Destroy what Destroys you

February 3, 2013
By caitlinn97, Fountain Valley, California
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caitlinn97, Fountain Valley, California
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Favorite Quote:
"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." -Robert Frost


Chapter 1
“We caught him,” Mace’s dark husky voice said through the phone.
I picked some M&Ms from the crystal bowl on the oak coffee table and sat on the couch.
“Who?” I asked while chewing.
“Michael,”
My heart caught beat and I stopped breathing for a brief moment. I coughed clearing my throat from the M&Ms I had just chocked on.
“Michael,” I repeated. “As in Michael Greene. The – the –”
“The Chain Killer. Cami, we caught him today. He actually gave himself up. Just walked into the station and told a cop to cuff him. He’s in our custody now and I wanted to know if you wanted to talk to him. Captain said it would be a good idea. Besides he said he won’t talk to anyone except you,”
I sighed and ran my finger quickly through my hair ruffling it around. I tapped my feet nervously. Did I really want to do this?
“I’ll be there in five,” I said hanging up.
I quickly got off the couch in one swift movement. I snatched my keys off the cold marble counter and headed to my old Mustang I recently bought. I stuck the key into the ignition and waited for the car to purr. I backed out and headed for the police station.
Michael Greene was the man behind my mother’s death. I had seen him two years ago when he had killed my mom in the old asylum I sent him to the year before. He’s been on the chase ever since. We call him the Chain Killer because he chains you up and then saws you into pieces with a chainsaw. So far, we’ve found, honestly, too many bodies to count.
Michael has visited me many times. He’s left me gifts, which I never open, and cards, I burn those. Once he sent me a picture of my mom, scrawny and withdrawn after he kidnapped her. I never told anyone, not even my father or sister. I told Mace though, because I knew he wouldn’t tell a single soul. I trusted him more than I trusted my own father.
Finally the Chain Killer was found. He wasn’t even found. He gave himself up. That’s not normal. Something’s not right and I’m going to figure it out.
I showed the guard my badge and headed to the interrogation room. There was the man who killed my mom, the man who tore apart families, the man who ruined my life.

I shifted my hands from left to right, tugging the cuffs harder on my wrists. The metal caused a burning sensation; a pain as sweat as sugar. The pain was addictive. Suffering was my drug. My body yearned for me to pull harder, causing the skin to pierce and allow the flow of rose red blood seep out.
A creak made me stop dead in my tracks. My gaze slowly drifted across the room to the door a girl, no, a woman stood in front of me. Her long, slender legs were covered in black denim. Her small waist and torso were tightly gripped with a white, low cut V-neck, showing more cleavage than she should. Her thick curly hair and been thrown into a ponytail. The bags under her eyes were the only flaw on her smoothly complex face. The woman’s brown eyes shone as she walked towards me. I knew her very well. The woman was Camille Caputo. I killed her mother.
Camille flipped the metal chair around making loud clacking noises and causing her knuckles to turn white. She set her coffee down and straddled the chair. I stared at her chocolate eyes intensely. Camille’s breathing rate increased. I smirked at her and her eyes shot away.
“Camille,” I said smoothly keeping my eyes on her. “How’s everything going?”
“Why her?” Camille’s little voice shook without her knowing. She didn’t look up at me.
“Which one? There was many women in my life if I remember correctly.”
“My mother,”
“Which one was your mother?” I knew exactly whom she was talking about. Camille looked just like her mother, which brought back screams and the faint sweet scent of blood…
“My mother! Sam Caputo!” She screamed standing up and slamming her fists on the table so hard she could’ve made dents.
“Oh yes, Samantha,” The words seeped out of my mouth slower than molasses. “I’m not entirely sure. There was something about her. Maybe it was the way she screamed when the blade hit her skin.”
Camille’s eyes widened and my lips curved into a thin smile. She took hold of the chair and screamed loudly. She came towards me, her eyes filled with hatred and sadness. I knew she wouldn’t hit me. She wasn’t capable of hurting me. Camille was too emotionally unstable to do anything.
The door swung open and her partner, whose name I didn’t know, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back. She fought to get loose and attack me, but failed. I kept a smile on my face as the officers came in, unlocked me from the table and lifted me out of the seat.
“You sick bastard!” Camille yelled with tears rimming her eyes. She was weak. “I hope you rot in hell!”
“I’ll see you there,” I said grinning and walking out the door to the prison.

