Gloria and Avah have come together to use their special abilities to catch the killer that has taken so much from them both. But they soon discover that the more they peruse this diabolical monster the more they learn that this black soul has more on his side than they could bargain for. In the push and pull of this deadly game Gloria and Avah come to a chilling realization that they may not be able to find someone who ironically and horribly may be able to find them anytime he wants.


2. ONE

The Revelation of Evil
“A pestilence of rotten matted gunk defiled in morbidity! A horrible tinge of unfathomable color singed to the core, and burned to blackness. The machination of madness, could I be a man insane? Could that then be the reason why I have not before recognized this obvious disdain? Glancing in the mirror with grimacing laughter my eyes now see. For this diabolical monstrosity, was none other...than me!”


  The clamor of thunder and lightning tormented the night as it stabbed in and out of the helpless clouds. The shower of rain soon followed, creating a perfect storm of eerie musical notes upon the city. From an unknown place the business of the storm could be faintly heard by a collection of women who had been bound and gagged by an infamous capturer. Not fifteen steps from the imprisoned women stood a dinner table cloaked in a white cloth that was decorated with one bottle of Champaign, two candle lights, two stemmed glasses, two pasta dishes, and two individuals. One of the two was a woman who had been recently disassociated from the others that were still tied up. She had been dressed down in an elegant evening gown that glistened with the color of smoky quartz. The white pearls that dangled from her slender pale neck moved in a vibrating motion that was brought on by the woman’s inability to convince her body to stop shacking from unspeakable fear. On the other end of the table sat a dapperly dressed man. He was hugged by a tailor made charcoal grey suit. The sleeves were pinned by black onyx cufflinks, and his shoes were fine Italian imports. This man had been the terror that has stolen the joy from the hearts of countless families, and will do so to many more if he could help it. This man while his true name is still shrouded in darkness to the ones who hunt for him tirelessly, has none the less still been given a name that is in direct alignment to his ungodly crimes. That name, is Gift Box. The soft music coming from the horned phonograph bounced off the dark walls of the confined space. Gift Box outstretched his hands sheathed in rubber surgical gloves across the table to meet the woman’s. She flinched in violent horror. He grabbed her sweaty hands and clenched them with the strength of a coiled trap.

“Relax,” He muttered softly.

At the sound of his voice the woman lost all composure and began spilling in sobs.

“My God please. Please don’t kill me! Please!” She begged.

“You need to control your emotions while I say grace for the food,” Gift Box told her.

With fluids flowing profusely from every orifice of her body that had the ability to do so, she began to pace her breathing, calming herself momentarily.

“Bow your head,” Gift Box ordered.

Gift Box uttered a prayer, and ended it with Amen. He lifted his fork and spoon. He twirled the mixture of shrimp and pasta building a circular bundle in the center of the spoon. He ate it then washed it down with Champagne.

“Did you know that pasta did not originate with the Italians? It is believed to be a dish descending from ancient Asia, he continued. It is said that Marco Polo brought a plant that could be milled into flour to the Chinese during the 13th century. He talks about this briefly in his book. Do you know what that book was called?” He asked.

Feeling her emotions began to rise again, the woman quickly composed herself.

“Th…The…Travels of Marco Polo,” she said.

Gift Box’s dark eyes rose to hers. His face gleamed with excitement as a smile emerged onto his face. Her response was unexpected. Her intellect was unexpected. It aroused him deeply. More than he would like to admit in fact.

“Very good,” he said.

He motioned with a hand in the direction of her food.

“You must be hungry, please, eat. Drink,” he said.

He knew that she indeed would eat and drink. Because he knew that it had been weeks since her mouth and stomach had been graced with the nourishment from food of any kind. It could have been a plate of old dog food with a glass of dirty water for all she cared. He knew she would devour it just the same.

She picked up the fork and took in a bite. Then she began shoveling the pasta and shrimp into her mouth without even tasting it. Gift Box banged his hand on the table. The woman gasped and began choking. She grabbed the glass of champagne and drank it down to dislodge the food in her esophagus.

He raised his finger pointing to her.

“That is not how a lady eats. Have some respect for yourself. And above all, for me,” he warned.

