The old creaking groan of a fan, the creaking of that lone fan wasn’t powered by anything, it was only moving on its own due to the wind. The sound of the fans squeaking hinges bounced off the dilapidated walls of the abandoned building. Along with the faint dripping of water from rusted old pipes as rats scurried along the ground, moving quickly away from one place, as though they wanted to avoid one area of the building as much as possible. For their animal instincts were on point. There was a far more ferocious beast now within the building’s walls.
A beast that, against all odds, should have fallen to the hands of those who were physically stronger, but stood firm like a mighty oak that refused to bend. Standing above the now broken crumpled bodies of the very men that intended to insight harm on another for their own enjoyment as they now lay motionless on the grimy concrete floor.
One, however, was still conscious. But just barely. He rasped through damaged lungs as he slowly bled from internal wounds. The woman that did this did it in a way that would not leave even a drop of blood on the floor. He didn’t even know how, but she had managed to break several bones without tearing flesh. Twisting the limbs so the bones would cause more damage on the inside as their own blood would bring pain and irritation to ruptured organs as the bone fragments acted like slivers of wood in the smallest of places. She made it look so easy when she broke the first man’s arm.
They thought they could rush her, overpower her with their numbers, and goad her on into leaving an opening.
But the woman did no such thing.
Throughout it all, she had been silent. A dead calm, as though none of this mattered to her in the slightest. Like they were lesser in her eyes like they were deserving of this internal torture that might never heal. She didn’t even let them scream, striking their windpipes to stop whatever noise they made into struggling rasps of breath.
Now the woman merely stood watching them with cold blue eyes that resembled that of a frozen bottomless lake. Peering down at the men with such an intimidating gaze. Eyes that could take one’s very soul and leave them to die in a sinking cesspool of despair.
The guy that they were with, Nick Green, said it’d be easy, to show that woman, the tiny one with dark hair and glasses, what she gets for not listening to him. That it was her own fault. But he clearly didn’t know about the other woman.
She wasn’t a woman.
But a monster.
A demon.
They were lucky that she didn’t kill them.
One watched as the woman then turned and silently picked up her bag and left, without an iota of remorse on her expressionless face, as though nothing had ever happened. With only the echo of her heels accompanying her throughout the building before fading altogether in the dead of night, leaving the men their fates.
Be they alive or dead it didn’t matter. They would never step so much as an inch near the woman named Gina Miller, no matter who paid them. That was one man’s promise to himself as his consciousness finally slipped into darkness from the sheer pain of it all.
* * *
Gina had found herself planted in the center of her couch, unable to move. She had been sitting like that for nearly two hours as her mind swirled with panicked thoughts.
How could she have done that?! Leave her to deal with those men while she ran away like a total coward?! She should have just called the police! But her mind was too scared to think straight, she just wanted to get home. Even if it meant leaving for someone else to get hurt.
It made her feel sick.
Unable to take the growing sense of unease, she shot up from the couch and briskly walked to the front door of her apartment, phone in hand ready to dial the non-emergency number for the police. But before she hit the call button in time with opening the door, the woman stood with the intention of knocking. “Oh,” was all she said. She would have said more but Gina grasped both of the woman’s hands to check if she wasn’t a hallucination dreamt up by the growing anxiety in Gina’s mind. “Ms. Miller?”
“Thank goodness you’re okay!” Gina nearly sobbed. “I felt like such a coward, leaving you like that!” she let go of the woman’s hand only to move closer and examine her, looking the shocked woman right in the eye trying to see if she was hurt. But there was nothing. No signs of injury whatsoever. “How’d you manage to get away? What did they try to do to you?”
The woman placed both of her hands on Gina’s visibly shaken shoulders. “Calm down, I’ll tell you what happened, but for now, may I come in? I think it’d be best to explain this where anyone can hear. After what happened in the street, I believe privacy would be best.”
As if just coming to the realization herself, Gina glanced about the hallway, no doors were open, but the walls were thin enough that anyone could hear. “Sure, of course.” She said as she quickly stepped aside to allow the woman entry. “Come in,”
The woman stepped in; the moment she had; her blue gaze immediately went to the walls where Gina had pieces of artwork hanging. “Did you paint these?” she asked as Gina quickly closed the front door.
