The hot, blazing sun beat down into the black '87 Buick, cracking the leather interior. Lisa sat behind the wheel, driving down the highway. Her "fare" sat in the passenger seat with a lump rising up between his legs. He sat and stared at her breasts. His chubby hand slowly reached across the seat and began stroking her legs. He began to blush furiously.

"I get lonely sometimes," he said, flashing a nervous smile.

Lisa took a drag from her cigarette and flicked it out the window. "We all get lonely sometimes." She reached over and grabbed the lump that had gotten even bigger.

The sun was slowly dipping behind the city on the horizon, but Lisa didn't notice. She brought the thick, wooden paddle down onto the fat man's naked buttocks. He moaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure. The layers of dirt on the floor were getting wet as sweat seeped through the eyeholes of the black leather bondage hood that she wore.

She pulled the leather-clad arm back arm back and brought the paddle down at full force one last time. The fat man began to beg for more, but Lisa put the paddle on the grimy floor. She stood up as the fat man looked behind himself and watched as the whore sat down on a filthy bed and spread her legs, revealing the crotch area that had been cut away from the leather. The fat man crawled on all fours to the bed and Lisa produced four pieces of rope. He tied her up...

When the sex was as bad as the fat man had been, Lisa had horrific flashbacks of her childhood. Mostly it was memories of her heroin-addicted father beating and molesting her whenever he went on a drug binge. Her mother just stood in the door and watched, doing nothing to stop it. She could almost feel her father punching her as he raped her.

Now she was driving down the road with the fat man sleeping in the passenger’s seat. Lisa looked at the fat man with hate and contempt. He had already paid her three hundred dollars, so why the fuck was he still in the car. She leaned over his sweaty body and somehow managed opened the car door. He plopped onto the shoulder of the road with a crack. He rolled and skidded down the road for fifty feet or so before coming to a halt. He had left a long, gooey streak of blood.
HA! Serves you right you fat fuck, Lisa thought to herself. But the painful memories still lingered in the back of her head.

Night had fallen upon the city, consuming it in darkness. But the darkness was always pierced by various colors of lights. Neon lights advertising strip clubs and pool halls mostly. Drug deals were going down on almost every street corner. The prostitutes were just now coming out to get some business.
Lisa pulled up to the curb and drove slowly, looking for her friend Vicky. She knew that this was Vicki’s usual hangout. She saw an alley that Vicky sometimes took men to so that she could give them blowjobs. Lisa got out of the car and peered into the dark alley, still not seeing anything. All of a sudden, gunshots rang out, echoing between the two buildings. Screaming. Looking down the sidewalk, Lisa saw a young man no more than nineteen years old, running from two policemen, one who was very built, another who was very fat. All of them were carrying handguns.

"I said freeze asshole!" The cop yelled. He raised his gun and fired twice, hitting nothing. The young man turned around and quickly fired twice, hitting the built cop in the stomach and the neck, which seemed to evaporate in a red spray of blood. Blood spurted from the open wound, dowsing several people in the red goo.
The fat cop looked at his dead partner in horror. In the meantime, the young man took another shot. The bullet whizzed through the air into the policeman’s skull. Bone fragments and brain matter shattered through the back of his head as he fell backwards. His gun hit the ground and went off.

Lisa felt a sudden burning sensation as the bullet entered her shoulder. She collapsed to her knees as blood gushed out of the open hole. She started crying, looking to people help, but no one paid her any attention. She saw the young man running down the alley and then everything went black.

Beeping. Steady beeping was all that she heard. "Where am I?" she thought to herself. She opened her eyes and managed to sit up. She was lying in a bed. Looking around, Lisa realized that she was in a hospital room. A bed lay next to hers held a fat man with a bandaged face. He was asleep. A nurse that was sitting next to her bed got up and left the room, only to return a few minutes later with a doctor in a long white coat.

"Hello, Ms..." He glanced at the clipboard that he was carrying. "Carlyle."

"Why the hell am I here?" As soon as the words came out of her mouth, her shoulder began throbbing. Lisa remembered the gunshots. The policeman’s head exploding. The young man. What was he being chased for?

"Ms. Carlyle," The doctor startled her out of the daydream. "Do you know what has happened to you?"

"Lisa looked at the doctor and laughed. "Yeah. Some asshole piggy shot me."

The doctor’s face turned blood red. "Uhmmm, well, actually, a drug dealer shot two policemen who were peacefully trying to apprehend him. One of them fell down and his gun went off, hitting you."

Lisa laughed again. "Peaceful my ass. They did more shooting than the other guy."

"Well, the police want to ask you a few questions."

"Fine. When can I get the fuck outta here?"

"Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time, Ms. Carlyle." The big cop said. "My name is Detective Holmes and I would like to ask you a few questions."
"Yeah, no problem." Lisa said, rolling her eyes. They were sitting in greenish-lime room. Smoke floated all over the place, eventually being blown out of the window but a creaky ceiling fan above. Detective Holmes lifted his cigarette to his mouth with his nicotine-stained fingers.

"Now, you witnessed the murder of two police officers yesterday, am I correct?" His voice was very rough, like an old man who had smoked for too long.

"No. I witnessed two piggys trying to murder another man," Lisa said calmly, taking a drag from her own cigarette. "He was just defending himself."

"Why do you think that they were trying to murder him?" Holmes retorted.