She slowly continued to satisfy her hunger as he began to eat again as well. Silence ensued among them. The clanking of spoon and fork jabbing onto the plates somehow did not tune out the soft music that continued to play from the antique device. The fanatic of this entire concept began to haunt the woman’s mind. The painstaking truth of her imminent reckoning rattled her soul. At the hands of this monster she was going to lose her life. A flurry of questions suddenly confronted her. Did she smile more than she frowned? Did she laugh more than she had cried? Did she say I love you to her two daughters enough? Two months ago she had gotten into an argument with her fifteen year old. The boy that she was dating was less than stellar and all too wrong for her. He had been to jail twice and he dropped out of high school. Her daughter, who is a straight “A” student feels as though she is the only one who understands him. The typical passions of a rebellious teen created a war in their house. Cursed with a deadbeat father, she was left with the honor of soaking up all the venom that her daughter spat from her mouth in the form of I hate you, stay out of my room, and the occasional go to hell. Being the tree of the apple, she refused to speak to her daughter just as her daughter refused to speak to her. This continued up until the fateful day when she had gone back to her car from shopping and realized she was not alone in the car. In her panic she felt the pinch of a needle pierce her neck and the drug that entered her system made everything around her fade to black. When she came to again she found her wrists shackled by antique cast iron bean cob handcuffs. The chains on the cuffs were linked to a few other women who had been restrained in the same fashion. In the blink of an eye, the world; her world as she knew it was snatched away, left to be pried and pegged by the creator of this new world that she now lived in. Taking the last bite of her food, she picked up the glass of Champagne and drank it to completion.

“Thank you,” the woman told him.

Immediately after saying it she wandered what possessed her to say thank you to this man of all people. This man who had taken it upon himself to kill. This man who while had a choice in life to be a good person chose that of evil. This man of whom when she looked at hardly even saw a man at all. What she saw was the decaying filth of tar and blackness that could only be the manufactured ingenuity of the devil himself. Gift Box slightly nodded his head in approval.

“You’re very welcome,” he said.

The woman glanced over at the king sized bed. It had been neatly remade after the last one who he had lay on it with him. It was the bed that she had seen him do to others, what he would soon do to her. Gift Box got up and walked over to the phonograph. He lifted the record that had been playing and replaced it with another. He turned away from the phonograph as Fredrick Chopin’s nocturne began to illuminate from the polished brass horn. He extended his hand to the woman still sitting down.

“Fancy a dance?” He asked smiling ever so warmly.

The woman looked up at him, her mouth quivering. In a flash, Gift Box grabbed her hand and snatched her up from the table slinging her into his embrace, knocking the table over in the process. The woman’s breathing began to quicken once again. He proceeded to prance around with her in his clenches to the cadence of a tender ball room dance. He leaned into her neck and kissed it softly.

“I am intoxicatingly anesthetized by that fragrance you are wearing. What is it?” Gift Box asked.

But he already knew what fragrance it was. He knew because he was the one that sprayed it on her. He was the one that dressed her in the beautiful smoky quartz gown hours ago, but not before admiring her naked body. Even down to the black satin bra and panties set that he meticulously picked out himself. It had all been a maniacally devised theatric, created by his masochistic mind. At the touch his lips on her neck, the woman lost all composure. She again erupted into a rush of tears.

“Please I’m begging you please! I have a family! God would you please just let me go!”

Gift Box released one gloved hand from hers and placed it on her lips, still holding her closely with his other hand.

“Hush my love, please don’t cry, he went on ignoring her. Isn’t it beautiful? The sweet notions of a moment; here we are our whereabouts unbeknownst to the rest of the public. No one will ever discover where we are and what we do; because I am unique my dear. Oh what a joy it is to possess gifts such as I. The ability to communicate with the dead bears fruitful perks. But being able to anticipate the future makes me a living God. Our bed is made my child. Are you ready to receive your blessing?”

“NO!” The woman shrilled in untamed hopelessness.

