“I know what you’re thinking” he said, sitting across from two men in black suits. “You don’t think it’s a proper way to love someone, and maybe you’re right. In my position, it’s difficult to decipher between acceptable and distasteful, nonetheless, I did love her; I loved them all”. The men in suits looked at each other, both trying to remain expressionless, both somewhat attractive in a cookie cutter way, one with blonde hair, the other with red. The red-headed man took a deep breathe, bowed his head, and rested his knuckles on the table positioned between the two parties-them, and him. The red-haired mans skin which was taught except for the deep wrinkles around his eyes was turning crimson. When his face finally reached the brightest hue of that particular color he suddenly cocked back his arm, hand transformed into a biological wrecking ball, punched the table with a loud “thud” which did the blow little justice. “You loved her?! Is that what you call love you god damn pervert!? You’re disgusting, you’re going away for a long, long time, I’m going to make sure of it, how do you feel about that?!”.
The blonde man in the matching suit who until this point had been watching the display of frustration quietly gestured towards a window; a moment later a door opened and in entered a man in a white button-down shirt that was sloppily tucked into grey slacks. He approached the red headed man who was now breathing heavily and bracing himself with his hands on the table while staring rabidly into the eyes of the man across from him. The man who was inciting all of the hostility sat in his hard, wooden chair, handcuffed, relaxed, he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the men in the suits, or the present out-burst of rage in his direction. It was as though he was watching an interesting movie, one that he liked but was generally impartial to. The man in slacks put his hands on the shoulders of the red-haired man, “detective Wilson” he said softly near his ear, “you’re getting too emotional, I’m going to ask you to step out of the room with me, and rest for a little while”. Agent Wilson who was set on burning a hole into the head of the man across from him had yet to look away and it was beginning to seem like he never would. Finally without a word he gave a subtle nod, glanced at his partner on his right long enough to say with his eyes “I’m sorry for losing my head” then turned and quickly exiting the room, followed by the man in the slacks who before closing the door behind him said to the remaining man in a suit, “Detective Reid, I think you can handle this on your own”, Detective Reid smiled at him as in agreement. The door locked and it was only the two of them left, Detective Reid, and Sebastian, the monster.
That’s what the newspapers had called him, Monster de Mort, or the Monster of death. Sebastian preferred his own name, thinking that the other didn’t suit him. He found himself to be too boring for such a grand title, and he knew he didn’t look frightening like a monster should. A monster, he thought, was large, and looked wildly unattractive. Sebastian wasn’t that at all. He was average in stature, about 5’9″, thin but athletic, with intense green eyes, defined cheekbones, and dark hair that he kept short and rather unruly. Most women found him to be incredibly attractive, in appearance and character, he held himself well, confidently, yet was very reserved and quiet. For whatever reason, women loved him, the mysterious type.
Intelligent and sheepishly shy he preferred literature to the company of others. Books could offer him something that people couldn’t, an escape, a way to avoid his thoughts which were always dark, impure, and unordinary. He had a hard time relating to people and felt that they only talked to him if they had to, never because they wanted to. Books had always been his vice, and that only changed very recently. The past six months he had developed, accidentally of course, a sort of addiction to people that he was honestly, yet hopelessly trying to break. In fact, it was his attempt to get better which brought him to this room in the first place, wanting to be normal, wanting her, had led to a rather unfortunate chain of events resulting in this cold, annoying detainment. Even with all of the commotion, the detective staring at him, all he could think of was the fact that he didn’t want to be in that room anymore mainly because he wanted to be with her. His mind began to wander, and she was occupying all of his daydreams in a vivid montage of images, running his fingers through her long black hair, kissing her full, mauve lips, and looking into her yellow-hazel eyes. Butterflies were growing in his abdomen; euphoria was sweeping over him when suddenly the smell of gingivitis coupled by a loud noise jerked him from his nirvana.
