The Blue Rose

29. Aster

TWENTY-NINE

ASTER

B irthday kills always give me the best high. I feel like I’m soaring, covered in blood, watching the soul leave their eyes. There truly is nothing like it.

It wasn’t my intention to cash in my birthday gift early, but my conversation with Serena had me on edge, and my hands were itching to get some blood on them. After I drove away, I turned the car around back to Graves; I had a feeling Sherry would still be there. My suspicion was right; as I pulled up, parking further away, I saw the dumb bitch trying to get back inside. At first I was pissed, wrapping my hands around the steering wheel at her audacity, watching as Sam opened the door. I couldn’t see what was said, but I could tell they were fighting. Sam was about to join her for my birthday celebration, until she slapped him in the face, and he slammed the door shut as she stormed back to her car. I knew I put my trust in him for a reason.

Rain started to drizzle, and, lucky for me, she wasn’t parked very far from where I waited. While she was in her purse digging around for her keys, I stepped out of my car and walked up behind her. My adrenaline racing, and hands twitching, wanting to be wrapped around her dainty little throat, sapping the breath from her lungs.

The rain started to pelt harder, my approach was drowned out. It wasn’t until I was behind her, lighting a cigarette, that she saw me and spun around yelping.

“Hey,” I say, blowing smoke into her face. She coughs and waves the smoke away.

She squints, unable to tell who is in front of her because of the downpour. She fumbles for her phone, turning on the flashlight. “What do you- Wait, you're the asshole who got me fired!” Turning around she opens her door, visibly shaking. From the rain or from me?

My hand shoves it closed. “Yeah, sorry about that.” I say in a charismatic voice, leaning down, I push her back against the car. “I decided I wanted to celebrate my birthday early and thought you might want to join.”

“Fuck off,” she growls and her eyes harden, and reaching for the door handle once again. Got to give it to her; she seems fearless. A sadistic smile threatens to wrap my face. I can’t wait to bring that fear out of her eyes later.

“That depends; are you fucking off with me?” I ask, giving her my signature panty wetting smirk.

She smiles right back. “You know, you’re kind of cute for an asshole.” She jabs her finger in my chest, her pupils dilating as she meets my gaze through her lashes. “I’ll celebrate your birthday with you on one condition.”

Here we go. I just know she’s going to ask for her job back. I’ll give it to her willingly. She’ll be ecstatic, but she doesn’t know she won’t have a life after tonight. People will look for her, no doubt. Signs will go up. Posts will be made, but eventually, she will fade away along with her memory.

Grabbing her hand, I move it away from me. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

She steps into me, her french whore house perfume invading my senses. “You give me my job back; since you have so much power, it shouldn't be hard for you.”

I grab her hand, making her drop her purse, her phone, and keys still in it, and pull her to my car.

“Hey! You didn’t answer my question! Do we have a deal or not?” she whines, trying to plant her feet.

“Deal.” I open the passenger side, looking around ensuring no one is in sight. Then go to my side and quickly shut the door.

She tries to get out, her handle jammed. “I dropped my phone; I’ll be right back.” Grabbing her hand, I pull her back, shutting the door and locking it. “That’s not funny, asshole; let me out. Right now. I changed my mind; I don't want to celebrate with you anymore.” I stare at her, the beast rising to the surface. “Seriously! Let me the fuck out!” she screams. She turns around and starts banging on the window. “Help! Someone, help me!” No one can hear her over the screams coming from the haunted house. Her screams melding with theirs, making a beautiful melody of fear. I take her distraction as my chance to reach in the glove box and grab the syringe already filled with ketamine. Her banging becomes louder as she finally realizes the trap she’s snared in. “Please! He's crazy. Help me!” I stab the needle in her neck and release the liquid. She grabs her neck, looks at me wide eyed, and passes out. I place her seat belt around her and drive us back, excited to cash in my gift.

I’ve waited three years to cash in my birthday kill, although not intentional, and not on my birthday, I’m thrilled to get blood on my hand one more time before my vixen returns. I was hoping this year I could celebrate my birthday with my little vixen, especially after learning she truly is like me, but there is always next year. I have a feeling she will enjoy taking lives just as much as me. Her darkness matches mine, after all.