Lisa sighed heavily. "Because they shot at him so many times. I don't know why they were chasing him, but it’s because of those doughnut squazzling piggys that I have a big fuckin' hole in my goddamn shoulder."

"Did you happen to she where the man ran off to?" Smoke streamed from Holmes' nose and mouth as he spoke.

Lisa stood up. "No officer, I didn't. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling tired."

The cop stood up and extended his hand. "Thanks for your time..."

But the door had already slammed shut.

What she had seen the day before brought back even worse memories for Lisa. That one terrible night so long ago. Her last night in a real home.

Her father had come home late, and very drunk, with a friend of his one night. She was only fourteen or fifteen, and was asleep when he burst into her room. His drunken friend grabbed her arms and the two men took turns on Lisa for about and hour. Finally, they stopped and left her bleeding and bruised. She just lay in her bed as she heard the two men in the living room watching some cheesy porn movie.

Something came over Lisa as she lay there. She sat up and walked into the kitchen. Inside the wooden bread cabinet. The butcher knife. She finally found it. It felt good and sturdy in her hand as she held it. So light, yet with the power to kill.

She crept into the living room, behind the large leather sofa. The two men were still watching that disgusting movie. She took the knife and slowly cut the skin off of the tips of each of her fingers, removing her fingerprints. She put the severed skin into her mouth and chewed, tasting bitter blood. She finally managed to swallow the foul-tasting glob of skin.

It was time now. She stood up behind her father. Lisa grabbed him by the hair, jerking his head back. It felt weird when she slowly ran the knifes sharp blade across his throat. Blood began to squirt all over the TV screen. His drunken friend took one look at the dead man and passed out.

Lisa came out from behind the couch and got slattered with her father’s blood, but she didn't mind. She stood in front of the unconscious man and waited until he woke up. As soon as he opened his eyes, she plunged the knife to the hilt in his forehead. He twitched a few times before he died. The sofa was a lake of blood.
Lisa walked out to the shed in the backyard and grabbed some rope and a large gas can. Then she went to her mothers bedroom where she carefully tied the bitch down and poured the gasoline all over her. Her mother jerked awake and started yelling to be untied, but Lisa walked back into the kitchen and grabbed one of her father’s cigarettes. She lit it and smoked it halfway down when she walked into her room. She grabbed a pink duffel bag, stuffed her clothes into it, and set it on the front steps of the house.

Back to her mother’s room.

"Let me up you little BITCH!" her mother yelled.

Lisa took a drag from the cigarette. "You always let Daddy do those things to me. Well, now Daddy's dead."

She flicked the cigarette onto the gasoline. The entire bed erupted into flames. It was so forceful that Lisa was knocked backwards into the hallway. She went outside, grabbed her bag, and walked down the street, never looking back.

The bed shook, jolting Lisa awake from the dreamlike memories of that night. She looked at the foot of her bed and saw that the fat man from the bed next to hers was crawling up the sheets. She shot a quick glance to the bed next to hers; it was empty. The man slapped a fat hand down over her mouth to stifle her scream. The lights outside caught a metallic object in the man's hand. A pair of scissors.

"Hello, whore," he said. His voice sounded familiar. "Remember me?"

All she could do was let out a stifled scream. He slapped her.

"You don't remember your own customers?" he asked sarcastically. "Maybe I can refresh your memory. YOU THREW ME OUT OF A FUCKING CAR!"

She remembered now. The fat man from yesterday.

His wild eyes bore into hers. "You really fucked up my face. Now I'm gonna fuck yours up!"

He raised the scissors above her head, but as he brought them down, Lisa managed to free her right hand from under his knees and slap the scissors away. His, which landed on the nightstand. The fat mans face went red and veins popped out on his forehead and neck.

Lisa reached over onto the nightstand and grabbed the scissors. He swung at her again. She thirsted the scissors into the man's heart. Blood sprayed the wall as his corpse toppled off of the bed. Lisa stood p and made sure that no one else had seen the brief struggle. She then walked over to the cabinet, pulled out her clothes (which had been washed), changed, and left the hospital via the window.

The walk home wasn't too bad. It was fourteen blocks door to door. Although it was a rough neighborhood, she knew almost everybody and wasn't harassed.
It's just like that night when I killed Mom and Daddy, she thought to herself. Get clothes and run. She kept on remembering the events of that night in horrific detail.
Before Lisa finished the memory, she came to her apartment. The key was in its usual place (the mailbox) and she entered the apartment, going straight to her bedroom closet. For the second time in ten years, she was stuffing various items of clothing into the same pink duffel bag. She grabbed an unopened pack of cigarettes from the top of the refrigerator and headed out the door.

As the front door slammed shut and her footsteps began to fade into the night, a police siren could be heard, just in hearing range, but coming swiftly. Lisa looked around and saw two policemen running after her.

"Hey, stop!" They ran through the corridor after her. Lisa turned and ran down the street. Oh shit, she thought to herself. I didn't make it in time.

She turned off of the cracked sidewalk into a dank, dark alley. "Freeze!" One of the cops yelled. He raised his gun and fired, missing her head by inches. Lisa turned right at the end of the alley and ran. She had started to hear music. Heavy metal. It was getting louder and louder. She saw a man vomiting into a big garbage bin, which was placed next to an open door, which had the word Xibalba written on it. The loud music was radiating from it.