When Sebastian’s eyes focused he was almost startled by the fact that Detective Reid was only inches from his face screaming, “Wake up psycho, we need to have a chat!” Without moving Sebastian focused his eyes on the detective. In a fake, sarcastic cheer laced with a seething hatred he began,” Okay, yes, let’s talk. What would you like to talk about? I’m afraid we don’t have much in common. Do you like soccer? I love Westham United, and their bubbles song, England’s got a knack for the sport, except for Beckham, that’s all marketing, I’m American but still prefer soccer, I think that’s from spending so much time in Europe that I like soccer honestly, that or the technique, it requires a lot of skill, nothing like American football with it’s macho…”, he stopped short as he was cut off by a folder slamming down right in front of him. “Where are they?” asked detective Reid. Sebastian looked up at the detective who was leaning over the table, over him, hands spread and flat on the wood surface. “Could you be more specific” asked Sebastian smirking and raising his eyebrows, “’where’ could be a question specific to a persons mind, emotions, physical whereabouts, or their place of residents. “Ou”. “Dove”. “Where”. For example when my grandmother died my mother said she was in Heaven upon my asking where she was, and that’s not really a place, we both know that, it’s more of a state of being, or not being.” The detective looked confused, sighed, then flopped down into a chair opposite Sebastian’s. “You know exactly what I mean. Where are they? Are they dead, where are the bodies, and why, why would you do it? You know you won’t get away with it, and eventually you will end up in prison where you belong. I might be able to get you away from the electric chair and just go with two consecutive life sentences if you cooperate!” Sebastian’s eyes darted around the room; his hands came together at the fingertips where he proceeded to tap them uneasily. “Why, is a childish question first of all, people are too complex to ask ’why’, and secondly, sir, I don’t know who you are talking about specifically. Might I have a list of names or something to spark my memory?” The detective leaned forward, put his hand on the file still sitting in front of Sebastian, and slid it even closer, slow for emphasis. Sebastian knew who the detective was talking about, he knew the names, found them lovely, deserving in some way, beautiful in their bitter-sweet characters and desperate attempts to preserve them. He appreciated them, loved them yet hated them all the while. Many relationships are that way, love-hate, bitter-sweet, hopeful and hopeless.
Sebastian stared at the file before opening it, he was still side-tracked with her, her scent, her face, the way she walked, head up, shoulders back, swaying her hips gracefully side to side. Once again he snapped back into reality, finally he found the edge of the vanilla envelope and opened it. The contents made him smile as it brought back a certain sense of nostalgia. Photos of people he had known were stacked neatly on top of case reports; he ran his fingers over the glossy paper, tracing cheekbones and lips. Thirteen pictures total, only one thing in the world could link all of them together, and that was him. He knew every inch of their faces didn’t need the photos to remind him.
Remembering that he was being watched he cleared his face of the grin and sat back in his chair again. He knew better than to admit to anyone what he had done, prison was not the place for him, he didn’t have the desire to follow in the footsteps of those before him waiting patiently to be systematically slain. A bullet, if it came to it, was much more efficient than injections or electricity, and much more dignified. He was too proud to leave the living by convulsing and vomiting to death. His lawyer would be there very soon and she would know how to handle the questioning, hopefully she could take care of this and he could find a way to talk to her, the girl he loved so much, loved differently than the rest, loved the life inside of her. When he grabbed her he had no idea that she would take such a revenge on him. What she had done was worse than anything he had ever done to anyone; the emotional agony she inflicted surpassed the physical pain he might have served her. He was a good person, always making things as quick as possible, but she, she was unknowingly torturing him. Had he known the effect she would have on him he might have done things differently that night.
He remembered the night he met her, watching her walk across the cobblestone, her short skirt and black sweater fitted to her thin body. When she tripped, her heel getting caught between two stones, he was forced to help her even though he didn’t want to, but she saw him watching her, making it awkward to simply turn and walk away. So he went to her, helped her up then stood there while she put her arm around him to steady herself just long enough to place her stiletto back on her tiny foot. She smelled like roses, clean, womanly, her black hair tumbled down over her shoulders, framing her beautiful face, her intoxicating cat-like eyes. “Thank you” she mouthed while staring intensely into his eyes, smirking at him as though she had a secret. Right then he knew he wanted her forever. There was something about her, a fire inside that was unafraid, unmovable, she was intimidating and strong yet her frame contradicted that. He put his hand on her collarbone, feeling its protrusion before pinching an area nearby rendering her unconscious. He did it without thinking and almost instantly regretted it. She slumped down as though her legs had been kicked out from underneath her and she nearly hit the stones below them. Catching her only an inch or so from impact, he gathered her up and carried her three blocks to his apartment where he laid her gently in his king size bed, covering her with the black satin sheets. He drew the drapes, lit a few candles and left the room, locking the door behind him knowing that he only had a few hours to figure out how to deal with the situation. Never had he let another person in his bed, invading his space. Confused he sat in the chair belonging to his desk and in the dark quickly fell asleep, it had been almost a week since he had shut his eyes.
