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Chapter 11: Serial Killers Fall in Love Too

by Cyrus Calamba 6 months ago in Series
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Chapter 11: Serial Killers Fall in Love Too
Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash

"Thank you for defending me back there, Dandelion. My family holds a lot of secrets, but they never act like they want to keep them, and usually we have to use excuses to cover what we don't want to be told. Thank you also, for respecting us, even when we weren't necessarily respecting you. Because of that, I have hope that this trip can turn into something good. Things are looking up,"

Resan mumbled shyly as we walked across her destination request, her words spoken out between sips of convenience store coffee. It's the most cozy form I've seen in her so far, after everything that went down.

I'm still a stranger to her in certain ways, and she considers me to be one to a certain degree, but from the way she wrapped herself in the light scarf from out of her luggage, and purposely kept up with my pace, I could tell I was heading up to the level of friendship. That's where betrayal will meet her.

Somehow, we ended up alone together, and the blade that I had put back into my pocket before I got out of the car wouldn't stop screaming at me, but I didn't feel it was safe to pull it out. It wasn't the right time. Her parents are some hard opponents on my secret quest, and I can't trust that they're not out there, lurking, awaiting for me to slip up and make some stupid mistake, which kudos to them in a sense for looking out for their daughter.

Not kudos to me, though. It made things much more difficult for me. It made me have to lay it low, all while I had my eyes on the target. All while the feeling of letting my victim escape fed off my liver and my kidneys.

"Don't make a big deal of nothing," I tried to respond humbly, knowing that if the right wind caused a spark on a flame, a bomb could go off, and everything could go wrong. My lips curling upwards showed I did what I could to be friendly to the lovely lady. "Everyone has their secrets. It's not my business to involve myself in other people's lives, even if I do wonder what they mean. I understand that. I have secrets myself."

She skidded to a still-standing, the soles of her shoes scraping the cement. "The Axel Chase Amargon has secrets, huh?" She joked, folding her arms in front of her chest, a gentle touch to the upper part of my arm, near my shoulder, before they could fully cross. I knew that about her now. She had a habit of sorta slapping the nearest person to her when she was laughing.

I tussled her hair. It was a move that I wouldn't usually take when I spent time with someone, most especially a woman, but I felt I had to make our atmosphere as casual as possible, when we talked about secrets, considering what mine is. "Oh, you'd be surprised, Resan Khlaire Pivoine."

Those words aren't to be underestimated, but they will be, and that's how I need it.

"Fine then. What happened to the dandelion, stays with the dandelion, and what happened to the peony stays with the peony," she picked up her pace once again, this time, causing me to have to keep up with her, instead of the other way around, due to her head start. We were nearing closer to the building. "If I'm not breaking that rule, this is me trying to get to know you, Axel. You mentioned you're from Colorado. What brought you to London? Do you have a 'it longed for me' kind of story?"

"Nothing like that. I came here on a student exchange program, and I always told myself it was because I wanted to make my family proud. I was the only of their children left, because only God knows what happened to their other boys, and I knew they deserved to be able to brag about the last of their sons. Considering that, it looks like I came here simply to study medicine, and there isn't anything else to it. I fooled myself too, believing that.

"The truth is, my father proposed to my mother in this building. When it felt like every ounce of love the world ever had was flying right out into space like a balloon that will never come down, I wanted to go to the place I considered love to begin. I covered over the real reason with a college program. Funny to say though, I've never came here before. I couldn't bring myself to. I'm here for a first on your request."

I sighed as I reminisced the past, the idea that this Resan will know more about me than any of my past victims ever had collided with that very thought. I accepted that though. If she considered me to be vulnerable, so be it. That's truly not hurting anyone, and when it eventually does, it's not going to be me. It'll be her falling for my trap.

If she comes to love me, it's like a chance of attack from the inside. The outside barriers wouldn't mean anything to me.

If one day she came to know about me, she'd look back at this moment and be thankful that I gave her a chance. That I didn't take every second to make her soft for me. I could've polished my sob story to strike deeper into her heart, but I didn't. I gave her a turn. "Enough about me, now. If I'm not breaking the rule as well, why did you choose Peter Harrison Planetarium out of every tourist spot we have in London? In some people's perspectives, it's a romantic spot. Does it remind you of someone?"

Resan shook her head like what I said was purely idiotic, or an extreme reach. Actually feeling flustered, because I've found success with this tactic with other people in the past, I reached for the door handle of the building to hold the entrance open for her. She accepted the offer, but as her feet went forward, her head faced me behind her, imprisoning a chuckle, whose cell bars were her own lips.

"I'm not one to romanticize the sciences of the world. You might see that in poetry or in movies, that someone is loved as much as the uncountable stars in the sky, and heck, I say that in my own writings. If you open my Wattpad account, you can see it for yourself, but why are we even comfortable comparing ourselves or the people we love to things we don't even know? Why compare ourselves with something when we barely know what we're being compared to?"

