Within my blood (Chapter1)

[A/N: I'M NOT GREAT ON DIALOGUE SO IF YOU COULD HELP ME WITH THAT, THAT WOULD BE GREAT. OH AND SORRY ABOUT THE FORMATTING, I TRIED TO FIX IT.]

"... by the life that courses within my blood ..."

The wind continued to pick up speed, blowing leaves and stray pieces of trash through the middle of the streets. Rain pounded to the ground with one large slap after another, filling every gutter and ditch. However, inside - sitting dry and warm - a middle aged mother snuggled deep into the folds of the blanket that covered her shoulders. Beside her blazed a raging fire, filling the library with a ghostly glow. In her lap sat a tattered, leather bound book, the pages smelling of ink and dust. Gently she caressed the edges of the paper, feeling each page press back into the softness of her skin. This is what she loved, and as long as she held a book in her hand, the world could be ending and she wouldn't care. Caught up in these sensations of reading she never noticed the near-silent footsteps that filled the empty room. Staggering towards her, half-drunk was a tall young man. His face curled and he grinned maliciously as he reached to his hip to grip the hilt of his knife. His breathing labored as he continued his struggle towards the woman; she would satisfy everything he kept pent up the past few days. Still, she didn't notice him, even though he now stood behind her, clenching and unclenching his fist. He could smell her. The sweet scent of cherry and vanilla filled his nostrils. It sickened him how women would think nothing of others when they sprayed blast after blast of their God damn perfume.

One hand rose into the air and he held the blade of the knife above her head. With one deafening scream he plunged it into her scalp with as much force as he could muster. It barely pierced her skull but went in deep enough to cause the woman to drop the book and fall to the floor. She withered in pain as warm-sticky blood oozed from the top of her head; gluing an eye shut. He wasn't finished. With another scream - more out of frustration then fear - he pushed the blade into her side. All she could do was whimper as he continued to stab her over and over again until finally, all was quiet. Covered in blood, he lied there in the fetal position, ashamed at himself for what he had just done. But he couldn't help it, when he had the crave he had to feed it. Coming to, he knew what was left. With one swift movement he ripped her blouse open, revealing her bare breasts. He mumbled something under his breath and thrust the knife in between her ribcage. Going from the sternum to the top of her belly button he made an incision as deep as his hand. Reaching into the gapping wound, he felt around until his fingers found what they sought, her heart. Regretfully he gripped the organ and gave it one large twist-and-pull. Now in his hand he could feel its warmth disappear into a coldness only claimed by the dead. Stabbing a syringe of cryoprecipitate and other solutions into the heart, he placed it into a lunchbox of ice that he had brought with him. Afterwards he got to his feet, whipped the blood from his hands and silently walked back towards the library door, sober from the adrenaline.
-----
Dawn broke through the trees, the softened light of the yellow sun spread across the floor of Guinevere's bedroom creeping to her bed and blanketing her with its warmth. Groggy, Guinevere reached a hand up to her face, rubbing her eyes with her palm. There was a soft pitter patter as rain slowly rolled off the leaves of the large oak outside her window. It was late summer. The air was stuffy and the breeze brought with it a chill indicating that Autumn was on its way. Six months. That's how much time had past since Guinevere left her home back in Rio Rancho to come live with her grandmother. Sometimes she felt as if she made the wrong choice about leaving, like somehow it made her childish by running away. However, she just had this feeling like it was the right thing to do. Turning onto her side, Guinevere picked up the old clock she bought at the local thrift store; 7:45. Damn she was late. Tossing the bedsheets off of her, she jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing a towel along the way. Mornings were never her forte but if she wanted to land this internship she was going to have to get used to it. Three years. That's how long she had studied her ass off to be able to apply as an intern to the medical institute of Kentucky in Lexington. When Guinevere got the letter from Doctor Harrison, it was like time stopped. It had always been her dream to become a world renowned forensic medical examiner and this internship was her first stop to accomplishing that dream.

Back in her bedroom she stood in front of her closet trying to decide the best thing to wear on her first day. Her grandmother always said that your appearance is the first judgement given to you by a person whether one wants to admit it or not, it's what attracts others to you and if you make the wrong first appearance then you set a bad first impression. Even if you're the kindest person alive, how you look is how people are going to perceive you and Guinevere wanted others to perceive her as someone they could take seriously. Someone who was dedicated to her work. Finally she decided on a pair of black slacks and a cream colored top. She combed out her hair then threw it up in a high pony, and made her way downstairs. As soon as her feet hit the bottom step the strong scent of freshly brewed coffee rushed over her, making her mouth water with anticipation. Caffeine was one thing she could not live without.

"Good morning my sweet Ivy."

Elise Boyer sat at the kitchen table reading the daily news and gingerly sipping her ritual black tea. At the age of 58, she was still a striking woman, with fine auburn hair and delicate features. Rather young to be the grandmother to a 20 year old granddaughter it was her own mistakes of having a child at the age of 15 that allowed this fate. And it was due to this prospect that many believed Guinevere to be Elise's daughter, well that and the fact that Guinevere shared much of her grandmothers characteristics.

"Morning Oma, anything new to report?" Guinevere fluttered over to her grandmother's side and planted a kiss on her cheek, stealing one of her breakfast biscuits along the way.

"Well, Ann Riddle locked herself out of her own house again this morning and walked up and down the street howling like a dying cat until the Petersons went to her rescue. I'm surprised it didn't wake you." Elise replied, taking another sip of tea.

"Yes, but Mrs. Riddle tends to lock herself out many times a week, it's nothing new. I'm just surprised that woman hasn't learned to stash a spare key somewhere on that porch of hers." Guinevere stifled a laugh as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"It's because that women is so air-headed. How Roger even put up with her appalls me, but as they say, love is blind."

