Everyone is familiar with what a killer does. Basically, he, or at times she, kills an innocent human using something to take that life away. Maybe an object like a knife, or the age old poison, or a gun, or suffocation with a plastic bag. First, let me say that that is all genuine bullshit. Ace Aeronwen Aiden Mair, a killer I take that back, an extreme genius. A slaughter house on legs. On October 16th he wondered if, somehow, a human can die a slow and painful death if tiny shards of metal were inserted into the veins. And so, he experimented. In the chilling night he found an innocent and drugged him with chloroform. Then, with thick rope, he tied the human, dragging him into a alleyway. It was a dark, clouded night. With him, in a vial, he had miniscule shards of steel, as sharp as the prickles of cacti, maybe sharper. With a pocket knife he made a small incision into the man's skin and heavily jammed the shards though the flesh with his pinky, gloved, then hung him upside down on a clothes line for fun. If the metal shards didn't kill him, the blood build up in his head will.
The man came back to reality screaming to the top of his lungs. Ace stuffed cloth into the man's mouth. And he screamed and screamed until the cloth was dripping with blood. The shards tore at his lungs, heart, stomach. But then they managed to travel all the way up to his brain. The blood started to build up in his head and clog his trachea, preventing him from breathing. In the end, it was a success. And Ace was satisfied, though, the blood on his clothing was starting to seep through onto his skin. "Please excuse me while I go wash up." he said to the corpse as he left it hanging.
Surprisingly, there were no fingerprints. Everything there at the scene was wiped clean, almost too clean, despite the blood. Though, I was disappointed. I wasn't allowed to investigate this crime scene due to my lay off on the detective agency. I would tell you what had happened to me, but then I would have to take hours upon hours to write volumes of books explaining the accident. On another note, I was once great friends with Ace. We were buds, as the young kids would call it I guess. Since the orphanage to just months ago, we were closer than a child and germs.
Well, we have a bit of time to go about the past. Ace wasn't always, you know, an extreme genius. We were both raised from tots at the Sunshine Montgomery Orphanage. At the age of five he had an obsession with something unusual. Clocks he loved the damn things. Daily, he would find a clock or watch in the orphanage and show me its insides. The gears, springs, metal. "The guts," he would call it. "The guts make the ticky ticky noise inside and you put the batteries under this flap-" He lifted a metal flap under the gears. "-to make the hands spin round and round." Gradually I became a little interested in these inventions, though, it was boring to me. Yet, Ace and I did everything together. I didn't want to disappoint him. At eight years old, Ace lost all of his friends because he wanted to be different. Never in his life did he want to be the normal child, the loved child. He wanted to be the one everyone remembered not because of good acts, but because of bad ones. He was odd like that; I admired it.
Ace cried, I held him. We weren't the same age, he was older by a year. "They hurt m-me." said he.
"I know." I answered. And I comforted him. I loved him like a brother, I would do anything to make him happy. One day, Ace was sitting in a corner on all fours. His hair was messy and his shirt was gone. All he wore were ripped jeans. "What are you doing?"
"I'm being a panther. Don't talk to me, panthers can't speak, they growl." And he growled low, a deep rumble. The noise gave him pleasure, just to hear it made him smirk, a flash of stark white teeth. By the age of eleven he thought he would put his strength to the test. He doused a washcloth in Clorox and wrapped it around a child's mouth. He struggled and struggled, until he ceased. Ace was smiling at me, I watched. Then, he pinched the child's nose, whose name was Roger, and filled his mouth with a blue rubber ball. Roger died that day. Ace's eyes flashed with bliss.
"Why did you kill him?" I asked coolly.
And Ace simply replied, "He was a sinner. All sinners die young, and I want to take this job and make it real. Kill all sinners, take their precious souls, drink their potent, tainted blood."
"Am I a sinner?"
Ace looked at me with eyes of honesty. He hugged me, pat my back. "You are on my side. The good side." he whispered.
