Thread: Internet Killers {Love&MrQuixotic}

Pete Norris, thirty-three year old Internet Security consultant, rapist and multiple murderer, was restless. As he had been for the past month, since the death of Analise Helm. She'd been His fifth victim, but very different from the rest. Ms Helm, he'd met on the dark net, and she'd offered him an opportunity that he'd never before contemplated, and that was to join him in his spree. Not, as she may have believed, as a partner, but to Pete, as a witness a live human being, to be there as he raped and tortured his victims before he ended their lives. Someone to watch as he perpetrated his acts, and caused them to beg, cry, crawl, and scream for mercy. Sure, Pete's acts received attention on the evening news, but no-one knew it was he who'd ended their lives, or administered the pain, and the dichotomy of being a psychopath with an ego was that, whilst he craved attention, it was the very thing that could bring him undone. Then along had come Analise, and finally, he thought he'd discovered what he hadn't until then realised he longed for. A female strong enough to stand with him, and revel in the suffering of others as much as he. She'd been his equal the entire way, taunting Pete Norris, and displaying no fear or hesitation when they eventually met. There, she'd expressed her desire to be by his side when they selected a victim, and watch as he brutalised, fucked, and killed her, and he'd believed her capable of delivering upon her promises. As he did, Analise too, would revel in the sights of smell of death and dying, and the delightful noise of a woman being made to scream like a stuck pig as blood and tears slid down her cheeks, and her face screwed up in agony. However, the woman had lied, and he'd lost the opportunity of having a living witness who knew, with absolute certainty, that it was Pete Norris who played God. In the end, Analise had been just like every other woman. Weak. Shed stated she could cope with the sight, the smell, and sounds of death, the expression of realisation, the screams, and the wounds. Shed even selected the victim herself. Engaged her in conversation, and talked her into the vehicle, where the triple murderer and rapist waited. Assisted in binding her arms and legs, and taunted her with what was to come as Pete had driven them through the dead of night, until they were so far into the woods that the pale moonlight barely filtered through the canopy of leaves above, and left the small clearing shrouded in shadow. Somewhere theyd not be stumbled upon, where a woman's screams would not be heard, where the man could enjoy himself, and test Analise's resolve. At first, the high hopes he'd held had been boosted with her actions, and he'd believed Analise may be true to her promise. But as Cherie McMahons clothes were cut from her supple young body, and the blade sliced through her skin, Pete had noted it. The doubt in Analises eyes, the nervous shuffle of her feet, the way her gaze attempted to shift away, the soft cough and splutter that broke through the still night air. Still, he'd said nothing, and continued his work. Cutting, slicing, goading, slapping, kicking, punching, until finally his exertions had aroused him enough that he could no longer wait. Thats when he fucked her holes in turn, if fucking was the appropriate word. Every action was designed to cause torment, to elicit another high-pitched squeal of terror, anguish and despair. To hurt. The girls eyes had glazed over, but Pete hadn't allowed the bliss of unconsciousness to claim her. A slap, a twist of the blade, a splash of water, the application of his lighter to her sensitive flesh. Her screams were music to his ears, her struggles, what he lived for. It was the aroma of frying skin, the stench akin to that of roasting pork, that finally did it. Analise Helm, face pale and breath heavy, had, with a groan of pure desperation and horror, thrown up. If she could have had escaped then, she would have. Fortunately, however, that was impossible with the precautions he'd taken. As flames lit the night sky, and lapped at the screaming, screeching and writhing body of the young woman whose legs and thighs he'd doused with gasoline and set ablaze, Pete had shaken his head in disgust and disappointment. I believed you could handle it, Analise. I believed you were strong. Lying, fucking whore. Her arms and legs were bound, a choke collar placed around her neck and attached to a short chain, the other end of which was hooked to the top of the driver's side car door. It left Analise Helm unable to move her head, and with her eyes propped open with matchsticks, to look away, either. Of course, she'd resisted, but Pete had insisted. She needed to continue to prove herself, and he didn't want a knife in his back if she had doubts, or couldn't deal with the reality. She'd screamed and fought, and kicked and scratched, but he'd possessed the superior strength. The first strike of his steel-capped boot had snapped the chain, and almost taken her head clean off. It possibly would have, if the momentum hadn't been stopped by the metal frame of the vehicle door, which created a wet, thudding sound, comparable to that of a water-melon striking the ground after being dropped from a ten-storey building. Pete Norris had thought he'd killed her, however the groan of pain, and gurgled breathing, he heard emanating from her mouth and newly rearranged nose, told him that she'd merely been knocked unconscious. The next strike cracked her ribs, then he'd thrown water in her face, and entertained himself by adding a little fuel to the fire Cherie remained alive and kicking, but had stopped screaming and reveled in the sight of the other woman's throes of agony until Analise had regained enough of her senses to be able to feel what came next. At least the dyke experienced a cock before she'd died. Pete's ego would have loved to believe that the howls and moans he'd elicited from Analise had been due to his sexual prowess, but he was realistic enough to know that they'd instead been caused by the serrated blade placed between her broken second and third ribs, strategically positioned to avoid any major organs, but deep enough so that each thrust forced it to twist and turn inside her, and the tattooing of her face against the metal ridge of the vehicle's roof as he'd raped her. Eventually, she'd ended up on the funeral pyre with Cherie, and Pete had watched with an amused, satisfied expression until both women were nothing but charred flesh and bones. The young woman had a head start, and it had taken Analise an hour longer to succumb to the flames. Goodbye, Ms Helm. Pete Norris spat directly in her face, or where it had once been, as one final insult, before, with the sky now lit with the first rays of the sun, he departed the scene. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ohhhhh fuck. Pete groaned, and shuddered in his chair as he re-ran the events of that night through his mind each detail as vivid as it had been at the time. His legs writhed, chest heaved, and he panted and puffed, then collapsed in his seat. A moment later, his eyes opened, and reached for a tissue to wipe up the ejaculate, zipped himself in, tossed the soiled paper into the wastebasket, and allowed his gaze to drift to the monitor of the laptop in front of him. Analise Helm may have been dead, but the concept she'd ignited in him, lived on, and the man's blue eyes widened, and he jerked forward in the chair as, for the first time, in weeks, he noted the blinking cursor that told him that a message awaited. With the lights darkened, Pete's hand shook slightly in anticipation as he lifted his Pepsi to his lips, and clicked to read what had been sent. Expecting to be disappointed as he read the response, the message, instead, intrigued him. Was this the one? There was only one way to find out, and Pete pulled the keyboard forward to type out a reply. The only faith worth having is in the fact we all die. It's unavoidable, however some slip away peacefully of old age in their sleep, whilst others go before their time, in extreme pain. As to whether I could handle you, that is the wrong question. The last woman who challenged me, and believed she could cope, is now nothing but a pile of bones and burnt flesh, laying with another in the woods, infested by maggots, and being picked apart by forest animals. Forever alone, and forgotten by all, except me. Why should I prove myself? I know what I'm capable of, and that I speak the truth. What have you ever done? Despite the arrogance of his words, and hesitation after Analise, Pete didn't wish to drive the approach away, so he paused for a moment, before completing the message. Tell me, why are you here and what is it it you desire. Are you simply another voyeur, getting off on imagining that you'd be incapable of in reality, or do you search for more? PS If you throw up, I'll keep you alive, and discover just how long a human being can last. Message Sent As the words disappeared into the ether, to appear in front of the anonymous correspondent at the other end, Pete released the breath he'd been holding, and fell back in his chair, still as a statue, and unblinkingly watching the screen.