Black Rose

by Steele, Suzanne

  A wave of satisfaction washes over me as I think about the mind-fuck I am now privy to. It will be very entertaining to taunt my nemesis, Miller, with the fact that he must be slipping in his old age. Not spotting me in the shadows was major fuck up on his part. Hmph, the Hit Man, the one man I never believed would be vulnerable has allowed a woman to work beside him. The Miller I know never would have limited himself to just one woman. There must be something special about her is all I can figure.

  I have my own woman to worry about now. If the situation would have gone any differently than it had, I would have been the one killing that man who accosted my sweet obsession. It was only because it was a member of the brotherhood involved that I stood back and observed. As much as Miller grates on my nerves, we served in Afghanistan together so we are forever bound by blood…

  Chapter Six

  Dr. Anderson

  I listen to her voice over the phone as I think to myself, typical, social climbing, gold-digging cunt! The only reason I am opting for a different woman than Selena to kill is the fact that I’m scared of her pimp, Diego. It’s rumored he has ties to the Colombian cartel and I’ll be damned if I am getting mixed up with that bunch.

  Selena slipped one night, in one of her drug-induced hazes, and let me know Diego has a cousin named Antonio Wayne who is a member of the cartel. After a little more prodding, I found that their reach not only includes the U.S., but extends as far as Central and South America. The last thing I want to do is piss off some sadistic Colombian thug. This kill will be more satisfying anyway because it is an unsuspecting victim who I’m certain is trying to marry into prestige and money.

  I guess I could describe myself as passive-aggressive in that I truly enjoy the look on a woman’s face right before she breathes her last breath. It’s that look of, how could you? I trusted you. It isn’t like they don’t deserve to die; they have ill intentions from the beginning. They see me as their ticket out of lives that can only be considered mediocre at best, and I see them as my next victim.

  “Oh no, it’s no problem, Doctor.” I can tell by her syrupy, sweet voice that she is flattered a doctor has come calling. After all, she is a single woman on the prowl.

  We met through an internet dating site and I’m sure she has the same thoughts other women have: “Oh, wouldn’t it just be magical to meet and marry a neurosurgeon?”

  Upon my arrival, Erin is on her best behavior. She is dressed in her little black dress and she makes sure dinner is exquisite. As soon as we finish the meal, she makes her way to the kitchen to bring out her special flan. It’s the final touch to her Mexican cuisine and it’s obvious she put a lot of thought and effort into impressing me tonight. She is totally unaware I have plans of my own.

  It doesn’t take much on my part to talk her right out of that little black dress she’s wearing. In no time at all, I have my belt wound around her neck and tightly fisted in my fingers as I have sex with her. Each time she is at the brink of death, I release my grip a little, allow her a few breaths, and then go right back to squeezing. Suddenly the thought hits me how divine it would be to kill her and then resuscitate her lifeless form.

  Into the wee hours of the morning, over and over, I kill her and bring her back to life…I feel like a God. This goes on for quite a while because time after time, she dies, and time after time, because I’m the great benevolent doctor I am, I perform CPR to bring her back.

  This has been the best kill yet. Her eyes have taken on this lifeless look that I am thoroughly enjoying and watching the fight leave her body has been very intriguing. Now comes the moment of truth as I squeeze relentlessly, watching her eyes bulge and her lips turn blue. Oh finally, the release that I so needed.

  Finally…Finally…Finally…

  You see, it boils down to one thing—I am a necrophiliac. To put it simply, I have a sexual attraction to dead bodies. There could very well come a day Evelyn finds out she is engaged to a full blown serial killer…

  I suppose I realized I was different back in medical school when it became harder to hide my sexual excitement during each passing encounter with the cadavers. Dead bodies, which had been donated for the furtherance of medical science, never failed to excite me. Hiding the growing bulge in my pants as I viewed the pale skin and dark blue undertones of a dead body became more and more difficult with each occurrence.

  The night I managed to sneak into the classroom where they were keeping the bodies and actually touch a cold, hard corpse, changed my life. I was able to do anything I desired to the woman on the table. She was completely at my mercy.

  I fucked her like she was a blow-up doll and there were no complaints about my small cock or the fact that I looked like a geeky nerd. I didn’t worry about her sexual needs or satisfying her; it was all about me. I changed that day because that was the day I decided I couldn’t live without this feeling. That was the day I became a killer and I have been killing ever since…

  Agent Turner

  “He’s escalating, David. He is now going so far as to enter a subject’s home and have dinner with them before he kills them. That is pretty damn bold!”

  “Yes, quite the romantic dinner date,” I state as I lift a wine glass between two of my gloved fingers. I’m not quite ready to reveal that I don’t believe this is the work of Black Rose as of yet. As is my normal habit, I’m testing my partner on her police skills. Will she, or won’t she recognize this is not the work of Black Rose? She hates it when I do this to her and it could very well mean trouble for me. To be honest, I’m kind of hoping to stir her up a little. It would mean sweet, sensual, sadistic, tantalizing trouble at the hands of a woman who works for me by day and controls and owns me by night. Life is good.

