A Taste of Crimson

Genre
A band of serial killers, each with an unhealable scar in their heart. Unique and intelligent, some of them strive to find a goal in life, others simply enjoy the thrill of murder. With the police hot on their trail, will the world forgive them, or will they burn in hell for their crimes?

In this world, two types of people are widely disliked.

The ones who are good-for-nothing.

And the ones who are too good for anything.

I always strove to be the latter. Not that I had to try much.

My eyes stalked the target through the scope of my rifle. He staggered down the busy street. People avoided him like a virus, giving him a beautiful personal space bubble.

In a gap between my heartbeats, I held my breath and tugged the trigger easily. The bullet darted through the afternoon sky, penetrating his skull. The best part was, I used a solid lead bullet. With all of its inertial energy used up in piercing into the skull, there wasn’t any left to puncture the other side. How did it feel to have a bullet bouncing around in your head, I wonder?

Pedestrians screamed and ran, as usual. I didn’t give the man, now bleeding on the pavement, another glance before rising to my feet. I’d been waiting in this position for an hour; I could barely feel my legs. I fished a towel from my violin case and quickly wiped the ground I laid on, then flicked a red coin over my shoulder. Clinking, it hit the ground. I tucked my rifle away and strode across the rooftop while pulling my gloves off.

I was too bored.

Hood up, I hid in a corner a little ways away from the body. In about a minute, sirens closed in. The very person I expected sprinted this way: Jared Caldwell. He’d been in charge of our case for a long time. I squinted at the unfamiliar boy who followed behind. He looked my age. Eyeing this walking piece of meat, I considered nothing but whether I could kill him. And if he could kill me. I calmed, concluding that I could easily defeat him in combat. He was healthily built but held no indications of martial arts or street brawls experience.

“What’s a kid doing here, Caldwell?”

“That’s my brother. We were shopping when you called me. I couldn’t shake him.”

Brother, a male child with the same parents as one’s own.

He grimaced as he inched closer to the body. Jared stopped him from stepping over the tape. “Get out of here. You’ll tamper with evidence, and this isn’t something you can stomach.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

Jared shot him a hard glare. “Go home, Eden. Right now.”

“An older sibling is a third parent.” Eden eventually turned around. There was a lot of emotion on his face that I couldn’t identify. The surrounding officers were too focused on investigating the crime scene and pinpointing the sniper’s position to notice that I slipped into the alleys. I wove through the mazes like a fish in water and arrived at an intersection just ahead of Eden.

I peeked out the corner and pretended to be startled by his presence. He took a step back, then saw me clutching my violin case. His features softened. “You’re here for the music festival, right? I’m sorry you had to see this. Erm, I can walk you out of the area if you’re afraid.”

Honestly, that fascinated me. I could be the murderer for all he knew.

“What happened over there?” I asked quietly.

His eyes averted for a moment, and he gulped. “A lunatic shot someone in broad daylight. Don’t worry, though, the police will crack the case in no time. We’re safe.”

I stared at his beaming smile. What an impressive specimen.

“I hope so. These things are happening so often lately. In other cities, too.”

“Yeah, the world can be a mess sometimes.” An emotion I recognized as anger flashed across his eyes. If he found out he was comforting a serial killer, would he strangle me on the spot?

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Oh, I followed my brother. He’s on the case. Hey, I’m sorry if I startled you. I’ll walk with you until we’re out of the area.” Eden paused, panicking. “Wait, I sound super suspicious, don’t I? Shoot. I mean, well, I’ll leave right away!”

“I’d appreciate it if you could walk me out of here,” I said before he could bite his tongue. I displayed a friendly smile.

“Really?” He chuckled. “Alright. I’m glad I didn’t scare you more.”

I lifted the strap on my violin case over my head and onto my shoulder. The instrument case ran diagonally down my back. Eden assumed I was a musician. Even for a teenager, he was too trusting. For the first time, I saw him as a human. My eyes concentrated on his face. He had a nice one, I thought. If he weren’t careful, Karson might use him.

“Do you live near here?” he inquired.

“Sort of. I moved from another city a week ago. I’m still settling in.”

Eden’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It must be traumatizing to experience this when you just moved. Are your parents at work?”

I frowned a little. Regular teens assumed that others of the same age had parents. No need to panic. In my usual tone, I replied, “No, I moved here on my own.”

His eyes shot wide. He was so amazingly an open book that I could almost see his empathetic heart explode. I elaborated, “We had an enormous argument. I only want to pursue my own path, not the one they set for me.”

Eden nodded. “So, you’re pursuing your dreams.”

People always ate up the “parents don’t support my dream” cliché. At this point, it was my go-to excuse.