I chugged down another shot and then ordered a pint of beer for myself. Mom had died because of me. I was hoping maybe if I drank enough alcohol, it would make the emotional pain go away.
“How many is that?” Mace asked taking a seat next to me.
“I’m so glad you made it!” I slurred draping my arms around his neck and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
He pushed me away. “I really think you should stop.” He turned to the bartender. “Hey, how many has she had?”
“Don’t ask him. He won’t know. Hell, I don’t even know.”
“Six shots of tequila and a pint of our strongest,” the bartender replied.
Mace handed the man some money and said something I couldn’t hear clearly. He must’ve mumbled it.
“Come on. We’re going home,” Mace said grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.
“One more drink, please,”
“You don’t need anymore,”
“Please, Mace,” I pleaded.
“Camille!” He shouted bringing all of my attention to him. “We’re leaving. Lets go.”
I stumbled over my own feet, so I took hold of Mace’s arm to keep steady. Mace said I was capable of driving, so we left my car at the car and drove in his car.
“Leigh-Anne is coming over for dinner,” Mace said.
“I didn’t invite her,”
“Yes, you did. You invited her this morning before I called you. She called me wondering if I was going,”
“It’s cause she likes you,” I scuffed up his hair. “You can come over if you want. Crash at my house and then got to work in the morning.”
“I can’t. I’m going on a date tonight.”
“I can’t wait to meet this one,”
“You’re not. You ruin every one of my relationships.” He sighed and I lazily turned my head towards him and smiled. “You look like an idiot. Stop it,”
“You look like an idiot. Stop it,” I mocked and giggled.
“Just promise me you’ll stay awake through dinner,”
“I can’t you promise that.” I said and Mace looked at me. “I said that wrong didn’t I? Let me try again,”
“Camille, just shut up,”
Mace opened the door to my house and let ourselves in. He began to cook dinner, since I couldn’t even stand and I can’t cook anyways.
There was a gurgling sound in my stomach, making me curl my toes. A throbbing pain began knocking on my temple. I rubbed my head with my hand. I did not feel good whatsoever.
“Mace I said quietly.
He looked from grilling vegetables on the stove. His brown eyes looked me straight in the eye. He arched and eyebrow and asked me what was wrong. I ran to the bathroom without a response. I could hear his feet scurrying after me. I threw my head into the toilet and began throwing up. Mace stood next to me holding my hair. We had done this many times. I puked until Leigh-Anne arrived.
“You smell awful,” Leigh-Anne said after hugging me. “You smell like road kill mixed with a subway.”
“Well there’s a reason behind that,” I said waving my hands in different directions.
“Are you drunk?” Leigh-Anne asked and I just chuckled. “Did you let her get drunk?”
“It’s been a hectic day,” Mace explained.
“Momma’s killer came in today and talked to me,” I slurred pointing a finger at which I hoped was myself and then collapsed into Mace’s arms.
“You met Michael?” She asked.
“I think you better come over when she’s sober, like tomorrow for lunch.” Mace said.
“But-”
“Bye!” Mace closed the door on Leigh-Anne. He pulled out his phone and paced back and forth.
“Whatcha doing?” I asked draping myself across the sofa.
“I cancelled my date. You’re incapable of doing anything. I doubt you can even go to the bathroom by yourself. If I leave you along, you’ll probably burn the whole house down. Get some sleep,” He picked me up and placed me in bed. “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.”
I curled up in the bed, pulling the covers closer to me. I shut my eyes and fell quickly asleep.

