Chapter 3: Chapter 2. The Five

Everyone has this... I think. A smell that would remind them of their childhood. It could be the smell of fresh-baked cookies. The ones their mothers baked in the morning. Or it could be something much simpler. Like the smell of the grass... right after a rainy day. Whichever it may be, it is something they remember. It is something they treasure. It will always be latent in our heads until one day when we would smell that very familiar scent and it will trigger the memories. Like a key opening a forgotten lock. Something deep. Locked deep within. I have my own, of course. It is the smell of burning flesh.

I knew the scent of my mama. Her perfume, the pancakes she used to make, the smell of her clothes. But I couldn't treasure those smells of her. That would be very vain of me. I treasure the smell of her burning flesh. Along with my own. On that night... So much hatred. So much pain. So much vengeance. They are the only things I can treasure.

I stare at the empty canvas before me, smiling evilly to myself. The kind of smile only I know of. Others won't see me this way. They will see the beautiful, gracious, harmless Adrian. They only see what they wanted to see. So I'll show them exactly what they need. I always do.

A painting... It was for his wife, or so he said. He wanted me to paint a special thing for his wife. Victor said that his wife fancies morbid paintings and they had many in their manor. But that's just his excuses. Yes, I have heard of Lady Rebbeca's weird collections from a friend but Victor specifically asked me to draw a painting for her so that I can be there at her birthday party this Saturday. He wanted to see more of me. His brother wanted the same too. I smile to myself at a wicked thought. I shall give them the most special gift. The best of what I can paint. I'll paint of their destiny.

I look up at the full moon outside. It's that time of the month again, is it? I can feel pain beginning to form in my tummy. A hunger. A longing. It's just a matter of time before a young boy lies hopelessly in my arms begging me to spare his life. I smile as I look back down on the empty canvas before me. I take the red paint from the floor and threw it to the canvas, staining it quickly in a mess. The base is red. Red as blood. Delicious color.

“Adrian..”

“Oh Adrian...”

That ringing voices in my head. I kept hearing them. Calling me. Like the way it did before.

“How would you like some early Christmas gifts, young thing?”

I was tempted. I was young and a fool. But it was for the temptation that I am now alive, wanted, gifted, excruciatingly lonely, but focused.

I was 11 when they came. A year after the burning. Five of them. They're all very tall and a lot older. I was in the foster family program. Living with my foster parents, I was at the luxury of going to a private art school. That was where I met them. They were my seniors. I heard voices in my head during the time. It was only later that I found out that the voices I heard were actually the thoughts of people around me. But I learnt it the hard way. They thought of nasty things. Those five... I tried to avoid them most of the time because of those voices. It was as if I knew there would be trouble if I let them near me. A precise instinct indeed.

Now they were nothing but five children laid on the soft moldy grass right after a rainy day with no heads. I now will always smile when I think of them. I should've thanked them... They made me who I am. They made me see all that I can be. They made me realize that I can take someone's life with no sense of doubt and guilt. That I am truly glad. Glad of my past. Glad of the burning. Glad of the pain. Glad of meeting them.

Perhaps I should enlighten myself with a memory of one occasion though. His name was Henry. He was one of the five. I met him years after them violated me when we were in school. I was invited to his university. When he saw me I knew he was wishing that I had forgotten him. He came to me when I was admiring the view of one of the painting in the class. It was one of his. I think it was nice but it wasn't my taste.

“The name is wisteria,” he said to me as he eyed me from a distance, behind a few lines of plants in the greenhouse. The class was made intentionally placed in the greenhouse. They were asked to draw paintings of nature and this place was an inspiration to them. There were only two of us now left in the room.

I smiled at him, knowing my smile will flutter anyone's heart. I know he's nervous. “That beautiful purple-flowered plants hanging down, isn't it? Have you seen one, Henry?” I asked him, intentionally mentioning his name when he never even told me his. It was just to tell him that I knew who he is all along.

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He blushed and looked away. A little lost in shame as it appeared. I read it all clearly. “You knew who I am,” he indicated.

“Of course,” I said and flashed one of my charming smile again. “I am most interested in you among them all, you know...,” I said. He shot a look at me as if he was trying to make out if what I was saying was true.

He appeared to be lost for words. He tried to speak a few times but failed. I knew what he was trying to say. “I'm sorry, Adrian. I was young. I didn't know any better,” he finally could say it.

“But I am honestly interested in you too,” he said.

“Really?” I asked, in my most innocence voice. And I pretended to blush and looked down on the painting, appearing to be shy but my thoughts were actually filled with hatred. I sensed him moving closer behind my back and I quickly turned to look at him, feeling his face close to mine. I licked my lips, inviting him in a way. I looked down to his pants, noticing something harden. So I let my fingers caressed his harden penis from the outside of his pants. I heard him moan. “I want this,” I said and looked at him straight into his eyes with lust written all over in it. He didn’t say anything. He couldn't say anything. So I take his hand and guide it to my behind. I let his hand slipped into my pants and feel him groping my ass. “Don't you want me?” I asked.

He looked at me like I had asked a stupid question. “Of course I want you, Adrian,” he said. “I want you so bad.” And he groped my ass harder. Then I felt him looking for an entrance and felt him entering one of his fingers into my hole. I moaned and I got hard. “God... You're fucking beautiful,” he commented.

I smiled again and forced his hand out of my pants, pushing him away. I knew of his frustration. “Come to my place tonight. It's a studio near the plaza,” I said as I gave him my card. Before I left, I leaned close to him and whispered to his ears, “I'll give you everything tonight,” I promised. I heard him groan in impatience. I smiled to myself. I knew that I would give him ‘everything’. And I did give him everything. Every hit, every blow of anything my hands can get to, every stab of the knife, and most of all every strength I had in cutting off his head.

Even in his final moments, he never even knew the fact that even before I came to him, I had done the same to three of his friends. And the next morning, I went to the far end of a property that belonged to the last of the five. And when I met the last five, I told him the same lie; “Do you know that among them all, I am most interested in you?”

I laugh. Memories... How long ago was that anyway? Couldn't quite recall. Nevertheless, I honor their deaths by painting them in the form of children... It is to preserve their innocence. They will forever be innocent, untainted, beautiful... in their deaths. In the painting... they are preserved. They are my masterpiece.

Oh well I hear thoughts... I look at the door of my studio, feeling a presence. An innocent one... I hear the doorbell rings and I walk over to see who could have come at such a time to see me? “Collin?” I called, pretending to be surprise as I open the door.

“I ran away,” dear Collin said, crying. I bend down and hug him close to me to comfort him.

“Hush, dear... It's okay,” I said to him, running my fingers through his hair. Such a small fragile thing. He's 10, if I'm not mistaken? Maybe 11? I don't remember. But never mind... Dear Collin, I will preserve your innocence.

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