A Self-Inflicted Murder [Sheila]

[Carrion Rogue]

Feels like your life is over,
Feels like all hope is gone,
Maybe this is a second coming,
This is a call to arms.

The Outfit

Maroon eyes slid to the side, gazing through the small window pane at the small female on the other side. Target located. She matched the photo and description perfectly - a short woman in her mid twenties with long, curly chestnut-colored hair and voluptuous figure. Plain face, dull eyes, and a little on the heavier side - though she seemed to wear the weight in all the right places. It was her, alright - Alice White, a long-time nurse at the Asylum.

The fact that Carrion Rogue was watching her silently was not a good thing for her, though. Like a wolf watching the unaware rabbit, he was death itself. She was a target as she was unable to refrain from sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She had wandered into dangerous territory and there was no going back.

Well, she had had a chance to clear her name of all accusations - Carrion had been sent to watch, first. Then, if proven that she was, indeed, a busybody, he would dispatch her at his will. And she had just incriminated herself by snooping through the experiment rooms - reading through files, checking medicine labels, and even sabotaging asylum property.

Now it was time for him to put his foot down.

Carrion shrugged out of his grey double-breasted pinstripe suit jacket, leaving him in a grey waistcoat, black shirt, and red-and-black tie. His sleeves were rolled up in the next instant and he pulled his hair back into an elegant ponytail.

Step one: Disable cameras.

A swipe of his blade to a hidden panel and that task was complete.

Step two: Corner the rabbit.

Really, the rabbit had already cornered themselves. Carrion slipped into the dim experiment room, sliding the blinds shut over the window. The door, unfortunately had no lock, but it wasn't much of a setback. He'd be done before anyone had a chance to even make it up the stairs.

Carrion folded up his jacket and laid it gingerly on a nearby counter - it was his favorite, he didn't want to stain it.
Not to mention it cost him nearly a thousand dollars. He wasn't about to let that kind of money go to waste. After making sure it was well out of splatter range, he strapped his knife back into it's holster around his left wrist and cleared his throat politely. "Ms. White."

The little nurse nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice and whirled to face him. Her face went white as she took in his towering form and lithe frame. "W-who're you?" She stuttered. Her dull brown eyes darted around the room, looking frantically for an exit as if she had the ability to make it two steps before he caught her. He almost chuckled at the thought - humans were such naive beings. "My name is Carrion Rogue. I am judge, jury, and executioner. You have been accused of encroaching and being a possible informant. How do you plead?"

"I-I've done nothing wrong. I don't know what you're talking about." She stumbled sideways, knocking a tray of scalpels onto the tiles below. Apparently, this startled her and she squealed in fright, backpedaling away from it as though it were a spider. He sighed in annoyance, glad that this would be over with soon. "Then you shall die confused, then."

Step three: Go in for the Kill

In a few strides, he was across the room with her neck in his hand, her feet dangling several inches from the floor. It had been a while since he'd actually taken his time and enjoyed the kill and as he flipped his knife back into his hand he had only one though in his mind 'Why the hell not?' Smirking, he plunged the gleaming blade into the soft tissue of her belly and drug it to the side, splitting her open. Warm blood cascaded over his fingers and she let out a shrill cry that was silenced by the tightening of his grip around her windpipe.

The fear in her eyes was soothing.

[Sheila Louise Bradel]

My Baby Shot Me Down,

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OUTFIT

Tight bun, neat fresh pressed white dress, polished white heels with white stockings. Bold red lips, neat winged liner and powdered face....Sheila was the cleanest and neatest she had ever been on the job. It was in fact a product of her life at this point. She no longer lived in the slum apartment with her sister and her demon children. Now she lived with her beloved, Carrion. Though the union was far from perfect, seeing as Carrion was an avid hater of the sun and he worked nights while she worked days. Still, every now and again he would sneak away from work and come to bed with her, like a normal nine-to-five couple. She was in love and in a state of euphoria. Even the thought of him brought a bright smile to her pursed lips.