When he awoke a few hours later it was still dark outside, the girl was not making any noise indicating she was still asleep and his mind immediately started to race to figure out how to remedy what he had done. Sebastian decided, even though he didn’t want to, that telling her honestly would be the best route. She would most likely hate him and scream and leave, but at least she would know he hadn’t hurt her, and never would. And maybe, just maybe she would give him a chance, appreciate his “quirkiness”. Gently he unlocked the door and slowly opened it to find his bed empty. Panic swept over him, worried she was somehow unsafe. The window was open, and at that very moment he heard a great noise in his living room, as he turned towards the window someone grabbed him from behind, throwing him to the ground, placing cold metal around his wrists. “You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Noir Lexis, you have the right to remain silent, and anything you do or say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” He knew he was being arrested, that they were reading his Miranda rights, informing him in a complicated string of words that if he talked at all they would somehow use his words against him. He knew the best thing to do was to remain silent. And he did, so far so good. All he wanted was a chance to explain to her, just a chance, but he was started to wonder if he would ever get it. Sebastian felt insane to even think it, but he loved her, loved Noir, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, not like the others, she wasn’t like the others.
The detectives who arrested him found fingerprints which matched those found at two recent murder scenes. The victims were not tortured, or sexually assaulted, rather held down and strangled to death. The marks found on the necks of the victims were rather gentle for strangulation and the manner in which the murderer seemed to expire his victims perplexed the detectives on the case.
Sebastian did this on purpose, he didn’t like violence necessarily, blood and gore made him sick. What he did, he thought, was different. It was beautiful the way his victims fought, then gave up, surrendered, and slowly passed into an empty darkness, bodies growing limp, lifeless. Like a tango. Sebastian thought of it as, as art in death, and he approached each victim that way. They had to be beautiful, unique, and somewhat evil, abusive, dependent, something that almost justified it. The last victim was young, late twenties, stunning, but predatory. She begged for her life when Sebastian first grabbed hold of her, she cried, and he held her tighter, closer, he wanted to squeeze the life from her all the while calming her, touching her hair, kissing her cheek. She slipped into the black abyss with Sebastian crying with her, holding her tight, hurting her, but loving her for her fight, for her weakness, for her inability to stop him. He didn’t love ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Elizabeth in the same way. He wanted to caress her, to kiss her feet, make her things, feed her, brush her hair; he wanted her to appreciate her unique place in his heart, and the cohabitating darkness. She might have appreciated it too, if he hadn’t taken her the way he had, as though she were a doll that belonged to him, disregarding what she might want or need.
Elizabeth, in the same police station sat shaken in a chair; mind a mess as she gazed out of a window. She focused incessantly on the man that had taken her and hated him because she didn’t know he meant to worship her. When she awoke in a stranger’s bed she was terrified initially thinking that she had been assaulted in some form. When she was convinced she hadn’t she felt an intense anxiety with every second she was there. Slowly she rose from the bed, checking under it, looking around convinced at any moment a monster would jump out at her. When she saw the window she ran to it, stepping inside the drapes, discovering the window was unlatched. She carefully opened the window, turned around, and stepped backwards over the ledge, flailing for her feet to rest on something solid. When her toes finally touched the stone ledge she found relief, and slowly followed it with her bare feet to the next apartment. At the window next to her captors she tapped on the glass with one hand while clinging to the building with the other until the resident awoke letting her inside to call the police. It seemed like a bad dream, like it didn’t really happen. She was more afraid of what she though he was going to do to her, then what actually happened, and even worse than that was the fact that for a moment before she blacked out she had found herself lost in his eyes.