“Cami, you might want to see this…” Mace said waking me up to a major headache. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the living room. He handed me a Bloody Mary and some aspirin.
“I’d rather have a hangover than drink this,” I said backing the drink away.
“Well you aren’t going to be so happy after you see this, so drink away,”
“See what?”
“This,” Mace turned the channel to the news. I gasped and saw all the cop cars by the prison. I read the title of the breaking news. Michael Greene had escaped.
I tossed the aspirin, threw my head back, swallowed, and then chugged down the Bloody Mary. I got into the shower, waking me up making me feel like I was completely sober. I changed into fresh clothes.
“Lets go,” I said heading to my car that Mace had picked up this morning while I was sleeping.
“You know where he is don’t you?” Mace asked.
“I’ve been studying every move this man has been making for two years. Of course I know where he’s at.” I replied.
“Are you going there now?”
“That’s up to you. Should we go and not tell anyone or wait forever until they have a plan?”
“Cami, I really think we should wait. It might not be safe. He’s killed way too many girls too count. If we go, you could be the next.”
“They weren’t armed.” I showed him my gun. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll go to the station right now and go tonight instead.”
“I don’t feel comfortable at all.”
“Well, I wasn’t comfortable thirdwheeling it to all of your dates, but I went anyways.”
“I never invited you, that’s the difference.” He said quietly sinking down into the passengers seat.
“Come on, we’ll just check it out. Five minutes at the max. Please? I won’t ask for anything else.”
“Fine, but it’s not 'cause you’ll never ask for anything because I know that’s a lie.”

“We’re here,” I said nudging Mace’s arm. His eyes groggily fluttered open.
“This is it? In the middle of nowhere?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
We both looked at the large cement building with broken windows from kids playing baseball and vandalism. Weeds overgrew all over the year that was once filled with strolling mental patients. Vines took a tight grip on the building and tried to crumble it to the floor. The doors had been flown open from the high winds that also blew wheelchairs and rolling beds around.
Mace and I closed the car doors and opened the trunk to pick up some guns. We grabbed some ammo to refill our guns just in case there was an emergency, which I hoped to God there wasn’t.
Mace pushed his way through the tall grass, tossing rocks and items that were once used in the asylum, aside. I followed behind Mace keeping a close eye on my surroundings.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as we entered the crazy hospital. The madhouse was older and dirtier than when I had left it last a couple years ago.
When we walked in, there were some chairs and cushions torn out. There was a front desk that a small proportion had been eaten away from termites. Mace cleared the walkway of dolls with eyes that had been torn out from patients while I brushed the cobwebs away. We finally made our way to the main desk where there was an old rotary phone and a book with all the patients’ names.
I picked up the book, dusted it off and opened it. Mace and I looked through it until we came to the last name: Michael Greene. There was a piece of paper next to the name with my name on it. The paper looked like all the letters I had burned from the Chain Killer. This was going to be the first one I opened from him.
Camille,
Sorry I didn’t clean up the place. It was, you can say, unexpected.
Love,
Michael Greene
I crumpled up the letter and chucked it across the room.
“Do you want to go home?” Mace asked. “The door is – closed.”
The door had been shut behind us without us knowing. We ran to it both ramming our shoulders into the door. It didn’t budge.
“We can try a window,” I suggested.
“They all have bars in the front,”
“What the hell is going on?” I asked pacing back and forth thoroughly brushing my hair with my hands. “This is all a little game to him.”
“We can’t call anyone. There’s no signal in here,” Mace said. “We’re going to win this game, I promise,”
“Promises are made to be broken. Look at what my father promised. That fell through didn’t it?”
“Are you blaming your father for you mother’s death? Just because he promised to keep your family safe and failed to do so, doesn’t mean he broke it. There was nothing he could do,”
I shut my eyes tightly remembering every detail that was important in the twenty-four years of my life. A flashback of memories flooded my head; some sending chills down my spine and some making me sick to my stomach.
I needed to tell my father where I was. I couldn’t make the same mistake my mother made of telling no one of her surroundings. I didn’t want to die here and have no one know where my lifeless body was. That was not going to happen.
I walked to a window and shoved my elbow causing the glass to shatter into a million pieces on the floor. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and put it out the window. I had a couple bars. I called my father.
“Hey Cam,” My father answered through the speaker. He didn’t slur so I knew he, for once, was sober.
“Dad,” I sighed relieved that he answered. “Mom’s killer escaped. Mace and I are trying to him,”
“Were you and your partner assigned to this?”
“Uh, no.” I said lowering my voice.
“Camille where are you? The service is terrible,”
“The old asylum. Dad, don’t come looking for me,”
“Get out of there. I don’t want you to end up like your mother,”
“I’m trying to serve justice here. I’m not leaving.”
“Camille Anne Caputo, get your ass out of there right now. Screw it, I’m coming to get you,”
“No!” I yelled. “I don’t want you getting killed! Leigh-Anne needs you more than she needs me. Look, if I don’t give you a call in an hour or two, call the cops and tell them where I’m at. Okay?” No one answered. “Dad?” I pulled my phone in and sighed. I had lost signal.
“There has to be another way out. Lets go check it out,” Mace said.
“Mace, whatever happens, I want you to know you were a great partner. I don’t think I could go this far without you. Thanks,” I said my hands shaking.
“We’re not going to be separated,” Mace said smiling.
I saw something white behind him and screamed. It came closer to him and I could hear the rattling noise of the chainsaw. He turned and was bashed against the head hard enough to crack his skull. I searched the room looking for where the man was. The chainsaw noise kept ringing my ears, so I knew he was still in here somewhere. I found out where he was just in time to turn around and get smacked in the head.