Now she was only an hour away from getting off her shift and she had promised her new friend Alice she would have a coffee with her before leaving. It was odd, Sheila never had many friends working here, but after moving in with Carrion and expressing herself finally, she was more confident and people seemed to notice that. Though, she wasn't about to throw a dinner party. Carrion wouldn't be very pleased.

Sheila's heels clicked happily against the stained floor of the asylum, her nightly rounds becoming more bearable by the day. Now she was searching for Alice.

She told me to meet her at eight... She thought, sighing heavily as she ventured through the maze of rooms. When she got to the stairwell of the "experiment rooms" she grimaced. Surely she wouldn't be up here, they both talked about how much this place scared them. But, it was better to be safe than sorry, and she rather enjoyed her new friends company. Since Carrion was working late tonight, she was looking forward to the human connection.

Sheila was almost through the floor with no luck before she heard a shuffling in the room just five feet from her.

Maybe she's in there! She thought happily, knowing Alice had a knack for sneaking to find solitude just like Shelia once had.

As she neared the door, she heard louder noises and some words, though she couldn't make out what they were. Was she with someone else? Sheila touched the handle on the door and pushed it open, revealing the most horrifying scene she had ever imagined walking in on. Carrion was holding her friend by the throat, gazing up at her while digging in her stomach with a knife. Shelia couldn't even scream, she just put her hand up to her mouth and her eyes watered.

The man she loved was at his primitive state, doing the job she never wanted to know about. The blood on the floor was running towards her feet, her white shoes in danger of stains. Still, she couldn't move, her eyes couldn't peel away from the scene. This was her nightmare.

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[Carrion Rogue]

He was engrossed to the point of no return. He saw nothing but the pain and fear in her eyes. Heard nothing but the sickening sounds of his knife in her flesh. Felt nothing but the warm blood dripping from his wrist. He squeezed her neck harder until her face turned an odd shade of purple. Blood pooled at his feet but he was professional - angling his shoes away from the mess so he wouldn't track the tacky substance on his soles.

But his fascination with this woman's death would be his downfall.

The squeak of door hinges caught his attention at last and he went on the defensive. The nurse fell from his grasp but the knife remained in his hand. Faster than the eye could see, he flipped the weapon into a throwing position and spun to face the intruder.

He was barely able to stop from letting the blade fly as he came to recognize the slip of a woman standing wide-eyed in the doorway. "Baise l'enfer, Sheila." She wasn't meant to see this - he never wanted her to see this side of him. And as she stared at him as if he were some sort of monster, he could swear he felt his heart stop beating.

His hands dropped to his sides and he eased out of his defensive stance. What was one supposed to say to the person they had just begun to love when that person had caught them murdering another human being? No psychology books would save him on this situation.

It also didn't help that he was up to his elbows in blood.

"mon Dieu, Sheila. You... You aren't supposed to be in here." You aren't supposed to see this. Was what he really meant. She wasn't supposed to be a witness. She wasn't supposed to catch him red handed. Sure, she knew what he did, but he had never wanted her to actually see it.

He clenched his teeth and closed his glowing red eyes, fighting back the bloodlust that raged through him. It burned through his veins as though he just shot himself up with a mixture of bleach and acid and he shuddered and the sickening feeling.

And at that moment, he learned yet another error of his ways.

As he had focused on the fright and revolt on Sheila's face, he had completely forgot about his target. That is, until she managed to grab one of the many scalpels she's knocked over earlier.

Big mistake on his part.

She slammed the surgical steel hilt-deep into his thigh and his whole body tensed as pain rocketed through his body. He slapped a hand over his mouth to hold in the scream - sure, he was tough, but any man would have a difficult time with a scalpel digging into their femur. On instinct he threw the woman away from him and slammed him booted heel against her face in a curb-stomp that effectively snapped her neck.

With a groan of pain he stumbled back and sat down clumsily in a hard metal chair. How the hell could this damn day get any worse for him?