Lisa ran into the building, slamming the door behind her. She all of a sudden became dizzy; the music was so loud. A restroom was to her right. She was standing in a dimly lit corridor. She heard the two cops outside. "Where'd she go? FUCK! We should've fuckin' killed her when we had the chance!"

All of a sudden, Lisa remembered a song that she had heard, "Bombs are flying' and cops are corrupt. And all you care about is who the president fucked!" These cops planned to kill her if they ever caught her. She shuddered.

The smoky corridor led into a large room, where a nine-member band wearing freaky masks and black coveralls was performing on a large stage. Dozens of people were mosh-pitting in front while hundreds more just stood and watched.

She was looking for the front door to leave but felt the call of nature rising in her bladder. She remembered seeing a restroom in the corridor and went back to look for it.

The bathroom reeked of the scent of weed mixed with cigarettes and vomit. Lisa walked to the very last stall. It was unoccupied so she entered. The seat was cold. The light in the middle of the ceiling flickered and weakened, turning the restroom a pale, eerie green.

As she sat there, Lisa thought that she heard a deep breathing coming from one of the other stalls. But as she pulled her tight black pants up, she brushed the thought away.

A few tiny beads of sweat dripped down her forehead, causing her makeup to run.

"Ah shit," she said to herself. Lisa went to the cracked mirror and began dabbing more powder on. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a black shape. Her head darted around to face the first stall. A man was standing there.

"What the fuck are you doing in here you pervert?" she said.

He was wearing baggy black jeans, along with a black shirt and black boots. He wore a long black trenchcoat on top of everything else.

"Get the fuck out you fuckin' prick," she yelled at him. "Are you a fuckin' queer or somethin'?"

His beady black eyes seemed to shrink as she swore at him. He stepped out from behind the stall and she saw what he had in his hand...an axe. A bloody, gore covered axe.

"What the fuck..." she said, shocked. Blood and chunks of flesh dripped to the tiled floor. He began to walk toward her; blood hit the ground continuously. Lisa turned and tried to run but fell down as she slipped in a puddle of water. She turned frantically around to find the man in black, but all she saw was an axe plunge into her face.

The killer hacked her up, splattering blood all over the walls. By the time he left, the room looked as if someone had painted it red...

"Listen man, this is some good shit. I promise. This ain't that crunchy herbal rave shit; this is the real deal."

"I don't know man. Forty bucks a hit seems pretty fuckin' expensive."

"But if you buy this, you'll know where that extra ten or fifteen bucks went."

"That guy down the street's charging twenty..."

"His is shit."

"Fine. I'll take three hits."

Jason waited until he saw the money before he pulled out the pills.

"How much for the fuckin' pills, man?"

"Hundred and twenty bucks."

The man took several bills out of the large roll and handed them to Jason, who in turn dropped the ecstasy into the man's outstretched hand.

"Hey you!"

Jason brushed his long black hair out of his face and looked towards the commanding voice. He saw it belonged to a fat cop who was climbing out of a black sedan that had been parked across the street.

Oh FUCK! Jason thought to himself as the man in front of him produced a badge.

"You're under arrest. Anything you say..."

"You motherfuckin' piggy," Jason interrupted. "I'm fuckin' surprised I didn't smell that goddamn bacon."

"...Or do will be..."

Jason punched the cop in the jaw. He hit the ground with a thud, blood drizzling from his lip. The fat cop pulled out his gun and shot at Jason, hitting the brick wall behind him. Pieces of concrete and mortar shattered, hitting Jason and a few other people on the sidewalk.

The built cop pulled himself to his feet, gun cocked, but Jason was already running down the alley. He threw garbage cans and old milk crates down behind him the slow down the cop’s progress. He heard another gunshot and felt a hot bullet whiz right past his left ear. It slammed into a metal garbage bin five feet ahead of him.
Jason chanced a glance behind him just in time to see the fat cop fall down over a pile of garbage. The built cop continued chasing though. The alley was going to end soon. Jason’s heart pounded in his ears.

"FREEZE!" the built cop yelled. Jason kept running as the built cop let off another shot. It bolted through the air and went straight through Jason’s shirt, missing his body by centimeters.

He finally reached the sidewalk and continued running. He saw another alley about fifty yards up ahead, but a woman was blocking it. He reached into his coat pocket and felt his hand enclose on his .45. He yanked it out.

"I said freeze asshole!" the built cop yelled. He raised his gun and fired two more times. The chamber clicked; the gun was empty.

Jason whirled around and fired once, hitting the cop in the leg. He fired a second time, this time the bullet found its mark, right into the cop’s neck. The right side of his neck disappeared, squirting blood as he flew backwards a few feet. He twitched and expired in a spreading pool of blood.

Jason looked up from the dead body and saw the fat cop staring dumbly at his dead partner’s body. Jason raised his gun and shot the fat cop in the forehead, driving him back several feet. As the fat body flew backwards, the back of his head exploded into a thousand glistening globs of pulp. The body hit the ground and his gun went off. The bullet soared past Jason and hit the transfixed woman behind him. She fell backwards, clutching at her bleeding shoulder.

He looked down at her and said, "I'm sorry." But she was floating in and out of consciousness. He knew that there was nothing he could do for her, so he turned and ran down the alley.

Jason’s apartment was filled with smoke. His roommate Brandon lit the five-foot bong and took a big hit. He grimaced as the burning smoke entered his lungs. He held it in for a few seconds and exhaled slowly.

