Please read and review to keep me going, as this is my first CM fic, and all criticism will be taken on board in the spirit they are intended in.
Any suggestions on direction or plot ideas will be appreciated and credited and there will be a direct vote on a later chapter as to which way readers want it to go.
'A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.' Albert Camus.
Chapter 1
The room was dark, it's always dark. The pain is so bad I want to die. Today is the first day that I actually begged to die. I always thought I'd be stronger than that, but I'm not. If dying is the only way to get it to end, then I'll take it. He keeps calling me a piece in his collection. A work of art. There's no one to miss me anyway...Oh God, he's coming back.
Eve Allison jerked awake from the dream, her cell phone buzzing. This was what sucked about being the deputy sheriff in this town, there was no such thing as a good nights sleep, the other thing...everyone knew she was the last victim of 'the sculptor' a man who tore eight women apart ten years ago, in this town. She had survived by fluke, when an electrical box had blown in the lock up he'd kept her in and someone had called the fire department. She had been found, but he never had been, and the call she'd spent her entire adult life waiting for. The call that told her he was back.
The girl hung from the meat hook by her hands, bound in duct tape, her eyes and mouth covered in the same material, beside her hung a drip, pumping just the right of ketamine into her system to keep her still, but awake and feeling incredible pain.
“My angel, my eighth angel, you will make a beautiful addition.” The man murmured, uncovering her eyes so she saw his masked face, and the scalpel as it flashed towards her skin, the drug making it impossible to even scream, let alone move. After ten years the Sculptor was back.