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Baise l'enfer = fucking hell. Mon Dieu = my god. [/size]

[Sheila Louise Bradel]

Sheila only took her eyes off him to flinch at the knife in his hand. On instinct, he could kill her and he almost did before noticing her. Killing was so easy for him. It was a natural skill. How could she love a cold blooded killer? How could a man so intimidating, so terrifying be so gentle and loving towards her?

When he was stabbed, she didn't run to his aid. She only backed away more, trying to come up with a sentence in her head. She couldn't. All she could think about was how red the blood was. Alice squirmed, but once his boot fell against her head, she squirmed no more. Her only friend was dead at the hands of her lover. Did he know she had a two year old daughter and a grandmother? Did he know she gave Sheila recipes to make Carrion for dinner every weekend?

Sheila wanted to know who he really was. The murderer or the lover. Her mind couldn't comprehend him being both. Not for the sake of her sanity.

"I...I..." He first stammering of a sentence, but no luck. Tears filled her eyes, her face draining of its remaining color. First the first time, she allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks but not before throwing herself over a nearby trash can and vomiting. He was covered in it, and the smell.... It was sickening.

Once she rose from her place over the trash can, she wiped her mouth and stood there once more. Where else could she go? If she tried to leave, he might kill her, and obviously Alice was killed for a purpose, so the hospital authorities want to hear nothing about it.

"Her daughter's name is Bethany." Sheila said flatly, her blue eyes wet with salty tears. She wanted him to scream at him, she wanted him to hit him, to cause him pain like he had to Alice. At least he was uncomfortable with the scalpel in his femur.

"You should have just killed me too...." She whispered, wishing she had died before the thoughts filled her head and scarred her farther.

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[Carrion Rogue]

The look on her face was going to haunt him for weeks just like the images of her coworker was going to haunt her. He heaved a shaky sigh and pushed himself to his feet, limping over to the sink. There, he began the grueling process of scrubbing the blood off his hands until his skin was raw. "Bethany White is two years of age. She goes by Beth or Bethy by her mother, Alice. She will go into the caring and capable hands of her father, Christopher, now. He lives here in Waterville so she will not need to change preschools or suffer much uprooting. I know, Sheila. I'm not as cold-hearted as I look." His words were soft and halting. He could hardly even talk to her, much less look at her.

She was disgusted by him and his immoral job description, he knew. Hell, he was disgusted with himself most of the time. What really got to him, though, was the fact that he would surely lose the one person that had ever meant anything to him.

Trying to push the thoughts out of his head, he wrapped his now-clean hand around the scalpel and began to slowly pull it out. The pain was excruciating and he clenched his jaw in an attempt to silence his cries. Halfway through the process, he paused and leaned against the sink. The whole room seemed to have gotten twenty degrees hotter and seemed to tilt back and forth, making him nauseous. Not to mention the lights - when had they gotten so damn bright? He just wanted to put his eyes out. Maybe then the migrane would stop.

You should have just killed me, too.

How long would it be until those words stopped ringing in his head? A week? A month? A year? ...More? He clenched his eyes shut and leaned down to rest his head on his arms."I'm sorry." He whispered, still unable to look at her. "It was necessary. There was no other option available... But I would never ever lay a finger on you."

She was too precious.

He straightened back up and grabbed the scalpel once more. This time, he didn't give a damn about taking it slow and avoiding damaging his muscle any further - He ripped it out in one smooth moove. It clattered onto the countertops, leaving a bloody trail that he would have to clean up later. First he needed to find a first aid kit.

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[Sheila Louise Bradel]

Sheila watched him with wide eyes as he traveled from his chair to the sink, the scalpel in his leg shining in the crude overhead light. How could he be so calm? Poor Bethany loved her mother, she was a little monster if her mother wasn't close by. What story would she grow up with? A fire? A car accident? What lie will she be told?

Sheila watched as he yanked the scalpel from his leg, her mouth drawing into a thin line a the thought of the pain. As disgusted and heart broken as she was at this moment, seeing him in pain still made her heart drop more than anything. He had come home many times with bruises and scratches, but this was new. And it was because of her.