“Where am I?”

I turn around, already dressed in my work uniform, not even bothering to put on gloves since her body will be burned. She’s strapped to the metal table, without a gag, because what fun would that be? I want to hear her screams. I want to revel in them. The only light I have on is the one above her, preventing her from seeing who is hovering over her. She looks around, trying to lift her arms and break free.

“What the fuck? Okay, asshole, this isn’t funny anymore.”

A Cheshire smile lifts my cheeks. “Actually, it is,” she gasps, her body tense, as she squints where my voice traveled from. I walk into the light, so she can see exactly who her captor is. “Hello, Sherry.”

Her face turns red, her eyebrows pinching down as her body freezes. “You?” she seethes, “Untie me right now, or so help me God.”

I click my tongue, my frustration becoming evident. “God, or any deity for that matter, won’t be helping you.” She starts squirming even more, looking for a way out of her binds. She’ll soon find when I want someone bound, they stay trapped until they’re no longer of this earth.

Fear starts to enter her voice when she realizes she can’t get out. “Why are you doing this?”

I groan, a shiver tracking down my spine. My favorite part. The why . The reason they’re on my table; telling her is going to be a sweet, sweet treat.

Walking around behind her, I take a piece of her hair, lifting it, examining it, then dropping it like the nothing she is. “Remember our conversation from earlier? The one at Graves?”

“You mean when you fired me?!” She scoffs. “How could I forget?”

“Before that; think back, Sherry, it’s very important. About the owner; what did I say?”

Her eyes crinkle as she remembers our conversation. Her eyes squint, jumping around, trying to remember exactly what I said. “You wanted to celebrate your birthday early, and that’s why I’m here? Listen, I love to be tied up as much as the next girl, but ever hear of consent? Fucking asshole.”

This bitch is dumber than a box of rocks . Granted, I did have to flirt to get her to come to my car. I hated having to do that. I felt guilty. A feeling I wasn’t used to, a pang pounding in my chest because all I could think about was what Serena would think. It isn’t just me anymore, it’s my vixen too, but it's in my nature, and Sherry needed to be punished for her blatant disrespect.

“No. Think harder. Before we went into the house.”

Her head turns away from me and her hand twitches, like if she could, she would bring it up to her lips to think harder. “You said if I knew the owner, then you’d have to…” she gulps “kill me.”

I clap my hands together making her jump as much as one can when they’re tied down.

“Ding, ding, ding! We have ourselves a winner; guess you aren’t as dumb as you look.”

Her voice trembles, her eyes unable to meet mine. “But… but you didn’t tell me who the owner was.” Hope reignited her voice. Hearing that spark is going to make it all the more delicious when her fate comes crashing down.

I place my hands behind my back. “You’re right; I didn’t. Shall I tell you?” Glee registering in my tone.

“N-no,” she stutters, “I’m good.”

I throw my hands to my side, a manic grin slashing my face. “Pity. I thought you wanted to celebrate my birthday with me early,” I pout. “You are, after all, my present.” Sherry’s body freezes, her eyes snapping to meet mine, only to find the devil staring back at her.

She masks her emotions, putting back on that brave face. “Nope; totally good. Now untie me, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

Funny, she thinks she’s leaving here alive and believes I’m stupid enough to trust she wouldn’t tell a soul.

My face hardens, my voice severe. “I’m the owner of Graves, and you, Sherry, made a big mistake crossing me when I was itching for a new victim.”

The hope starting to burn through her snuffs out in an instant, and she starts to cry. I close my eyes, soaking in the fear being released with her tears. She was alot weaker than I thought ; she put on a ‘fuck off, I’m a badass bitch’ vibe, but underneath her carefully crafted exterior was just a weak little girl.

Pity, I wanted to break her.

“Please, please,” she begs, sobbing, snot starting to leak from her nose. “I’m sorry, okay! I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. I know I was, and I’m sorry. Please, please don’t kill me.”