"Hey man, pass it," Jason said, holding out his hand. Brandon passed the bong just as Jason's head splattered into blue goo. The eyeballs grew legs and became little white and brown spiders scuttling all over the room. He screamed until he closed his eyes, opening them a few seconds later. Everything was back to normal. His mind flashed back to about fifteen minutes ago and he remembered putting the little piece of paper in his mouth.

Jason looked at Brandon with a dazed look and blood shot eyes. "What the fuck is your problem man?"

"Nothing." Brandon settled back down onto the couch.

Jason cracked up and fell onto the floor laughing. "DUDE! HAHAHA! I fuckin' told you not to take three hits! HAHAHA!" All of a sudden, he jumped up screaming and slapping at himself. "Put it out! Get some water! Put the fuckin' fire out!"

It was Brandon’s turn to crack up. He hit the floor laughing and little green men rushed out from underneath the couch, climbing all over him.

Jason continued to jump around the room until he hit the wall and blacked out.

The dreams came back to haunt him. Jason saw it all over and over again. He was having sex with his girlfriend, Brittany. It was that wild, passionate sex. They had been having a fight. She was "forgiving" him. But what Jason would find out a week later would change his whole life.

"Jason," she said one day in school, "I'm pregnant."

He slammed his locker shut, not wanting to believe her. "What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"I found out last night. I'm pregnant." She was on the verge of tears.

"No the fuck your not!"

"The doctor did the test. I am. The baby's due in March."

"AH FUCK!" Jason screamed as he punched his locker. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her into an empty classroom.

"If your pregnant," he said, "You're gonna have an abortion."

"No the fuck I'm not. I'm gonna have the baby, and you're gonna take care of both of us."

"Oh yeah? Well then." Jason reared his fist back and punched Brittany in the stomach. He punched her so hard that she fell down and hit her head on a desk. Blood

began to flow from her mouth.

"If you won't have an abortion willingly," Jason said, looking down on her, "Then I'll make you have one." He walked out of the room. Brittany grabbed her stomach and began crying.

She never told anyone about that. Even when she had a miscarriage, she never told anyone.

"I swear to God, Jason, I will tell someone. IT WAS MY FUCKING CHILD! I WANTED TO HAVE IT!" Brittany yelled at him on several occasions.

One day he snapped.

"I WANTED TO HAVE THAT BABY!" she yelled.

Jason slapped her in the face. "GET SOME NEW MATERIAL BITCH!"

She looked at him and then smiled. Then she began laughing. "You fucking think that hitting me will ever do you any good? Does it ever solve our fucking problems?"
Jason hit her in the face again. Hard. She crumpled up and fell to the floor. He grabbed her and drug her outside to his car, loading her into the back seat. He then revved it up and punched the car up to ninety miles per hour.

The cliff met the ocean about ten miles from Jason’s house. It was a hundred-foot drop from the top into a large pile of sharp rocks. He drug her limp form out to the edge. "I love you baby," he said as he planted a kiss on her cheek. He then threw her off of the side. She woke up halfway but didn't even have time to scream before the rocks rushed up to rip her body apart.

He stood and looked down at the torn body for a few minutes before he returned to his car to go and establish his alibi.

Jason woke up from the nightmare hearing loud pounding at his door. Brandon was stumbling through the smoke apartment, drawn towards the sounds. Then they both heard a voice.

"Open up! It's the police!"

Jason bolted off of the couch and ran to his bedroom. In the bedside table drawer (where all of his drugs were also stashed) sat his .45 that had killed two policeofficers only hours ago. He picked it up, grabbed his ounce of weed, and went out the window onto the fire escape.

"Hey man! What the fuck are you doing!" Brandon yelled from the front door. Jason heard gunshots and something heavy thud to the ground.

"Oh no," Jason whispered to himself. He jumped down each flight of steps until he reached the sidewalk. Gunshots rang out from above and pieces of pavement shattered in front of Jason. He didn't look up; he ran down the left side of the street.

"Freeze!" he heard one of the probable three cops scream at him. More gunshots rang into the twilight. Several people on the sidewalk dove for cover. Jason ran for a few blocks and turned onto a familiar alley.

He heard some crazy, tripped-out techno music coming from a closed door. As he knocked in the metal door a few times, a muscular man slid open a small panel of the door. His face brightened when he recognized Jason.

"Hey, Jason. My man. Get your ass in here." The door creaked open and a huge black man with black wrap-around sunglasses answered the door.

"Hey Jules, How's it goin'?"

"Pretty good." Jules stepped aside and allowed Jason to enter the room. A red light glowed over a pool table, which was surrounded by half naked girls.

Jason turned to Jules. "Been shoppin' at Hooters again?" Both of them laughed. "Is Gavin here?"

"Yeah," Jules replied, pointing to a closed door. "Go on in. He'll be happy to see you." The door was a dark blue color, and when it opened, the dim glow of a black light swept through the rest of the poolroom. Jason stepped in just as a skinny white man with black dreadlocks was setting a water bong onto a table in the center of the room. The smoke that filled the room stung Jason’s eyes. They began to water slightly. As he began to rub them, the skinny man began to speak.

"What's up Jason?" he said in a deep, gruff voice.

"Nothin' man. Listen, I need a favor."

Gavin chuckled and replied. "What now?"

"I need a place to hang out for a while."

"What'd you do this time?"

