It started off slow. A body or two along a highway a little carved up. Each one had a D carved on them. In other states at the same time, one or two bodies killed by the same, circular blade. The police identified these bodies as the works of two different people. Two different killers.
Their calling cards became the D carved into the flesh and the name, Castiel, with the last part constantly crossed off. It was a taunt to the police. Catch us if you can.
They became the newest, biggest thing. Staying off highways at night became the next big thing since ‘stranger danger.’ But it wasn’t like they only took back-road hippies asking for a ride. They grew more confident, moved into towns and took people from main streets and openly hooked up in bars. They were on camera in several instances across the states as being the last person to see so-and-so alive. Flyers and news photos advertised their faces faster than they could run. There were never any living witnesses, though. All the witnesses became victims.
In Colorado one was wanted for impaling half a dozen bodies in one night. In the next town over the very same day, the other was wanted for stripping flesh off of a few females and for burning a few others alive. He wrote his complimentary D with their blood on the door to the basement he burned them in.
It was because they were so close that one of them decided to look the other up.
I want to play a game with you
It was carved into the back of a man. He hung by his arms on a fencepost-turned-crucifix. The details weren’t publicized the way his killer wanted them to be. He did it again, this time on the back of a sheriff.
I want to play a game with you
The story went nationwide overnight this time.
What are the rules?
This was burned onto the back of a woman. She was trussed up on the hood of her car like a deer. She had been alive for everything. He’d only killed her when she couldn’t scream any more.
~First to ten?
This was written on blood on the wall of a preschool teacher’s home. She had been murdered. Her intestines were used to paint the message.
Two days later, a preschool exploded, killing fifteen and injuring a dozen more.
You need to step up your game. First to 100. Starting now.
This was spray-painted in blue on the surviving front window outside the preschool in broad daylight, right before the fire trucks arrived.
One week later, a body with its face skinned off was found with a large number 1 and a D carved into its chest.
Two weeks after that, a body with no skin on its feet or hands was found. In blue spray paint, it said 16.
Three days after that, four neighboring families with children were bludgeoned to death. Each was marked with their own number. Two, all the way to nineteen. The family dog of one of the families had its side shaved and a red ½ was displayed on the dog with the child’s red glitter glue and her blood.
He hoped Cas saw this. He was watching for Cas, was Cas watching for him?
The next hit was a small nursing home where thirty one people were slaughtered.
The security footage showed a black-haired man with shockingly blue eyes staring into the security camera. Bodies lay strewn around him. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket used the blood of the assistant there to write the number 47 and held it up for the camera to see. He then wrote his grizzly message on the opposing wall in Latin with a blue highlighter and turned to the camera once again.
~Lunch for first to 50. Heart of a sailor.
Nine days later a high school was massacred. He managed to kill 75 before the cops showed up. They don’t know how he escaped. A kid locked in a room and decorated with the blood of his fallen classmates drawn into a smile was catatonic when they pulled him out. He held a note that said,
Sailor, noon, Saturday?
p.s. Lovely work with the old folks, I bet most of them didn’t see it coming :)~
On Saturday of that week, a naval captain from Bethesda went missing from a scheduled return to base. Six hours later he was found with his heart pulled out and his face stapled into a massive, demented wink. The heart was on a plate of fine China, complete with silverware, wine, and napkins, everything set to a ‘T.’ A note in a plastic tube inside the heart read,
I’m very impressed. Wait until you see what I do next.
I won’t count this one on account of this being your celebration.
One of the sailor’s eyeballs was stuck on a toothpick like an olive.
In three weeks after that incident, blue paint was used to decorate the stomachs of 25 pregnant women. They were found with their arms crossed like the Pharaohs of old, wings sprayed on the ground beside them, a halo over each of their heads, and a cross over their hearts.
Number 25 was the worst, according to the media. Most of the details were kept private, but the important parts still leaked to the press. They liked that about the press; they just couldn’t keep their mouths shut, it’s what never kept them from knowing how the other responded.
The fetus of 25 lay curled on its mother’s chest in a mockery of a loving embrace with a note in it’s hands.
What do you think?
D’s body number 97 was only fifteen. He was handsome enough, or at least he was before his body was marked on every possible inch of skin outside of his underwear with symbols and letters from every main religion and culture and a hundred that weren’t. On his chest, right above his heart, was another heart D had drawn. Inside it, in a language that was only later translated to Latin, the last message from him;
~Go to the cemetery of my mother’s grave. She was named for the Virgin. Follow the road to the town named for the husband of the Virgin. Go north along that path to all the saints. I want to finish together. I’ll wait for you.