  Rene paces as she eyes the body on the morgue table.

  “You know he wasn’t stupid enough to leave prints on that glass, David.”

  “It’s Agent Turner at work.” I bite out the command and eye the coroner to make certain he doesn’t suspect anything before I continue speaking to her. “Not purposely. Rene, there is no perfect murder. This guy is going to screw up and when he does, we will be there to catch him.”

  My cell phone rings and I pick it up only to find out there has been another murder across town. I can’t imagine how these two kills could possibly tie into one another. Has the entire fucking city of Louisville, Kentucky gone crazy? What am I dealing with here? Numerous copycats? This is the exact reason I warned the public not to glorify Black Rose. All I can do is hope that his cult following hasn’t caused all sorts of wannabe killers to crawl out of the woodwork. Damn him… this case seems to be taking on a life of its own and that’s never good. Things are rapidly getting more chaotic and it appears as though I am losing the one thing I need most in my job—control.

  It doesn’t give me any peace of mind to know the woman lying on the cold metal table is not a victim of Black Rose. All it does is confirm that we’re dealing with more than one serial killer.

  What the fuck is going on in my city? Whatever it is, I am adamant about putting a stop to it. “We have another murder, Rene. Let’s go.”

  The coroner’s voice calls out behind me, “There is evidence of sexual trauma, but no DNA. The guy was smart enough to wear a condom.”

  “Do you think he is into autoerotic asphyxiation?”

  “All I can say is, let’s hope it’s that and not necrophilia. Otherwise, we have got a real sick bastard on our hands.”

  “Call me as soon as you know something for sure,” I yell out over my shoulder as we exit the morgue. I cringe at the thought of having to deal with someone who may very well have a fetish for having sex with dead women…

  Chapter Seven

  Black Rose

  In my world, perfection is paramount…

  I circle my prey but this time, it is the prey of my choice—my beloved, Melanie.

  I have tied her, spread eagle on the bed, with simple rope ties attached to each of the four corner posts.

  Each rope
has been given wiggle room for just that purpose; I want to see Melanie squirm.

  Oh, I want to see more than that, though. I want to hurt her, pleasure her, control her, and scare her. I want to rub her tears all over that beautiful face of hers… I want to take…take…take…Melanie.

  I have waited for this day for so long and, finally, it has arrived. I lean down, smelling the fragrance of her shampoo and whisper in her ear, “I have waited so long to have you in my bed.”

  Her head rolls to the side as she smiles at me. I’m certain the drugs I have given her have her in a state of euphoria, but it isn’t just the drugs, it is the indescribable things I’m doing to her sexually.

  The whir of the vibrator begins again and I gently pump two fingers in and out of her soaked opening as I taunt her with a game I refer to as ‘edging’. I bring her right to the point of release and then…I stop.

  She cries out in anguish over and over, begging and pleading for release. She’s not asking me to release her from her restraints. No, what she desperately needs, and is begging me for, is release in the form of a climax.

  “I will give you all you need and more… when I choose to.”

  My cock is so hard watching her as she cries out to me for pleasure, her voice anguished. Her long, dark, brunette hair falls over her nude, porcelain, white body. Her brown nipples jut out and are so hard they look as if they could cut glass.

  I free one foot from the ropes to give myself better access and I speak softly to her as I position my body between her legs.

  “That sweet, sweet pussy of yours belongs to me now. Promise me you will keep it for only me and I will rock your world, girl.”

  “Yes, whatever you want. I can’t take anymore of this. You’re making me crazy,” she moans.

  I slide my cock into her and allow the blissful feeling of finally being home to overtake me.

  She feels so fucking good. My thrusts become more desperate and I rapidly pump in and out of the woman I have obsessed over for so many months. She cries out, finally getting the release she needs when an orgasm hits her fast and hard.

  “Did I give you permission to come?” I give her no time to answer before I reach into the nightstand drawer and pull out a large, very sharp hunting knife.

  I stand over my precious prey and hold a knife to her throat while I smear her perfectly applied lipstick onto her cheek. I gently run the pad of my thumb over her lips.

  I watch as tears run down her cheeks and she aimlessly moves her head from side to side.

  When I see her beginning to fall asleep due to the drugs I have given her, I sharply slap down on her cheek causing her eyes to widen in shock as I command her to, “Wake up!” My voice is cold, ensuring her that punishment is inevitable.

  I can feel the stirring in my loins again as she cries out, “I will be good. I will be good. Please, don’t hurt me.”

  Over and over, like a mantra, she is crying out to me.

  I place the handle of my knife between my teeth and begin to toy with her wet folds between her spread and accessible legs. In no time, her dance within my ropes becomes more urgent and her cries of, “Please, don’t hurt me” have now become “Pleeeeze, let me come.”

  Now she is eyeing me adoringly, as if I hold the answers to all of her questions. I guess, in a way, I do since I am the one who is completely in control.