I woke up to a throbbing pain in my head. I was lying in a bed, once used by a mentally ill patient. I went to touch my head where I had been struck, but was restricted. I looked up and to the side making my head ache even more. Both my arms and my legs were chained to the posts of the bed. There were what looked like circular band-aids on my arms and there was a headband around my forehead, all of which were connected by wires leading to a strange machine.
I heard a low chuckle that made me turn my head in all different directions trying to figure out where it was coming from. The laugh continued for minutes, hurting my brain. I shut my eyes hoping it would go away, but it didn’t.
“Time for a little therapy,” A raspy voice said.
In the shadows, I could see two bright white eyeballs with a pearly white grin. Two hands lifted up with a cord in each. My eyes widened and my breathing became unhealthily fast. He put the cords together and instantly I felt burning pain rushing through my body. I screamed and began jolting. The chains restricted me from bouncing everywhere. This was the worst pain I had ever felt. I was going through electric therapy.

Her screams, oh her screams, filled my ears. They were like music, a full symphony playing in unison and creating a masterpiece. The high pitch yell was exactly like her mother’s. There wasn’t a difference. No tone or pitch difference. They were exactly the same. Almost to the point I thought maybe this was Samantha Caputo and I was killing her all over again.
The hopeless screams made me stronger. I could feel the adrenaline soar through my veins like it did before every kill. I wanted more. More screams, more kills, more bodies. Anything to satisfy myself. Camille was all I need to do so.
I looked at her fragile body jerking side to side, the chains refraining her arms and legs to move. Her back arched up as the watts surged through her, weakening her body even more. Her hair was now a mess; her once perfect curls were now a rat’s nest. The veins on her neck popped out causing a lump in her skin as she screamed bloody murder. Camille’s eyes were shut tightly and I hoped they would stay that way. If they never opened again, maybe she would finally be in peace.
I cranked the power higher wanting more strength. More power to overthrow the police. More power to overcome the world. Humans will be my slaves and I will do anything until I am ruler.
Camille’s screams became rusted and scratchy. They were off pitch. What was going on? They weren’t perfect anymore. This cannot happen. I wouldn’t tolerate this. If she is no good to me, she will be killed right now.
I turned off the power and stormed over to her. Camille’s eyes were shut as before, but more relaxed. Her breathing was soft and steady. She looked like a baby sleeping after a day of crying. A small tear slid down the side of her face.
Killing her right now, would be too easy. I needed her to go through more pain, more suffering, more screams. I have to put her through another life or death challenge. I needed to please Master.

