SUMMARY: When Loch's life is turned upside after the consequent deaths of her best friend and brother, she deals with the tragedies in an abnormal way-- murder. Unbeknownst to Loch, her daily vivid nightmares aren't just dreams; the core of the matter is all reality. Her subconscious becomes stronger and stronger between each dream, finally breaking free with the capturing of every soul of the lives Loch has taken. The only similarity between each murder is the method of killing. Blood eagling; a most gruesome form of torture that eventually leads to death. Loch considers her handiwork to look angelic-- the wings behind them and the ring of blood around their heads; the blood angels. Before situation gets too out of hand, Loch must defeat her subconscious before her subconscious defeats her.

Prologue.

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I held the wide blade in my left hand, holding the man against the wall with my right. I wasn’t aware I had this kind of strength—I wasn’t extremely gifted in the arts of self defense, or any defense for that matter.

I gripped the blade and turned the man around, so he was facing the wall. Taking the knife, I made a small incision, right under his chin. I wasn’t aware he would writhe with that much pain, but he was like a fish out of water—moving, shivering. I smiled.

I turned the blade around once in my hand—the blunt side was facing his neck. I ran it across his Adam’s apple once, feeling the tension within him rise and fall when he realized I never actually broke skin. Oops. I laughed. I didn’t understand—why was I getting so much pleasure from this dastardly act?

Turning the blade once again, the sharp, cutting edge was facing him—finally. I was excited, the adrenaline pumped through me like my blood was gas, and I’d just swallowed a match. I pushed the knife into his throat, hearing the gagging. It made me feel better—I was in control.

I released my grip on him, watching him fall to the floor, his hand automatically reaching for his cut throat. Stepping on the base of the unknown man’s back, I took my knife and traced the two paths on either side of his back. This was the fun part. The angel would be seen.

I shifted the knife in my hand so it was in a firm fist. Placing my other hand on his shoulder blade, I took the knife and stabbed him once underneath the curve of the bone. His left arm wobbled, once again resembling the fish. Taking the knife out, seeing the ripe, red blood, my eyes lit up. I felt them, like an unnatural glow entered them—they were no longer the light blue, it seemed. All they saw was the red. Red. Red. I took the knife and stabbed him again, this time continuing the cut until the very base of his back. It was a deep cut—I could see his spines, his organs, the disturbingly nasty fat that coated his insides. But this was only one side. Extracting my knife once again, I reached to his left side, once again cutting him deep. His ribs were visible on each side—this is exactly what I needed.

I proceeded to kick him once in the back, hearing the familiar resounding crack. Echoing against the floor, the sound barely lasted a few seconds, but I had heard it. Just for good measure, I kicked him once again, only to feel the looseness of broken bones. I’d broken his spine, which would only make it easier to turn his ribs inside out. Turning the body around, I angled my foot and pressed down hard, on his sternum. I couldn’t have done this with the rib cage still intact. I made sure the two sides of the ribcage were no longer connected, before proceeding to the next step. Feeling the crack underneath the neat button down shirt, I shifted the body once again, for the last time, so he was facing the floor.

I reached for the thick rope around my neck—I wore it like a noose. I felt the deep cuts in the man’s back and stuck one end of the rope in, separating the skin even more. Taking a glove from my pocket, I put it on and reached into the redness tying the rope around the end of a rib. All I had to do now was pull. Using his own body for support, I wrapped my end of the rope around my hand once; just a little reinforcement, and tugged. It took a few tries, but in the end, the man’s ribs were outside his body—fanned out like a set of wings. The lungs that they held were still beating, only slightly. I don’t think the man was still alive—just the last few bodily functions at work. The thick veins and pulmonary arteries were wrapped around the ends of each rib like snakes, slithering, leaving a thick trail of blood. It was gruesome, it was nasty. But I enjoyed it more than anything else, and I think that’s what scared me the most. I reached in for the man’s right ribs and proceeded to do the same.

The last step was the best.

I reached toward his heart—still protected by the loose ribs, I was careful not to break any ribs, and wrapped my fingers around his heart, and pulled. It came freely, willingly, with two thick veins still attached. Perfect.

Reaching for this head, I tied the heart around his forehead, so as to look like a halo.

Blood angels.

I wasn’t a hater, not a fighter, never a murderer. But at least this was only a dream.