Bilquis

Misora knew she should not have been overly surprised to feel that familiar hand on her ankle, in fact she’d been expecting it.

Ever since she’d learned two weeks prior that he had engineered a prison wide riot and had escaped in the resulting melee she knew she knew she would one day again encounter his lanky and freakish form, congealing from the mists of her memory like a sinister phantom. She had imprisoned him; it was her who had created his fate as a victim of murder by the justice system. If he was driven by revenge she could only expect to be a target. This was an inevitable fact, as unchangeable as the three innocents who had been chosen to be pawns in his game.

Misora could have fled Los Angeles, she could have chosen to enter the witness protection program; she could have changed her face, her documents, and tried to hide herself among the ordinary populace. She would have still been Naomi Misora. Misora Massacre, even with a different hair color, eye color, with a new name and occupation; and Naomi Misora was a woman who had earned< the moniker Misora Massacre.

Misora Massacre was capable of taking care of herself, she refused body guards in lieu of those who could not defend themselves. She did not attempt to flee a man she felt would have found her anywhere she could have hoped to have gone. She stayed in the same city where they had met and waited for him to make himself known.

Misora had been deemed by L to be a worthy proxy, however this time the game would be between herself and the killer who called himself “Beyond Birthday”. She would move and decide for herself, she was the puppet who had cut its strings. She would not fail to bring that filthy lunatic to justice.

“Ah, Ryuzaki, or perhaps I should say, Beyond Birthday, don’t you have any better ways of making yourself known?” She asked coolly at the hand wrapped around her boot. Despite her snide words Misora’s stomach turned. She had had an elaborate alarm system installed at her and Raye’s apartment, her system had alerted her of no breeches before she had entered. She should have guessed this be a pointless maneuver, L had informed her this young man once known as “B” had been raised at the same place as himself. It should have been expected he knew quite a few things about breaking and entering. She licked her lips anxiously, she could not afford to under estimate him. One little mistake and she was quite dead.

Her hand drifted to the small pistol on her belt she now had a permit to carry at all times. She eyed the scarred appendage blithely holding her leg. It was a visage of twisted flesh; could he even still feel through that hand? It looked as if the skin had been sliced off than haphazardly tossed back upon the muscle and bones. Well, the idiot had set himself on fire.

One bullet, right through the skull, is all I need to end this. No regret, no mistakes Misora! she reminded herself as she readied herself for the horrifying face that was sure to follow. Her mind was languishing over her mistake with the thirteen year old drug dealer, and his dark eyes expressing his derision endlessly. Beyond Birthday was far from being merely a doomed child however.

Her eyes narrowed, where was Raye? He should have been at home by now; his shift ended an hour before hers. She dared not call his name, if she was lucky this all be over in another ten seconds. She could only hope he had been fortuitously involved at a late running meeting.

The expected of course was not what happened. Instead of Beyond slowly revealing himself as he had the first time he’d met, Misora found the queen sized bed suddenly flipped up at her. The hand on the ankle had been a mere distraction, and as the bed lunged at her she was forced to move back, only to find herself falling as her ankle was pulled. This is exactly what you were trying to prevent Misora! she helplessly thought as she hit the floor.

Like a vile and agile devil Beyond Birthday finally revealed his seared and mangled self as he leapt over the bed and easily kicked the rising gun out of Misora’s hands. The weapon clattered somewhere unseen as she felt long cold, and insensitive fingers wrap around her throat and pin her against the carpet. His malicious dark eyes leered at her through melted skin and a disgusting mess of matted black hair. His voice that issued from his ruined throat and mouth was akin to wind whistling across an endless expanse, low, persistent, and deafening in its absoluteness.

“You can call me Ryuzaki still if you like Misora, or Beyond, either one has a certain pleasant connotation for myself,” her grip tightened as if daring her to speak through his hold, and she did dare.

“What are you trying to accomplish here Beyond?” she gasped, her hands wrapping around his rough and deformed wrists. She wouldn’t call him “Ryuzaki”, obviously the foolish and eccentric “unprivate” detective was not the role he would be playing tonight. She needed to distract him, she needed to kick him off, she needed to get her gun.

