Warning: Gore. And remember that you have been warned.

Chapter One

I watched her. Red rivers flowed down the contours of her naked body, each precious drop of liquid caressing tender flesh. Waves of dark hair cascaded down, framing her face, tickling the pale skin of her neck, the ends brushing her chest and dripping red as they caught in the rivers. Plump lips were parted by a strip of cloth to silence her pleas for release. Cold metal handcuffs chaffed the soft skin of her wrists.

I glanced over to my brother. He stood from his chair and went to her. Flesh met flesh as he rubbed his body against hers. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. Muffled cries came from between her parted lips as he pushed her against the wall, crushing their hips together. Brutal kisses were pressed to her neck. Lips to skin. Teeth nipping. Lips to skin. Tongue licking. Lips to skin. With one last thrust he pulled away, sated, and returned to his seat.

Immediately I took his place. My hands replaced his as I ran them up and down her torso. No longer were there red rivers caressing her; smeared red hand prints replaced them.

I noted the small bruises on her neck where my brother had nipped just a little too hard. Gently, I brushed my lips against hers. I ran my tongue over her bottom lip, tasting salt and copper. More muffled sounds came from behind the gag, but this time they were whimpers. The look in her eyes begged me to just finish, take what I wanted, to let her go.

Deciding she had been through enough, I reached into my pants. Pulling out the needed object, I pressed against her. I kissed her lightly before closing my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I plunge into her. I heard the breath catch in her throat. Withdrawing quickly, I looked up and saw her eyes roll back into her head. Taking another breath, I slid back in. She groaned. Once again I withdrew quickly and once again I repeated the process. With one last thrust I felt her body sag slightly, held up only by the chains handcuffed to her wrists. Her head drooped and her soft hair brushed my shoulder.

Pulling out, I took a step back. My brother threw me a towel and I hurriedly wiped the blade off. I threw the girl a glance. Waterfalls of red rushed down her legs, pooling around her feet. Where once there had been smooth stomach, there was now pockmarked skin; marred by the bloody stab wounds.

I watched the light glint off of the newly cleaned switchblade gripped tightly in my hand. Blood dripped from my fist, landing on the concrete floor. Drip drop. Drip drop. Drip drop. More of the liquid slowly slithered towards me from the pool beneath the girl, coming to rest at my feet. My shirt was slicked with it, sticking to my chest.

Around me I heard my brother gathering everything up. I saw him wrap up the body and carry it outside. I heard him grunt as he tried to carry the ice chest by himself. Through the doorway I watched as he covered the corpse in ice to keep if from beginning to decompose on the drive back to town. I heard and saw all of this, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered.

Her name was Isabella and I murdered her today.

--

When I woke up I knew we were back in town; we were always back in town. I knew that Aric had packed everything and put it into the truck. I knew that he had come back to find me passed out on the floor. I knew that he had carried me to the truck and strapped me into my seat. And I knew that he knew that I hated it. I knew that he knew, but I also knew that he didn’t care.

It had been a long time since my brother had cared, years even. I don’t quite know when he stopped. Most people find it surprising that I don’t know everything about my twin, but really, it’s not. Aric has always been secretive, always wanted to be alone. Before our parents died he was rarely seen with other people; afterwards he didn’t speak to anyone but me. Sometimes I think he wishes that he wasn’t a twin, that he had been born a “single” or maybe not at all.

There are only three things in this world that my brother loves, and I am not one of them. I might once have been, but now he is consumed by the others and there is no room for me. If I sound bitter it is because I am. No matter what he has done or will do, he is my brother and I love him.

Now, I said there are three things he loves and they are: Food. Sex. And Power. The second of the three is actually what led us to killing someone for the first time; he loves sex a bit too much. My role in the girl’s death was completely accidental and possibly coincidental if you don’t believe in twin telepathy. It started as lust for a girl he’d seen in my art class, Wendy Payne, but soon became an obsession.

He would sneak out late at night and come back with stains on his jeans, probably gained while he masturbated outside of her window. His emotions became so strong that they would bleed over to me, causing me to become erect when he saw her. There were many days when I would have to lock myself in the boy’s bathroom to relieve myself just because he would be watching her.

I think everything came to a boiling point around prom time, when Wendy started dating a senior at our school named Ryan. Whenever Aric would see Wendy with Ryan I would feel the usual flash of lust followed closely by one of rage. Then one night, prom night, I experienced something different, something new.

To this day, I don’t know exactly what emotions I was feeling. All I knew was that I had to find my brother and quickly. So, without telling my parents where I was going, I grabbed the keys to my truck and took off. It was as I was driving towards the high school in search of my brother that I realized the feelings were fading. In an instant I had turned around and was heading towards the woods, certain that I knew where he was.

The rest happened quickly. I was driving around a bend with my headlights on low when she ran across the street. She just darted out in front of the truck, her dress ragged and a look of terror on her face. There was no way I could have stopped, no way I could have reacted quickly enough.

SCREECH!

That is the sound my tires made when I slammed on the brakes.

THUD!

That is the sound I heard when Wendy’s body connected with the front of my truck.

When my truck finally skidded to a stop I just sat there, gripping the steering wheel. I knew that her body was somewhere on the road. I knew that at the speed I was driving, there was little chance she had survived.

With trembling hands, I managed to extricate myself from the truck and wander over to where she lay on the cold, hard asphalt. The sky was rapidly darkening but I was still able to see the trickle of blood leaking from her head. Crouching down I examined the soiled pink material of her dress. It had been ripped savagely at the neckline to reveal a pink, lacy bra underneath.

Before I could finish my inspection Aric had arrived, breathing hard. He let out a frustrated howl when he saw Wendy’s body on the ground and I noticed the slight bulge in his pants. Without preamble he dropped his drawers and began stroking himself in the middle of the street. It took all I had not to do the same as I felt his lust flood through me. Turning around I walked back to the truck and climbed inside.

Two days later newspapers across the county told readers of Wendy Payne’s tragic death. Police and reporters agreed that her boyfriend Ryan must have taken her out into the woods where he was planning on having sex with her, just as many other high school boys would be having sex with their prom dates. Investigators said that it appeared she had refused and he tried to rape her, but she escaped, only to be the victim of a hit-and-run. The boyfriend disappeared, but authorities were searching the area. The day after they found Wendy’s body, Ryan’s car was found parked in front of a truck-stop diner with an empty gas tank.

For months after Wendy’s death I was stricken with guilt, but everyone seemed to think I was grieving. Rumors even spread that I had secretly been in love with her. Ha. If only they knew. Over the summer my guilt did not fade, but instead it became a numb darkness. Often I wandered through my days, feeling that there was a hole in my chest where the guilt had gnawed on and on. Needless to say, Aric was unaffected. If anything, Wendy’s death made him want more. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Eventually the chaos died down and my brother and I left for a college two years later.

--

The front door slamming brought me out of my memories. Aric, undoubtedly impatient with my inner musings, had gone inside, leaving me by myself. Tiredly, I slid out of the car and made my way to our condo.

Inside I took a proper shower, swallowed a few sleeping pills, and retired to my bedroom. Sleep came swiftly; allowing me to drift off into a world where I felt no guilt. Tomorrow I would get up and go about yet another numb, guilt-ridden day.

My name is Avery Greene and I have murdered 26 people.

Lain: Yay. Finally posting this after planning for months. :cracks whip in Katie’s general direction: Er. Thanks for reading!