"Here." She finally huffed, knowing that she couldn't do anything else about her friend or her lover at this point. Sheila had to process how to deal with it now, but the first way of emotions had left her body numb. All she wanted now was to wake up from this at home, in Carrion's arms.

Sheila traveled to him with reluctance and reached over his head into the cabinet, grabbing the first aid kit. When she closed the cabinet door, she stood flush with him, trying to search his face for something. But he wouldn't look at her.

"You're going to have to sit down so you won't cause any more damage." Finally, her voice was back. The sweet Vermont whine was flowing openly from her mouth again, the color was returning to her face.

In her mind, Sheila spoke to Alice, not forgetting about her late friend.
I'm so sorry, Alice. I'll do anything I can for Bethany. I'm sorry for what he did, but Carrion isn't... Sheila stopped herself. Could she really be certain who or what he was at this point?
Leave it to her to fall in love with death itself.

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[Carrion Rogue]

Carrion watched her cautiously as she moved toward him and grabbed a medical kit. He'd just killed her friend in front of her. Why was she willing to help him?

He was wary. People tended to go pretty berserk after seeing the death of a loved one.

One of the reasons why he was so attracted to this woman was her ability to continuously surprise him. Though he could read her emotions like an open book, he never knew what her next course of action would be. But that made him cagey at the moment. Would she play like she was helping him and then attack? Would she actually help him? Would she speak of this to anyone?

Her next words processed in his head but her just continued to stare down at her numbly. Surely he was a sight with wide red eyes, blood splattered clothes, and leaning against the counter like a crutch. How was she not running the other way?

"Sheila... What are you doing?" Might as well take the direct approach. Though he found himself slowly falling in love with this woman, it would still be a long time before she gained his trust. Hell, she slept in his bed every night and it was a rare occurrence that he would lay beside her. Usually he would either wait until she woke for work, or he's slip off into one of the guest rooms and sleep. It was for the sake of his safety. She could easily kill him as he slept. Only during rough days or sex would he lay with her - even though those nights were the best sleep of his life.

He toyed with the unkempt gold ring on his right hand; a nervous habit he'd had since he could remember. It was like his heart knew that the ring was a source of comfort, but his brain still had no idea why. "Why would you help me?" He murmured.

With a glance around the room he sighed. Look at the hell they were in. Standing in one of the worst rooms made even worse by the disemboweled woman that Sheila had once called friend. Blood was everywhere and spreading farther by the second, he was injured but would have to fight through the pain in order to clean up his mess. As long as he cleaned up all traces of himself, the guards would deal with the rest. Ms. Alice White would be ruled as a patient attack and her family would be notified and her body shipped to the nearest morgue.

His job would be done.

But he felt nowhere near accomplished this time. Only sick. Sick of himself. Sick of his own emotions. Sick of this situation.

He'd warned her.

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[Sheila Louise Bradel]

"What are you doing?" That was his question? Sheila stood there for a moment to analyze the correct response for him.
What was she doing? Any other woman should be running the other direction, screaming for help. Hell, maybe even killing him. But she couldn't think like that, not about Carrion. Blood soaked or clean, he was still the man who was slowly giving her a purpose. The blood soaked man in front of her was the reason she smiled, and that wasn't going to change.

"I'm trying to help you not shred your muscle around the wound. Now hold still." Sheila poured hydrogenperoxide on a cotton ball and began to dab it on the part of the wound that she could see.

Sheila gazed back up at him, still trying to think of a reason to leave. His red eyes were so cold to everyone else, why were they welcoming to her?

"Now that I'm a witness....What will happen?" Sheila honestly feared for her life. Not at the hands of Carrion, but at the hands of his superiors. She knew he was forever in their debt and she had no idea how far they could push him before he said no.

She felt small and meek now, no longer his equal. She was at his mercy.

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[Carrion Rogue]

Carrion hissed at the sting of the peroxide but otherwise held still, his hand clenching on the edge of the sink. There went his favorite suit. He'd have to order a new set of pants online - that would cost a pretty penny. His other hand tugged at his suffocating tie nervously. He wanted so bad to touch her. To hold her in order to assure himself that she was real and that she wasn't going anywhere. But he knew better - she was scared of him now and nothing he could do would change that.