Those intense green eyes, that beautiful face, it didn’t seem possible for it to belong to an evil man, picturing his eyes she thought they seemed wise, sweet and while she never felt a strong connection to anyone, ever, for that moment when he was near her she felt as though a magnet was inside of her, pulling her into him. For a split moment, she believed in fate, in love at first sight. Now she knew that obviously those things didn’t exist, perfect men, meant to be relationships didn’t exist. He was a murderer; he was planning to kill her, to choke the life from her, just like them, exactly like everyone else.
Sebastian, still in the small room with the detective, who had taken the silent treatment as a different approach to cracking the case, was glad to hear that his lawyer was there and coming down the hall towards him. She could possibly get him out of this, possibly. After all, the police had very little evidence he had actually committed any crime besides the kidnapping, which hopefully could be disproved in court, after all the victim could have easily been drunk, he could argue she had been carried back to his apartment for safety. All he wanted was to get out of all of this, and talk with her. He needed to tell her that he loved her, that he wanted to kiss her, hold her. He couldn’t stop thinking of her and how she made him feel, and he didn’t understand how she had managed to trap him in only a few moments. She was killing him, and he didn’t even know her. He wondered if she knew would she enjoy it as he had in the past.
The door opened and his lawyer entered. “Sebastian” she said to him then turned to address Detective Reid, “I need to ask you to leave so I can speak with my client in private”. Detective Reid, a very respectful man, stood up and exited the room without a word; he had been in this field for a long time and was familiar with lawyers and their requests. When the door shut she turned to Sebastian frowning, “alright, now what the hell are we going to do with you, they have the girl, she is willing to testify that you kidnapped her with full intent in harming her. Talk fast Sebastian, I need some information, what the hell were you thinking. And what are they talking about fingerprints that matched ones found at a recent murder scene?” Sebastian wanted to defend himself, to say something, but he couldn’t. All he could muster was a question. “She’s here, in this building?” He kept thinking over and over again that he wasn’t going to harm her that he wouldn’t, that he wanted to love her; he wanted to apologize for going about it the wrong way. It was creepy, and wrong, he knew that. His throat began burning, his heart sank, and his eyes were on fire. Water began pooling in his sockets, blurring his vision, making him wince. “What’s wrong?” asked the lawyer. She had known Sebastian and his parents for a long time, she had never seen him even slightly upset before which she always found unsettling. He looked at her, beaten, sad, “I wouldn’t hurt her” he whispered, “I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, ever, ever”. The lawyer who was now sitting in the chair next to him, leaned back, eyes concerned, eyebrows furrowed in a puzzled manner. “We don’t kidnap women we love, Bastian”, she said. He shot her an annoyed look, “can I have a piece of paper please?” he asked her. Without a word she handed him her notebook with a pen. “I need a minute please” he said to her, monotone, defeated. With that he began writing.
An hour passed when he finally finished pouring himself onto paper. He folded it, neatly, with care, and handed it to the Lawyer. “Give this to the girl, to Noir, please”. She said she would. “I would like you to leave now; I need some time to myself.” She nodded, obliging his request. As she gathered he things he began speaking again, but almost to himself. His head was down, his eyes focused on the cold floor beneath them. “I have never felt hopeful except for when she was next to me, for that moment I felt it and now it’s gone. I don’t believe I will feel it again; it has taken me thirty years to feel it once. I’m numb. Always have been, and knows how many people I might hurt to feel something, anything, I belong in prison, or better yet, I should be dead”. The lawyer, generally apathetic could almost relate to him and she felt herself growing sympathetic. She put her hand and his shoulder and gave it a very light squeeze, as she walked past him on her way to the door. She closed it behind her and took a deep breathe before heading towards the girl. When she got there a few minutes’ later detectives was still in a room with the girl, with Noir the victim, asking her questions. The lawyer didn’t feel apprehensive about demanding to talk with the girl, legally able to speak to the victim she requested to do so, but when they were alone only handed her the letter and left.