"Yes it is."

Guinevere grabbed her purse off the back of one of the bar chairs and slipped it over her shoulder, grabbing both her coffee and another biscuit from her grandmothers plate as she made her way to the front door.

"Are you going to be here for dinner tonight or do you want me to leave yours in the oven dear?" Elise yelled over the top of her
paper in between sips.

"I don't know yet Oma, I'll call you from the institute later. Bye!" The front slammed shut.

Outside, Guinevere fumbled around in her bag in search for the keys to the old VW Bug her grandmother bought as a congratulation gift. It was a nice car, painted pewter blue it looked like it came straight from a 1940's movie. When her grandmother first handed her the keys to the vehicle Guinevere cried. It was the first act of kindness she had seen form a family member for a long time and it softened her heart. Gave her back the hope in family that she had lost for a while. Sighing, Guinevere climbed into the drivers seat tossing her bag to the passengers side and cranked down the windows manually. Starting the car she then reached into the glove compartment and shifted through the hoard of CDs until she found what she was looking for. Popping in the over used AC-DC disk she looked into her rearview mirror, hand on the gear shift. It was then that she stopped, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge.

Hands clenched tightly against the steering wheel Guinevere looked out the window, scanning the streets up and down. Slowly her eyes fell upon a simple van. She had no idea why she felt so strongly inclined to the feeling that the vehicle was somehow dangerous. Nothing about it screamed out of place, in fact it looked like any ordinary soccer mom van. However there was something off, she could feel it. A long time ago Guinevere learned to trust her feelings, and while that may seem a bit cheesy, it proved useful in the long run. Now, here she sat, staring at a van that in no way seemed out of place, but yet, to her it was all completely wrong.

"Snap out of it girl or you'll never make it to your first day." She mumbled to herself, putting the car in reverse.

As Guinevere drove down the street, she kept looking back, afraid that in the few seconds in which her eyes had left the van it had somehow mysteriously disappeared. Yet, every time she did so, it was right where it had been moments before. Her feeling of wrongness never went away.




Hello, is anyone here?" Guinevere closed the door behind her as she walked into a sterile lab room. "I'm looking for Dr. Harrison, I'm his new intern."

"Why hello there, you must be Guinevere Simmons, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

An older man with thinning salt and pepper hair stepped into the room from what appeared to be a personal office. He was rather tall, roughly six foot three and he had a beer gut to match. The suit he wore looked hand tailored and behind the mask of professionalism, the man had an air of cockiness to him.

"Please, call me Ivy."

"Well Ivy, it's great to have you here. When I read your thesis statement I knew that you were going somewhere and I so desperately wanted that somewhere to be here. Now to see you standing before me I am rather shocked to see how young you are. I would have thought you to be a few years older," Dr. Harrison walked past Guinevere motioning for her to follow "either way, here you are. Now as you can tell this is the lab area, it is to be cleaned everyday after classes. My office is located to the left, normally I don't allow interns inside but I may have you grade a few papers here and there in which case you are free to use my desk. Down the hall and to the right is autopsy, we hold open-to-watch autopsies to students every three weeks, you'll assist me with them. In fact our next one is tomorrow," Harrison looked down at Guinevere's slacks, "wear something you don't mind getting dirty. Any questions so far?"

"No sir, I think I got it."

"Good. Now if you walk to the end of this hall then make a left you'll find the restrooms to be the third door on the left. If you turn right, the morgue would be at the end of that hall. I don't officially have any classes today so you'll be running a few errands," Harrison stopped, opened the door that lead back into the lab and walked in, letting Guinevere to catch the door before it shut, "first, I was hoping you could go pick up some lunch. There's a fine sandwich shop off main street."

Speechless and a little flustered, Guinevere looked at Harrison with a raised eyebrow. "Sir I thought I was going to be working on medicine, not getting your lunch and picking up after you or your classes."

"You will. However I find it fit that you prove yourself to me first, is that going to be a problem."

"No sir."

"Good, now I would like a turkey and provolone on rye, here's a twenty, buy what you will with the rest. See you in fifteen."

Biting back a response, Guinevere took the bill and grabbed her bag off one of the work benches. Turning around she left the way she came.

------

With a loud bang the front door slammed open. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the moon, he breathed heavily; one gasp right after another. The lack of light and the occasional flash of lightning gave the room an preternatural feel. Outside the world seemed ready to blow away. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He laughed, elated. When he had told himself that she would satisfy everything, he wasn't kidding. The feel of her blood so warm and sticky on his fingers gave him absolute pleasure. Stepping across the threshold of the house, he let his bloody clothes fall to the floor. The cold of the wind caressed his naked body, causing gooseflesh. He shut the door behind him carefully as not to disturb the peacefulness of the storm. Looking down at his hands now, he could still imagine the look of horror on her face as he did to her what he longed to do to all women.

"The are all scum my son," his father told him once when he was younger, "they're meant for nothing more then children and food. You remember that boy." Then his father would clear his throat and spit into a jar, smug.

"Yes father." He'd reply, clearing his throat and spitting into the jar as well.

That thought, the one image of that conversation angered him. Bringing tears to the corner of his eyes . He started to cry; not the I can't hold it back anymore, but the I'm just trying to be strong kind of cry. Images of an ivory face and beautiful locks of black curls filled his mind. They tore open the one place in his heart that hadn't been filled with anger and despise and flooded his body with overwhelming pain. He fell to the floor in agony, salty tears falling from his eyes and staining his cheeks. 'No' he thought, straitening up. 'I can't be weak. Weakness if failure.' With all the strength that was left in his trembling muscles, he stood and solemnly walked down the dark hall and into an even darker room, locking himself inside. Leaving his heart at the door.