Thread: Internet Killers [	Mr Quixotic & Dovakitten]

RE Internet Killers Very Dark Content Analise was on her knees, well one anyway, as Pete's gaze drifted down to locate her. The man thought the position quite appropriate, considering his future plans for Ms Helm. However, discretion being the better part of valour, he refrained from expressing that opinion aloud. Instead, he asked about the sugar, and nodded at the paper towels in her hand. No sign of a knife. Sorry about the mess. Neither of them mentioned the incident which had occurred only moments before. If anyone had walked in, the scene would have appeared no different from any other occurring in millions of homes across the country at that very same time. A cosy domesticity between husband and wife. Except they weren't married, and the man was a serial killer who'd just threatened to rape her. As he leaned against the kitchen counter, where Analise had so recently rested herself, Pete made a mental note that they'd need to call in to the grocery store, and pick up a case of Pepsi. He hadn't noted any soda in the refrigerator - the bitch probably survived on tofu and water - so in it's absence, three or four spoon fulls of sweetener in his coffee would have to suffice. He'd just placed his hand on the container when he was distracted by movement in his peripheral vision, and Analise's question. It appeared his statement had finally sunk in. It had taken long enough. Maybe she wasn't as quick on the uptake as he'd given her credit for? Then, as he placed the sugar on the benchtop next to the brewing coffee, and turned to face her, the man mentally scolded himself. That was a touch unfair, the woman had a lot on her plate. Pete Norris crossed his arms over his chest to match Analise's posture. This was going to be fun . His eyebrow raised quizzically as if to ask exactly what it was she hadn't comprehended, and that cocky, taunting smirk played across his lips. A brief glance at her tits - if she was going to put them on show, why not? - then his focus returned to her face, and Pete sighed theatrically. When he spoke, it was slowly, and clearly, so that there would be no misunderstanding. What do I mean? Did you think tonight was going to be it, Analise? That we'd find some woman to beat, rape and kill, then I'd disappear in a puff of smoke, and you'd be left alone to get on with your life? Pete's head shook, as if he couldn't believe her naivety. This evening is just the beginning. A test run to make sure you won't disappoint. Only after you've proved yourself capable, will I give you what you really want. The opportunity to watch a woman being tortured. Slowly. For that, we need a place to keep her. The murder of Whitney had satiated his need to kill, and that relief, combined with the chance encounter with Analise, had brought him a new focus. What he spoke about now were his own desires - the killing that night, and any others to follow, would no longer be caused by an urge that he fought to control, but by a want. For no other reason than he'd enjoy it, and if Pete had a willing accomplice to perform in front of, so much the better. Maybe he'd ask Analise to film? My apartment is too small, and the neighbour's too close, but here? It's perfect. Particularly since the residence next door is currently vacant, and most likely will be for some time. It's always so difficult to sell a place whose occupant has just been brutally slaughtered. Pete's tone had momentarily turned light, and he'd chuckled, as if pleased with his wit. Then he became deadly serious again. His question about the basement was still to be answered, but if one didn't exist, there were other alternatives. The mans eyes darkened and pupil's narrowed as he inched his face closer to Analise's, and lowered his voice to a whisper. There was an intensity and passion in his demeanour which he hadn't displayed previously. We can hold them as long as we like. Imagine the possibilities. What we can do, how we can make them suffer Pete himself didn't even realise he'd switched from the singular, to the plural - multiple women. His eyebrow raised, and although his next words were framed as a question, they carried within them a threat. The murderer wasn't requesting Analise's permission to move in simply expressing his intent to do so as a statement of fact. I hope it's not a problem, Ms Helm?