I stumbled out of bed, falling to the floor because my legs were too weak. My head was still pounding. I had a huge gash where the chainsaw had hit me in the back of my head. I looked at my wrists, which were bruised and covered with dark dry blood. The same for my ankles, just not as severe.
I was weak, but not weak enough to walk. I didn’t hear any chains, so I proceeded to check out the place. The next room was dimly light by a few old light bulbs, covered in dust, hanging by a chain from the ceiling. There was something on the walls, covering it like tiles. They were all the same size; I would say 4 by 3 inches by the outlines. I took hold of a chain of a light bulb and dragged it over to the wall so I could see. I gasped at the sight.
On the left on the covered wall, was a column of names. All of the names of the girls that were reported missing and more. More than I could ever imagine. In every row of the column of names, there were pictures. The pictures showed the girls from being healthy, the time they arrived, and progressed through to when they were gaunt, the time before they were killed.
I walked over to where there was an empty row. I used the light bulb to read the name. I knew this was his next victim, so I wanted to know who it was. I already had a pretty good idea of whose name was on the end of the column. My prediction was correct. It was mine.
I knew this would happen, but I knew I could beat Michael. I’ve studied him. I know what he does to the girls. I know the mistakes the girls made. I will not end up like them, no matter how painful it is. Whatever I have to go through, whatever the cost is, I will kill Michael.
Something dripped onto the tip of my nose. I thought it was water, since there was water leaking from the ceiling from the rain. But this was warm. I wiped it off my nose and put the light to my fingers so I could see that it was just rainwater. I was wrong. There was a red substance spread across my fingers. I knew from past experience what it was. Anyone would know what was on my fingers. It was obvious. I wish it was red dye or red food coloring, but it wasn’t. It was blood. It wasn’t animal blood, it was human blood.
I looked up to see a dismembered body hanging above me. I knew that body. I was Mace’s. Oh God. What had I done? I gasped and covered my mouth, backing up with my eyes still on the body. I tripped and fell over another body piece. I couldn’t make out if it was a leg or arm. I fell face first into the ground, looking at a surprise. I was eye to eye with Mace’s head.
Don’t scream, don’t scream. I reminded myself. He feeds off of fear. All Michael needed was one little scream and he could be more powerful than the US Army, Navy and Air Force combined. I wasn’t going to let that happen.
I slowly got up, my body covered in my blood mixed with Mace’s. I was behind Mace’s death. It wasn’t Michael, it was me. I had dragged him here when he wanted to go to the station. He was always right. I part of me died inside knowing that it was my fault. I was the killer here, not Michael.
But if I was the killer, maybe I could feed off of fear. I could gain strength from my own fear. Getting Michael to be afraid would be too hard. Using my fear, my revulsion, my consternation into building vigor and myself to become strong. He wasn’t going to be able to stop me.

I walked out of the room, slowly, because my feet were still aching from the electric jolts running through my body. Mace’s blood was dripping off of me now, every drop of blood was every memory lost I had with Mace. Every drop was every life lost to Michael because of me. My shirt stuck to my torso, refusing to let go no matter the cost. It was colored red, instead of white that it once was. The purity of it was now lost, just like my life and Michael’s life.
The room I next entered was darker than the rest of the world at midnight. I decided to proceed not knowing where I was going. It all had to lead to the same place right? What if this was a shortcut? There was only one real way to find out. I carefully shuffled my feet, quiet enough so Michael wouldn’t know where I was. I could see a light to a different room making me move faster. What made me start to sprint was the sound of a chainsaw. I peeked over my shoulder and slipped, causing me to be engulfed in water.
I splashed around, thinking maybe if I moved my arms it would magically shoot me out of the water. I gasped every time my head bobbed out of the water. It would’ve been easier to get out of the never-ending pool if there wasn’t more water pouring in by a metal pipe. I could swim, I was an avid swimmer. It wasn’t new to me. I should’ve been able to swim to the edge and pull myself out, but I couldn’t. It was like this was supposed to happen to me and only me, like it was planned.
This was it. The end was near and I hadn’t have saved as many lives as I should. I didn’t serve up to the pledge I had made at the Police Academy. I had failed my honor code with Mace. I promise to keep him safe no matter what I had to do, and I failed. My life was filled with useless information in my head, that I thought was important and that could save someone’s life, when I needed to learn how to save my own.
Knowing that I had done nothing to do anything successful or maybe even useful in my life made me want to give up and stop fighting to save my life. I thought about. I thought about just sinking like a stone like all my dreams and expectations to do with my life. But if I made it out, I could kill Michael and get revenge for all the people he killed.
My arms wailed around hoping to find something to latch onto. The water kept rising and I floated up to the top. My eyes bad out of some bars at the top, which I assumed was the ceiling. I didn’t struggle, so I could save as my energy as I could. I treaded until I got to the top. I gripped onto the bars and perched my lips and nose out so I could breath. There was a door that I was below me. I could swim and open it up. I was going to do it. I filled my lungs with enough air so I could make it to the bottom.
One dip and I kicked my legs swimming to the bottom. Bubbles dispersed from the air I was breathing out. The water was so dirty and mucky, that I couldn’t see a thing except for a light coming from a square shape ahead. I swam faster, pumping my legs harder. I came to the light, which was like a scene from poltergeist. I hit the window trying to kick it through and break it. My hands then searched for the handle. I rattled it until it pushed through. I flooded out with a river of water. I lay out on ground, watering surrounding me, lifting me off the ground. I crawled over to the door, out of breath and slammed it shut making sure I locked it.
I crawled over to a corning, dragging my legs and pushing myself to the other side of the room. I had outsmarted death and beat Michael. Maybe this was supposed to happen instead of drowning. Maybe this was a test to see if I was able to kill Michael. If I could almost die and still live, being on the borderline of life and death, I think I could beat Michael.