"Killed some cops. Then some of them broke into my apartment and killed Brandon."

Gavin sat there a second, pondering over what he had just heard. Then he stood up and pulled two pills out of his pocket. "Listen. I want you to take these, then go to this place." He produced a flyer as if from thin air.

"Here's the money to get in." Gavin handed Jason a roll of twenty's. "After the show, come back here and spend the night."

Jason hugged Gavin. "Thanks man. I owe you one." "Damn straight you do"

Flashing. Flashing lights. Flashing lights all over the place. The strobe light was going full blast. The pounding drums coming from the stage increased Jason's trip even more.

The band that had worn the masks was off the stage. Now another band was screaming something like "fuck the police." Jason had lost all track of time and sense. His entire body tingled. All of his problems were gone. His dead friend, the cops, all gone.

The bar was almost deserted; everyone was watching the band. Jason stumbled over and ordered a beer. He laid a dollar down on the table. A hand fell on his shoulder, making it tingle even worse. A man dressed in a black trenchcoat was standing next to him.

"Let me order you a drink, friend," the man said with a friendly voice. His small piercing black eyes seemed to stare right into Jason’s mind.

"Okay." Then Jason busted out laughing. He laid his head down in his hands. A few moments later, the man in black tapped him on the shoulder, offering Jason the beer.

"Hey, man. Thanks!" Jason gave the man a drunken hug. He then chugged the beer and had it finished in a matter of seconds. "Come with me," the man in black said, putting his arm around Jason’s shoulders, leading him into the crowd. Jason followed. He felt weak. The last thing that he heard was the metal band performing loudly, then he passed into a state of unconsciousness.

"Get him the fuck outta here," Homicide Detective Tyler Holmes told his deputy officer. "The coroner bitch'll be here soon and she'll flip out if she finds any of 'em 'contaminating her crime scene'."

It really was a crime scene. The most brutal one that Tyler had ever seen. The body was littered all over the alley. An arm here, a leg there. The head was found in a basket next to the entrance of the alley. Sets of intestines were slung over the rails of the fire escapes. A finger was found lounged in the wall where the mortar had been chipped away.

"Sir, uh, you better come take a look at this," one of the rookies said.

Tyler walked after him to the center of the alley. The rookie pointed to the wall and aimed his flashlight up. A large symbol was painted on the wall. Painted in blood.

What the hell is that? Tyler thought to himself. "Well, this is the seventh one this month," he stated out loud. "That makes twenty-five since the killer started two months ago." He pulled a cigarette from its crumpled pack. "This crazy fucker's picking up the pace."

The rookie cop came running again. "Uh, sir. The killer left a note."

Tyler walked briskly after the rookie. Two other officers where putting a blood-soaked piece of paper into a clear plastic bag. with the use of tweezers.

"Let me see that," Tyler said as he snatched the bag away. But was heavily matted in some places, but the note was legible. It read:

Tyler held the note for a few minutes, then exclaimed, "This is one sick fuck. What the hell is all this religious bullshit?"

"And what the fuck are you doing poking around in the fucking evidence Holmes?"

Tyler spun around and saw the red face of Emily Taylor, the forensics detective. "Well, Mrs. Taylor," he said, trying to be a smart ass, "I am the homicide detective. I get paid to detect, and that's what I'm fucking trying to do."

Taylor didn't pay any attention to him; she was examining the bloody symbol on the wall.

"Well, since Mrs. Psychobitch has graced us with her presence, I'm going home."

The ring woke him up. Then the sunlight piercing through the window blinds. The bright light blurred his eyes, and the ringing telephone hurt his ears. He rolled over on the bed and picked it up, letting out a barely audible, "Hello?" "Holmes! Why the hell aren't you at the office right now!" It was Chief Berkley, a fat man that Tyler despised. He glanced at the clock on the bedside stand.

9:28 AM.

"AW SHIT!"

"Listen, I'll forgive you being late if you go check out a cop murder scene right now.

"What the fu..."

"Yeah, some crackhead shot two cops. I want you to check it out."

Bone fragments and brain matter were splattered against the brick wall. Blood continued to ooze out of the gaping cavity in the fat cop’s head. the thick red liquid covered the sidewalk and parts of the wall.

Tyler watched as the ambulance pulled up and the paramedics began to load the girl’s limp form into the back of the large white van. "She’s going to St. Vincent’s, right?" he asked.

"Yes sir," one of them said. They began to place the two dead bodies into body bags. Blood and gore drizzled through the tiny hole in the fat cop’s bag.
I need to get to the hospital with that girl, Tyler thought to himself.

The pale-green walls looked eerie with the twilight glaring outside. A ceiling fan was swinging over their heads, sweeping the cigarette smoke out of a small window.
Tyler knew from he way that she looked at him that she was a bitch. He needed the information that she had though.

"Thank you for giving me a few minutes of time, Ms. Carlyle," he said.

"Yeah, no problem." She replied with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She pulled a cigarette from her purse and began puffing away.

He took a drag from his own cigarette, then asked, "Now, you witnessed the murder of two police officers yesterday, am I correct?" He suddenly got a mental picture of the fat cop, his entire head blown away above the jaw. The built cop, half of his neck missing, gushing blood.

She exhaled slowly and relied, "No, I witnessed two piggies trying to murder another man. He was just trying to defend himself."

Tyler’s face began to burn with rage. Two fine officers of the law had given their lives in the pursuit of a drug dealer, and she was making fun of them.

