As the author I have created all characters and plot, and therefore they belong to me. In addition, all posted material minus author notes has been copy written in accordance with the law.
At this time I should warn you that this story has also been rated accordingly and therefore may or may not include the following (depending on my mood); violence, death, scenes of a sexual nature including rape and sodomy, male/male sexual encounters, drug use, and language as well as just about anything you can think of that you would not want anyone under the age of eighteen reading without warning. In addition I do not like to repeat myself, so this disclaimer is inclusive of all chapters and epilogues or rewrites and editions to this story.
Thank you all, and happy (or not) reading.
Chapter 1: The Other Side of the Mirror
All the beautiful children in the club danced to the heavy assaulting sounding music that emanated from the speakers. Their skin glowed radiantly in the dark, so pale it shone in the blue tinted lights. Every surface on them seemed to be studded, coated in metal or leather, sometimes black lace. All were dressed to go to a corrupt funeral. All looked as though they were trying to be the creatures they read about in the novels of Ann Rice, Poppy Z Brite and Bram Stoker. This particular club was quite the dive, but nobody seemed to care. The music came from the speakers in waves, sometimes loud and sometimes too quiet because of the poor system. As long as the alcohol flowed, there were no complaints; And it flowed, some blood red and thick with grenadine syrup, some black, some fruit flavored, some strongly alcoholic, all served with no question of how much had already been had, and how old the consumers were. Some of the children of the night in the club looked no more than fourteen years old or so. But the bartenders didn't care. There was indifference everywhere, thick in the air, as thick as the pain. And always, the club was there just to be the painkiller, to provide whatever would give a sense of pleasure, or, failing that, at least the comfortable feeling of being numb.
This is where I went to stalk my prey much of the time. I always felt like a little kid at the carnival. There are so many different flavors to choose from, all in the same place. Even though I know it will all be there next week, it doesn't make my decision, or approach any easier. Some of them reeked of a façade of sadness and a tortured soul, some of them were genuine in their depression, other's, the one's I preferred, were simply seeking someone to get them through the night, their loneliest hour. That's why everywhere there were beautifully intoxicated children, clumsily dancing or making out with each other in the dimly lit room. I always looked for one who was alone, not in a group, not dancing with someone, maybe off drinking alone in a corner. Definitely not claimed already.
This week there were a few amongst the crowd that caught my affections without even intending to. There was a boy by the door, holding his cigarette outside, black hair hanging down his back in a pony tail, trench coat enshrouding his thin frame. A few silver crosses dangled from various areas on his body, his neck, his ears. A ring on his finger depicted a cross upside down. He had the typical, dejected and separate look on his face, ready to give a look of defiance to anyone who told him to go outside and smoke.
Another was near the back, curled into a little ball on the bench in a corner, but that choice was quickly taken out of the running when another young man strode over and planted a kiss on the other boy's forehead. That left me with my final option that evening.
He was sitting up at the bar, with a small glass of what looked like deep golden whiskey in front of him. He wore a black trench coat which fell over the sides of the stool and met his combat boots at his feet. Protruding from the sleeves of the jacket were two, glove clad hands, fingers cut off the tips of the gloves to show perfectly black lacquered nails. He reached up and adjusted a piece of dyed, fire engine red hair, that had escaped from his mohawk. I sliver ankh dangled from his ear, seductively leading my eyes down to his unadorned neck. How good he would look wearing one of my collars. I approached the bar slowly, stealthily from behind him and sat down…
The agonized wail was music to my ears.
I had learned so much in the past two hours. The boy at the bar was named Adrian, he lived on his own in an apartment close to the club where I had found him. He was nineteen and didn't know what to do with his life, so he was taking English at the local University until he could decide. He liked the taste of hard liquor, the way it burned, better than the delicate taste of decaying grapes found only in a fine wine. Now I also had the privilege of observing his delicate muscles moving below the surface of his skin as he strained against the binds. He had a tattoo of a panther crawling down the ever so sensual area of his body where his thigh met his pubic area, and his left nipple was adorned by a simple metal hoop. Despite that tattoo and the piercing, he certainly did not seem to enjoy pain. He didn't much like to be tied down either, but that was his own doing. If he had just stayed still, I wouldn't have had to restrain him. If he had just let me have my way. But no, he had run, stumbling in his drunken state around my house, making a racket. So now, I had him in makeshift restraints; old, strong, leather belts around his arms and legs, around the bedposts of the bed. I was saving my handcuffs until this could be more fun for the both of us. Still his slim hips remained unrestrained and he was struggling to pull himself free.
"Let me go you crazy fucker." He hissed. The fear had sobered him up quite nicely.
"Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap again." I threatened. The vial pink hand soap sat on a stand beside the bed. I had already used it that evening. Immediately, my new friend quieted some.
"Just, please," He pleaded quietly, "Don't make it hurt. Don't hurt me." I couldn't promise a thing so I thought it better to simply nod my head and let Adrian interpret it as he wanted to- or needed to. His ribcage pressed against his skin like it was trying to escape his body. Behind kohl lined eyes lay vulnerable fear. I reached over to the set of drawers beside the bed and opened the top one. I saw Adrian glance over, trying to get a glimpse into the strategically placed drawer. He wouldn't want to see, the first drawer was the one with all my "practical" instruments in it that I found not so everyday practical uses for. And he was about to experience a few of those uses.
The room lay quiet now, still. I almost regretted not letting Adrian go. He has almost convinced me- but not quite. His body lay still on the bed, pale as ever, crimson rivers lazily flowing from different areas of his body. The blood would stop soon, I had drained most of it. Now I had the clean up to deal with. Sometimes I kept the bodies around for days at a time, the smell of decay did not bother me, but after the blood was drained they would become frigid and immovable, not worth keeping. With garbage bags spread out before me on the floor I stood up naked (I couldn't risk any hairs or fibers transferring to the body) and went over to the bed, gently lifting Adrian's body and setting it down on the makeshift plastic sheeting. Already, without any blood in his veins, he was going cold.