Gift Box scooped her from off her feet and carried her over to the bed as her arms and legs violently flapped in midair. He threw her on the bed that had been garnished with fresh lilac. He got on top of her and forcefully guided her hands to the head board that had been decorated with two more antique handcuffs. He clamped both of her hands inside. The other women that were still tied up began to express themselves in inaudible tones of horror through the gags in their mouths. With her arms now restrained, the bed had also been contrived with leg stirrups. Gift Box erected the stirrups on each side of the bed. He hiked each leg in the mounts and scrapped them in. He reached over her head and pulled on a lever. With the force of a bear trap in reverse, the woman’s legs shot away from each other exposing her satin panties. The force was so great it ripped the gown down the middle. The woman was now screaming with raging animalistic insanity. Her eyes were wide with terror as she watched him begin to undress. He stood there looking at her, his body as bare as the wretched day of his cursed birth. His procreating extremity stood solidly erect and blood infused. His mouth began to puddle with saliva that soon oozed from the corners of his mouth. In a trance like state he slowly moved toward her with undeniable purpose.

“No! No! No!” The woman begged in vain.

Gift Box slid in between her imprisoned legs and finished ripping the gown from her body. He wasted no time. He snatched the panties from her belonging, snuffed his head in between her thighs sopping her clit briefly, then he raised his dark fiery eyes to hers and plunged himself into her defenseless pink walls of innocence. She gasped in pain of biblical proportion, while Gift Box growled in a chilling perverse bliss. He leaned into to her and tore away her bra with his teeth and spate it to the side as a lion would do when tearing flesh from its prey. He took the left breast in his mouth; then the right, then the left, then the right again. Back and forth he went losing himself in his forbidden enjoyment. The woman’s body tensed and she let out a long and exasperating scream. He knew that scream. They would never admit it but he knew the place where that scream came from. It came from pleasure. The sloshing fluid that started to flow out of her all but confirmed it. He had made her cum like the others. Then by that invitation he felt the head of his shaft swell, and he too road the wave of a disembodied release. He plopped down on top of her breathing heavily. The woman was still whimpering; tears constantly galloping from her eyes.


“Beautiful,” was the word that fell from Gift Box’s mouth as he still lay on top of her.

The woman, seeming to now become deluded with reality began mumbling incoherently from traumatic shock. She stared blankly into the murky oblivion of space and time, and finding comfort in neither one. Gift Box got off of the bed. He took a moment to just stand and look at this satisfying concoction of flesh, blood, and bones. His starving compulsion had been fed. He had now had his pleasure. And now as he had done with the rest, would forego with his ceremonious sacrament.

“Your temple has been defiled by the pleasures of fornication. You must be cleansed.”

Gift Box made his way towards the dresser next to the bed and pulled open one of the drawers to reveal an array of surgical blades. Gift Box grabbed one of the utensils, slowly turning to the woman. Locking her sights on the cutting tool sparked a glowing ember of maddening panic in her eyes. She opened her mouth but nothing would come. There was only the sound of escalated breathing that in her current position, ironically resembled the breathing one dose when giving birth.

“Don’t fear my love. I mean to make you pure,” He promised.

He got back on the bed and repositioned himself in between her legs. He angled his hand in a professional arch just above her clit, and created a deep incision. He navigated the blade in a curved path that began to form a crimsoned circle with the purposeful drive of severing her reproductive organ. The woman let a whaling screech escape from her that was so unnatural it could stop the hearts of heaven. When the incision came full circle he reached down with a hand, and pulled away his carved trophy. He tossed it aside like a heap of filth. He then directed the blade to her breast and performed the same extracting sacrament. In fully succumbing to the frenzy of which he had become lusciously lost in, Gift Box had only now realized the screaming had stopped. He looked up to see the woman’s cold sightless eyes staring back at him. He sat down on the bed that had now been entirely washed in a sorrowful ruby red.

“Now you are clean,” he whispered.

He got off the bed. He walked over to a large curtained section of the confined space. He pulled the curtain open. Before him was a battalion of guillotines. They were systematic in size. As the lot of them progressed the blades grew larger. It was time for him to prepare the gift. Gift Box dragged the body off the bed, lugging it over to the guillotines like a sack of potatoes. He positioned the head into the lunette of the first guillotine. He released the blade and it came down across her neck with a brutal chomp. He grabbed the head and placed it in a large cardboard box laced with plastic. He then pulled the headless body from the first guillotine to the larger one. Her torso was next; then so on, and so forth.

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