so again, any future threats would lose their impact, and lessen any fear of him she did hold. There'd be no more threats from this moment on. Only actions. Anyway, if he were later decide to ignore Analise's wishes, and move himself in without her permission, what was she going to do? Call the authorities and have him arrested for trespassing?

When she stepped back, and asked if he a had a problem, Pete Norris was fully composed. He allowed the silence to linger for a few seconds, then slowly inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry Analise. I hate to admit it, but you do have a point, and I'm a reasonable man. That arrangement works for me". He stepped forward, and poured the hot liquid into the mug. Not bothering to find a teaspoon, he opened the jar of sugar and just poured it straight into his cup. The man lifted the beverage to his lips, and blew across the top to cool it down as his eyes found Analise's again. "I'm a little disappointed you don't seem to appreciate my company as much as I do yours, but I'd hate to get in the way of your social life. I was hoping maybe you'd give me some pointers on how to deal with women. Who knows, one day I may want to settle down and have kids. Don't you think I'd make a great Father?"

Peter chuckled, then pushed himself away from the counter, and his free hand found Analise's shoulder. "Just one thing though. I wish you'd stop calling them my pets. The only reason I'm even here is because you invited me, and those poor, innocent souls, who are to die slowly and painfully in your basement, will be just as much your playthings as they are mine. Maybe even more". The man shot Analise a cheerful smile. "You're one of a kind, Ms Helm. It's rather sick, really. Now could you kindly show me the basement, we may need to do some renovations".

He squeezed her shoulder, then allowed his hand to drop, and began to make his way back to the living room. "While we're down there, I want you to tell me about your first victim".

RE: Internet Killers [Very Dark Content]

Waves of fear and frustration came crashing against the facade she was trying so hard to keep up, and were it not for the excitement she was getting from this, that facade might have fallen by now. But this game of cat and mouse they were playing, the way they read each other and planned around what they got from those readings, the uncertainty of when Pete would grow tired of her attitude and just snap, the anticipation of taking their first victim together; Analise was certain this was what it was like to get high. And she wasn't even close to coming down.

When he did agree to her stipulations, her shoulders visibly relaxed and she sighed, "Good, I'm glad." She played as if she was incredibly relieved, as if this matter of him living with her was the only thing that would have her on edge. Not the murderer who guaranteed he would rape her standing in her kitchen. She wrinkled her nose as he poured sugar into his coffee, it was so much empty calories and she guessed that killing people must be a wonderful work out since he appeared to be in good shape. She chastised herself for being so concerned about calorie consumption at a time like this, she didn't know when her obsession of fitness started but she was fairly certain it was about the same time she'd started masturbating to snuff films.

At his mention of being a father, she smiled politely. "It'd certainly make a good cover," was the nicest thing she could think to say. But she didn't believe he was capable of keeping a woman alive long enough for her to bear a child for him and she didn't think there needed to be anymore freaks like Peter or herself in the world.

As he brought his hand to her shoulder, she flinched just slightly and cursed herself for it when she realized he wasn't trying to hit her. Now he knew that he frightened her, even if only a little. She'd lost this battle and her dissatisfaction was clear by the pout she wore but she didn't intend to lose the war. But then, he kicked her while she was down when he pointed out that she was just as sick as he was, if not worse. At least he admitted what he was, she was still pretending that she was just a normal, boring person whose life was shaken from it's cozy nest when some psycho killed her neighbor. In fact, it wasn't until that moment that she realized her neighbor was dead because of her, and a genuine smile played across her pink pout.

"You're right, they are mine, as well. I just didn't want to make any assumptions," she covered for herself. The way he squeezed her shoulder was meant to comfort her, rather that was how people typically meant it, but it was not at all comforting coming from Pete. It was like a bad joke or a slap to the face, it was insulting. Still she nodded and started towards the basement, gesturing for him to come back to the kitchen before she opened a door on the opposite side of the kitchen that could have easily been mistaken for a pantry.

Analise had already started thinking about who her first victim might be as she reached up to pull a string and a light came on to reveal the narrow, wooden stairway to the basement. She recalled the first real snuff film she'd ever saw, a pale girl with freckles, dark hair, and empty eyes; she reminded Analise of herself. She paused to look over her shoulder at him and thought perhaps she should insist he go first but she turned ahead to start down the stairs anyways. "My first victim," she mused as she took her time going down and the wood creaked beneath her, "I've always had a thing for colored girls... But I think she bubbly, the sort that loves life, you know? I'd love to see that kind of person brought to the edge. Pale, a brunette, big soulful brown eyes," she said, hoping the brown eyes was enough to keep him from realizing she was looking for someone who mirrored her.

When she came to the bottom of the stairs she stepped aside and flipped another switch so that much brighter, fluorescent lights flickered own to light the entire space. Laid out before them was a fairly empty space for the exception of a washer and dryer area she'd set up to include folding tables, shelves to house all of her laundry items, an ironing board, and a rack to hang things. She dry cleaned everything she owned. The floors were cement that had been painted over in a soft, pastel green and there was a drain at the very center of the room. There was also a deep sink that she sometimes washed her delicates in and beside it was an incomplete shower; a detachable shower head, another drain, and a bit of raised tile but nothing more. She placed her hands on her hips and looked over at him, "Would you rape her before killing her?"