  I place the knife in my other hand and lean down, biting into her soft breast tissue. I am enjoying listening to her cry out. I like listening to her tell me she will do anything I want her to do, even if I already know that.

  “Oh, I like hearing that, Melanie, and I know you will do anything I want you to do, young lady.”

  She is no longer eyeing me as if I am her abductor; she is now looking at me as if I am her savior.

  She is everything I dreamed she would be and I have not even begun to subject her to my training yet.

  I gently lay the knife out of her reach and onto the small nightstand that sits to the side of the bed.

  “Do you know who I am?” She shakes her head no.

  “I’m… The Black Rose Killer…”

  I wake up in a cold sweat with a sated cock. I can’t ever remember climaxing from nothing more than a dream. This woman, this innocent creature, has become all I think of and I must have her at all costs. I must have my sweet, little girl.

  I eye the clock which informs me it is 6:00am. I can’t wait any longer; I need her here with me. I dial my driver’s number and inform him that today is the day we retrieve Melanie. I’m tired of being so fixated on the woman. I can’t believe my obsession has escalated to the point that I am now having wet dreams.

  My driver is much more than a mere chauffeur. He is also my bodyguard and a confidante. Though he is unaware I am a serial killer, there really isn’t any other area of my life that he isn’t privy to. He has been in on every aspect of my plan to bring Melanie here. The timing is perfect due to the attack last night. Her fear for her and Tommy’s safety will make her more pliable and more likely to take the offer of employment to care for my aging aunt. Everything is prepared and it is now time for me to make my move. Timing is everything and, right now, it couldn’t be more perfect. After all, in my world perfection is paramount…

  Melanie

  Tommy’s screams wake me up and my head feels like it’s in a vice grip. I can’t even remember how I made it home last night. This isn’t like me at all and though I’m not exactly sure what took place last night, I’m one hundred percent certain it was against my will.

  A surge of panic races through me when I consider the possibility that I may have been sexually assaulted. I jump up and fight off a wave of nausea accompanied with dizziness as I slide my fingers into my underwear. Thank God there are no signs of recent intercourse. There is no soreness and, more importantly, no wetness… Ugh.

  My cell phone rings and I only pick it up because it’s the sitter. I don’t have many minutes on it so I get straight to the point.

  “What happened last night?”

  “I’m guessing, but I think someone at your job may have roofied you.”

  “How did I get home?”

  “I can only assume a Good Samaritan dropped you off. Someone knocked on the door and when I opened it, you were slumped against the wall with no one else in sight.”

  Fear clutches at my heart as the thought of her reporting the incident brings a whole new set of worries to my life. I make my way over to Tommy and begin cleaning him up as I talk on the phone.

  “Please don’t tell anyone. You know me better than this; I don’t do drugs.”

  “I would never tell anyone. Now go get in the shower and wash that caked-in mud out of your hair. I would have bathed you but it was all I could do to drag your ass into bed.”

  “Alright… and thanks for being a friend.”

  I make my way into the kitchen with a cleaned up Tommy in tow and grab a bottle out of the refrigerator to heat in the microwave. After it’s done, I give it to him to drink and place him on a clean blanket with some toys. He is in sight where I can see him as I shower.

  It feels good to let the water splash over me, washing away the caked on mud and debris from my hair. I’m extremely relieved that I wasn’t sexually assaulted last night yet, at the same time, I’m feeling very unsettled about it. Why in the world would anyone drug a woman just to leave her safely on her doorstep? It makes no sense to me and, eventually, I have to stop straining my brain trying to figure it out. Thank God Tommy and I are safe. That’s all that matters at this point. I’m certain it will come back to me over time. Maybe I’m better off not knowing, though I do wish I could thank the Good Samaritan.

  A feeling of dread washes over me as I think about the fact I will have to go to the laundromat now to wash my bedding. What is a simple chore for others is a pain in the ass for me. People don’t realize how much they take things for granted. I would love to have a washer and dryer. Oh well…I choose to focus on the positive. I’m so gratef
ul I wasn’t raped or, worse yet, killed.

  I dry off and run a brush through my long, dark hair. I put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and start planning the day. First and foremost, I need coffee. I’m standing in the kitchen, lost in my head and impatiently waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, when a knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I look out and view what I perceive to be a chauffeur or a delivery man with an envelope in his hand. I haven’t ordered anything and I’m curious if the poor guy has the wrong door. Rather than see him lost in a neighborhood like this, I open it.

  “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “I was instructed to give you this.”

  “Are you certain you don’t have me mixed up with someone else?”

  He chuckles, “No, Ma’am. I’m certain you are the woman whom I was instructed to give this.”

  I take the envelope but when I attempt to shut the door, he speaks again.

  “Ma’am, I was directed to await you reading that note.”

  “Okay, let’s see what we have here.” I turn, placing Tommy on the blanket with his toys and bottle, and open the envelope.

  Ms. Melanie Edwards,

  It is going to take a certain amount of trust for you to do what I am asking of you—just think of me as a Robin Hood of sorts.