32. Scarlett
THIRTY-TWO
SCARLETT
Part of me wants to delve deeper into what he's doing, and how, but I have a more pressing need. I need to understand what is happening to me, and how I became Ashmaker. "Ashmaker," I question as I hold his stare. "When, and how, did you discover what I was doing?"
He refills his glass and moves to sit next to me on the sofa, his calming scent of something citrusy and peppery mixed together soothing my frazzled nerves.
"It was actually an accident." The corner of his lips rises in amusement.
"You went on a date with a guy, a piece of shit, from everything I could find on him on the dark web.
I followed you to try to protect you, knowing his proclivities for assaulting women, and recording his deeds. "
He leans back, his ankle resting on his other knee, looking for all the world relaxed, as if this was any other topic, and we were any two other people and not killers.
"There was something different about you that night.
At first I wasn't sure if it was a change in your demeanor, or if you were pretending with him, but it made me suspect all was not right. "
I find myself leaning towards him, the rich timber of his voice comforting me, despite the gruesome tale I'm positive he's about to tell me.
"After your dinner, which I watched with amusement, as you plied him with alcohol until he was beyond inebriated, you indicated you were driving him home.
I didn't realize at first that you had slipped something into his drink, but when you headed towards an abandoned strip mall instead of his dorm, I recognized something was up. "
I try to remember the night he's describing, vague images coming and going, but nothing staying long enough for me to fully grasp it.
It's frustrating, and makes my head spin and ache.
"Color me surprised and intrigued, when I watched you pull around the back and drag Timothy Jacks out of the vehicle, and into the deserted building.
It took you a bit. He was double your size, but you seemed determined. "
Timothy Jacks. The name has the gin I just drank wanting to make an instant reappearance.
Jason's depraved friend. "From the shadows, I witnessed you strip him naked, cutting off his clothing piece by piece.
There were tools hidden under a pile of rubbish, which told me you had planned how the night was to go down. "
"He started to wake from his drug-induced state, and before I could even think to intercede, you stabbed his thighs, one after the other, and then his abdomen, until you were covered in his blood, like something from a horror movie.
All the while you looked like you were in some sort of a daze, mumbling to yourself about sins and justice. "
"You cut off his cock, Spitfire. Held it in your hands, your face covered in rage, and that's when I understood that man must have hurt you at some point.
I wanted to appear to you then, and wrap my arms around you, to promise that it would all be okay, but I was nothing but a scrawny kid with nothing to offer you. "
I reach for his hand, and he intertwines his fingers through mine, holding on tightly. "He was someone from back home. A friend of one of my foster brothers, who raped me over and over, before he moved away for college."
"He got what he deserved, Scarlett, and it still wasn't enough. I wish I could resurrect him and kill him over and over, for what he did to you and how he hurt you. I wish I could do that to all of them who hurt you."
"Tell me the rest, Xavier."
"You tried to force his cock down his throat, but you didn't have the right angle, and used the sharp side of the blade, which cut up his face horribly.
That seemed to put you into a blind rage, and you stabbed him more times than I could count, until he was more shredded meat than man.
I watched with a bit of humor as you struggled to cut off his head, then arms and legs, sawing him apart.
You looked so exhausted by the end of it that I was worried you weren't even going to make an attempt to get away.
Finally you rose, stripped off all your clothes, and used bottled water to wash yourself clean, before re-dressing in hidden clothes. "
His fingers tighten on mine. "I was so fascinated, Scarlett.
I'd never seen anyone do what you did, and despite not knowing what crime he committed against you, I instantly knew he deserved it.
It lit a flame within me, one that only increased as I watched you organize all his body parts, and your bloody clothes, cover him with a discarded painter's tarp, and douse him with lighter fluid, before using a match to set him on fire. "
The image he's projecting appears in my mind, and I watch as if it's a documentary on Netflix, as the flames rise higher and higher, and I stand there, enthralled.
The air fills with the stench of burning hair and flesh, and the heat causes a fresh sweat to soak me.
Still, I can't force myself to take a step away from the burning remains, my rage not satisfied.
It was beautiful, cathartic even. We rid the world of another monster, the voice appears in my head, filled with pride.
"You stayed until the flames spread to the walls, and other items inside the space, and I feared for your life, so I made a banging noise that seemed to get you moving.
Once I watched you race out to your car and drive away, I had to make sure nothing could lead back to you.
I erased your tire tracks, and went back into the burning space to make sure nothing would be left of him, and your clothes.
