Note: This might be used for a contest but I'm not sure..yet. Right now it may be unclear what's going on but there's more. Its a little dark and morbid but I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

~Angel

Planned Insanity

By Angel of Death

"Why'd you do it?" My fingernails made painful indentations in my skin, as I tried hard to keep from reaching across the table. He was staring at me with those cold, lucid gray eyes. Every now and then he would cock his head to the side. His muscles cracking, sounding remarkably like the passing of time. It was as if it was his decision how much time I'd get out of him today.

"Do what?" he asked, grinning. The grin was evil. My eyes twitched at the sight of it. When he placed his hands on the table, I sat back in my chair. The metal frame pressed hard into my back, making me wince. Fuller chuckled, feeding off of my fear.

"I don't mean to frighten you dear, you know that." he whispered, soothingly. Suddenly, his eyes became oceans. I soon began to remember the first time I laid eyes on them. I was walking down the beach, my golden hair billowing in the wind. He was watching me, sprawled across the sand, propped up on his elbows. The raven black hair that framed his face was slicked back by salt water. A surf board was positioned beside him, and his swim trunks were riding low, showcasing his tan line. To think I fell for him. To think he had other intentions, when he first laid his eyes on me.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, sitting back in his chair.

"Nothing," I replied, my voice rising a squeaky octave.

"Ah, you always were a bad liar Diane. Perhaps you were thinking of the day we first met. Or maybe you were wondering what it would feel like if I were to hold you in my arms." His British accent burned my eardrums, making bile rise in my throat. It was amazing how his voice could bring out such emotions in me. Before, he couldn't even make me cry. But then there was the time when he locked me in his cottage and left me to die. My emotions were clear on my face then. There was nothing more terrifying than to wake up each morning, wondering if you'd live to see another day. Unfortunately, days went by and each day he'd come to visit me, torturing me until I told him what he wanted to hear. Oh you're so powerful, John. I'll only love you, John.

"You can't...make me say anything..." I started, blinking away a few tears.

"Oh but I can, darling. You see, we are put on this earth for a reason. A reason that is mapped about the stars for us. And all we have to do is acknowledge and abide by them." John's voice was thick as he spoke. It sounded like blood was swimming around his mouth, feeling as sweet as the soft caress of coffee when it slips down your throat. He scratched his wrist, fingering the red bracelet. If it weren't for the handcuffs and the chains, there'd be nothing to stop him from coming to get me. He will always be here, in my mind. Waiting...always waiting.

I stole a glance at the guard, he was standing a few feet from the table with his arms folded across his chest. His gray mustache quivered as he caught my gaze. It was almost as if he felt for me. It was almost as if he thought that I was brave for what I was doing.

"You didn't have to look at me that day you were walking about the beach. Though, I couldn't help but notice you myself, you didn't have to smile that beautiful smile of yours. In fact, if you would've stayed home and went out with Marcus what's-his-name then you'd be sane and free and happy. But the stars weren't on your side. Sadly, that's how life is." John continued.

"It would've saved us a lot of trouble if I would've stayed with Marcus Bryant. You wouldn't be here strapped to this chair and all the families of those poor innocent women wouldn't have justice. Where's the peace and happiness in that?" I spat, my brow puckering.

"You're just like Melinda. She was the third girl I...offed. She always had so much to say. About the world and politics...how I hate politics...especially the American..." It made me sick how he could sit here and speak casually about what he'd done. I remembered Melinda Carlisle. The moment they found her body washed up in the river, she made headlines. Another death. Another victim of the South Beach Massacre. She was a college girl from Phoenix. Her parents were average working class people with a dog and a son, whose name they didn't mention in the newspaper. Melinda didn't deserve to be murdered. Raped and tortured and burned like some animal. John was still talking about the government, when I finished thinking about Melinda. He looked at me and frowned. The way he always did when he seen me crying. For a moment, I wanted him to caress my cheek, lovingly, and tell me it was going to be alright. But it was only for a moment. I started to see the gray concrete walls and the one window and the chains around his wrists. It bled into my vision like a clot finally bursting. Now the hand that he used to sooth me was covered in thick red liquid. It oozed down his arms and would never go away, no matter how hard he tried to wipe it off.

"You make sick." I said. I wasn't making it my business to hide my emotions. He needed to be hurt, if not in the same way he hurt me. Here, sitting before him, was a victim who survived. I was the lucky one. Now I felt disgusting. I should be buried six feet under ground, with my face pealed off like a sticker being removed from an orange. My face shouldn't be plastered all over the city, saying Found. It should say Dead. Who was I to survive? I was the woman who still had feelings for him after what he done. You throw me life and I try to give it back by sinking into the eyes of an insane man. A murderer.

