Corrupted Angel

A short piece about a man who picks out his prey.

Eyes that glowed like the moonlight against the darkening sky and as frosty as the snow that lay on the ground of Central Park on a cold winter’s night held small orbs of piercing green irises. The eyes that had once been gentle and caring, light-hearted and free now burned with intensity and a hidden violence. They had once caressed her skin with a fleeting glance but now they tore through her soul with a menacing hate. Those eyes had been the last thing she’d seen.

And, when her last dying breath had escaped her chapped, parted lips the eyes softened once again. The man who owned the eyes sighed deeply, she had struggled more than he had anticipated. Slipping his arms under her limp body he carried her up the stairs to his bathroom where he would prepare the body. As he clunked up the thin, and narrowing, staircase her head bounced. Her ash blonde hair covered her staring, accusing, baby blue eyes. It had been her almost white hair that had first caught his attention only a week ago.

 

He had been on his way home from work and a bright halo attracted him. He could see an angel amidst the crowd. She had a large black bag on one shoulder; a folder stuck out of it and revealed several wads of messy note papers. She was a college student. She was walking briskly in the light April shower that danced down from the rain clouds heading for a darker alley. She looked behind her for a moment as if she could feel the heat of his gaze upon her.

At that moment he decided, he would keep her in the basement, section one.

She had baby blue eyes, as soft as felt and rosy pink cheeks from the icy rain which splashed on her face and clung to her long, sweeping eyelashes. Her lips were painted red which contrasted against her china doll complexion. His eyes sparkled; china doll, perfect. In her hand she was clutching something, but she turned away before he could work out what it was.  She was heading down the route to his car. A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. Slowly, invisibly, he headed to the alley. 

 

The rooftops almost touched here and were a canopy against the rain and the already dimming light of the day. His eyes darted around, he had lost her. His anger began to boil in the pit of his stomach and his eyes began to narrow. This was the beginning of it, it always was. There was a bubbling sensation in the pit of his stomach, a clenching fist around his heart and the constriction of his lungs as his chest closed around them. His mouth became dry and his face warm, until, amongst the darkest of shadows there was a couple of sparks of light. He saw them illuminate her angelic face, the bubbling ceased, the constriction dispersed and he realised how she would be displayed.

“Need a light?” He asked as he heard her cursing, the lighter in her hand feebly dying in the now bitter wind. So, it had been a lighter in her delicately thin hand. As he spoke her eyes whipped up to the coming male. She judged him, her eyes dancing curiously over the largely built male. He held out the little gadget in his hand, an offering of friendship. She gingerly reached out and took it trying to light the cigarette between her fingers. It refused to light.

“Here, have one of mine,” he chuckled at her misfortune.

“Thanks,” She said sliding one from the packet. This one lit fine now that it was shielded away from the merciless rain. She handed the lighter back to him placing the thin release to her lips and drawing it deep into her chest. The pulse of silvery smoke slipped from between the red lips up into the air. Her lipstick had left an oily red mark on the cigarette.

“What you doing back here? It’s a bit dangerous, pretty girls like you.” He lit up his own cigarette, a different brand to the one he had offered. He drew in a deep breath, he felt stronger now, more confident.

“I’m alright,” she moved back crossing her arms. He had been too forward, now she would be wary of him, watching his every move.

“Just be careful, alright? Don’t want to see another girl in the newspaper, too tragic too young. At least you’re one of those girls who are decent enough to keep themselves covered, not asking for trouble. And, you look just as pretty as those girls.” He kept his tone light, controlled. He couldn’t tell her how her slim legs led up to a round a*s which swayed as she walked, although they were covered in tight denim. He couldn’t say how the pastel blue shirt complimented her eyes and how her lips invited him to taste them with his own.

“Thanks,” she said smiling slightly. “I’m Jenny,” she made eye contact with him now. He placed the cigarette against his lips and she copied; a trait he had learnt in his years, smokers will try to keep up with those around them �" just like drinkers.

“Ash,” he said after puffing out a trail of silver. He had adopted the name after his first victim, he set her aflame and watched her body ripple and melt in the heat and he had loved the sense of power. He no longer knew his name; he was Ash and forever would be.

“Are these typical cigs?” She asked looking at the one in her hand.

“Yeah, why? Well they’re transported from America for me, cheaper. They’re also a little stronger, sorry, I should have told you.” He apologised to her, her facial features softened.

“That’s what it’ll be then. I only recently took up smoking the boyfriend has me addicted to them.” She laughed nervously.

“Ah, how long you been with your man?” He asked curiously, he showed no resentment just pure curiosity. It had been close; she had noticed the subtle change between the normal cigarettes and the ones which he had made. He congratulated himself mentally as she took up a conversation, her words slowly being lost to the power of the drugs.

 

They were walking together, conversing in the shadows of the alley, an innocent thing to do; little did she know that around the next corner sat his car. They rounded the corner, his car was in sight. He quickly glanced at his watch, it had been exactly two minutes since she had finished her cigarette, its discarded butt left trodden on the floor.

“Well, this is my car.” He said innocently smiling at her. “Can I give you a lift home?” The weather was on his side, as he spoke the heavens opened and the rain fell heavily. “Let me give you a lift home, please.” He said; his voice showed no other cause than trying to be a gentleman. It took her a while to blink as she swayed on the spot.

“O-okay then...” she stuttered. He led her around the front of his car and opened the door politely. She stepped in and sat on the leather seat. He closed the door, rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Where to?” He asked as they strapped in.

“Crest Hill, Chatsworth” she said quietly.

“I know the place,” he smiled, starting the engine before heading down the road.

