The Dark Life Part Two

Chapter Two

Letter addressed to Detective Inspector Lucy Dean

Criminal Investigation Bureau, Homicide Division

10th October

I surprised you again, didn’t I Lucy?  Can I call you Lucy?  I feel as though I know you well enough to dispense with the formalities.  I see that you received my first letter and that I am now alive in a way I never dreamed possible.  The media are calling me the Dragonfly.  Is that your doing?  If so, I owe you so much, my dear lady.  Perhaps a bottle of your favourite perfume, Red Door, would suffice?

I notice with much pleasure that you have hired the help of the celebrated profiler Doctor Michael Ashton.  Give him my regards.  I have a great deal of time for such a distinguished young academic.  Each of his books is on my shelves.  I read each one with much satisfaction. I especially liked his book on serial killers.  At thirty five, he is at the height of his field.  Thirty five is only three years your senior.  Will the angelic Lucy seek out the fine-looking doctor for more than just his expertise?  He likes cabernet sauvignon, in case you are interested.

So where shall we go from here?  Do you want to know about what I did yesterday?  Do you want to know of the last moments of that delectable young girl you found in the Botanic Gardens?  Her name was Emma Lewis.  She was a beautiful Italian girl with such fine, silky olive skin and pouty red lips.  This kill was not premeditated, I must admit.  I am finding it harder to control the dark urges within me.  That impulsiveness is extremely difficult to repudiate.

I can usually control those cravings of mine.  Yet there have been those times when self discipline has become a real quandary for me.  Poor Michael.  You recall my best friend?  When I was fourteen I found myself staring at his fine athletic body as he walked out of the bathroom, his towel deliciously low on his hips and his smooth skin glistening with water.  He caught me staring at him and laughed.  He called me gay.  That upset me.

That very morning, as we waited for the train, he continued to tease me.  I tried to control myself.  I truly did not want it to happen but that darker urge overwhelmed me.  There was something erotic about the power to kill someone so close to me.  I remember the train horn.  It was an express.  They fly past at speed.  Michael yawned and stretched and his immaculate white school shirt slipped from his low hung grey trousers to reveal his fine, smooth skinned midriff and flawless round navel.

Nobody was watching.  I just gave him a gentle nudge and watched, my heart racing, as he tripped backwards and fell onto the track.  I watched his pretty face turn pale and heard his scream.  I could not take my eyes from him.  It was only a few seconds between his fall and the train passing but every second is burned into my memory like a delicious video.  Then the train had rushed past and he was dead.  I remember the train skidding to a stop with the grinding of metal and the heavy smell of brake dust as people came screaming to where I stood.

So now I see you desperately searching for stories of the death of a young school boy at a train station, hoping to match it to the death of the mother and Trudi.  Again I tease you.  Which city did this all occur in?  I eagerly anticipate your finding the truth.  I truly want to meet you.

So what of this girl?  She was a sweet thing.  That impulse drove me again.  I was just sitting, watching the passing crowds in the Botanic Gardens when I saw her.  She was wearing tight short shorts that accentuated her fine buttocks and silky smooth long legs, and a tight fitting grey tee shirt.

It is amazing how one choice can change a life for eternity.  What overwhelmed me on this occasion, what made me choose her, was the fact that she wiped her face with the front of her tee shirt.  She lifted the front of her tee to her face to wipe away sweat from her pretty Italian face and I saw her slightly pudgy belly, smooth and tanned with a deep oblong navel.

She was alone.  I followed her from the distance and waited for the right moment.  I love the hunt, watching the girl go about her day with no clue as to her fate at my hands.  She came to a section of the parkland surrounded by trees and lay back, resting on her elbows with her tee shirt sitting just above her deep navel.  I pulled a metal chain from my pocket, something I carry for just such dreamy occasions.  Slipping through the undergrowth behind her, I stared at her fine body, delectable long tanned legs and deliciously smooth belly with just the hint of a roll of fat just above her navel.

She was singing to herself.  I waited for a jogger to pass on the pathway a short distance away, so caught up in his own life to notice either of us.  Then I quickly wrapped the chain around her neck and pulled it tight.  She let out a cute squeal as her hands instinctively grabbed at the chain that now dug into her long soft neck.  Her long dark brown hair smelt like flowers as she gurgled and tried to breath.  Her body wriggled and writhed.  She arched her back and twisted her stomach around in a deliciously erotic dance of death as her eyes tried to look up at me, pleading for life whilst her face turned a deep red and then purple.  I do love the gurgling that girls make when they are strangled.  She slowly stopped thrashing about as her hands began to weaken their grip on the chain and she slowly died.

It waited, squeezing the chain tight against her neck for a minute or so after she stopped moving to make sure she was dead.  I did not have my tools, as you may have noticed when you came to the crime scene, but I did take a trophy.  I have her cute pink lacy briefs.  I slipped off her short shorts and took the briefs as her adorable young eyes stared out into space, void of life.  It then put her short shorts back on before licking her deliciously smooth belly and tasting her.

I slipped her briefs in the pocket with the thing chain I used to strangle her and casually walked out onto the pathway that travelled along the river.  Do not bother looking for witnesses.  You must know by now that most of the world is so caught up in themselves that they barely notice the world around them unless it threatens them directly.  I find it a dark reflection on society that it took over five hours before anybody bothered to check on poor young Emma.  I find it all the more amusing that the person who discovered her body was actually walking over to her because he wanted to try and flirt with her.

So here we are, Lucy.  I have killed again and take full credit for the kill right here in this letter.  I so look forward to the day you connect all of the clues together and discover my true identity.  A part of me hopes that it is sooner rather than later.  Yet the larger part of me loves the thrill too much and hopes I have not given away too much too soon.  I keenly await Doctor Ashton’s profile.  Perhaps I can become the subject of one of his new books.

Good luck with your hunt.

Your Friend,

The Dragonfly