“Beyond thought you were an FBI agent Misora, isn’t it obvious? You hurt Beyond, and now he’ll hurt you.” His smile was small, amused, and as frightening as a rabid wolf snarling.

“So you’re trying to kill me, how unoriginal,” she ground out with her eyes narrowed. She knew it probably was not a good idea to bait the maniac, but honestly she thought he was more creative than this. He had used one of his victim’s corpses to simulate a clock for god’s sakes! Now he was using such a cliché ploy?

“Oh no Misora Beyond won’t kill you, he can’t kill you.”

Despite the icy vice around her throat Misora felt her eyebrows raise, he couldn’t kill her? What was he implying? Was he going to try to use her as some pawn then? She sneered; she would die before being manipulated by someone as vile as him!

Then to her absolute shock he let her go, relatively speaking anyway, as soon as his hands released her trachea and she took her first deep breath, he had retrieved her gun. She felt the blood drain out of her face. Beyond hadn’t shot any of his victims, but his crimes implied he was fascinated with death and enjoyed employing different methods to bring it about. To her even greater surprise he calmly threw the gun through the window into the alley below. She flinched at the harsh sound and glittering explosion of glass. He then calmly perched on the bed that still was lying on its side, like a starved and hideous owl.

“There are far more ways than causing death to hurt someone,” this was said with a satisfied smirk. Misora slowly raised herself up, she was only unarmed of her main weapon. She still had her copeira, and judging at his labored breathing and obviously emaciated state even beneath his jeans and jacket, Beyond was not much of an opponent. She was also in possession of her handcuffs, as she had every intention of sending him back where he belonged.

“Such as causing the death of someone they cherished,” he mused placing a hand into his pocket and retrieving something, he tossed it underhand to Misora who without thinking caught it.

She couldn’t suppress a pained cry when she recognized the ring on the still bleeding finger as Raye’s engagement ring.

“Misora I will tell you now no matter what, Raye would have died today. He was fated to die, Beyond merely made use of him. He was drugged, and strangled, he no doubt thought he was dreaming at the end, dreaming of death,” the murderer crooned as he approached Misora’s trembling form as she stared in disbelief of at the severed appendage in her hand.

Memories, the fodder of so many nightmares, they swam across her mind like shapeless and horrific monsters. Images of a young girl with crushed eyes, of a young woman missing her limbs, of a man with gashes cut into his chest. Had he done that to Raye, was Raye’s corpse also mutilated? What did it matter if he had been drugged? He must have known, he must have known he was going to die, he must have been afraid in this last few minutes of consciousness, full of regret, full of doubts, unable to make peace before he drifted into that eternal slumber.

”The killer only cares about himself.”

Her words spoken to him, and he had agreed with her! This twisted, perverted young man who was hovering before her like the angel of death in all his redolent horror, and something shined in his hand in the low light of the bedroom. His black eye were glowing with demonic delight, he was still just a child who only cared about himself.

“You killed Raye,” she growled, it was a threat, she had to accept this now, or she would be unable to save herself, unable to avenge him and all of this disgusting criminal’s victims. Her hand clutched the finger.

“Yes, and that hurts, doesn’t it? Not as much as B losing to L however I’m sure. “He suddenly reached to grasp a handful of her hair and yank painfully, bringing her head down and her neck dangerously close to the needle. “Beyond won’t kill you, he can’t kill you, but he’ll use you. He’ll carve you up; make you the signal to L the game has begun once again.”

And you need to drug me in order to be able to do it you cheating bastard! She thought as she glared at that cool and collected face. An “organized” killer was what he was classified as in the FBI database. Someone who was not a passionate killer, he was someone who was always in control when he killed. His victims were merely depersonalized pawns, and he made every crime scene an extension of himself with his obsessive cleaning. She gritted her teeth, he had a knife somewhere on him certainly, but presently he did not have it in either hand, and he would later regret that.

“Aaaaaggh!” Misora shrieked, similar to the cry she’d given when she’d finally deduced “Rue Ryuzaki” was actually “Beyond Birthday”, as she dodged the needle and landed a vicious uppercut directly into the young man’s diaphragm. As he fruitlessly gasped for air Misora ducked to bring a foot directly to his right temple, and he hit the ground hard.