I accepted, I nodded. Knowing that Ace would never hurt me, I was safe from this sin. The body was hidden, never found. Our care taker, Nan, said to the other children that Roger was simply adopted without anyone knowing. But our peers thought otherwise. They blamed it all on Ace, even though I did help him carry it out. They tortured Ace, threw objects at him. And one by one, the children started to disappear while sleeping, while alone, while playing, while wandering throughout the orphanage. And then one day, an adult really did come by our doorstep. She was unable to give birth or even hold a child, so she wanted a boy. We were thirteen and fourteen at the time. First, the lady picked me and Nan was about to sign the papers, when I took Ace and held him in front of me. "You have to take us both." We were honestly both handsome young men, she couldn't refuse, though, Ace did look a little shaggy.
The lady signed the papers for us both and we were off. She told us to address her as Mommy or Lily. We didn't. I called her Miss, while Ace called her Lady. I expected that from Ace. But after a while Lily had gotten used to the names we called her. Frankly, we did not really care. She lived in such a big mansion. We were in the state of Oregon (the orphanage was in Washington) and it was breathtaking. The sights, the waterfalls, the scenery. Ace and I lived atop a hill, away from other people. We were isolated. Namely, Ace did not like the isolation. The loneliness drove him crazy, his urge to kill was on high alert. So, in the middle of the night, I let Ace out our bedroom window with a knife I snuck from the kitchen. And when he came back, he was soaked in blood from head to toe. I gave him a bath at half passed three in the morning, washing his hair, cleaning the blood from the walls that splattered from Ace's fingers.
Then I noticed something as I was drying Ace. "Your voice sounds weird."
And Ace was laughing. "Guy's voices get deeper when they get older, silly." he replied and gave me a hug.
But I was completely hysterical about the situation. I was crying right in front of him. I didn't understand yet. "I don't want to get older, Ace! I want to stay! I want to be with you! I don't want to die!"
"Ethan, calm down. You won't die for another eighty or so years. Don't cry, you'll wake up the Spartan downstairs." By Spartan, Ace meant Lily's husband. And damn did he yell. I've never heard such a voice in my entire life. Hours later when it was time for breakfast, Lawrence, the Spartan, was yelling at me because I took his seat. He cursed like a sailor, hit me, told me that I was a bad son. Ace grew angrier as this continued. He couldn't handle the situation. And one day, Lawrence was found dead in the middle of the lounge.
Ace was smiling at me when I found him. "He was hurting you," he whispered. "I had to." And since there were big dogs that circled the house, he screamed, putting on the most persuasive look of fear upon his face. The German Shepherds and Great Danes howled and charged immediately into the lounge with blood on their muzzles, thanks to Ace. Then came Lily. She was absolutely horrified Ace put on a show. "The d-dogs! They killed Lawrence! They a-ate him!" he sobbed. "I tried to help b-but the dogs bit me too! They're gonna kill us, Lady!"
Lily shoved the dogs into a separate room while she tended to her husband. He cried, sobbed. I did not feel pity. Instead, I was glad that I wasn't going to be hurt again. Ace and I didn't pay attention at the funeral in the family cemetery. We laughed and played and ran together, through the tombstones. Then, Ace stopped, glancing at the names. "These were sinners, too."
I froze, my black tux ripped in several places from playing tag. "They sinned?" I asked.
And Ace nodded, sitting me on a stone next to him. "And compared to them, you're an angel. A very attractive angel. And you are my right hand man." he said with a grin.
I, too, smiled, though it was a sad one. "I don't feel like an angel."
"You are pure. You are my perfect angel. You soothe me, help me, teach me. Together, no one can stop us. You are the brains and I am the power."
I believed him automatically. It was as if new air was let into the atmosphere. I could breathe again. I smiled a real smile now. Three years later, Lily died due to great sadness and grief and left all of her riches with us. We refused it, Ace just took all of the clocks in the house and we left without warning. For two years we lived on our own, stealing, hiding, scavenging. We lived in an abandoned hotel on the top floor and made it into our own little tree house, excluding the tree of course. We were still kids at heart, playing, running around. Until Ace turned twenty two and I was twenty one. His goal was to execute every man and woman in America. He even started his own group in which he was head of. His murder group. And I was the savior the angel.
But that story we save for another day. It isn't the right time to speak of this, the police are crowded around my apartment. It's too dangerous, especially when they know I'm linked to Ace. My name is Ethan Brice, and I am your guide, your narrator, an angel.