By the time my clothes and hair were dried, I heard someone call my name. I would have assumed it was Michael, playing with my mind, but it was a girl’s voice. A very familiar girl voice. It wasn’t just any girl’s voice. It was my sister’s voice. My father must’ve told Leigh-Anne. I shot straight up onto my feet, not only adrenaline pulsing through my body, but fear.
“Cami!” Leigh-Anne screamed. “Where the hell am I? This place reeks. It’s so dirty. They need a maid around here.”
“Leigh-Anne get out!” I screamed. I heard the roar of a chainsaw. I began sprinting. “Leigh-Anne!”
As soon as I got into the room, I saw my blonde haired sister screaming for her life. I grabbed an old rusted chair as I was running, and hit the Chain Killer in the head, making him flip his head to the side. The gauges that I had just made with the chair started instantly healing. The black blood dribbled down and then was stopped by new skin folding over. Michael Greene was not a human, he was a monster.
I turned to Leigh-Anne and shouted at her to leave or go into the next room. I shrieked in pain feeling the pain searing through my back. The chainsaw ripped through my shirt tearing my lower back open. The curve in each blade of the chainsaw lifting my skin up, tearing it and making the blood pour down my shirt. I shouted at Leigh-Anne to grab a chair and hit him. I wanted to plead for my life, I wanted to beg it to stop, but I knew that would only make it stronger.
In the corner of my eye, I saw a container full of liquids that must’ve been used for medical purposes. I knew the doctors and surgeons didn’t know that none of the liquids would help with the ‘diseases’ and ‘psychiatric disorders’ the patients had. One of those liquids had to be flammable. All the year of science that I failed, I learned about all the flammable elements.
I ignored all the pain as I stood up limping trying to run to the cabinet. I flung open the cabinet and searched through the elements. Most of the bottles weren’t labeled. They were assorted by color, which didn’t help me at all. I grabbed one with a faint writing on it. C3H8O was scribbled onto it. Rubbing alcohol; highly flammable.
I took the bottle of rubbing alcohol and chucked it at the Chain Killer. The liquid seared his skin and he growled, waving his chainsaw around. I shouted at Leigh-Anne to toss me her matches that she had on her. She was a smoker who could smoke one to two packs a day. I told her one day she’d die and it wouldn’t be a heroic death, it’d be a stupid death that was totally her fault.
She threw the box of matches at me and I flicked the match against the flint. The flame immediately lit up the room showing actually how disgusting the Chain Killer looked. The wounds surrounded his body, lighter skin covering most of his body. The scars were from the girls who had tried to escape and thought clawing him would help them in the slightest bit. They were wrong. The chainsaw he held was bloody, not only from mine, but from Mace’s and multiple other girls. It was rusted. Looks like I have a high risk of Tetanus and Lockjaw.
I flicked the match at the Chain Killer. He burst up into bright orange and blue flames. The growls and screams escaped its mouth. It gave me pleasure that he screamed because of me just like he made those girls screamed. He made my mother scream like that too.
“Master!” It screamed as its skin boiled and bubbles arose on his skin, blistering. “I failed you!”
Failed whom? Who was its master and why was it trying to please him? Was this some sort of human sacrifice thing? This is what it did for a living and it enjoyed it. The monster kept screaming.
“They weren’t enough! I’m sorry!” It yelled. I ignored its pleas for forgiveness and mercy.
The door swung open as the room caught on fire. The bars lifted up from the windows. It was like the asylum had a curse on it because the Chain Killer was still in it. Now since it was dead, the house was free.
I grabbed my sister’s wrist and drug her out of the place. I was never going back to this asylum as long as I live. We hopped into my car and sped away. I already knew that Mace was dead, so I didn’t check. I didn’t want to see his body chopped up because of me. I learned something that night. I learned that there lived a monster in all of us.