“They aren’t that great,” Gina admitted bashfully.
“I think they are,” the woman stated as though this was fact and not just an opinion. “The colour, composition, and subject matter work together well. You paint wonderful landscapes. Especially the ones you have depicting nature. Are these local places here on Ontario?”
“Ah, yeah, some are from Toronto, others Oakville. There are some really nice creeks, small rivers and wooded areas, as well as Lake Ontario. I’d like to paint other places around Canada at some point.”
The woman looked to a cityscape painting that had shadow outlines of people. Did you paint this too? It looks very abstract, different from the others.”
“That wasn’t me.” Gina quickly stated. “It was by a friend I went to college with.”
“The woman I saw you with, Layla Katz?”
Stolen novel; please report.
Gina shook her head. “No, this was painted by her brother, Darcy Katz; you can see his initials there in the bottom corner next to the people sitting on a bench. He was always into anything artistic, like paintings, writing, and fashion. That was his major. A lot of men made fun of him for it, even how he dressed, but he never cared. Darcy did everything he wanted to the fullest.” Her smile became a little sad. I always envied him for it.” She then snapped out of thinking of her friend’s brother to a more pressing matter. “But enough about the paintings! What happened when I left? How did you manage to get away from them?”
“I didn’t do anything special, I just had them follow me to a place and then escaped through a wrought only I knew about and left them to wander around. They’ll probably be stuck there until someone finds them. I made sure to lead them to a place far away from your apartment.” She then walked towards the tiny kitchen. “And speaking of, you have a lovely place; do you mind if I make some tea? Do you drink tea, Ms. Miller? If not, I can make coffee.”
“Uh, sure, I have tea in the top cupboard. But you don’t have to make it.”
“Its fine,” the woman said with a reassuring smile. “After everything you’ve dealt with, I’m sure you would just want to sit down and not think of anything for a while. Go ahead; I can take care of this. Go sit down on the couch.”
When the woman said that, Gina felt exhausted, she had been running on adrenaline since she ran away. Why was the woman so nice to her? After everything that happened, even with how they met for the first time.
Then a sudden realization filled Gina’s dark eyes. “Hey uh... how did you know where I lived?” Gina asked hesitantly.
The woman continued making tea saying nothing.
And the silence grew the kettle’s whistle blew as the silence grew, did she finally answer. “You don’t remember?” she then turned off the kettle off then faced Gina with two hot cups of tea in both of her hands.
Gina frowned. “Remember what?”
The woman brought over both cups and handed one to Gina. “This is the third time we’ve spoken to each other.”
Wait, what?
“When was this?”
A look of something Gina couldn’t place flashed in the woman’s eyes as she gave a tiny smile. “It was three months ago. You were dealing with something; I can’t remember much since your speech was slurred. But the bartender, the woman at the bar had hailed a cab while I assisted. We feared someone might try and take advantage of you, so I waited with you for the cab and the bartender helped you get home.”
Gina scowled, she recalled bits and pieces of that, it was around the time her parents were really pushing hard for her to try and get into some kind of relationship with Alastor. Going so far as to even try approach him at a social event, or even on his talk show trying to get him to go on a “date” with their daughter, only to be banned from any host he would have, reroute calls to politely tell them to leave him alone at functions they were invited to by high society. She felt so humiliated by their actions. It’s what led her to drink as much as she did that night out of frustration at her parents badgering. Where she began to lessen contact with them just slightly, claiming it to be because of work.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Gina said with her face in one hand as she let out a tired breath. “I wish they would just leave me alone and stop harassing others.” before taking a drink of the tea that the woman prepared only to become a bit perplexed by the taste. This wasn’t one of hers. “What kind of tea is this?”
“It’s Valerian root,” she then pulled out a small jar of it from her purse and placed it on the counter. “With how stressed you were, I thought this might be of help as Valerian root is known as a natural way to ease anxiety and help with sleep. It’s been used as a natural medicine all the way back from ancient Greece and Rome.” The woman looked concerned. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, I only wished to help in some small way given how stressed you were.” She hesitated. “You don’t... you don’t have allergies to this do you?”