In the nothingness of the land surrounding Sioux Falls, South Dakota, the black-haired man found himself riding up to a scrap yard with his playmate at his side. He had come all the way from Lawrence, Kansas, where D was from. The public knew who they were, which meant that the internet did as well.
He had taken D’s instructions. They were both very lucky that not many people understood Latin anymore. At least, not without aide, and not without some time. But Cas understood. He went to All Saint’s, the town that was eaten by Sioux Falls. And he drove up and down the street Google said was right at the center of it all until a man stepped in front of him.
From the second he laid eyes on him, he knew that this was the man he was destined to be with. The man smiled at Cas. He left his stolen car on the road and walked over to him.
“D,” Cas had said. There was no need for formal names. They knew each other by their art and there was no deeper connection their ugly, human birth names could have gotten them.
“Cas,” D had replied. He held out his hand and led Cas to his black, ’67 Impala and opened the passenger door for him. They both got in and drove off, no words between them. They didn’t need to speak.
D drove them to a cabin in the woods outside of town ensconced by a scrap yard and led him inside. Three men were trussed up in the living room.
“These are the three people who mean the most to me. We’ve both got three more to go. I wanted you to be here for this,” D said. Cas shivered and asked how D wanted to do this.
“Any way you want.”
It was almost two weeks after the murder of the fifteen-year-old boy in Chicago that the police found the bodies.
The first was a charred corpse found in the living room. It was the landowner, Bobby Singer.
The second one was found outside of a panic room in the basement. It formed a circle-encased pentagon. With its body. This was John Winchester, Dean’s father. The police had wondered how long it would take for them to turn on their families.
The last of the bodies were found in the panic room. Each one holding the other, the embalmed corpses of Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak were in the middle of the room, wings outstretched.
Cas used his blue spray paint to make the left wing. It was huge, bigger than all the rest and it extended up the wall it was so large. He made half a halo on his side, right above where their heads would be. D did the same on his side, only with his brother’s blood. They stuck themselves with the necessary needles and cuddled up next to each other on the floor. The red wing came out of Cas, and the blue wing came from D. The halo sat atop their heads like the saints of stained-glass windows.
“Okay, Sammy. Turn on the machines,” D told the last man. Hands shaking from the cruelty he’d witnessed, the twenty-year-old man flipped the switches on two machines and then sat against the far wall, curled in on himself as far as he would go.
“Good job, Sammy. You should be found before you starve. There are a couple gallons of water for you. Cas blessed them, so they should be really good for you. We just needed you for the machines, since we need to be our last one, okay? Don’t be scared. Be brave, Sammy.”
The embalming fluid went into their bloodstreams as the blood itself was washed into another container. The last Cas and D saw of this world was each other’s eyes.
“We’re going to live forever in the sky, just like the angels.”
Two dead and the third alive, but barely. He must not have eaten in that entire time. The blood from the two bodies was missing, however. There was no evidence of it being there except for the smears on the insides of the broken containers where it should have been, and the stains on the concrete and Sam Winchester’s clothes that would need bleach to remove. There were three perfectly good gallon jugs of water that he hadn’t even so much as touched sitting on the opposite side of the room from him.
When they took him out, his teeth were red.
Inside his cell at the Regent Kansas Asylum, Sam sat in his room day in and day out for over a month.
“Hey, Pat, have you seen Kelly? She’s been missing for a while now,” asked one of the attendants there.
“Not in a couple of hours. Do you think she took off early?”
“No, she wouldn’t do that. Not without telling somebody first.”
“Alright. Let’s take a look around. I’m not going to be happy if she’s been on the john for the whole time.”
All the doors appeared locked for the night as they were every night. All but one.
Sam Winchester’s was propped open by an attendant’s shoe. The two other attendants looked at each other before rushing to get into that room. They didn’t even have to go that far. Sam was gone, that much they could see from the window. When they opened the door, Kelly’s body was facedown everywhere except her face. It was broken and twisted so far that she would have been looking at the ceiling if she were alive.
“Oh, God, the wall. Look at the fucking wall…”
~Dean and his angel friend have ascended, leaving me to fall. But they are angels now, and everyone knows that angels do not exist without the Devil.
Kelly’s blood shall keep his vessel strong for a good long while.
I have a quota of 100 souls, catch me if you can.