Her question confirmed that. She wanted to know if he was going to kill her. The answer to him was an obvious no way in hell, but it would take some work. Luckily, he was good at hiding things. "Nothing's going to happen to you. No one will know about this." Well, no one would know as long as she could keep quiet. Sure, she'd seen a lot in her life but would she sweep this under the rug, too? Would she hold up the facade of not knowing?

Fed up with the lack of air, he tugged his tie loose and unbuttoned the top two clasps of his shirt. Immediately, cool air hit his exposed neck and relieved some of the tension in his muscles. "Sheila..." He murmured, watching her small hands aide him. "You never answered my question. Why are you helping me?" His tone was soft as to not startle her but in his head he was chanting long strings of foul french words. Vulgar enough that it would make a hardened sailor turn beet red.

He had the worst of luck.

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[Sheila Louise Bradel]

Sheila tried not to focus on Carrion himself. His perfectly sculpted face, the shiny black and brown cascade of hair pulled into a low ponytail. The outer shell of a man she was falling head over heels for. But on the inside, she wasn't sure who he truly was.

"If they asked, would you?" She wanted to know before she went any further. It was a loaded question, not only did she want a direct response but she wanted to know why. She wanted him to say it.

Sheila took a long pause, calming her breathing. "Because you're still Carrion. Maybe not the one I know, but you're still the same shell. And that Carrion is a man I..." Love? Admire? Want? Need? None of those words seemed to fit. Something in her told her Carrion didn't need to hear it yet. Or rather, she didn't need to be the one to say it.
Why was loving him so difficult?

[Carrion Rogue]

Now she wasn't looking at him and for the first time (that he could remember) he felt like he was going to throw up. This day was going to hell and back. It had put on the facade of being smooth and easy and just when he was starting to believe it, it ripped the rug out from under his feet.

"They can ask. They can order. I do not care. I wont let myself or anyone else touch you." He stared down at her for a moment as she finally answered his question then he sighed and backed away from her, not bothering to hide the rather obvious limp.

He made his way over to his jacket and pulled out his aviators and cigarettes. "I'm not a shell, Sheila. I'm the exact same man that you lie next to at night. Just because you caught me doing my job doesn't mean I've changed. I'm just surviving. So please. Stop looking at me like I'm some sort of monster." Who was he trying to convince? Her? Or himself? He slid his sunglasses onto his face and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. More than likely, she was going to give him hell for injuring his leg further by walking, but he'd rather have her mad at him than so numb - almost scared of him. He couldn't take it.

'I'm not a monster, I'm just ahead of the curve.'

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[Sheila Louise Bradel]

Sheila exhaled all the carbon dioxide in her body, letting her eyes roll in her head. Carrion's words were, comforting, because she at least knew he wouldn't lie to her. Though something in the back of her mind was still on edge. Trust was too hard to build between them.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I know I just never thought past the title. I didn't want to. But do you blame me?" Sheila huffed and walked towards him, putting her hand on his arm. Electricity ran through her body. Was it fear or want? At this point she couldn't tell.

"I told you to stop moving! Goddamn!" She said angrily, wanting to hit him right in the wound. He was a stubborn bull, that was for sure.

"You'll have to take off your pants for me to stitch this until we get home."

We. A unit. A collective group. We.

Sheila's eyes opened wide, searching for his. The smell didn't bother her nose anymore, the blood was matte and lifeless. Something was calm about it all now. Or maybe she was just going crazy.

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[Carrion Rogue]

Now, Carrion wasn't the type of man to crack immature, unnecessary jokes. He hardly even cracked jokes at all. Therefore, he blamed his childish snickering on the blood loss and headaches. "Mon Dieu, Sheila. One moment you're angry with me, the next you're trying to get in my pants? Such a classy mademoiselle." Yes, it was childish, but still he struggled to hide a lopsided grin.

Only she could make him act like this.

Like he was human.