“No,” Gina said before looking back to her mug. “I’ve had this before but it was years ago. The artist I mentioned once before, Darcy? He had me try it once, a long time ago.” She laughed a bit. “I thought it tasted like wood. He was so miffed at me.” But her smile sobered. “I wonder how he’s doing these days...”
“Perhaps you can ask your friend the next time you speak with her?” the woman offered as she placed her mug down on the counter and placed a hand along Gina’s shoulder. “I’m sure she would be more than willing to tell you where Darcy is.”
Gina looked down at the dark herbal tea as the woman went to look at some of her other artworks.
“Are all these painted by you?” the woman asked.
Gina took another big gulp of the tea, a taste she’d have to get used to. “A good number of them, yeah, but not all, some are just from local artists I want to support. I think it’s important for everyone to have a voice and express it through their artwork. No matter whom they are.”
“Even a killer?”
Gina paused; the woman was asking that referring back to Newt. “It depends,” she admitted. “While I think people should get a second chance, I think there’s a limit. If it was out of desperation and survival, then I can understand. But, killing scores of people? I don’t think I could be okay about it. It may give insight as to why they did what they did, but that could also be because they want clout.” Gina shook her head, taking another sip of tea. “I’m not a physiology professor. I don’t have a clue as to what goes on inside another person’s head. And I don’t think I’d ever want to. Especially if that person killed so many people. I’d... I’d be too scared to know. I think I’d be better off knowing.”
“Really?” the woman was standing behind Gina’s couch where Gina now sat, looking at a small painting. “You don’t think you could forgive them? Even if it’s someone you know?”
Gina frowned as she took another sip, feeling a bit sleepy. “What brought this on?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
“I’m just curious is all.” The woman replied as she kept her back to Gina. “As someone who deals with art, I always wonder what goes on in an artist’s head. Their creativity, their thought process to a piece, and why they paint. The reason behind picking up a brush, or... why an artist would hold a desire to kill so many for the sake of their art.”
“Hmm, yeah, I suppose that would make sense.” Gina managed to finish off her tea feeling drowsy now.
“Speaking of, given the amount of paints Newt used, it’s estimated they might have killed over sixty people, but even that is uncertain as there are a number of paintings that have yet to be tested so there could very well be more. Isn’t that fascinating, Ms. Miller?” her voice sounded almost far away now.
“It makes me wonder where they’d put all the bodies if they killed that many people.” Gina muttered. “Those paintings are from the late 1800s, right? So, what? Was he like, Doctor Frankenstein, but with artwork instead of trying to bring the dead back to life?”
“Maybe they turned those bodies into art,” the woman offered.
“You mean like Cadavre Exquis?” Gina had heard of this serial killer, how they would indiscriminately kill people in batches of two or three and turn the bodies of the dead into artwork. The amount of time to do all that alone was crazy. But then, killing a person and turning them into artwork was insane all on its own.
Both terrifying, and morbidly fascinating, at least to a degree. But she would never want to meet that person, not ever. At least, if she could help it.
“Perhaps, or perhaps,” the woman placed her hands on the top of the couch, right behind Gina’s head. “They ate the bodies.”
Gina found herself laughing as sleep slowly began to consume her. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It just seems a bit much to me. Eat them? Why would they do that?”
“For survival.” The woman said, not leaving where she stood. “After all, we as people, eat other animals and plants to survive, why would eating another person be so different?”
But again, what would the point be when they had access to food so easily, or did they not at all? Is that why Newt may or may not have eaten the bodies of the people they killed, in order to live another day? And paint with the blood of those they killed as a way to honour those who died at their hands? Or was it to mock the deceased loved ones that still loved? Never to receive answers to what happened.
Either way...
“I would feel sorry for them.” She found herself saying as she could now barely hold open her eyes.
“How so?” the woman sounded so near, yet so far away.
“Simple,” Gina answered. “Because if Newt felt like they had no choice but to eat people then... they must have been incredibly lonely... to do that, and have one to talk to. We as people need others to survive, otherwise... we’d just go mad from solitude.” before drifting off to sleep unaware that the woman was now watching her with an intense stare.