I had given up on the chainsaw idea long ago. I couldn't bear to chop my little children up, plus any remaining blood in their veins splattered everywhere. Adrian's form lay therefore, whole in front of me, nude and pale. His tattoo looked navy blue rather than black now. It led down to where his soft hair used to be, before, in the night's events, I had shaved it off. Now his skin, supple and soft was revealed to me in one of the most vulnerable places, though, except for viewing pleasure, it was useless now. I stood up, and retrieved my digital camera from its place on a shelf. The photo's had much better quality than Polaroid, which I had started out with, and of course with my digital camera, I did not have to venture off the a photo development center and potentially cause problems for myself to get a beautiful record of my children.
I kept all the photos in a safe in the wall of my basement, right in the foundation of the house. Each set had their own envelope, a mix of black and white, as well as colour prints, and a disk with the images saved on it. Occasionally I would take them out the memories of each sensual night would come back to me as my eyes settled upon the photos. Just thinking about the safe made my lower back tingle at the thought of what it contained.
The camera buzzed as I turned it on and the lenses slowly moved outward, reaching to capture Adrian's body. And like a possessed creature I started to focus and take pictures, watching the previews on the screen. I went through the memory fully, had to stop and upload the images to my computer and save them to disk, but that did nothing to ease the persistent erection I had. I went back to take more pictures when I was able to clear the memory on my camera, but now the pictures would be different.
The second drawer of my little stand by the bed held multi purpose instruments; Latex and Rubber Gloves, Scalpels, surgical needles and thread, gauze, clamps and basically a wide assortment of all things surgical steel. Sometimes I used them before the end of the night, but always they were at the finish. Satisfied that I had enough photographs to immortalize Adrian in his current form, I safely stowed the camera a safe distance from my current undertaking.
Before picking up the scalpel I paused one last time to look at my little beauty in his current form. I ran my hands over the soft, supple skin, delicately pliable. I pinched his right nipple at the same time that I gave the nipple ring on his left a light tug. My eyes seemed drawn magnetically to his face, to look for a reaction, even though there wouldn't be one. His eyes had slid permanently closed and his rose petal lips remained slightly parted. A small amount of saliva had gathered in the corners of his mouth. I licked my own dry lips, he looked so alive, maybe, just maybe, I could give him one little kiss. So I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, almost expecting him to kiss back. There was the salty essence of tears upon his soft skin. When I pulled back, I kissed his cheek, leaving a gentle mark upon him, a final gift so to speak.
With a slightly hesitant hand, I picked up the scalpel at my side and started to make the typical "y" incision. The skin parted making a sound similar to that of a zipper and a surprising amount of crimson rushed to the surface. I fought the temptation to bend and lick the blood away- then I let the knife slide in further and the skin parted like the river had for Moses.
The rich smell of drying organs filled the air and teased my nostrils. Most people would have found the smell repulsive, I found it musty and refreshing, like a cabin that had sat all winter and just been opened for the spring. One by one, I removed the organs; this would be one child I would not keep much of around. Despite outward appearances, he had not been the healthy one I thought he was. His liver was most potent; I could smell the decay and tinge of alcohol within it, the toxins. It had been dead before Adrian. He had been a heavy drinker. His kidneys were in the same sorry condition as his liver. I discarded all the organs in wrapped newspaper, along with the lungs, into the bucket at my side to later burn them. The only thing in the torso worth keeping was the heart, which I placed in a Ziploc bag to freeze.
The intestines were fun to play with, to tear and rip at, to bury my hands in for a little while, but soon they too, were discarded in the same manor as the liver, kidneys and lungs. As for the brain, another thing that could be useful, it was too hard to get at tonight, and would require the breaking of bone, and some dismemberment.
When I finished, I stitched up the gaping hole that spanned across Adrian's thin torso and added the next batch of photo's to my computer.
Dismemberment had never been something I was keen on, I had tried it once and vowed never to do it again. It was so foul and so rank, an indignity to the dead. I avoided doing it at all costs. It was messy and in the end, the body looked like it had been mangled. The pieces were never cleanly cut. Maybe I had not been a man of all trades when I attempted dismemberment, but I can't imagine a single person wanting to embark on such a task. Instead, I had an acid bath in my basement where the decomposition of bodies was rapidly sped up. It was a large tank about the size of a bath tub, with a lid to keep in the smell. The only parts ever left of the bodies had sometimes been the organs- they were the things that had caused the bloating and smell, and so I learned to remove them prior to depositing the bodies in the tank. Then there were the bones. After several weeks, I would dry and pulverize the bones to dust and keep them in urns around my home. It was a simple way to have the bodies disappear without a trace.
As I unlatched the lid and pushed it off the acid bath in the basement, the acrid smell of decay wafted up towards me. The remnants of two bodies lay in different stages of decomposition in the acid already, and Adrian would soon join them. I lifted Adrian's lifeless, naked body, the skin already so cold after earlier being so feverishly hot and slid it gently into the tank, without so much as a splash.
"Goodbye." I whispered as he sank down on the remains of my last two victims. Then I lifted the lid and latched it over top to leave the bodies to disappear on their own, together bound in death.
Alright, now I know that I was not incredibly detailed, but I had a reason for that mainly that I do not want this story to become monotonous and if I keep detailing deaths than it won't be very interesting…
Though I'm not going to make the idle threat here that I will post no more- reviews encourage me to post faster…