I turn around and open the drawer filled with my collection of knives. I select the one I use specifically for my birthday victims. A twelve inch, curved cimeter knife. Perfect for carving .

“Beg all you want.” I turn around, holding up the knife and looking at her reflection in it. “But I’m still cashing in my gift early.” I pin her arm down with one hand so she can’t wiggle while I cut. When they wiggle, my slices aren't as clean as I want them to be. “You see-” the blade rests just above her skin, her eyes bugged out as whimpers fill the air. “Every year, on my birthday, I do something a little different with my victims.”

“Victims?” She trembles, sweat starting to trickle down her face, her eyes never leaving the blade resting on her arm.

“Oh, how rude of me. I never introduced myself. You heard my name at Graves, but you don’t know who I am.” I bring the knife up, and I can see a little breath of relief escape her lips. Bringing it to my chest, I take a little bow. “I’m the Morbid Monet. Salem's most notorious serial killer.” The panic in her eyes returns, and she starts sobbing. I pin her arm in place and bring the blade down as I start slicing. Her screams get louder. I groan, thinking of my vixen as I bathe in my victim’s blood.

Music to my ears.

Her skin cuts like butter, hypnotized by how easily her skin opens for me, I trace her blood with my finger, painting a rose, leaving my mark, in a different way. Just for me. I make sure all my knives are sharp as my birthday nears. It’s the only time I carve. I think of it as carving a pumpkin, but instead of seeds falling out, it’s blood and guts.

As I slice and carve through her skin, walking over to the other side to slice more, her screams become louder. I wonder what my vixen is up to. Now she knows who I am, I can’t help but wonder if she is going to accept it, and join me, or try to make me change. I swipe my forehead with the back of my hand, wiping the sweat away and leaving a splatter of blood. Cutting up a living human is strenuous work. You’re hunched over, having to pin them down, enjoying them begging for mercy. It’s hard, but the reward is worth it.

My vixen shares the same darkness as me. She has taken a life as well. She may not know how to cope with her truth, but one way or the other, I’m going to get her to accept who she is. A monster just like me, darkness consuming us, wrapped up in one another forever.

The screaming starts to die down, and I smell something foul. I stop cutting, looking up to see Sherry passed out, looking down, I see she shit herself. Disgusting. Don’t get me wrong, it has happened before, but not as much as you’d think, and only with my little lambs.

How dare she pass out when I was enjoying myself? I grip the knife, my molars feeling like they could crack, the anger rolling off me in waves. My favorite part is the screams. I grip her leg, leaving bruises behind, and start carving her leg. Still, she doesn’t wake. I throw my knife into the sink, stalking over to pick a new one. Usually, my birthday presents stay awake while I cut. She’s the first to ever faint and shit herself. Grabbing the meat cleaver, I walk back to my ruined gift. Raising the blade above my head, I bring it down. Still asleep . I bring it back up, then down once more, and her leg completely separates, blood squirting out. She jolts awake. Finally, her body trying to come to as she lets out a banshee wail. I smile. That is what I was looking for.

Bringing the cleaver up, I do the same to her arm, watching the lower half of her arm separate. Blood squirts onto my face, and I bask in the feeling of her life force covering me. Her eyelids start to flutter, and before she can pass, I lift the cleaver one more time and bring it down across her stomach. She splits open easily, her organs falling out slowly like hot ramen spilling out of the bowl.

Dead. She is dead. It didn’t last as long as I wanted, but I still enjoyed it. I cut up the rest of her body, her eyes still open and lifeless. I don’t bother closing them, leaving them open makes me feel like she's watching me cut her to pieces. After ruining the night I had planned, she deserves to watch me dismember her from the afterlife.

Once all the pieces are small enough to fit in the incinerator, I take them one by one and throw them in. Shutting the door, I turn it on, singing happy birthday and watch the fire destroy her. My anger from a quick celebration dissipates as the flames lick her skin. Watching the fire burn, her body turning to ash, I feel she is truly gone from this plane, even her spirit. Nothing is left of the pathetic excuse of oxygen.

I have a feeling no one will miss her.