John F. Clegg is just the Collector. (justacollector) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-02-05 23:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !trigger warning, the collector |
Who: The Collector.
What: Earning his title.
When: 2/4, late, after these texts.
Where: The empty warehouse he inherited.
Rating/Warnings: Gore. All the creepy, triggertastic gore. Why did I write this. Bad Seed influenced creepy killer kid stuff. Just... no.
Status: Complete!
It's always come back to this for John, always come back to the singing of blood in his veins when he spills it from others. Even when he was eight, he understood that. He'd never been the same again after he held Tommy's head under the water, watched the other boy struggle like a wingless fly. He'd felt it again when he'd held electrical contacts to his father's chest, watching him twitch with each volt of electricity, a macabre waltz only for John. And then there was the accident with the girl from the conference. What had her name been? Ruth, Mary, Sandy, Farrah - it wasn't really important to him. He'd been careful not to get caught, and as far as the police knew, he'd just been one of hundreds of other guests at the fundraiser for the university. But he'd been more to RuthorMaryorSandyorFarrah. He'd sculpted her into something beautiful. He'd pinned her to the wall, just like the beloved Greta oto he had in his office. And just like that butterfly with its clear wings (due to a lack of tissue or blood), he'd exsanguinated the girl and stripped her until she was only bone. An artifact. Ruthis marsarrah.
Unlike some serial killers, in his dreams he's something more than just a predator of women, something greater than a family eraser. He's an omnivore; he'll use anything that crosses his path, just like an ant. Which is why when he was walking home from work, he didn't turn down the normal path. He walked toward the bus stop (paying cash, of course, leather gloves on to protect from the chill of night) and got off near the warehouse he'd inherited from his father's death. He'd made sure to get rid of anyone squatting there months ago by helping them get onto their feet, by helping them find housing. John F. Clegg is a good boy, squeaky clean. Nobody would think he'd hurt anyone. Not even the family of tourists who took the wrong turn into the bad part of town and decided to make the most of things by exploring the outside of an abandoned warehouse.
"It once held my father's inventions," he called out, smiling and waving. "Hi, I'm John."
"I'm Amelia," the pretty blonde wife smiles, squeezing her son's hand. The child can't be more than eight. "And this is Tommy."
John makes a mental note that Daddy is absent, either off doing something or divorced. They're no good. "Hey, Tommy. What's your dad do?"
The blonde winces. "He passed a few months ago, we just moved out here. Got a little turned around."
The feral grin John makes isn't entirely kind, even though his tone is wholly sympathetic. "It's easy to do in the OC. Sometimes it just swallows people up."
With his newfound grace earned from the dreams, he knocks out poor Tommy with the butt of the pocket Mag light that he always carries. Amelia starts to scream, but in that part of town, there's nobody to hear her.
"Amelia. You have to stay quiet, or I'll break little Tommy's neck. I have experience with this sort of thing." But to be sure, he tases her anyway, taking no joy in it. It's just to get her moved inside before anyone sees her. This is sloppy work; he'll have to be better next time.
And he knows there will be a next time. Tugging on his mask, the one that he found on his nightstand the last time he dreamed, he's glad to find that it fits like a neoprene glove. He can breathe, he can see, and he looks like every boogeyman he's ever touched himself to. What butterfly will Amelia be when she's drawn so taut from screaming she's coughing blood? And oh, what beauty will she have when he can see her gleaming, perfect ribs? Amelius mater. Subject 1B. He'd decided to start a new collection, starting with her and her pretty wings. The son's no good, barely pupated. He'll be found in pieces, if at all. But 1B, she'll have a place in his study at the warehouse.
A collector honors what he studies.