The Dark Life Part One

Chapter One

Letter addressed to Detective Inspector Lucy Dean

Criminal Investigation Bureau, Homicide Division

26 September

Blood is so delectable.  Its taste, its texture, its scent and its warmth excite me.  There are essentially two elements of the female body that truly drive my passions and blood is one of them.  The other is skin.  I desperately want to taste both.  I cannot control my desires.  There is nothing more exhilarating to me than to see a beautiful woman expose her midriff and show me her deliciously smooth skin.  Their skin is so soft and silky, so smooth to touch and magnificent to taste.  I have had my share of beautiful women but never has my passion been so alive as when I feel their skin against my lips and tongue and taste their rich, warm red blood.



I have killed.  I have killed so often that it amazes me that nobody has managed to discover my dark secret.  Mine are not the killings of uncontrolled passion.  I planned my killings.  I chose my victims carefully and planned each kill so meticulously that nobody has even suspected that my victims are even dead.  Now, however, I am bored.  I need the challenge.  That is why I write this; to let you know that I am here, that I am alive and that I have killed.  By now you should have discovered Madison.  I will come to her in a moment.  For now let us explore something of my life, of where I came from and why I am who I am.  Then you will understand.  Then you will know me.  Then the game will begin.  I am the Dragonfly and I have only just begun.

Imagination is both a wonderful gift and a horrendous curse.  From about the age of twelve I found myself lying in bed at night imagining the darkest and most exciting things.  It began, as I recall, with my best friend.  Let us call him Michael.  We were hiding under his father’s car during a game of hide and seek and he lay back with his hands behind his head.  His polo shirt slipped up his body and I found myself staring at his flat, smooth stomach and imagining the car driving over him, squishing his tummy as flat as a pancake into the driveway as he screamed for help.



I was almost thirteen and full of hormones.  I never was able to control my impulses, even back then.  I just rolled on top of him and held him down as he wriggled underneath me.  He was worried at first and I loved the power I felt when I saw the panic in his face.  Then he stopped and we simply stared at each other.  I must explain.  I am not a homosexual, far from it.  Yet the power I felt in that moment, the freedom to do as I pleased, aroused me beyond any sexual encounter.  I felt that he was aroused as well and teasingly brought my lips close to his.  My tongue touched his lips ever so gently and then I rolled away.  That was my first experience of power and passion and I loved it.



That was an interesting summer.  That was the summer my selfish, unloving parents decided to hire a nanny to care for me.  They were always at functions or working late and to be honest with you, I hardly ever saw them.  This nanny was a twenty year old woman whom we shall call Trudi.  She was beautiful, her hair dark brown and long, often tied back into a ponytail and her body was delectable, not slender but athletic with a slightly pudgy stomach that was so smooth.  Her face was so fine. I would describe her as a combination of an Italian goddess and an American sweetheart.  She was the woman who changed my life forever.  She was both beautiful and dangerous.



Trudi played around with me in ways she never should have.  I remember that first night when I was watching television, sitting on the couch.  She was wearing a tracksuit, its top sexily tight and revealing the silky skin of her midriff.  Without a word she stood between me and the television and straddled me on the couch, taking my hands and slipping them onto the smooth sides of her midriff.  Leaning down over me, she kissed me on the lips and then whispered in my ear.



“Would you like a bath?”



I was so aroused.  All of that summer we experimented and I loved the experience, secretly anticipating her every visit with my heart in my thirteen year old chest.  We shared steamy baths, swam nude in my parent’s pool and lay together naked in bed, just enjoying the feel of smooth skin against smooth skin.  She gave me my first incredibly pleasurable orgasm.  That girl was a dangerous predator and her desire to push the boundaries ended up tearing me to pieces.



During this time I continued my little fantasies, weird things like watching a cute schoolgirl at the train station on the way to school and imagining pushing her in front of a train to watch her get squashed under the wheels.  One time I watched a road roller working on road works near my house and dreamed of shoving Michael or Trudi into the path of the roller that would squash them flat.  The fantasies got darker the more Trudi used me.  Eventually she had complete control over me.  I grew not to love her but rather to despise her and the control she had over me.