Then I went back to my apartment in my stolen vehicle, and erased your digital footprint, including the surveillance from the restaurant. "
"You were the reason I was never questioned," I gasp, understanding and wonderment hitting me.
"No one ever knew I was with him that night, or had been speaking to him by text.
You made it all disappear." He takes my glass from me and places it next to his on the coffee table, before he yanks on our hands until I fall into his lap, and he shifts until I'm straddling him.
My core rubs down hard on his crotch, the denim scraping against my sensitive folds in just the thin pajama shorts I'm wearing.
"I would do anything for you, Spitfire. From that moment on, you became my life's mission.
I would need to survive, become stronger, and get better at my craft, if I was going to protect you.
That was almost ten years ago, Scarlett, and every day since, I have watched your back, even if you didn't realize I was there. "
Ask him about the murders we didn't commit.
"You're my accomplice, but not all the recent murders were mine," I state as his hand slides down my back and squeezes my asscheek, both of us groaning when I rub my core across his rapidly hardening cock.
"No, I found I had a passion and hunger for dispatching the filth of the world too.
It became a way that I could handle my own rage at my past, and I needed a way to get you to realize that you weren't alone, so I started to recreate your crimes.
" His other hand dives into the back of my hair, massaging my skull until I release a moan of pleasure.
"I quickly realized that you were like me, two parts to a coin, but you didn't seem to have any recollection of the other side of yourself, or what you did in those blackout moments.
They call it dissociative identity disorder, and mental fugue.
You don't realize what you've done, or that you're Ashmaker, and that's why you've been hunting yourself, Agent Lyssa. "
All of this is so much to take in, and most of it sounds unbelievable.
Like something right out of a horror or thriller movie, and not even possible.
Could I really lose myself so completely in one of these blackouts that I hunt and murder men without realizing it?
What if he's really Ashmaker, and he's trying to make me believe it's me? I don't know what to believe anymore.
Yes, you do. You've always known, but you refused to face the truth then, just like you're avoiding it now. We are righteous killers. We don't kill indiscriminately, only those who have sinned against women and children. Ones like us, like Xavier, and all those who suffered at the hands of demons.
"Spitfire?" Xavier questions, concern written across his face.
"I'm still here, it's still me, Xavier. You said like us? Does that mean the same thing happens to you, you have blackouts?"
He nods his head, his lips forming a stern line.
"Not exactly. I've always heard a voice speaking to me in my head since I was a small boy.
He and I, however, are one. We communicate with each other to keep us safe.
He protected me, when I couldn't go on with everything I suffered.
He took over when it became too much, when I had to do whatever was necessary to survive.
I can see and hear what he's doing. I'm aware of him, just like he is of me. "
My blood rushes in my ears at the way he's describing this other version of himself that lives within him, and has done everything to keep him alive. Is that what Ashmaker is to me? Is that how I've made it all these years without committing suicide, or going insane?
I was always here to protect you, sweet darling. You and I were always one, you just fought hard against me. You didn't want to turn into a monster, so I became one for both of us.
"It's all too much right now, Xavier. I don't even know what to think.
None of this sounds plausible, and yet I can't deny what I've seen and experienced, and the memories I'm having flashbacks of.
I don't know what to think about being a serial killer.
If what you and the voice inside my head claim are true, I'm Ashmaker, but I'm also an FBI agent sworn to uphold the law. "
He uses his hand in my hair to push my face closer to his, until we're exchanging the same air. His lips lightly brush against mine, and I can taste the dried blood on his mouth from his cut. "What do you need at this moment, Spitfire? Tell me how to help you."
I bite down on his lip, reopening the split until the taste of copper floods my mouth, and a hunger ignites inside of me.
Our lips and teeth clash together, his tongue slipping inside of my mouth like an invading conqueror, as he swallows all of my whimpers, our tongues swiping at each other feverishly.
His hands roam my body, squeezing my asscheeks, caressing the round globes of my breasts, pulling on my taut nipples, and kneading my flesh.
We kiss until neither of us has any oxygen left, and we're forced to break apart to catch our ragged breaths.
My core clenches again and again on nothing with desperation, begging to be filled, as my soaked panties stick to my swollen flesh.
I lean my forehead against his, the feeling of rightness settling over me. This right here, at this moment, is exactly where I'm meant to be. In Xavier Poine's arms. The man who has spent most of his life protecting me, and refusing to allow me to get caught.
"Fuck me, Xavier. Ruin me. Use me hard and fast, make it hurt and help me to forget, at least for this moment in time. Show me all the ways that I belong to you."
"Fuck, Spitfire. I thought you'd never ask."