Who killed the killer?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ok, the title sucks... Just read it

Submitted: July 03, 2010

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Submitted: July 03, 2010



A room full of people looked up at the man standing before them. His hair was pulled back neatly, his suit and tie had never shook hands with a wrinkle. Among all the people enjoying the regular dinner party, one of them was a killer, he told them.

His blue eyes were almost the color of an x-ray. The looked like ice, but he didn't glare, or look with means of intimidation. He just looked, and the people knew this wasn't a joke. The calm man took a step up onto the platform, and announced “no worries, this building has top notch security, and we are making sure this person is to be caught.” No one stopped to wonder how he knew there was a killer amongst them, if he didn't know his or her identity.

“For the time being, no one is allowed to leave the building. The doors will be locked, and secured. The person who finds the identity of the murderer will be awarded one million dollars.” No one even knew who the host of this party was anyone. Mr. Albert Staven. Read their invitations. At a time like this, after crisis had just struck to the rather small town, a dinner party was the last thing anyone would think to happen. Apparently Mr. Staven's son had just passed away. They weren't sure which of the people in fact was Mr. Staven. No one wanted to be rude.

I myself had never been to a dinner party, and the thought of being invited made it impossible not to go. I bought a new emerald green dress that shimmered over the shoulders.

A large band played in the corner, and I made my way around the sparkling floor tiles. Rick Chapley, someone I had met only once in my life, kept his eyes in my direction, not bothering to look away when I caught him. He asked me to dance, and why not? So I gave him a song.

I waltzed my way through the next two hours. The murderer was the last thing on anyones mind. (It must have been a silly trick anyways, meant to scare people.) Then my heart was jolted to someone's scream. In the ladies room, a girl not much younger than I lay on the floor. I had to catch myself from falling over, when I recognized her face. I think I screamed the most, however, when I realized her head was not attached to the rest of her body. She attended the same church as I, and had a son nearly 2 months old.

My stomach grew a knot, and a great wall of fear hit me. I could barely walk, making my way to the kitchen. There was no way I could stay in the same room as this bloody animal. As I sat myself on the counter, a noise made my heart jump and my vision darted towards the door.

In walked Rick Chapley. “Oh, It's only you”

He smoothly ran his fingers along the marble counter-top. “Such a lovely night for a drink, don't you agree.” I watched as his hands rang closer and closer, until I jumped off the counter. He poured himself a glass of a very expensive wine. “Care for a taste?” I shivered, as if the room wasn't 84 degrees.

He walked behind me and put the glass up to my lips, and I took a taste. He placed his face next to mine, as if to tell me a secret. His breath was hot and moist. “You look beautiful tonight.” I caught a glimps of something silver leave his pocket. His arm came around behind me, and I could feel something cold press against my back. I instantly shot up.

I started to cry. “There there” He chortled, and fear encompassed my entire body. He began to laugh, and I squirmed. I managed myself away from him, and before he could turn around, the steak knife had entered his lower back. He fell, and he was still able to breathe “please don't” as the knife was pulled from his back, and thrust into his heart.

My emerald green dress was now decorated like a horrifying Christmas.

A face stepped from beyond the shadowed door. The man who had warned us about this butcher in the first place was smiling at me. He clapped his hands slowly 3 times, and said “Well done! Well... done. You have won the game.”

“Game?” I breathe. Black dots threaten to steal my conciousness.

“We've found our murderer.” I smiled. So dumbly I smiled, feeling safe again. “Grab her.” He said. Not a trace of emotion could have been found in his words.

“Wait no! He was trying to kill me! I had to defend myself.” I was frantic. “You have to believe me!”

“Of course we believe you.” He cooed in an almost babying way. He never told them to let me go. They carried me kicking and screaming into a white van with bars on the windows.

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