“I guess I’m pretty lucky,” he hummed, examining the sidewalk.

“Yeah?”

As we turned at an intersection, he shifted to the side closer to the road.

“Yup. My parents said they’d support me even if I majored in philosophy,” he joked, I think. I didn’t understand. “But I think it’s because they gave me too much freedom that I actually have no idea what I want to do with my life.”

“How could that be? You’re free to pursue whatever interest you wish.”

He smiled bitterly. “How do I say this…? I have a couple of hobbies, but none of them I want to do for a living, you know? I envy people who are driven by a goal. Judging by the case, music is yours?”

I learned the violin two days ago out of boredom, but sure, let’s go with that.

“Yes.”

I couldn’t care less about Eden’s life story. I cared about this uncanny compassion of his. He should know that just because someone appeared small and harmless didn’t mean they couldn’t shoot your brains out. He probably thought I was still shaken. A reassuring smile never left his face. When the time felt right, I asked, “Where do you go to school?”

“Redwood High.”

“Oh, I think I’m enrolling there, too.”

“Really? Our orchestra sucks.”

I chuckled. “It’s fine. Proximity matters to me more.”

“Alright. I’ll see you…”

I observed his eyebrows twitch a fraction upward. He probably realized that he never asked for my name. Judging by his darting eyes, he wanted to ask without feeling awkward since we’d been conversing for a while.

Gosh, I’d long forgotten that people like him existed. For him, I guess I could go to school for the first time in my life.

“Here’s fine,” I said, coming to a halt.

“Oh, okay.”

And for some reason, I told him my real name, “I’m Celestia.”

A shy smile bloomed on his face. “Eden Caldwell. Nice to meet you, Celestia.”

“Likewise. I’ll see you at school, Eden.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

After we parted ways, I strolled down the street and fished my phone. I never saved any contact names, but I knew everybody’s numbers by muscle memory.

“Dr. Parkinson speaking. How may I help you?”

That was his usual phone professionalism since I called him during work hours.

“Nothing super serious,” I replied, coding him that I wasn’t calling about murder. To ask for someone’s profile, I’d ask if a friend could become a client of his. To this logic, I asked, “But could I book an appointment as soon as possible?”

He should be smart enough, but I wasn’t sure if he could understand. Silence encompassed for a few seconds.

“Under Celestia Hayes,” I added. Once I gave a fake last name, he understood.

“Celestia Hayes. Any particular topics you want me to prepare for?”

“I constantly feel stressed since I specialize in violin music and maintain high grades at the same time. Going to school has always been pretty taxing, you know? Redwood High is a pretty competitive place.”

“I see. I commend you for seeking counselling for it. Would tomorrow at 2 PM be alright for you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. See you and take care.”

I hung up. I just informed Lorcan to fabricate an identity and enroll me in that school, and he’d have it ready by tomorrow afternoon. I could ask favors like this, and he’d never question me. Though in his last sentence, he warned me to be careful. Of what? How could a bunch of high school kids urge me to kill them?

Of course, I wasn’t foolish enough to sneak a firearm into a school. I replaced the weapon in my violin case with the legitimate instrument. By the coming Monday, Karson drove me to my new school in his car with heavily-tinted windows. He finally couldn’t help it and asked, “Why the heck are you doing this to yourself? School is a synonym for hell. That’s all I learned in that place.”

“You all say that. It’s time for me to experience it, too. I excel in academics. I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

“A week later, Celestia, you’ll come to me crying.”

“I appreciate the encouragement.”

“For real, though, don’t draw attention to yourself. Do what the other kids do.”

“I know that much. Goodbye.” I stepped out of the car, flinging my bag over my shoulder while my violin case rested on the other. Karson facepalmed as if already foreseeing that I’d cause trouble.

I didn’t mind the curious gazes as I strode to the office. I transferred in the middle of the semester. The principal was afraid I’d fall behind, but after they viewed the grades that Lorcan forged, they changed their minds. I ignored the locker assignment and bulletin boards I was told to check. Clubs and sports teams didn’t interest me. I wanted to find Eden quickly.

“Are you Celestia?” I was interrupted by an inquiring voice. I was about to disregard it until I recalled that I must act normal. People considered it rude to ignore someone.

I reluctantly turned around. “Yes, you are?”

The petite girl beamed. “Guidance asked me to show you around! I’m Victoria; people call me Vic. It’s so nice to meet you. We don’t get transfer students often.”

Was this what Karson meant when he said school was hell?

For the rest of the morning, the cheerful girl dragged me around the building. I reflexively mapped the school in my head. By the time I arrived at my homeroom, I had this place memorized like it was my house.

I found a seat in the back row. So far, so good. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Two minutes later, a girl tapped me on the shoulder, saying, “Excuse me. You’re in my seat.”

