Page 53 of The Black Lotus
She whirls toward me, grabbing my hands, excitement shining in her eyes. “You’ve killed before? Youhaveto tell me your serial killer journey!”
I nibble my bottom lip before telling her everything from my first kill to Sharon.
“I would have killed Jessica in high school, made her fear me the way she made you cower from her.” She places her hands behind her head as she lets her head fall back to look at the ceiling. “You had the patience of a saint.”
I nod my head, letting that be a good enough answer.I wish I knew Zephira back then; I feel like we would have been amazing friends. She probably would have helped me kill Jessica.If I’d had a friend like her, maybe I wouldn’t have been as broken as I was.
I shake that thought away. The person I am today, the reason Aster fell in love with me, is because of my past. As lonely as I was back then, I don’t regret a single moment. Without the hell I went through I wouldn’t be the killer I am.
We fall into a comfortable silence, both of us reminiscing about our kills, before I remember what distracted me into forgetting. “Zephira…What’s going to upset me?”
She scratches the back of her head, her hesitancy making me nervous as I stare at her, waiting for her to answer. “I… can’t find Aster.”
My breath catches in my throat, my world crashing around on me. My heart is beating out of my chest as the oxygen is stolen from me.If Zephira can’t find him, who can?It’s already been three days. I don't think either of us can go much longer without getting him home.
“Don’t panic, but… I know how we can find out who took him.”
I look at her with a blank stare. “How?” I whisper, my lip trembling.
“This is the part you’re really not going to like…” She hesitates, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “My mom.”
The world spins as her words crash through me like a wrecking ball. My body sways as I blink several times to come to terms with the only solution.She’s right.I don’t like it, but if it means finding Aster then I will swallow my pride and let her ask Cynthia.
“Do it.” I say, getting up and walking up to our room.
The urge to do something, anything, overwhelms me as I pace the room, chewing on my fingernails and biting them off. I find myself walking to our dresser, pulling out all the newspaper clippings of Aster’s kills.
Before I can stop myself, I begin taping them to walls until every inch is completely covered. With my chest rising and falling, I glare at the worn paper.It needs more.
I rummage under the bed until I find the supplies I haven’t touched in so long; my paints. Some semblance of familiarity relaxes my body as I pull them out.“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, gliding my fingers over the bottles as I pick up a paintbrush, a sad smile crossing my features..
Newspapers aren't the best kind of canvas to paint over, but I find myself lost in the movement and dance of it all. Creating nothing and everything all at once, I let all my feelings and emotions come to life on the wall.
Chest rising and falling, the paint dries slowly as I stare at it, still not satisfied with the result.It’s missing something.Tapping the end of the paintbrush against my lips, my mind whirls as I contemplate what to add.
I drop the brush and fall to my knees scrambling for a pencil.I know exactly what’s missing.Standing back up. I begin doodling all the weapons the killers have used against us.
A light knock taps against the door, and Zephira pops her head in. “I know who has Aster,” she says. I whip my head in her direction, my eyes lighting up as my hope for finding him reignites.
TWENTY-NINE
ASTER
It’s been days since I was taken, but I can’t tell how many. The room stays dark, and Kara has kept me starved, dehydrated, and in pain. My lips are chapped. My body is weak. Dry blood coats my skin, and I’m finding it hard to stay awake.
This kind of torture weakens not only the body, but the mind as well.This must be how she gets into her victim’s heads, getting them to lower their guard and kill themselves. The only change is the physical torture, she likes to come in once a day and cover me in more scars. Her strikes are ones of someone who has been scorned and hurts me like I’ve wronged her somehow, but I’ve never met her. Her blade slices like each one is filled with her revenge. If I die not knowing why she’s torturing me, I’ll haunt her for the answers I desperately need to know. The amount of blood my body has lost isn’t enough to kill me, but it is enough to weaken me. The only thing she has done which I find odd, was clean the cut on my eye and bandaged it for a day, then came and took it away the next. The only explanation I can think of is that she doesn’t want me to die from an infection. At least, that would bemyreasoning.
My lambs should be grateful I never gave them this kind of torture.Their suffering, their fear is over quickly and it’s more psychological torture than anything.I’m generous that way.Laughter bubbles within me, but I swallow it down. I can’t reveal my hand yet.When I get out of this, I’m going to treat Kara like one of my lambs.I miss the kill, the paint, the displaying. I miss being the Morbid Monet.
I shake the thought away when Serena’s smiling face comes into my mind. Monet is dead. Fatal Floral Killers live.Maybe Serena could watch me like I watch her.She was a fan before she was mine.Maybe we could turn it into our special brand of foreplay.My cock twitches thinking of the last time our bodies blended in a puddle of blood.
The door creaks open, my eyes squinting against the only light this dreadful room receives as Kara makes her way in. She’s wearing a new kimono and has her katana in her hand.Another day of pain with no answers seems to await me.I don’t even look at her as she comes in, I just slump over with my head down to await today’s torture. My body has gotten used to the feel of the steel slicing against my skin. I feel numb to it, the pain doesn’t even register anymore.
Day in and day out, she slices my skin with her blade, dragging it through my flesh with surgeon-like precision. She pulls up a chair and places it in front of me, sitting down with her legs spread around the back of the chair.
“I’ve decided to tell you my story today.”
My head lifts, a sense of anticipation rushing through me as I strain to sit up straighter, my muscles screaming at me from the small movement. Once I find out why she wants me, I can use her truth against her, find her weakness and exploit it.