Elizabeth opened it. It was a confession of everything:
“Dearest Noir, I want to apologize, first off for scaring you, and secondly for going about my interest in you in such an unconventional, and somewhat creepy way. It was wrong. I know that now, and knew that then. I’m not always a good person, and sometimes am, truly, horrific. I want you to know that I did not have any intentions at all of hurting you though, in any way, and never would. I brought you home with me because frankly I wanted to keep you, but not against your will of course. Come morning I had full intentions of explaining myself to you and letting you stay or go freely. I am not a social creature, and can be so odd sometimes, but honestly you frightened me, and that had clouded my judgment more than I thought possible. You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, your face, your spirit. I know you, I understand you, even though I don’t know you. You’re like me, unconventional, misunderstood, bored, but under it all I can see a fire in you like no other woman possess, a confidence, an intelligence, an allure that exists in only you. With that, I feel that you are the only woman I have ever been in awe of. This will sound crazy, even more so than the rest of this letter, but I love you. I wish that things were different, that I was different, so I could take care of you, and hold you, and worship you forever, till death. One more thing before I go, I will never see you again, but please, please believe that I would kill myself before I would harm you. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. Sincerely, Sebastian…the monster.”
By the time the letter was finished she was in tears. She had never read anything so beautiful in her life. She had dreamed of being that special to someone, to be loved by a man who loved no other, who killed women, who tossed them aside unmoved, uncaring, yet worshipped her, would die for her. Nothing, she was sure, would ever be more pure then being loved by him. She was suddenly attracted to his strength, to his indifference to the rest of the world. She stood alone in his heart, sharing it with nothing but his streak of darkness. What had she done?! She felt crazy, but knew that she had to see him, needed to here him say it, to explain more to her in person, she needed to see his beautiful face. He only wanted to love her, and now he was caged like an animal. She ran to the detective who was helping her, tears streaming down her face, begging to see Sebastian, demanding it, threatening to take back her entire statement if they didn’t let her. Finally, against their better judgment they agreed to take her to his cell. She ran ahead of them; too focus to hear the cat calls from other inmates.
While Elizabeth was making her way towards Sebastian, he was sitting on his bed with a razor he had just acquired. He knew she would never forgive him, never understand him. He would always be numb, angry, alone. He could easily get off the charges, his lawyer was the best of the best and could get him out, his family was known and rich, it wouldn’t be difficult to get away with murder. He could change, would change, if he had her, but knew that was not possible. He had made a horrible mistake in taking her the way he did. With a sigh and a tear, he pressed the corner of the razor deep into his wrist, running it up his vein, blood swelling out of the wound, and then trickling down his arms in dark red streams. The pain was numbed by his sadness, by his loss. He repeated the step on the second wrist, quicker than the first time. He felt dizzy, sick, everything was blurry and then he saw nothing. His body fell back against the wall behind him; he slouched down, his head hitting the cement, blood from his wrists smearing on the sheets, on his clothes.
A scream echoed throughout the building as Elizabeth stood in front of his cell and saw the red pools on the bed, dripping down to the cement floor, his DNA creating a small, crimson waterfall. She screamed, hysterical, in shock. “OPEN THE DOOR, OPEN PLEASE GOD OPEN PLEASE”. She shook the bars with all of her strength, growing exhausted she fell to the floor. The police who were escorting her were staring at her in awe. She knelt in front of his cell and tried to pull the bars apart; she choked on her saliva, and tried to breathe in big gulps between her loud, full bodied coughs. The police were confused and startled, the defendant was dying, and the victim suddenly wanted to save him, they fumbled for their keys and called for an ambulance. Finally the door opened, Elizabeth sprung to her feet and ran into the cell falling on top of Sebastian pulling his shoulders to sit him up, shaking him frantically. “WAKE UP! PLEASE!” she screamed. “I need to know why, I need to know more, and I need to know you”! His blood was all over her now, bathing her in it, staining her skin. He opened his eyes barely wide enough for her to see the green in them. He smiled at her yet only semi conscious. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you.” He said to her in a whisper barely audible. She lay on top of him, kissing him, touching him, loving him for his strength, for his weakness, for his evilness, for his bitter-sweet character. Sebastian was barely breathing, his eyes closed, and life slowly left him and he fell into the black abyss, without a word, only a single tear that streamed down the side of his face only to disappear in his hairline. He left the world and she was there, she cried with him, loving him, loving him more than the rest, more than anyone, loving him to death.
M. E. Evans 