Most people cry when they see their friend lying in a coffin, lifeless and pale. I couldn’t cry. I felt no emotion whatsoever. I just stared at the coffin. Mace’s mom and dad had wanted it closed because only parts of Mace were inside.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to what was left of Mace.
I slid my down the oak coffin which was smoother than the sea early in the morning. As the ceremony began, I sat with Mace’s parents in the crowd of family, friends and the police officers that Mace had known. I knew I should’ve listened to the pastor talk, but I couldn’t pay attention. I would play with the hem of my floral summer dress, which was tight around the top and flowed, loose at the end. I had matched the dress with some sandals, since it was a hot breezy summer day. My hair was styled naturally, thick and curly. I would twirl each curl and by the time the pastor had stopped talking, I had twisted all of them.
“Now we have Mace’s former partner, Camille Caputo, to talk a bit about Mace,” the pastor said showing me to the stage.
I took a few steps, walking up the stairs that led to a big podium. I didn’t want to talk about Mace. He was partner and we had done everything together, everything except die together. I was the cause of his death. I sighed which was expanded throughout the ceremony. It made me jump knowing that the microphone was that loud.
“So, I’m here to tell you about my partner – former partner – Mace Wayne.” I smiled remembering all the memories. “We were partners. Mace and I met each other in the Police Academy. We were good friends. It was just how we were. We were good friends. I hoped to get in the same department as him. Fearing that wouldn’t happen, we both said our goodbyes and promised to meet up whenever we could. Turns out we were lucky enough to become partners. He was great. He saved my life, more than I could ever repay him,”
Something shot back in the trees. I saw a man, who looked exactly like Mace. My head shook, I was confused. I went back to speaking, but I couldn’t take my mind off of what I just saw. He was still there, staring at me from behind the tree.
“He was more than a partner or a friend, he was like a brother. We told us everything. We shared everything. We had each other’s backs. I think Mace died a hero protecting me.”
I left the podium and everyone dispersed. They went to the coffin, to the pastor, to the snack table or to the memorabilia table full of pictures and Mace’s things. I walked through the crowd making my way through the crowd. I made it to the tree and met Mace face to face. I smiled and hugged him.
“I thought you were dead,” I whispered into his neck. I pulled myself away from him.
“Yeah? Well, I outsmarted death, like we always do. We’ll always be together and we’ll have each other’s backs. We promised remember?”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “Why don’t you go see your parents? Your friends? I’m sure they would be more than ecstatic to see you.”
“I can’t.” He said flatly.
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“Mace, you’re being ridiculous.” I laughed.
“I’m sorry,”
“Sorry for what?” I asked and then chocked on my words.
I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. I looked down to see a black edge of a knife with the silver metal pierced into my chest. The knife was close to heart about to kill me. The blood tripled down my dress turning it red just like my shirt in the asylum. I knew why he was sorry now. I looked at Mace, whose face was turning into the Chain Killer once again. This time I was the sacrifice to his master. I tried to grab onto him for help, but it was already too late. My world was turning completely black as I fell to the ground hopelessly.



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