I never got the chance to stand up for myself.  One night, while on her way to my house, her car was hit by another and she was killed.  I will not divulge all of the details as I do not want to give too much of who I am away.  My parents, in their wisdom, decided to send me to live with Michael.  They had planned an overseas holiday and did not wish to delay their journey.  Neither of them even asked me how I felt about Trudi’s death.

I was angry.  That was what drove me to my first beautiful kill.  I have found it increasingly amusing how easy it is to make even the most passionate of murders look like an accident.  I guess that people want to assume the best of others.  Maybe they fear the evil that lurks beneath and blind themselves to it for their own sense of security.  Whatever the reason, my first kill was delectable and gave me a rush that overwhelmed me and drowned out my sorrows.



One evening I noticed that the beautiful woman living in the house next door to Michael’s was swimming in her pool.  She was a gorgeous woman with a slender figure, a pretty face with big, innocent looking brown coloured eyes, a button nose and a slightly round face that gave a look of naive youth to her, framed as it was by her lush long brown hair.  Even though she was forty, she looked much younger and far too sexy to be the mother she was.  I slipped outside, making sure not to wake Michael or his family, and climbed the fence.  Dressed in nothing but boxer shorts I quietly slipped into the pool.  She said nothing but merely smiled as I swam up to her.  Standing knee deep in the shallow end of the pool, we stared at each other.  I have always had an athletic body and I could see in her eyes that dark hunger that all people secretly have for the forbidden.



She slicked back her long wet brown hair as I stared at her smooth skinned slender figure in her skimpy black bikini swimsuit.  Her stomach was flat and perfect and I could not help but stare at her perfectly smooth skin and cute shallow navel.  Despite having thee children, her body was perfect.  She smiled a beautiful white smile as her eyes surveyed me.



She opened her mouth to speak but before she could say a word I reached out and pushed her backwards, slipping my right foot behind her legs to trip her up.  She let out a little squeal as she fell back and hit the back of her head on the pool’s rim with a crack.  Grabbing her by her wet hair, I pulled her back into the water and shoved her face under the surface.  I saw her childlike eyes open wide in panic and she began to thrash about in a mad panic.  I sat on her smooth body and watched as her wild eyes glared up at me in horror.  Then, ever so slowly, the thrashing stopped and her angelic face relaxed, her eyes glazing over and her mouth falling agape as the last of the air escaped her.



I sat on her for a few minutes, just staring at her dead adorable face.  I loved the power it gave me and the knowledge that I had ended a life aroused me.  I have read that many serial killers start by killing or torturing cats and dogs.  I started with a beautiful woman obsessed with her own beauty.  Slowly I slipped off of her slender body and swam back to the deep end, jumping out and climbing back over the fence.



It was about an hour later, as I slept peacefully, that I was woken by the sound of sirens.  The beautiful thing was that her death was written off as a tragic accident.  The woman had merely slipped and cracked her head on the edge of the pool, drowning in her unconscious state.  That look of terror in her eyes, the feel of her warm, smooth body wriggling beneath me, were images that would give me great pleasure for many years afterwards.

Enough of my past; I shall return to it in my next letter.  You are probably more interested in what happened in that pedestrian tunnel today.  What happened to poor Madison and why did I choose her of all of the beautiful women in the country?  No doubt, Detective, when you realise that there are details in this letter that nobody but the killer could know, you will have a profiler look through this letter with a fine toothed comb.  I think they will enjoy this next part.



There is a discount store in the main shopping centre at Browns Plains.  You will know by now that Madison worked there.  I love those stores.  I love sitting on the bench seats outside places like Woolworths and Coles in the hope that the beautiful girls behind the registers stretch or reach up so that those sexy blouses they wear slip up their delicious bodies to reveal their midriffs.  The Bargain Store is one such place.  What I particularly like about that store is the tight red polo shirts the girls wear as a part of their uniform.  Michael wore a shirt like that when I first fantasised about him and Trudi always used to love wearing them.  Whenever the girls reached up to stock the shelves, I was guaranteed a perfect flash of their stomachs and, if I was lucky, their navels.



