11. WITH LOVE

11

WITH LOVE

THE STRANGLER

T he girl looked like she was sleeping. Pale. Perfect. She looked suspended in time, hovering between life and death. She wasn’t dead yet.

The quiet was broken by the occasional creaking of the gurney when she shifted in her sleep. For a moment, I believed she was dreaming a pleasant dream.

But she isn’t. No.

If it wasn’t for the trail of tears that left black stains of mascara on her red cheeks, anyone would have thought so, too.

“Oh, poor darling,” I whispered, wiping her tears.

Tears spoil all the fun.

She jerked against the ropes that bound her to the gurney. The wheels groaned under her weight, shifting back and forth.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“Where am I? What are you doing? Pl-please, no, please.” She sobbed when I pulled out my crimson red garrote, stained with blood, secrets, and sin. Like a familiar friend, the cold steel sang in my hand, promising me lies of respite.

Placing the garrote down, I stared at the woman and drank her fear, feeling excitement and desire.

Blood pounded closer to my throat. My nerves were alight with need. Need for more fear. Need for an end.

Her life had to be sacrificed for someone much, much better than her.

MY LOVE.

The wind, cold and punishing, crept around us, singing, wailing. The abandoned hospital smelled like stale bleach and rotten eggs.

Cracked walls, once white, were now brown. Moonlight filtered in through the broken windows, illuminating the stains of blood on the rough linoleum floors. It looked like an abstract work of art.

Old syringes and gauze dotted with blood were scattered around the room. Everything in this room was dead. Except her and me. And she would soon become a part of the dead hospital.

“Don’t cry,” I whispered. She cried harder. They never listened.

I wished they understood why I had to do this.

“Why are you doing this?”

“For you. I’m doing this for you. For me. Because you deserve more, darling. You deserve to become a sacrifice to something grander. You deserve to become my love letter to god.”

I ran my fingers through her silky hair, and she shuddered under my touch, sobbing. I buried my face into her hair, inhaling the soft scent lingering on her skin.

The perfume I used on her so she would smell like my love.

“Please, please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you. I don’t want to die. I-I want to live. I have to—” Her voice broke at the end, pain softly pulling her lips down.

My heart broke for her, but death was a part of everything. Why couldn’t they understand it?

I kissed her forehead, her cheek. She tasted salty, like her tears.

My lips found hers and she sobbed louder.

“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt at all. I’ll make sure to be gentle, Yara. I promise. Hurting you is not my intention.”

“My name is not Yara. You—you’re insane.”

Giving her a smile, I tenderly wrapped the garrote around her neck. I waited for her to look at me. Her eyes swam with desperation, and it warmed me.

When I saw the resigned acceptance settle over her features, I finally pulled. Harder. Stronger. My body trembled with desire.

I watched as she thrashed, struggling to get out of my hold.

I listened for the soft pause in her heart. Once, twice. Her scream had become whimpers now.

“Just… stay still.”

When her body slackened in my arms, I exploded. “Aah.”

I pulled her closer to my body and held her there, singing a lullaby.

Guardian angels God will send thee,

All through the night.

Soft and drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping…

Sighing, I grazed her breasts. So full. Heart thundering, I rubbed a finger over her underwear. I removed it and plunged a finger into her pussy with a groan. She was soft, tight. Perfect. My fingers moved in and out softly, and I came again.

I wished they were Yara’s breasts, her pussy. But it wasn’t time for that. Not yet.

After a few minutes, I wiped her tears and blood.

Pulling on gloves, I took out the bottle filled with oxygen bleach. I removed her clothes and sprayed her with the bleach from head to toe, wiping every trace of DNA and blood from her body until she was squeaky clean. Pulling on a silk dress down her naked body, I cleaned her again.

I wrapped the red silk lace around her throat and made a bow with it before tying the letter to it. The paper fluttered against her satin skin, which was now so pale and cold.

I clipped a lock of her hair and put it inside a zip-lock bag. She would find her place with the rest of the girls.

“Sleep tight, angel. When you wake up, you’ll be in heaven.”