I looked at her unblinkingly. Her seat? Did I make a mistake? I checked for name tags, and the desk was empty. What defining feature made this seat hers? Oh, shoot. The placement, of course!

I shot up. “I apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured.

To this logic, each seat in this room had a pre-assigned student. And, apparently, only that student could sit there. What an inconvenient system. Students filled the classroom as I stood at the back. I returned a blank glare at anyone who stared at me for longer than two seconds.

I shifted the strap on my shoulder. A violin was much lighter than what I usually carried, so much so that I felt unsafe.

Eventually, the instructor appeared and assigned me a spot. I paid scant attention to my deskmate as the lesson began. Strangely, the instructor, Mr. Worthington, didn’t start teaching mathematics as I expected. He brought up the shooting incident that occurred a few days ago. The room became visibly distressed. Several people raised their hands to tell the class additional details they’d heard, none of which were factual.

It was when the discussion continued halfway through class time that I had the sense to check my timetable. This class was called “The West and the World.” No wonder we’d been off-topic this entire time.

“Celestia.”

I raised my head when Mr. Worthington named me.

He smiled. “Our city is a safe place. Such an incident’s unheard of. I hope it didn’t give you a sense of unease here.”

I shook my head a little. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

I gunned straight for my second period class after the bell rang. This place called school was strict enough to have assigned seatings and punishments for tardiness, yet an instructor could go on for an hour about nothing but the news?

I arrived at a computer lab. My eyes almost shone as I spotted a familiar face in the third row. Without a word, I claimed the desktop to his right side.

“Celestia! You’re here. I didn’t know you were into comp sci?”

What now?

“Yes…,” I trailed off. I should’ve double-checked the courses Lorcan chose.

After conversing for the period instead of completing assigned work, I memorized Eden’s schedule. He arrived at school two hours early once a week for basketball morning practice and stayed after school for three hours on two other days for the same reason. He worked part-time on Fridays and Saturdays at his dad’s restaurant. All in all, Tuesday and Sunday were his only free days.

Eden spoke to me as if the shooting incident never occurred. At the end of the period, we exchanged numbers. He became the only saved contact in my phone.

He walked me downstairs to the cafeteria, then hopped back up to the third floor to his next class. It was a shame that we had different lunch times. I watched his back as he skipped two steps at a time up the stairs, wondering if he treated everyone like this. The longer I interacted with him, the more I wanted to find out just how generous this boy was.

The cafeteria was a peculiar experience. The mixed smell of food suffused the air, making it difficult to breathe. I’d prefer the scent of gunpowder over this any day. I was trained to skip meals for days on end for extended missions. I could do without lunch.

Down the hall, I found an unoccupied music room. A lone grand piano stood in the corner beside rows of stacked chairs. Musical terms littered the walls. I didn’t know the meaning of any. When I learned the violin, I didn’t bother with the words.

I set up my instrument and positioned the bow on the strings. I began to play one of the first pieces I learned. The melodious yet sorrowful timbre flowed so naturally. For someone who only picked up the violin a week ago, I was incredibly skillful at it. There was something about the continuous sounds that struck me harder than last time. At the half-minute mark, my eyelids slid closed. This time, even I knew that I felt the music. It was so much more than merely playing the notes in tune.

My eyes snapped open when a single tear escaped my left eye. For a second, a nauseating sense of fear flooded my entire being and my airway seemed to clamp shut. I bit my lip until it bled to stop the quivering.

Calm down. She’s not here anymore. She can’t hurt you.

“Why’d you stop? That was beautiful!”

I clutched the bow, nearly snapping the frog. I considered stabbing the onlooker with the tip of this bow before thinking better of it. I glanced over my shoulder to see a woman with short blonde hair applauding. It was very unlike me not to notice a nearby presence, but it was beneficial for me to catch the attention of the head of the music department. After all, to keep my cover story, I needed to be passionate about music.

“You must be the new transfer. I heard you carried a violin everywhere you go, and not for nothing! That was amazing! I felt the emotion in your playing all the way from the office! I’m Mrs. Rizzo. I didn’t catch your name, sweetie?”

Emotion? Amazing? I hated everything about it.

“My name is Celestia. Celestia Hayes.”

Comments

Helen Hart Mon, 07/06/2021 - 18:13

Great start, and an original twist on a school story. Nice flashes of humour in some of the early dialogue.

Keith Garton Wed, 18/08/2021 - 20:52

Has potential to be really great with this interesting start. I got a bit confused with the characters.

Melissa Hope Thu, 19/08/2021 - 06:48

Celestia is a very intriguing, eerie character. I would like to know more about the group he works for and their purpose.