"How can I make you sick? I am your reason, Diane. It was fate that brought you to me. You were chosen to die by my hands. Death would have sculpted you into something so much more than...human." He frown deepened. How could a man who has no heart, produce such an expression? It must take a lot of gears in that face of his to make his lips pull down at the corners. And yet, he is sad for all the wrong reasons. He doesn't know that what he did was wrong and heartless and...barbaric. Yes, that's what he was. He was a barbarian, an animal. Or perhaps he knows that what he did wasn't humane. Are the visions of the bodies writhing in flames flashing across his mind? Can he hear the screams of the first woman he tortured? Does he feel regret for ever hurting me? No he does not. John believed that his actions would've made me better than what I already was. There was no way he had a heart to feel or to frown for that matter.

"You would've been my greatest work yet, Diane my love. Oh how I stayed in my house each day when I wasn't with you, dreaming of how I was going to begin the reasoning. It had to be special. It had to be right...but I'm afraid you'll have to hear about it some other time. The guards are here to spring me."

Two guards came in with disgusted looks pasted on their faces. They unlocked the handcuffs and escorted Mr. Fuller out of the room. Before he left, he told the guards to wait. They were hesitant at first but they obeyed. I wanted to stare straight out the window and ignore John but I couldn't. After so many weeks of being brainwashed into believing that he was a king or a God, I had no choice but to give him my full attention.

"I'm watching you." he whispered, chuckling and then he was off, his laughter bouncing off the walls, becoming permanent fixations in my brain.

*

My apartment felt ice cold. All the windows were shut and there wasn't a breeze outside. I was shaking and my teeth were clattering. This chill was internal. It curled beneath my soul, finding solace in my will. The door to my bedroom was open, exposing the queen-sized bed to my eyes. It called to me. Inviting me to fall into its green quilts and go to sleep. But I couldn't close my eyes. At least not tonight.

"I'm watching you." he said.

He was always watching me. Each time I succumbed to my dreams, he was in them. Frolicking around spreading seeds of darkness, that soon sprouted into flowers of nightmares. There was no escape from him. The first night that I came home, my mom spent the night with me. She warmed up some milk and told me that I should get some rest. Listening to her, I sunk into my quilt and sailed away in my sleep. At first there was darkness, but then an eerie ivory light came into view. It soared over me, imprinting its white shadow into my memory. My feet were continuously being cut by class. I could feel the blood oozing out but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't scream, I couldn't stop. He would get me if I did.

The river drowned my hearing, making it impossible for me to here footsteps other than my own. Cars were running across the bridge. Help was just above my head, staring at me just like the moon was. All I had to do was walk through the water to get to other side but I couldn't do it. Melinda's body started floating down towards oblivion, she stared at me with an angered expression in her eyes.

"You should be dead, Diane." she whispered, her voice box sounding like radios on a winter day.

"I'm sorry," I screamed but she wouldn't except my apology. She just kept repeating her words like a mantra, and then before she disappeared in the distance, she yelled something that shook my heart to its core.

"He's always watching you, Diane."

Tears welled up in my eyes, feeling like icicles as they scratched my cheeks. I wanted to be dead. I wanted to be just like Melinda. But then something caught my attention through the frozen storm. They were letters that acted like eyes. Words that bore through me, making me scream for help.

"I'm watching you." was spray painted under the bridge. It had always been there. I remember the day that he put it there. We were joking around, saying that we wished we were television series so that people could see us. Being the jokester that he was he grabbed a card board box from nearby, and told me to hold it in front of my face. Obeying, I held the box up an looked through. All I could see was him. All I wanted to see was him. He was sitting down, his legs crossed. For a moment, he didn't talk, which made me wonder what he was doing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Nothing...but what are you doing?" I asked, giggling.

A smile grew wide on his face. It was one of those alluring expressions that made me give in to whatever he wanted all the time.

"I'm watching you." he said.

Now I was combing through the river. The water was filling my throat, burning the walls of esophagus. It tasted like death and garbage. I kept pushing to the surface, breathing in as much air as I could. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to keep trying when I knew that I couldn't swim. Melinda's words were inviting me to quit.

"You should be dead, Diane."

And I should, I had no right to survive John Fuller. I should be the eighth victim. I should be found by a search team mangled and pale on a rock somewhere. Before I could decide to give up, someone started making the choice for me. Hands were around my neck and smothered screams were pouring from my lips.

"Shh, shh."

In the water, I could see my attacker's face. Though I didn't need a portrait to know who it was. That same voice was inside my mind. Bringing me back to the weeks before all of this happened. And there was that face. The face that could do no harm. The face that would've tricked me into thinking that everything didn't happen. Everything was just a dream.

"Scream my name, darling. Scream it!" he ordered, releasing me from his hold. And then I woke up. Shouting his name constantly, until my mother took me into her arms and rocked me back to sleep.