It would seem that once again she had turned the tables on him.

He finally revealed the knife as he quickly rose onto his side, but Misora was ready and as she was standing she had the advantage. She kicked the wrist of the knife wielding hand hard and on reflex he dropped it. Before he could reach to grab it again a kick in the face quickly subdued him. Misora kicked the knife across the carpet.

The next two minutes consisted of a vicious struggle for survival for both of them.

Beyond lunged for the knife as Misora lunged at him, they fell to the floor in a frenzied clash of limbs and bodies as one sought the weapon and the other sought to subdue him. Misora winced as Beyond’s blood from his ruptured nose and mouth splattered across her face as they struggled, and cried out in pain as he bit and scratched at her. He grunted in pain as she kicked and punched. They gasped as wounds were created, bruises created, and clothes were torn viciously off.

In the end however stamina won the battle, Beyond began faltering as soon as he finally managed to wrap his fingers around the knife handle. His breath wheezed from his lungs as his body was wracked with coughs, he couldn’t even raise the blade. Misora landed a vicious kick to his torso that sent him reeling into the over turned bed, righting it. She quickly followed up her maneuver by capturing the knife, straddling him to prevent movement, and fury held the weapon to Beyond’s rapidly rising and deflating throat. With the other hand she quickly handcuffed him to the head board.

He only smirked at her after he’d finished coughing, his lips and teeth stained red.

“Killing Beyond won’t bring him back you know, he is quite dead, I can assure you.” The words were sardonic, and he didn’t even flinch as the blade was pressing deep enough into his sallow skin to draw blood. He gave Misora a half lidded, almost lustful look as he salaciously licked his lips.

Misora’s eyes widened as her synapses sparked with the recognition that something was very wrong here. He was taunting her, taunting her when she could easily kill him and claim self defense! Did he want to die? She shifted back, and something absolutely unpleasant brushed against her thigh; an erect penis.

You sick little pervert freak! You’re getting off on this! she realized as her mouth twisted into a snarl. It would seem death, any sort of death, even his own death was an erotic stimulant for this lunatic! She looked into his eyes and they only gleamed with amusement and even wonder. His wretched lips were twisted into a little smile. He wasn’t afraid, only curious and aroused apparently. Did he think she wouldn’t kill him? Did he think she was weak?

She slammed the knife only half an inch away from his pleased face, and he still didn’t react other than glancing at his reflection in the knife blade.

“You missed,” he sighed, as if disappointed she had not slammed it into his chest.

“No, unlike you I am not a killer, I am not someone who uses others for sick amusement,” she informed him.

“You know at first when I killed Raye I tried merely suffocating him with a pillow, after thirty minutes of failed attempts however I decided to strangle him by forcing the stuffing down his throat, it only took two minutes for him to die from that.” He informed her.

Misora’s sight was clouded by a distinct and vivid red for thirty seconds.

When her vision cleared Beyond was looking bored and jingling his chain. He seemed unconcerned with his predicament, and Misora knew what he was thinking. She’s going to call the authorities and they’re going to take my back to prison. This will only be a minor setback as there is really no prison that can hold me. It had only taken him four months to escape from San Quentin after all.

It was unfortunate for Beyond Misora Massacre was a vindictive bitch.

Without a word she dug her fingernails into the front of Beyond’s baggy jeans and literally ripped them off. For the first time Beyond jerked in surprise. He blinked his rotund eyes, his scarred mouth hanging open slightly. He gasped as his erection was exposed to the night air, and for the first time looked slightly apprehensive as Misora unbuttoned her own pants and then furiously ripped her thin cotton briefs off.

“Misora?” he asked before groaning as his penis was grasped and squeezed.

“I remember soon after we met you told me you were an aggressive top, that you didn’t submit, and you were proud of this. That’s all that matters to you isn’t it? The fact you don’t submit to anyone, not to society’s standards of morals, not to L, not to anyone. “ She said as she stroked him and as she watched him tremble as fear crept into his mangled features she felt that warm place between her thighs becoming moist.