She shrugged, innocently. I sensed that it was the transition she was using to get into answering my real question; why in the world she chose this place out of the many beautiful places that exist, and I was right.

"I'm a small town girl, and when I say that, I mean that it's what I longed for growing up, but if you long for something, that means you don't have it. I was born and raised in the big city of Manila, in a poor neighborhood that was way too cramped for privacy.

"While people in the provinces or overseas enjoyed the green sceneries for their vibrant pictures, I looked a foot to my right and was bombarded with the sight of my neighbors hut-sized house for a family of eight, but more than that, while I was looking up the sky too full of pollution and buildings too tall to see the stars, there's people out there that could see them, brighter than a diamond at the bottom of a cave. For me, those things were fairies of some make-believe. I want to appreciate a part of creation that I didn't get the chance to. That's why I chose here. My mom worked too hard overseas for me not to appreciate it."

"Wow, forget what I said. That's more gorgeous than what I was assuming," I admitted.

The door shut after we were ten feet inside, and didn't interrupt the emotion in her voice. As we turned a corner, I could see up in the distance, the place where I've only heard stories of a proposal, back in the days before I was born.

It was charismatic and twinkling, like the sea reflecting the rays of the sun, that stretched on for miles. Though it made you feel small, it somehow did that in a good way, and in her own style, Resan saw that too. Her eyes sparkled as a bright light that can blind you without being granted any circumstance of time. She's a sun of her own.

The metaphor's object I've compared her to, that she so strictly shared to believe we shouldn't do, peered down at us like the tippity-top of the Eiffel Tower. A replica of what I speak of, or a hologram of it, along with a slideshow of the particles of tinier stars - glistening like her. A disco ball of shine and glow, it's dangling without pattern and untouchable.

I envied it, the building that engulfed us.

With our additions to the place, contributing to its complete entirety, nearly every seat of the auditorium was full. Unlike me. I was always empty, and yet despite it, there's nothing out there made to fill that void. It's a bottomless pit. However much you bend over backwards to fill it up, it'll always be a bucket with holes, and the water will always come leaking out, unless there were to be a miracle or a blessing from a higher power. An impossibility.

From those seats, when you looked up, you saw light, like the one at the end of a tunnel, and it talked to you, this celestial, about the wisdom, and the knowledge a creator had of these beings, but it also boasted of its elegance, bragging that we were fortunate to be able to adore something so hypnotizing, though we were much more smaller and useless than it. It was its bigger priority for us to realize the latter.

Again, that we're small and that we're useless.

In the life I've been given, there was never anything to look up to. The neck on my shoulders was made to look down, and unconfident.

Love began here in my opinion, yes, because it was the first chapter my parents ever had, and as blissful as that was, chapter two took a toll for the worse. Things haven't gotten better since. It's disappointing that as the last hope of a family, that's oldest brother before you is dead, and another, most likely dead - the last of them was supposed to be in prison or dead too, according to the law, but whatever I do now isn't going to smooth that over.

Regardless of my thoughts, Resan looked up in awe. I saw that as a gesture. She's a woman lined up with this hope in the heavens for good things. In this moment in time, she's gotten all that she's ever dreamed. She lived for this minute, and she's been granted it. I observed that in her more than the view above, and from it, I developed a new theory; that spending chapter one's here always take a toll for the worse, and I was the villain of her story. Everyone gets one, and I just so happened to be hers.

It's a calling to get rid of her next.

Everything has been confirmed. Hypothetically, the target has been locked, and all that's left is to pull the trigger. The gun pointed at the girl whose family circled around innocence, goodness, and life itself. It's the consequence of combining with a family victim of their own sins, guilt, evil and the force of death that guarded our house and livelihood like a pillar, the very place that I was raised. The very place that I've known since I was a child.

The shadows of this dark city will only get darker. They would only deepen into the core of this earth, and so even if it's not as black and white as I like to think, and even if the lines between that black and white become distorted, blurry, and unrecognizable, I know it's easier for the darkness to battle the light, than the light to battle the darkness. The light standing up for darkness takes more out of you. It's has to overcome dimness in order to grow, but darkness can absorb everything in its path.

That's why sunrises are more beautiful than sunsets. It takes agony for things to go back up, but almost nothing for things to go down.

I'm aware, that now is not the time, and that tonight I'd take them back to my new home, as I was expected to. I'd give up my bedroom and show them the way to guest room to house the guests, and I'd allow them to choose who passes out where. I'd sleep in the basement tonight, during the first nights of my own house. I know every bit of that.

That did eventually happen. That's the schedule before tonight ends.

But I know just as well, that I'm going after blood.

That's going to happen too. The schedule is prepared for it, whether that be the coming morning, or a week, or a month, or even a year. I understand that sometimes opportunities don't arise, but if it doesn't, then I'm going to have to force it to.

Nobody is going to stop me. I'm patient when I need to be.

That's who I am. The Kiss and Kill.


About the author

Cyrus Calamba

writing attempt-er + mystery/thriller enthusiast

that pretty much sums up my entire life

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