I chose Madison for three reasons.  Firstly it was her beauty.  She had an angelic face and that slightly podgy sexy tummy.  Her hair was just like Trudi’s, tied back in a ponytail.  Secondly she was a flirt.  There were several times when she talked with me that she flirted with the cute, shy schoolgirl act.  The third reason I chose Madison was that there were at least three places on her walk home from work where she was alone and unseen.

As you already know, it was raining all day today and that made the kill all the more perfect, for there would be very little likelihood of anybody else stumbling upon us.  I waited in the pedestrian tunnel beneath the highway to Beaudesert.  My hands were shaking with nerves.  This was the day.  This was the murder that would finally bring to light the lethal nature of the Dragonfly.  She came running into the tunnel soaking wet, her smooth skin glistening in the flickering florescent light of the tunnel.  Her pants and shirt were stuck to her fine figure like a second skin.

She stopped running and stood perfectly still when she saw me.  Her polo shirt was bunched up at her navel and I could not help but stare at her fine midriff.  She seemed a little apprehensive at first but then her eyes relaxed.  She smiled.  In the flickering lights she had recognised me and her body language changed from frightened to unperturbed.



“You scared me,” she smiled. “What are you doing here?”



I did not speak but rather grabbed her beautiful face in my hands and kissed her.  I know she enjoyed the experience because she opened her mouth wide and allowed her tongue to caress mine.  Her body seemed to melt in mine as I felt her warm, wet body wriggle against me.  I pushed her back against the wall of the tunnel and pinned her arms back before kneeling down before her.  Sliding her tight polo shirt up her tummy, I let my tongue slide up her deliciously smooth slightly podgy tummy, tasting her delectable skin.



“Stop,” she gasped while I moved back up and pinned her against the wall with my own body. “I have a boyfriend.”



I stared into her beautiful young eyes.  She was hungry for more, I could tell.  Holding her by the throat with my left hand, I slipped my hunting knife out from my coat.  I loved her beautiful face and innocent eyes filled with a dark hunger.  Then, feeling incredibly aroused, I shoved the long blade of the hunting knife into her soft tummy just below her round, deep navel and watched as her eyes widened in horror and her mouth fell open.



She let out a squeak as her hands grabbed at my shoulders and tried to push me away.  I shoved the blade in right up to the hilt and she let out a gurgle, her eyes wider than I had ever seen them.  Slowly I slipped the blade out as she began to cry and wriggle about desperately.  Blood dripped from the blade and as I held her by the neck I raised the blade up to my mouth and licked off her rich, warm, delicious blood.



She begged and squealed as yet again I shoved the blade into her stomach, this time straight into her navel.  As she gasped and gurgled I sliced right up her stomach to her ribs, watching with a wonderful fascination as her face turned pale and the life slowly died from her eyes.  Her blood spiled to the ground of the tunnel, her perfect body slowly slumping dead.



As you know, I carefully took off her clothes after that and folded them neatly.  I did love her skimpy pink teddy bear briefs.  I lost control a little after that.  I do apologise.  I was fascinated with her insides.  I wanted to see what lay beneath her sexy tummy.  Her innards mesmerized me as I pulled them from her body.  After ripping her organs from inside of her and throwing them across the tunnel, I severed her head with the hunting knife and left, taking her head with me.  In my car, which I had parked outside the tunnel in a mostly abandoned street, I had a large jar full of preserving fluid.  That is where her beautiful head is right now, her face frozen in horror.  She was beautiful.



I cannot wait for you to come to me, Detective Dean.  You are a gifted and beautiful woman.  I have watched your rise through the ranks with eagerness ever since I first saw your angelic face on the television years ago.  This is just the beginning.  I can see you searching through the death certificates, trying to find a forty year old mother killed in a pool accident, looking for a twenty year old nanny killed in a car accident.  It must frustrate you to have so much truth here but too little to discover the deeper truth.  What must infuriate you even more is the fact that you do not even know if I grew up in Brisbane or perhaps even overseas.



Until next we meet my dear Detective, I wish you the best of luck in searching through the pieces.  Forensics is backlogged too, you poor woman.

You friend,

The Dragonfly