“Well, you’re going to submit to me Beyond Birthday,” she informed him in a hiss as she raised herself and settled upon his organ. After a few shifts in position she removed her torn shirt and bra. She touched her breasts and erect nipples as she began moving up and down.

“No, no, no, I…I…I’ve never been on the bottom! I can’t be on bottom…!” he gasped, and Misora struck him viciously across the face. The bastard had murdered three people, he had killed Raye to spite her, and in order to scar him as he had her she had to this vile thing. The least he could do was shut up. Let the monster live with this, even if he killed her five minutes later, this was worse than death for him.

She smiled as he writhed, as he shut his eyes as she rocked back and forth, as she groaned and caressed her cunt and breasts as she drank in his defeated expression. Her movements became more and more forceful, the bed began to squeak and rock as it had often done when she and Raye had made love upon it. Her body began clenching and tightening, she reached down to dig her fingers into the bed sheets; she leered down at his flushed and horrific face. He was biting his tongue now, no doubt to prevent himself from crying out in agony or pleasure.

“Who’s the..aggressive…top…now?!” Misora gasped as she threw her head back as she dove deeper and deeper. His only reply was a groan as his cock tensed within her and he came. Misora licked her lips, trying to not envision the sticky white fluid that was now swimming within her.

“You only lasted that long? Not much of a man are you?” she jeered as she continued to ride him, and she would ride him until he was raw and bleeding if she could.

“I..I..it’s going to start hurting now, stop!” He snapped and tried to lunge forward with his teeth bared but of course found himself restrained efficiently by the handcuffs. Misora grinned viciously at him.

“Hurts? What do you know of hurt? You’ve hurt so many people; it’s time for you to be hurt in kind. I can never forgive you murdering Raye!” she snarled, without interrupting her swift and depth body motions she grabbed an upset sheet and twisted it around his neck and yanked. His choking gasp was the most satisfying sound he’d made so far.

She continued tightening the piece of fabric, closing her eyes as she listened to his stifled breaths, she arched her back, she sighed as she felt her orgasm licking from between her thighs. As she watched and felt Beyond Birthday struggle beneath her as the life was crushed from his throat the searing heat that had been building from where their bodies joined consume her. She came with a victory cry as he passed out from the lack of oxygen.

She loosened the sheet, she had considered tightening it even more, but even as the magnitude of what she had done settled upon her, she could not cross that line into murderer. As she disconnected herself from him she realized that she may have broken the physical connection, the intimate contact was far from over. She was like him now, a criminal.

Unlike him however she was a victor.

Still nude she walked down to the guest room she knew Raye must be in. His body was splayed out on the bed, fully clothed, his eyes open and rolled back in his head, the stuffing visible in his mouth. His hands had been removed, the beginning of B’s sinister invitation to L? Misora as an agent of the FBI knew a crime scene must never be disturbed, and she slowly closed the door behind her as she walked back upstairs to her own crime scene. Her victim had regained consciousness by the time she returned.

“You bitch, why didn’t you just kill me?!” he demanded, rattling his chains fruitlessly against the bronze head board. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you just like him!”

Misora didn’t answer his diatribe as she dressed herself. In time Beyond’s threats turned to laughter as he apparently realized something. His voice became a low chuckle, a sound like bones being crunched beneath feet, or hooves.

“I hope you get knocked up, stupid woman, you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was mine or his. I hope if you do it kills you, rips your intestines out as you give birth to it!”

She ignored his vindictive death wishes, she was on birth control, it was far more likely she had to worry about some disease he acquired in his brief time on Death Row. She closed her eyes, despite his rage it was obvious he was never going to confess to a woman taking advantage of him. He would also be back to kill her, and if he escaped one more time from justice, she let him exact his own.

Raye was dead, and she had become something else entirely tonight.

She supposed she was lucky Beyond didn’t bite her tongue out as she kissed him. Perhaps he understood by her body language and expression it was a kiss of death; a kiss of her death, of her death by him. Of a murder if the cuckoo ever fled from his cage ever again.

She calmly called the police, and pondered that like the young man chained to her destroyed bed, she would have to learn to take on a new identity.

An identity that would be shaped by murder and cruelty, just like Beyond Birthday’s had been.