 

It was a fifteen minute car ride and they had been ten minutes talking about general topics.

“I, I don’t feel too good.” She said softly, her elbows rested on her knees and her head was propped up by her hands.

“I’ll have you home in five minutes, you can go lie down then. Let me look at you,” she raised her head as they stopped due to a red light. Her eyes were bloodshot and her pupils huge. Her lips were dry and she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. He placed his hand on her head and mocked thinking.

“There’s a bug going around, you might have caught it at college.” He said before shrugging, the drugs were working. “Just sit back and close your eyes, we’ll be home before you know it.” He said. She did as he suggested and, instead of turning left towards Chatsworth he turned right to Lofthouse. Suddenly her body slumped forward; perfect.

“Jenny, Jenny?” He said shaking her slightly. She was out cold.

 

The basement of his house had been split into three sections. Each section had; a mattress with a pillow and a blanket, a bucket for unwanted waste (with a toilet roll) and a door which led to the stairs. Sections one and three were the smaller and section two the biggest. Jenny had been kept in section one for a week and every so often Ash would go down and treat her with some entertainment. He would come and converse with her as she was tied to the pipe which ran around the edge of the brightly painted blue walls. Ash liked the colour blue; it reminded him of the sea.

If Jenny shouted at him or spoke to him in a way that would annoy her he would gag her, make her shut up and then he would continue his conversation although he was the only one now speaking.

 

Jenny’s death had been an early one; he had planned on keeping her for a month or so before killing her but she wouldn’t stay delicate that long. She would have wilted like a flower.

 

As he washed over her body, the marks on her neck now deepening in colour, his creative mind over took the brutal one. He washed over her slim, toned figure and supple assets. He cleansed her body of all traces of sin that had ever been committed against her in either the previous week or before and he blessed her body. He washed her hair and when she was dried it shone beautifully as the light hit it.

He turned her onto her front as he brought out a large box from under his bed. He opened it, inside was a large pair of white, feather wings. The wings were about three feet long but light for their size. He placed them in position on her back and, with a needle and a white thread; he began to sew them into place. It took him most of the night but when he had finished he was in awe.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered in her ear.

“Let us see what, my darling, is on the television,” he said flicking it on as he towel dried the beauty laid on his bed. A woman was sat behind the desk with a large image of a globe spinning behind her. She held a stack of papers, although she didn’t need them, and looked at the camera, straight through the screen and to Ash. She could see him now, he thought, could see what he did, the whole world could. He jumped up and in a paranoid fashion whipped the curtains closed.

“Police in the Chatsworth area are asking for any witnesses to come forward in the search for missing Jenny Harvard, a seventeen year-old, college student. She was last seen leaving Charleston bus station Saturday afternoon.” Ash leant forward and quickly switched the set off.

“See my love, people are searching for you, we will let them find you soon though.” He smiled and opened up the wardrobe. He began to undress; his clothes were then folded and placed in the washing bin neatly.

It did not seem weird to him to be stood naked in a room with a dead, naked woman. He did not feel a sexual attraction at this time, his lust had been and past; it had been fulfilled earlier the week.

He reached into the wardrobe and his drawers and dressed in a smart yet casual outfit. He then pulled out a bag from the bottom of his wardrobe and turned to the body which still stared painfully at the ceiling.

From the black, plastic carrier bag he pulled out a white dress which girls used to make themselves look innocent when out on a night. He then pulled out a white lace bra and a pair of matching panties. He laid them all out on the bed beside her before beginning to dress her. He was slow and careful, he wore a pair of gloves at all time, he had from the beginning, and eventually she was dressed. He sat her in the chair in front of his dresser and tied her in place with a few scarves, her head held up by his hand. He gently began brushing her slightly wavy hair. He hummed and spoke to her like a father would to a scared child. Her eyes represented that, a girl who had screamed for her mother when he descended upon her earlier that day.

He then took a needle and a thread and parted her hair. He took the halo which was held up by two thin, almost invisible, wire and placed it on her head in the correct position. Then he began to sew.

He turned the chair so she faced him and he smiled, the halo fit perfectly and the red blood on her head looked beautiful. He opened up an old tool box and within it was makeup of every type for every occasion.

“I acquired this one just for you,” he held up a silvery blue eye shadow before placing it on the desk beside him. He brought up several tubs and tubes and pots of makeup before beginning.

He rid her of her bruising neck, the dark circles under her eyes, and the bruise on her left cheekbone and bruises on her wrists. He applied the silvery blue eye-shadow, the thin lines of black on her eyes. He curled her lashes and made her cheeks as rosy as the day he met her. He painted her lips blood red and lined them in a beautiful pout. He smiled like a proud father and began to paint her nails with more care than any professional beauty therapist in a matching red. He placed a pair of ballet shoes on her feet and he sat back. His angel was perfect. He had to think where the perfect display cabinet was for her now.

He walked around the house, cooking food and watching television as he pondered the thought.

Then it hit him, he would place her in the place angels belongs; the Cathedral. She could be seen by all then.

 

It was ten am; Ash had arrived awaiting the people to come and pray for their Sunday service. It wasn’t until half ten when a woman screamed. She was pointing up to the crucifix of Jesus where an angel now knelt praying; her hands stitched in an eternal prayer.

 

And Ash left, his job done, his attachment to his work �" to the girl, lost.

Author's Note

This was just a play around, what do you think?

Reviews

[Marie Harrison]

Very creative story, it reminded me of silence of the lambs. I enjoyed learning more about the logic and reasoning that ran inside the killers mind. I was fascinated by his sewing and making her into an angel too. The ending was very good placing her inside the church, reading for the early morning church attendees. Great job!