He sobered slowly but a soft smile remained on his face. He felt as though a weight had been lifted. Not only had she referred to them as a unit, she had called his house home. Home, as though she wanted to go back. Like it was a special place. Theirs and only theirs. He sighed softly in relief and brushed his fingertips over her cheek. His dark skin was stark against her paler face. They were polar opposites - she was the embodiment of life and light. He was death and darkness. But what was that saying?

Oh.

Opposites attract.

"In all seriousness, though, I would greatly appreciate it if you could bandage it enough so I could clean up my mess and get you out of here before anyone else comes by."

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[Sheila Louise Bradel]

Sheila snorted. Yes, snorted. Seriously? That was a terrible joke. Only Carrion would make that joke. And oh that grin, as if her heart hadn't had enough emotion for one day. That lopsided grin he got was something worth every ounce of sadness she had. The only time she saw it was when he'd tickle her or say something really corny.

"Fine, it's your leg. But don't complain to me tomorrow when you can't walk on it." Her typical Vermont nagging was coming out. Like she was his mother or wife.

Wife. Oh dear god, that would be the day. The thought of Carrion in a white suit made her smile, her face tingling from frowning so long.
She had almost for got the body of her friend and the pool of blood near her.

Do...do you need...uh...help?" Sheila's eyes glanced to her friend's lifeless body, the woman's skin white and purple, her white uniform stained crimson.
Please say no, please say no. The thought of mopping up her only friend's blood was enough to make her stomach churn. There was no way she was sleeping tonight. And there was no way she was letting Carrion out of her sight for a minute either.

"Carrion..." Why she said his name, she couldn't tell you. But it just seemed suitable. Like she had to say his name in order not to call him something else, something much much worse. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, or justify it, this was who he was. He was trained to be this way, even after losing his memories. She noticed how different he was from other people, other humans.
Sheila found that oddly settling.

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[Carrion Rogue]

In the back of Carrion's brain, there was a dark area. An area he only ventured to when he had to do his job and do it efficiently. In that darkness was what one would call a switch. This switch, when flipped, would turn his humanity off like a circuit. He would be ruthless and cruel to his victims yet polite and distant to others. And though he hated to act like that around Sheila, he had to.

So he flipped the switch.

His walls came up and he took a calculated step back, his eyes drifting over to the body of Alice. His blood lust had faded with the drying of the girl's life-source, leaving his once glowing eyes a dusty black. It was as if the light had been shut off, taking with it all the color his irises once held. "I should be fine. I've suffered worse." He was polite. A perfect gentleman even as he lifted his hand and tilted her chin away from the scene. "I suggest you don't look. It gets quite gruesome."

More than likely, upon any movement, Ms. White's bowels were going to fall from her carcass in the most ghastly of ways. He wouldn't want her seeing that. He quickly wound some bandages around his leg to keep it from tearing further and began checking cabinets for plastic gloves. Once found he snapped them on and shot a confused look at her inquiry. "No thank you. I know you don't want to help anyway. I can take care of it. Just don't look."

He moved quickly, lifting the dead woman into his arms and moving her into the next room where he set her on a morgue slab meant for patients that passed away during experiments. He slammed the tiny door to the body fridge and moved onto the next step: finding bleach.

It was easily located in one of the lower cabinets and he hauled it over to the pool of nearly dried blood. Then he walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a mop and a bucket. He filled the bucket a quarter of the way with water and then the rest of the way with the bleach. Then he scrubbed at the floors.

He continued like this until they were devoid of any traces of blood and quickly dumped the pink-tinged water into a nearby drain. Each movement he made was efficient; graceful and precise. He wasted no energy on unnecessary things, just made sure everything was pristine before moving onto the next step. Even with a hitch in his gait, he made the task seem effortless.

And soon, his job was complete. All trace of Ms. White, Sheila, and himself were erased right down to the invisible fingerprints on the counter. Even the CIA wouldn't be able to find out who killed her. He was strictly professional.

"Alright." He flipped that switch on his humanity back on and turned to look at her. "No one will know. You were never here. I was never here. Okay? I'll come up with a story and we'll make sure you get off scott-free."

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