A nod from his prey and he is on his way, leaving his Satanic cell to find a body that was not his own sacrifice. It is still one he will send to Satan.
For you, Satan. All for you.
25
SINN'OUS
He’s in awe. Literal awe. What he expected and what he got were so far out of each other’s depths they may as well be on opposite ends of the same dagger.
Something blooms in his chest. Something . . . Pride? Perhaps. Whatever it is, it’s gone long before he can hope to decode it.
He expected violence, but this. He can’t stave off the grin marringhis face.
Downside, it’s not an inmate but a guard. Upside, it’s a messy kill. A body haloedby a poolof blood. So thick it’s near black in colour. The air in the cramped filing space is drenched in the acidic stench of death. Its sour tang slips down the back of his throat. Sinn'ous inhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut. He exhales hard and loud.
There are boxes and files strewn all over the floor, both in the blood and clear of blood. Loose papers escaping from various files, a bucket of cleaning supplies knocked over. A tubof bleach lies half tucked under a shelf.
And the guard—untouched eyes staring straight up, in the hope of reaching a heaven Sinn'ous is all but too happy to snuff out. The only place this corpse is going is down, six feet under and soul in Hell.
“You were right, Satan, this boy is ideal for me.”
The weapon of choice—a broom, broken into at least three pieces. One of the large splinters drenched in blood perfectly matches the width of the puncture wound in the chest.
Sinn'ous grabs a pair of gloves from the cleaning supplies, he’s about to get up close and personal. No time to shower, soit will have to be a very careful concealing of evidence. So long as he doesn’t leave his own bloody fingerprint somewhere, he is safe. They don’t fingerprint the area, unless there is an obvious blood print or it’s on the murder weapon. Otherwise there is no point, being a prison and all, there are hundreds of prints that will come backdirty. Not much reason to waste time on print dusting when every hit will pull up a record. But with this being a guard, shit is about to blow up. They take it personally when you off one of their own. You can kill a hundred inmates and nothing happens, but you kill one guard and the whole justice system blows a haemorrhage.
Dumping a box into the open pints of blood, Sinn'ous uses it as a bridge to cross to the dead guard. Crouching wobbly on his haunches he tilts his head inspecting the wound to assess what Jasper has achieved. It looks like a through and through of the heart. The angle of the puncture and the placement, it must have slipped right under the ribs and directly into the pumping organ.
So neat and clean. A kill worthy of Satan’s name. A sacrifice to honourHim.
The boy has true talent, some nurturing and he’ll be an unstoppable killer. If he can get over his morals, which he clearly has, based on his reaction to this.
“Satan, forgive me. But I want to keep this boy.” Gone is his notionto kill Jasper Marcelo. Gone is the drive to make him his prey.
Sinn'ous wants to grab hold of the boy and never let go, never let him escape.
No one but me will hurt him.He is mine to corrupt, mine to destroy.
Mine to hurt.
Gathering the pieces of broken broom he uprights the bucket and drops them in, pouring bleach over the splintered wood. When half the tub’s contents is left, he turns to the body anddumps the rest over the dead guard. Shaking the last drops of bleach out over the still open eyes. Mindful to keep his shoes and clothes clear of any splashback.
Next he wades over the downedboxes, to the far back wall. And using the assistance of his razor—wedging it into a crevice in the bricks—he slowly wiggles the loose brick out. He sets the brick aside, reaching into the hole dug into the wall. A hidden knife is stashed within, something he left here months ago.
What’s that saying? Stashed away for a rainy day? Well, that day has arrived.
He disappears his razor back into the hidden folds of his prison greys, and takes the knife back to the body. Here is where he gets to the finer details. Using another box as a steppingstone, he leans over the sacrifice and digs the knife’s blade into the bloody chest hole. Wiggling it around and making a mess of the clean entrance wound. He flirts the blade in and out, penetrating and retreating, over and over. Then for good measure he stabs the body in a few other places. Disguising what the murder weapon was, and changing the narrative of this story.
Lastly, he cuts off some of the guard’s shirt and uses it to wrap up the blood-soaked knife, before stashing it back in the wall and reinserting the brick. With that taken care of, and the knife concealed, he moves on to gathering the broken broom in all its bleach-soaked glory. One of the clean boxes resting undisturbed becomes the needed carrier. Once its belly is empty, and all the papers have fluttered to the floor, he stashes the wood and his gloves inside.
One last look over his shoulder at the gorgeous kill has his pants tenting, an erection forming sharply at the prospect of one day sharing a sacrifice with Jasper.
It’s hot. And he never uses that word. Has never thought anyone’s actions could have physical effects on his body.
He shuts the door behind himself, the box containing the gloves and broom pieces tucked under his arm. He has a guard to find. Then he has a boy to attend to.
A vicious little prey who is all his to chase. All his to catch.
26
