#serialkillerriddle

[r0zez-in-bl00m]

A new au which has been rotting my brain all day- A serial killer Riddle having a bad day.

(warnings- mentions of blood, gore, murder, gutting, alcohol.)

In the otherwise quiet town situated at the heart of the Queendom of roses, mysterious deaths have started to plague the residents almost at the end of every three weeks. Bodies mutilated, found in bizzare places and a single motif to distinguish this kill spree- a rose carved on the body. The police had their heads in hands with no leads but angry complaints from the grieving families.

The town is drawing breaths, anticipation of the next kill keeping it on its toes, and do is the killer himself as he downs another bottle of whiskey bitterly (he isn't a whiskey guy anyway).

Riddle comes from an affluent family of magical doctors, has a good post at the hospital as a magical doctor (which he became reluctantly), has a good home at a walking distance (his mother never even wanted him to buy a house), and everyone admires him, respects him or are jealous of him. He even gets marriage proposals every week (curtsey of his mother). Then, why is it that he indulges in the thrill of the kill, of their fearful face chock full of snot and tears moments before their misfortune, and carve them up with roses? What does he gain by doing this? As the main culprit himself he has no idea. He tries to quit, or so he thinks while he sharpens his knife that still has blood on it. Even rationalising such a terrible crime puts a pit in his stomach, but no one has ever suspected him, the sweet doctor who is a great mage, as a cold blooded killer so he keeps on dying in self-loathing.

Riddle wears a mask of a confident and a respectable doctor. It’s a meticulously crafted piece of art, one that Riddle is not proud of but has to maintain. He is a perfectionist, he wouldn’t have anything less than that. He maintains it in front of his family, his best friend, his colleagues and patients. But, then comes you.

He has no idea why, but he finds you fascinating and annoying enough to kill at the same time. You aren’t like the other sinners he has gotten rid of (yes, so much for rationalising when he totally rationalises it). But still, you also couldn’t be far from them. He greets you everyday with that practiced, confident smile and you reciprocate warmly.... Only to grumble later on how much of a stick in the mud he is back in your office. And of course he hears you every time, his veins about to pop out of his forehead as he works his documents. Don't you know that walls have ears? Or are you doing it deliberately so that he can punish you as well. Then he hears you ranting about your ex to your unfortunate friend, and all the details he didn't need to hear. His poor chair might as well break from the pressure. Yup, he ought to kill you sooner than later.

But, imagine his surprise when he finds you and you find him in an awkward, compromising and gory situation where a heart is clenched tightly in his first and you staring at the sliced open corpse of his latest freshly hunted victim. Your eyes continuously flick from his hooded figure fo the corpse, shaking like leaf. Riddle sighs in annoyance. He knows. He knows he has to silence you, kill you and open you up like the gentleman beside him, but doesn’t. He can’t. He is like a deer caught in headlights. His slate eyes never leaves yours, and he wonders what will you do. You slowly back away, never breaking eye contact, your purse clenched tightly in one arm, and dash out of the crime scene.

Oh, you ran. Riddle should chase after you to stop you but you must have covered quite a distance or told someone about already about it by now. Priority of escape comes first. He quickly covers up his tools, checks for anything that might direct back to him and runs for his home. Riddle had anticipated that this day would come, but he imagined cops cuffing him, not you finding him in a dark alley.

His once safe haven feels more like a prison cell. He paces all night, his eyes boring holes into his phone screen. No calls, no messages, no pounding of the door by police. Riddle's heart beats so fast that he thinks he might collapse. Is this what apprehension feels like? He imagines the look on his mother's face, on his friends and the colleagues he works with. A talented magical doctor a serial killer. A wolf in sheeps clothing. He never sleeps that night.

Come morning he becomes sure that you didn’t see his face because he kept on checking in for more calls and messages but all he found was the new headlines of his sloppily executed kill. He was wearing a hoodie after all, so you didn’t report about him but the murder itself. He breathed out, and jump out of bed. Now, to get ready for work.

He arrives earlier than usual, carefully greets the faculty as his legs carry him to his office.

Riddle expected a cup of nice tea, biscuits and his usual long stack of papers when he entered his office, not you scrounging around his office like a thief. Then you ask the most sour question that Riddle was expectant of since last night- “It was you right? The one who committed the murder last night.” Riddle feels like ripping out his hair. Now, what should he do about this?