Thread: ..::Aɴɢᴇʟs ᴏғ Dᴇᴀᴛʜ::.. [Rʏᴀx & Iʀᴏɴɪᴄ]

Rachel grabbed at her mouth so forcefully that her hand shook from the strength, sweat forming at her hairline as he strode into the room. He was digging through something, clutter clashing to the ground sounding into her ears. The light vibrations of the dropped items could be felt within the chest, and by the feel of it he wasnt too far away from her. Maybe hell avoid this chest, it doesnt seem too conspicuous, right? Gently she reassured herself despite the pounding in her heart telling her otherwise. Eerily those footsteps crept up closer, the deep ins-and-outs of his ragged breathing right beside her. The position she was resting in, a tight ball, was starting to get uncomfortable. She needed to move before she stiffened up, and gently contorted her torso to the left before a sharp object jabbed at her ribs. It took everything in her to not make a sound, but with her free hand she patted around the area that attempted to impale her. Regardless of the darkness, she was able to feel what that blunt object was A pocket knife. Sharpened the blade was, almost slicing the tip of her finger as she ran it along the edge to finalize what the object was. Never has she hurt someone, especially out of survival. Everyone watches murder mysteries on television, but they always think itll never happen to them. Well, she was on of those people until tonight changed her outlook. The world was a dangerous place, and she wished she was more careful or wielded weapons just in case. She got lucky with this knife residing in the chest. It was meant to be, so to speak. Her mind was running in so many different directions that she had almost forgotten about the sadistic fuck outside her chest, until the top of the chest rumbled before opening to reveal her sweaty and pale body. Those irises glistened like sequins in the ocean, the suns rays casting down on them, but it wasnt the sun, it was the light in the room, and they shimmered so much because she was crying without realizing it. Her frozen body shifted under the shudder of the chest, his foot kicking it as if inspecting its durability. It sickened her how happy he was, how much pride he took in hovering over his prey. She wanted to clean that smug look off his face. She had to admit, she was grateful for him being somewhat nice in his way of not wanting to kill her in her pitiful state, and she would take him up on his opportunity. Starkly her right hand was gripping at the handle of the blade, her knuckles turning white from the power she was exerting into her grip. She was entrusting her life with this blade, and it better be put to good use. The scythe mocked her as her reflection still stayed gleaming within the blade. Without waiting another second, determination flowing in her veins, she chucked the blade underneath his right ribcage, impaling him like melted butter. Underneath her was a bedsheet frame, the silky materiel being an excellent net while she escaped. While he was fixated on his new wound, she grabbed the sheet and entangled him in it as she jolted out of the chest. During her escape, her shoulder met with the blade before cutting into her flesh, not too deep but a good slice that burned once the air grazed it. This time she wouldnt look back. She didnt want to risk being slowed down. She ran faster than before, her entire body aching from the force of her pace. Her calves tightened up, begging to cease the running, but she continued regardless of the throbbing. Unevenly she breathed, running from room-to-room, hallway-to-hallway, staircase-to-staircase, not even taking notice to where she was or what was in the room. By this time, she was already on the third floor. B3 reading at the top of the hallway. Her knees buckles inwards before collapsing against the cold wall, her palms outstretched to catch herself on the wall as she breathed out heavily through her mouth. She tremored, but she could only hear herself. No one was following her. Just her and her lonesome. There was no saliva left in her mouth, leaving her dying for a drink of water, something, anything. A picture of him sprawled into her head, her hands banging against her forehead to rid the thoughts of him. Youre okay now, just get yourself up and check this floor out. Sighing out, she gently stood back up onto her feet before they wobbled. You have to walk! She shouted at them before taking a step. It hurt, and she rubbed her calves to loosen them up before trying again. It worked, but the pain still lingered. It was tolerable enough, so she perused forward. It was cooler up here, soothing her drenched skin in sweat as the cold air brushed up against it. A door was opened, but it was dark inside. Lightly her left hand tapped at the wall besides the door, hoping to find a light switch to lighten this place up. A long and skinny switch protruded outwards once her fingertips skated over it, rapidly clicking it upwards to ignite the flickering of lights. This place is There are papers all over the place. These are Resumes? Her eyes adjusted as she peered around. A wooden table was fitted in the center of the room, bookshelves lining up the brick walls. Papers scattered all over the floor, table, and walls. Her pace was steady as she walked towards a piece of paper on the ground, kneeling down to grasp it before peering at the fine print. Watkins Beckett, died at age 24. Cause of death, blood loss due to a gunshot wound. Muttering the words under her breath she read it aloud, eyes darting back and fourth as she continued to read it. Another paper on the desk was seized before reading it like before. Age 18. Hanged. Another paper. Age 32. Decapitation. Another. Age 15. Multiple stab wounds. These are all records of all the people who came here? A resume in the corner of her eye caught her attention, the photo ID resembling someone that looks like her Wait! That was her! This has my name on it, its quite detailed She grabbed it carefully, not wanting to crumble it or anything. Rachel Gardener. Age 20. Alive. Memories erased upon arrival. Parents deceased. My parents are dead? Upon reading the text, her heart sank, a frog getting lodged in her throat, making it impossible to swallow down the lump. A flashback erupted like a volcano in her mind, a picture of her parents. Why cant I remember! She threw the paper on the ground before slamming her fists on the table, burying her head in her arms. Sniffling as tears cascaded down her cheeks, she glanced upwards to see a photo of the guy who was chasing her. Should she read it? Perhaps being killed by him wouldnt be a bad thing. Stretching across the table she grabbed in uncaringly, reading it as the information glowed before her. I saac Foster. Serial Killer. Estimated to be around 20 years old, actual birthday unknown. He was placed in an orphanage during childhood. Detailed about the orphanage are unclear before raided by police. The bodies of a couple, believed to have been the owners, were found mutilated. Isaac was nowhere to be found. His upper body is covered in scars, perhaps burned, sustained while he was a child. Scratching the back of her head, she gently set down the paper, realizing just how much he really has gone through. But why did he want to kill so badly? The papers didnt say much, not even her own besides little, and yet his was more detailed? Regardless, after reading it, a new feeling came over her. She didnt know where she was, that didnt change, but she knew a little about her life. Even though she couldnt remember her parents, the news of them being dead left her heart hurting. She wished she could have remembered them, no matter how hard she tried to see the memories inside of her locked-up mind, but it didnt know. Maybe if I do die, I will know the answers?