Yo-Yo: All Tied Up With String #4
Page 3
“You’ve never heard of me because I’m good at what I do. Sure, people discover my victims, but I don’t have an MO. I broke the serial killer mould, reinvented it. People can’t find me because no two victims are the same. Profilers don’t know any different, they preach the MO like it’s a certainty of our fractured psyches. But it isn’t. It doesn’t define us. An MO restricts us, prevents our art from reaching new heights. Which is why I don’t adhere to one. It adds to the workload, sure, but it keeps me hidden. My victims stand for an invisible threat, one that stalks the streets without fear or rules.” Molly glanced at Walters and smiled. “One that lures the unsuspecting into their trap. And you … you’ll be no different.”
“I don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed,” Walters mocked.
Molly stooped to the floor, collected the yo-yo, rolled the piano wire back into the toy and placed it on the side. “I was expecting to be impressed too. What a let-down. You made it so easy for me; stalking a public place like Cosmic – that reeks of amateur hour. Thousands of people pass that place, how can you expect to remain inconspicuous? You were easy to find, easy to monitor. I saw you arrive four times before I put myself out there. It didn’t take you long to approach.”
Walters said nothing.
“And then you bring this … piano wire? I expected more. Yes, it’s subtle, clean, but c’mon. I’ve heard horror stories about barbed wire and spinning blades, all concealed inside a small device, one that can be easily hidden. Something hand-held, possibly. I had to see it for myself. Concealing barbed wire for your particular means is no easy feat.”
Walters shrugged. “Blade and Newton were … they weren’t right for this job.”
No. I was. Molly.
“You named them?” Molly chuckled, placing a hand before her mouth. “Seriously? Emotional attachment to a set of children’s toys? From an adult, no less. That’s a new one on me. Lemme guess, you named this pink one Mercedes, or something just as daft?”
“Molly.”
“What?”
“It’s called Molly.”
Yes, I’m Molly.
“I see. Good choice. I might keep it. It does remind me of … well, me.”
“You can’t have her.”
“But I must … it’s … she’s called Molly. I’d be a fool to leave her behind.”
Walters nodded. “Names have importance, remember?”
“You’re right,” Molly replied, smiling. “It’s going to be a shame to kill you. For a moment, a miniscule moment, I considered letting you live. I feel we shared a connection back before you stuck a needle in my neck. Oh well, it wasn’t to be.” She scooped up the yo-yo, and pulled a length of piano wire taut between her hands. “Shit happens, I suppose.”
Leave me be! Put me down!
Walters put his hands in his pockets. “One thing. How did you break the chair?”
Molly paused, the question stunting her thought process. “Huh?”
“The chair. You broke it. How?”
She chuckled. “My little tantrum, my act of terror. It wasn’t difficult, the chair you used was ancient. Another sign of your incompetence. I heard it creaking before I even opened my eyes. I just pounded and thrashed, loosened the joints, simple. It gave me the leverage I needed.”
“You really are full of surprises,” Walters uttered.
“Don’t I know it. And now? You die.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Walters replied.
“Oh? How so? I’m the one with the weapon … your weapon.”
I’m his, not yours. Put me down.
Walters smiled. “Yes, but you don’t know how to use it … them.”
Walters thrust a hand out. A blue and white striped yo-yo launched through the air, propelled by a heavy, metallic head, the string sailing on the air behind it. Mid-flight, four miniscule, scimitar-shaped blades sprung from the toy’s body, turning the yo-yo into a lethal projectile. Molly reacted, but it was too late.
The weapon smashed Molly in the throat. The wicked blades embedded their talons into her flawless skin and gouged at the soft flesh and muscle there. Blood arced and pattered the cold concrete, glowing a bright crimson in the searing light. She spluttered, spraying blood from her gasping mouth.
Walters whipped the string. A loop rolled along it, a ripple of fatal consequence, one that hit the customised head and forced it downwards, driving the blades deeper. The sharp prongs ripped further into her jugular. Crimson sluiced down her front as Molly coughed, staggered and dropped onto her knees.
Walters walked over. “You’re not the only one with surprises. The difference is, I know how to use them to their full extent.”
Molly stared at her assaulter. “Fu … fuck you.” Rivulets of red dribbled down her quivering chin. “You’re … you … you’re a fake. Not … not worth … hy.”
“Maybe, but at least I’ll survive this little encounter. And the best thing? No one knows who you are. Your impressive legacy dies with you. I know that would cripple any decent serial killer and their ego.”
Molly said nothing as her eyes weighed heavy.
“Goodbye, Molly. It was nice knowing you.”
And there can only be one Molly.
Yes, and she’s my brave little sister.
Walters kicked out and pushed Blade deeper into Molly’s throat. A groan was followed by a hiss of air as the weapon pierced her windpipe. A gurgling broke the silence and ebbed to nothing as bubbles of pink frothed from the dead woman’s mouth. She toppled to the floor as Walters took a step back. Watched the life ebb out of her.
You did it. You finally got rid of her. Took your bloody time, though.
He picked up his coat and shrugged it on. “I should have listened to you.”
Too late for that now. Besides, I didn’t know you brought Blade. You kept that a secret.
Walters chuckled. He took a knife from the table, walked over to Molly’s fallen frame, and knelt down. He placed the blade against her cheek and sliced into the flesh, removing the layer of skin etched with his blood. He pulled the skin away from the muscle, rolled it up and pocketed it. He could burn everything later. He patted Molly in his pocket. “I have more secrets than you’ll ever know.”
At least you’re alive. And there’s only one Molly left.
“I know, Molly. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Excuse me?
“Or you, Blade.” Walters began to pack his weapons into a rucksack, clearing any evidence of his presence. He checked the floor for any potential evidence, and smiled when he saw none. “Thank you. I’m immensely proud of you both.”
I just wish Newton was here to see this.
Walters prodded Molly’s corpse with his toe. Her dead body wobbled as he stepped over her and headed to the door. He surveyed the carnage, ensured nothing was left behind. Watched for a moment as the blood pooled outwards from her dead body. Checked his pockets, content that both yo-yos and the chunk of skin were now in his possession.
“Me too,” he replied.
Walters sighed, opened the door and walked out into the fresh night air.
Primitive
All Tied Up With String #5
Available June 2017
Atonia
All Tied Up With String #6
Available June 2017