"Why," he continued, barely able to keep his voice from quivering, "Do you think that they were trying to murder him?"

She sighed and took another drag from her cigarette before answering. "Because they shot at him so many times. I don't know why they were chasing him, but it's because of those doughnut sqazzling piggies that I have a big fuckin' hole in my goddamn arm."

Tyler inhaled deeply on his smoke, trying to control his anger. I'll kill that fucking bitch, he thought to himself. Then, aloud, he said, "Did you happen to see were the other man ran off to?" Smoke streamed from his nose.

The bitch stood up and headed for the door. "No, officer. I didn't..." But Tyler didn't here the rest; the door slammed shut.

The phone began ringing. "Hello," Tyler said.

"Holmes!" It was the chief. "We got the autopsy report back on that mutilated person. It's a prostitute named Vicky Parsons."

"Any fingerprints on the note?"

"Hell no. The killer burned his fingerprints off we think."

"Okay, I'll be over in a minute."

"Shut up and listen. That's not why I called. You remember that woman that you interrogated this afternoon? Well, her roommate turned up dead a few minutes ago. Stabbed with some scissors. The girl is missing."

"I'll be over in a minute."

The room had been well lit since the fat mans body had been discovered. The scissors still protruded from his aft chest. Blood was splattered all over the wall, and a large puddle was widening on the floor.

"Why the fuck did you call me down here?" Tyler asked the doctor. "Is it not obvious that the bitch did it? Her clothes are gone. Her beds empty. A hundred bucks says that her fingerprints are on those fuckin' scissors."

"I...I..." the doctor stammered.

"Where does the bitch live?"

The same rookie cop from he alley came running towards Tyler. "Detective Holmes sir, uh, we found her medical record. Here's her address."

This bitch is gonna pay if I ever find her, Tyler thought as the squad car raced towards Lisa Carlile's apartment. The tires blared into the night. Her building was in sight.

"Hurry! Slow down!" Tyler yelled. drawing his gun. He jumped from the car and began running with the other cop, Officer Wilson, close at his heels. They ran up the stairs on the side facing the street and as soon as they reached the top floor, they heard footsteps running into the darkness.

"Get her!" Tyler yelled. They ran straight across the walkway and caught a glimpse of her running down the last flight of stairs. Tyler jumped over the rail, covering one flight in a half a second. He fired his gun at the running shadow, but it disappeared into the darkness.

"FUCK!" He yelled. He picked up the pace and raced towards the garbage littered alley. The alley forked left and right. Her footsteps echoed down the right side. Tyler couldn't remember ever running so fast. But the alley ended. She was gone. The only other person in the alley was some asshole puking into a big garbage bin.
Then he saw the door. A sign. It read "Xibalba." She must have gone in here, he thought to himself. Officer Wilson wouldn't be catching up anytime soon, so Tyler decided to go without him. He opened the door and felt his eardrums almost bust; the music was so loud. A long, narrow hallway led the way into a large room. The room had a stage on which a masked band was playing, and the floor was covered with people slam dancing.

Tyler made his way through the crowd, pushing people who got in his way. He thought that he caught a glimpse of the girl making her way toward the back door again. He turned around too, and when he got back to the hallway, he saw the women’s bathroom door slam shut. I'll wait until she comes out, he thought.
So he waited, and waited, and waited. About ten minutes later, a man dressed in a black trenchcoat emerged. Tyler paid him no attention. Must be some fag, he thought to himself. He waited another few minutes, but the man in the black trenchcoat came back, walking with another man. The man looked insanely familiar. Tyler tried to piece his memory back together, to remember that face. He thought for a few minutes, then realized, THAT'S THE COP KILLER!
Tyler dashed outside and tripped over a stomach. He fell and his head hit a piece of lung. Body parts and blood were strewn all over the alley. It was a really fucked up nightmare. It had to be.

My head is on someone's lung! Tyler thought to himself. He staggered to his feet and ran. Ran away from the blood, the carnage, the insanity. As he ran, Tyler began to notice footprints in blood. Then Tyler remembered the man in the black trenchcoat. The serial killer!

Tyler ran with the footprints. They didn't go very far; only a few blocks to an enormous cemetery. He reached the front gate, where the footprints disappeared. The gate was locked, so he jumped it. The cemetery was a large hill, dotted with dead trees. The tombstones receded close at the top of the hill, where there stood a gigantic granite mausoleum. A huge dead tree was positioned next to the mausoleum. Tyler saw a dark silhouette of a man enter the tomb.
He stooped behind the gravestones as he trekked slowly towards the mausoleum with his gun drawn. The glowing light illuminating from the crack underneath the door became brighter as he got closer.

Tyler dropped behind a large tombstone when the stone door to the mausoleum opened. The man in the black trenchcoat stepped out, carrying an axe. He ambled right past Tyler and kept on walking. Tyler waited until the man was out of sight, then ran up to the stone tomb. He made sure that it was safe before he entered the building.

Strange symbols and numerals were painted on the walls in blood. Dozens of human and animal body parts were stacked in a corner. A cot rested against the far wall. Instead of a bed sheet, hundreds of pages from the Bible had been ripped out and sewn together. A small chest-of-drawers was littered with dead rats and a few human skulls with candles perched on their tops.

"This is one sick fuck," Tyler said out loud.
He heard heavy breathing behind him. Before he could turn around, something hard crashed into the back of his head...

