(December 10th 1991) (New York City)
I remember the first time I laid my eyes on Rachel. I've heard about her tale. She happened to be a couple of years older than me and even lived two blocks from my old house! Yet, we never ever met, not until a year to the date after my first murder.
Okay, the date was December 10th, like I stated above. It was a cold day in New York. I was only the ripe age of seventeen and haven't killed anyone since that fucker Lance. (They still haven't been able to pin that murder on me by the way. Ha! They called it a temporary loss of sanity.) Anyway, I'm standing on Times Square, gazing up towards where they usually put the countdown ball. It's on that historic Times Square Building, where the streets divided like a big Y.
And that's when I first caught a glimpse of Rachel. Her bushy hair with that gorgeous chocolate color that contrasted so well to her milky white skin. She had a smile that could stop a man's heart in an instant with lips so pure and so full, I don't know whether it was the braces that made them appear that way or whatever, but I loved them. I loved how beautiful and big her brown eyes were as well.
She stood just five inches lower than I did at the time, and I was five feet, nine inches tall. Trust me, I was trying my hardest at the time not to stare at her chest. The girl's breasts were at a perfect proportion, sticking out just enough, with her coat hugging them tightly. I can still smell that mixed aroma of roses and lavender in my nostrils to this day. It was her signature you know, other than tearing out people's teeth whilst they were still awake.
I knew she was different from the moment I laid my eyes on her. How'd I know? Well the first thing would be the fact that she would fidget a lot. Whether it was her dancing from foot to foot like she had to piss, or the way she always licked her teeth; I just knew her true self.
We're both staring up at the top of that amazing building, and I knew we weren't truly actually doing this. It was a cover up so that neither of us would see that we're staring, but I did. I saw out of my peripheral that she was slightly smiling as she looked over my physique.
(I should address that, at the time I was working out extensively to try and get my body in pique perfection. And it paid off too!) I knew she loved how tight my hoodie was on me, barely able to contain my massive chest. To be completely honest, I was flexing a bit and I didn't even care. Now, I know that I haven't explained how I looked to you all before, but I will tell you of my appearance in my younger years.
My face is naturally long and I have a long chiseled nose. The same could go with my jaw line and cheekbones. I can thank my Russian heritage for this of course! That and my bright blue eyes and short blonde hair. As I said, I was only five foot nine, but I grew taller over the years proceeding this moment. Many complimented my appearance, saying that I was "chiseled by angels". It's kinda funny now that I think of it.
Anyway, Rachel was inching closer to me leaving only a tiny space between us. I'll never forget the first thing she told me as we both were being honked at by angry drivers. She said: "Hey, my name's Rachel. I couldn't help but notice you have a blank stare in your eyes. I know how that feels; I'm a killer too."
My heart stopped almost immediately after I heard these words. She was right! I did have an emptiness in my soul, in fact I felt like I didn't have one at all. "W-What do you mean?" I asked her. I played the defense card hoping she'd feel befuddled enough to back off, yet she got closer. Our arms were barely touching, and all the cars were going around us.
(I'm surprised the cops never pulled us away, but I guess they were too busy.) I could hear her breathing, which felt like a beautiful rhythm to my ears. From time to time she'd admit a low sigh and for the first time, since I killed, I felt aroused. It took only seconds of being close to her for me to become fully erect.
…I-I've never felt this way before though. I mean, killing excites me; it's my fetish; it's my thing, but Rachel…Oh my god, Rachel just flipped my switch so fast, I felt the electricity surging through every vein. At this time her perfume became intoxicating and my palms were sweating. I felt so fuckin' giddy, almost like I was when I discovered torture porn.
(Yeah, it was a weird moment when my mother and father walked in on me masturbating to it when I was thirteen.) Anyways, I felt her hand slipping into mine and then she muttered something that I'll never forget. She said: "I know your true nature and you don't have to hide it, not from me. I torture people before I kill them; I do this by pulling their teeth before I cut their throats. And I cut them nice and slow-(She said slow; so... seductively)-with a blade made from teeth."
I nearly busted a nut from these words and before I knew it, our lips were locked. Finally, a lanky, pale white police officer escorted us off the road. (His face looked like a rat by the way. His name was Officer Moors). He thought we were just two horny teens lusting for each other so he let us off with a warning…(We got the bastard later, just for a f.y.i. basis.) The way Rachel smiled as she tore each and every tooth from that man's gums; it made me smile!
I actually felt natural happiness for the first time and I loved it. Mind you we were both in a deserted apartment building where she resided at. It was a massive brick building resting only a block from Times Square. It was all boarded up and forgotten with time and it was perfect for killing. That night she showed me the knife she fashioned from teeth and it looked absolutely brutal!
The blade itself was made from a nice piece of steel, with extra teeth filed to a sharp point and I mean sharp! They all surrounded the exterior. I barely touched it and it sliced my finger open.
Blood poured from Moors' mouth, oozing and dripping down his uniform. (I want to pause and say I mean no disrespect to those who risk their lives for others, but come on! Rachel and I are murderers! It's in our DNA.) Outside, beyond the grime covered windows, I could hear cars honking. I found it funny how people could carry on when one of their heroes lay being tortured just a hundred or so feet away. After all of the man's teeth were gone, Rachel gazed at me. There was a certain lust in the her eye as she gave me a very wide smile.
"Take the blade." The three words I wished she'd tell me the entire time the officer was being tortured. My horniness was back and I took her tooth blade, stuck it against the man's throat. I could practically see his veins bulging from the terror he felt. "Any last words?" This soft voiced question flowed past my left ear like the wind in a Summer breeze.
The rest was history as the man began pleading for us to stop. I felt the flesh give away as the point of the blade punctured his skin. That amazing thick crimson liquid ran as I slowly slid the blade horizontally. She and I both took a step back and watched as the man gurgled. His body shook; his shirt was soaked in blood.
The heat in the room immediately intensified at least ten degrees. I remember turning to Rachel who was already unbuttoning her coat and ripping off her shirt. Those perfectly round breasts were begging me to touch them. We made so much sweet love in that room. Whether it was our teenage hormones or the blood all around us, to this day, I do not know.
But what I did know is I wanted to marry that woman. No one ever discovered the officer's body until two months from then. That was around the time the society was born.
(Present)
I gotta go everyone! I shall continue the memoir tomorrow. This is Shane Sorinthia signing off.