He washes in a deliberately slow way, each timed movement corresponding to his prey’s squirming. And all the while the boy is panic-scrubbing the soap from his body.
Bemusement threatens to pull his lips to a grin, in order to prevent this he turns his head to openly watch Jasper. Using the distraction to reign in his visible emotions.
His prey’s breathless voice is a surprise, Sinn'ous hadn’t expected him to say anything. Or at the very least, not be the one to offer the first words. “I’m n-not interested in d-doing anything with y-you.” His stammering is coated in the putrid stench of fear. Like the scent of death, only unpleasant
What you want doesn’t matter to me, little prey.
Sinn'ous remains standing with a relaxed posture, it may be forced, but it remains devoid of his intentions. No coiling of muscles or tensing of limbs. Nothing to give away anything untoward.
“I don’t w-want it, I don’t want you to t-touch m-me.”
Oh, prey, you have no say in this. I will take whatever I please.
Sinn'ous warms his lips into a friendly smile, inviting in a scared doe. An offer of kindness and safety in the very much fake expression he creates so easily.
“Relax,” Sinn'ous half-heartedly commands. And because the best lies are tainted by truth, he goes on, “I’ve done a lot of . . .” He trails off trying to collect the right word, “questionable things . . .”killing and maiming, like I intent to do to you,“but I’ve never raped anyone, and I don’t intend to change.” Which is the truth. Both statements. He has not raped. And he has no intention of changing. He just left out a few details, such as, he will kill until the day he dies, all in Satan’s name.
His prey blinks, pupils dilating and relaxing, mind working over what Sinn'ous offered. Digesting his words.
To watch those same pupils dilate in death would be a treat. He should know, he’s seen many examples of it from his sacrifices.
He measures his words carefully. “You can enjoy your gifts. You don’t have to keep hoarding them.” On many of his secret trips into Jasper’s cell he has seen the food he leaves on the bunk, stuffed into the cupboard behind the extra clothes. “No strings attached.”
It’s somewhat the truth, the food has nothing to do with what Sinn'ous wants to do to his prey. It’s more a means to an end. A guiding hand to the results he will have.
An end for my prey in the most bloodiest of ways.
“That—” Jasper’s throat catches on the sentence, refusing to let it pass. “T-those were from you . . .” he voice airs into a whisper, melting into the sounds of running water.
“Who else would they be from,” Sinn'ous steels his body, irritation blooming at his prey not having guessed this already. The answer couldn’t have been more obvious if it stabbed him in the face.
It reminds him how laughably naive the boy is.
“Ahhhh.” Jasper’s eyes dart, if Sinn'ous hadn’t been keenly perceptive he would have missed it. The dart of eyes to the far end of the showerheads, to Levis scrubbing his body hard enough to take off skin.
Sinn'ous is mostlysuccessful in keeping out his desire to kill from his tone when he says, “he won’t bother you ever again.”
Without another word, Jasper punches off the shower, and flees the room. Sinn'ous watches him go and doesn’t follow. He has other things on his mind which need taking care of.
21
SINN'OUS
He was a caged animal. All night he paced his cell. All night he lived dreams coated in blood. And not just anyone’s blood. Levis’s blood, gurgled from drowning lungs.
Blood spilled in the name of another.
The kitchen is on the side of rushed panic, every inmate on kitchen dutyis bustling back and forth carrying food, and trays, and all manner of needed resources. Ants on a mission to empty the kitchen space and fill the serving area. It’s a chaotic rush to go right along with the noise carrying in from the cafeteria.
Sinn'ous snuck past the breakfast rush unnoticed,and stayed that way—which is saying something considering he wears his hair like that of a venomous red-back spider. The red stripe is an eye catcher he uses as one of his many intimidation methods. There’s just something about a colourful predator which has you shying away while at the same time, locked in an inescapable intrigue.
Cunningham is so far the only one who has done a double take of Sinn'ous’s presence in the kitchen. The guard is casually leaning back and looking all the world like a sleep deprived father, and next to him is another guard chatting a-mile-a-minute on a topic that is no doubt mundane and boring. Pubbeers, nights out, wife and kids? Conversations Sinn'ous would kill a room to shut off if someone tried to direct it at him.
Sinn'ous holds Cunningham’s eyes, and gives a discreet head flick to the door. He doesn’t argue, just turns to his colleague, whispers something into his ear, then they’re both leaving the kitchen.
“Levis,” Sinn'ous shoots the demand at one of the kitchen workers who’s stirring a pot nearly the size of a grown man.
The thininmate doesn’t look up from his task adding salt, and points over his shoulder. “Pantry.”