His head throbbed. Where am I, he thought to himself. Tyler looked around. He was tied to a large tree. The mausoleum stood about ten feet away. The man in the black trenchcoat was stooped over a rock, sharpening his hunter’s knife. Tyler realized that he was naked.

"UNTIE ME NOW YOU SICK FUCK!" Tyler yelled. The man looked up. "I have a name. Silas."

Tyler tried to calm down and not panic. "Silas, let me the fuck up."

"I don't appreciate your foul choice of language. I would think that you would be thanking me," he said in a soft, deadly voice.

"Thank you for what?"

"For sending you to heaven." Silas looked at Tyler for a moment. "If I do not do this, you will most certainly go to Hell."

Tyler couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You dumb motherfucker. GOD IS A FUCKING MYTH!"

"I would watch my mouth if I..."

"He doesn't exist! If he did, he wouldn't have put you on earth! Or Manson! Or Bundy! Or Dahmer! God. who is supposed to be all knowing, doesn't fucking exist!"

"I said..."

"If something good happens, it’s in his fucking glory! If something bad happens, he works in mysterious fucking ways!"

"SHUT UP!"

Silas threw a rock, hitting Tyler in the forehead. He went unconscious again. Silas took the hunting knife and slowly skinned Tyler alive. He then opened the corpses skull and ate its brains. "God, I have sent another servant to your Gates!"

Silas swung the axe again and again. The drug dealers body parts were squirting blood all over the place, some flying in different directions.

Silas wasn't insane. In fact, he was extremely intelligent. How else had he avoided capture? The police were looking in all of the wrong places. Drug dealers, crackheads, prostitutes, and Satanists were all the suspects. The thing was, that was the very same people he was killing.

His victim, the twenty-fourth, was pointed to him by God (as most of them were). The drug dealer was a known Satanist. He had a tattoo of a black upside-down cross on his baldhead. He kept the drugs that he sold in a Bible that had the pages cut out from the center. He had no chance at getting into Heaven, so Silas was sending him there.

Blinding white light flashed behind Silas's eyes. He got a sudden picture of a woman, naked, having sex with a man. A fat man. Then he heard a voice. "Her," was all it said.

"Yes Lord!" Silas screamed. He stopped chopping the drug dealer up and began walking. A few blocks down, Silas walked by and heard slurping sounds. He glanced into the gloomy darkness. A man moaned. A woman laughed. Silas ventured into the alley. A man was standing behind a dumpster with his pants around his ankles. A young prostitute was kneeling in front of him, giving him oral pleasure.

They will not go to Hell, Silas thought to himself. He advanced, his grip tightening on the axe handle. The man saw Silas and screamed. A sharp, rough axehead cut off the screaming along with the neck. The prostitute screamed as Silas chopped her legs off. "Be free, not afraid. Heaven awaits you," he said as he brought the axe up and down. The screams were cut off and Silas scooped up some of the blood-covered intestines to paint a symbol on the wall.

He then let it fall into a thick pool of blood. The man's body was still whole except for the head, so Silas picked it up and carried it the two remaining blocks to the top of the cemetery.

The mausoleum would have scared the hell out of anybody else, but to Silas, it was home. The Greek letters written on the wall in blood, the dead animals strewn all over the place, the "Biblical blanket", these were what made it home.

The dead body and its head were flung into a small white bathtub, where it slowly began to fill with blood. When the blood was about knee deep, Silas hauled the corpse out and took it outside, where he buried it inside someone else's grave. He then went back into the mausoleum and stripped. He climbed into the bathtub filled with blood and began to run the dead man's heart over himself as if it were soap.

Silas sat there, soaking in the red-stained bathtub, when the white flash of light appeared behind his eyes again. It was the woman again. Her blonde hair. The blue eyes. She was naked, having sex with the fat man. Silas began to get an erection. He watched the two people make love, then he heard the voice. You got the wrong one. You will not fail me again.

The vision receded into blackness. Slowly, the room came back into focus. Silas realized that he had a hard-on. He jumped out of the blood-filled bathtub screaming. "NO! Dear God forgive me!" He ran, still covered in blood, to the chest-of-drawers, on which was perched a rat skull. He grabbed it and used the sharp teeth the cut his arm. "I've sinned! Must be... forgiven... with... BLOOD!" He had shredded most of the skin off of his arm before he passed out.

The woman. This time she was fully clothed. A word. A flashing word entered the vision. Xibalba. Xibalba. Xibalba.

"Xibalba. What does that mean?" Silas asked himself as jerked awake from the dream. He lit several candles and ran to his chest-of-drawer. Inside were dozens of books. He selected one on the Latin language. Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for. The word "Xibalba" was Latin. The meaning: the entrance to Hell.

Silas slowly closed the book. He remembered seeing a club on one of his nights of murder. A club called Xibalba. It was crawling with Satanists, drug addicts, dealers, and prostitutes. Surely this is where the Lord is sending me, Silas thought to himself. An excellent killing ground. So many sinners. He would go tonight.

As the sun sank behind the city's skyscrapers, Silas prepared himself. He sharpened his axe with a large rock, then donned his usual killing outfit. Tight black shirt, baggy black jeans, black boots, and a long flowing, black trenchcoat. He slid the axe into the small leather strap that he had made for easy carrying.

As soon as the sun had disappeared from view, Silas left the cemetery. It wasn't a very long walk to Xibalba; only nine or ten blocks at the most. Silas saw so many times that he could have murdered someone, but he had to keep going. This was an important night for him. God rarely selected the victims, He just let Silas choose. He had always killed the people the needed him to.

He arrived at the front entrance. A long line of people stretched down the sidewalk. Silas knew that he would never get in through the front, so he walked down the alley, planning to enter through a back or side door. His plans changed as he rounded a corner and saw a huge bouncer beating a young teenager.

"Don't," punch, "ever," punch, "try," punch, "to sneak past me," punch, "you little shit!" The large man picked the kid up and threw him next to Silas. The bouncer noticed the man in black and advanced on him. "Want some too, bitch? Huh"

Silas rammed the axe head into the big mans stomach.

"No, but you can make your peace with God."

He pulled the bloody weapon out of the squishy stomach. He turned to the teenager, but the boy had run off. Silas drug the body and managed to throw it into a dumpster. He then went to the door marked Xibalba.

He saw the girl go into the restroom. Not wanting to been seen, he silently slipped in after her. Listening, he heard her walk down the row into the last stall. He walked to the very first stall and hid inside. He heard the toilet flush and the girl curse. The door creaked open and he saw her feet walk to the wall and seemed to look into a mirror. A snap. She was putting on makeup. He stepped down off of the toilet and opened the door. The girl jerked her head in his direction.

"What the fuck are you doing in here you pervert?" she said angrily.

Kill her, the voice of God said in Silas' head.

"Get the fuck out you fuckin' prick!"

Kill her.

"Are you a fuckin' fag or something?"

KILL HER! the voice screamed into Silas' head. Silas stepped all of the way out of the stall. The girl’s eyes saw the bloody axe that he was holding. She whispered something underneath her breath. As she tried to back up, she slipped in a puddle of water. As she fell, Silas kept advancing. She turned around just as he plunged the axe into her face with all of his might. He heard her skull crumple underneath the force of the axe. He yanked the metal from her face and brought it down again. He heard bones and cartilage’s rip apart. Her blood sprayed the room. When he finished, he grabbed one of her severed fingers and drew his cross on the wall again.

"Let me order you a drink friend." Silas said to the man sitting at the bar. He was obviously tripping on ecstasy. He had a dazed look in his eyes and he couldn't stop rubbing himself. The sweat flowed profusely.

"Okay," the young man said, then he slammed his head down on his arms, laughing hysterically. Meanwhile, Silas poured some white powder into the mans beer. He tapped the man on the shoulder and gave him the beverage.

"Hey man. Thanks!" The man gave Silas a drunken hug, then chugged the beer. It was drained in about five seconds.

"Come with me," Silas said, putting his hand around the mans shoulders. He led the way through the raging crowd and felt the man pass out halfway through the hall. A man was standing in front of the women’s bathroom. He gave Silas a weird look, and then a surprised look when he saw the drunken man. Silas carried him out to the back alley, which was deserted.

"Kill him," the voice of God whispered. Silas dropped the man and drug him behind the dumpster. He brought the axe up and down, sending limbs flying everywhere. He finished.

He knew that the man in front of the restroom was a cop. He also knew that he was being followed. The cop smoked; he breathed too hard. Silas could here the man breathing a block away.

The gate to the cemetery swung open as Silas entered. He heard the man try the gate, finding it locked. So them man jumped the fence. Silas walked up the hill to the mausoleum. He went inside, only to exit a few moments later, ambling down the hill into the darkness before turning around. He watched the cop run up the hill and peer into the mausoleum.
Silas ran silently up the hill and hit the cop in the back of the head with the axe handle. He crashed to the ground. Silas stepped over the cop and grabbed a long strand of rope. He drug the cop to the tree and tied him up tightly. He then walked back inside and grabbed the hunting knife. Silas began to get an uneasy feeling as he sat down and began sharpening the knife. He decided that it was sharp enough and cut the cops clothes off, then went back to sharpening.

The cop woke up about half an hour later. He looked around and then yelled, "UNTIE ME YOU SICK FUCK!"

Silas looked up from his knife sharpening.

Kill him.

"I have a name. Silas."

"Silas," the cop said with fear in his voice. "Let me the fuck up."

Silas tried to control his anger. "I don’t appreciate your foul choice of language. I would think that you would be thanking me."

"Thanking you for what?"

Silas tried patiently to explain. "Sending you to Heaven. If I do not do this, you will most certainly go to Hell."

The cop began screaming frantically. "You dumb motherfucker! GOD IS A FUCKING MYTH!"

Kill him.

"I would watch my mouth if..."

"He doesn't exist! If he did, he wouldn't have put you on earth! Or Manson! Or Bundy! Or Dahmer!" The cop was beginning to panic. "God. who is supposed to be all knowing, doesn't fucking exist!"

Kill him.

"I said..."

The man kept on ranting, but Silas didn't hear him.

"SHUT UP!"

Kill him.

Silas picked up the sharpening rock and threw it at the cop. It thudded against his forehead, knocking him unconscious.

Silas took the knife and slowly skinned the cop’s naked body, eating the flesh as it peeled off. In an hour, the cop looked like a large red pulp.

The voice of God spoke to Silas. "Your work on Earth is finished. Come home."

Silas picked up the cop’s gun and rammed it into his mouth. The last thing that he felt was a bullet enter his brain...