The Riddler, Book One

It's very simple; if you solve his Riddle of Death, you win and keep your life. If you can't solve it, you lose and he takes your life with the answer. He is having a blast ruining lives, care-free because he is invincible to all. That is, until he marks his victim, Lena Belle. The sweetest flower of them all. His life and plans are shattered by this beauty when she solves the riddle, and he falls instantly in love with her. But, now, he must make a choice; let his love live-or kill her to keep his secret?

Candle

The horror of finding a pile of charred bones in the ashes of the home of Alicia Prescott had little effect on the firefighters who had put out the massive monster of flames. It had taken them hours-fifteen, in fact-to put out the fire, and three more to find any remains of anything-or anyone-in the still-glowing embers and rubble.

Alicia had been a smart woman, having had made all A's in school, an accountant of the world's largest marketing company. However, she was not smart enough to figure out his sick riddle:

         Little Nancy Etticoat,
         In her white petticoat,
         And a red nose.
         The longer she stands,
         The shorter she grows.

Now, looking at the red embers as they died, at the ashes and what little remains of the woman's life, the detectives and sobbing onlookers knew the answer; a candle. That was the answer to the riddle. That was what started the fire. What had killed Alicia.

He knew she had suffered greatly, and was extremely proud of that fact. Watching the news, the live report of the tragic incident, the sobbing and grieving friends, family, neighbors, had him smiling and laughing until his sides ached. He had been there to watch her burn for the first hour, perfectly safe in a fire-retardant suit, loving the way the woman had screamed as the flames engulfed her in an inescapable cocoon, loving the way she cried and pleaded for him to help. He had just stood there, looking down upon her, smiling as the light of life slowly began to dim in her green eyes, smiling at her pain.

Now, he sits in his darkened living room, eyes trained on the television, on the remains of Alicia's home, laughing at all the teary-eyed people, at her family members. Poor mommy lost her only child. Poor daddy lost his mistress. Yes, Alicia had loved her father very much, and her mother knew, but did nothing to stop the disgust. Why? She found it intriguing, sexy. She had liked it. Loved it. And now poor daddy has to settle for the woman he married, his daughter gone forever. Poor soul.

"Disgusting," he muttered to himself, tearing up the picture of Alicia he held in his hands. He piled the scraps into his ashtray, lit a match, and watched it burn. The red-orange flames lit up his cold, deadly green eyes as he took the picture of his next victim from his little black box. "Beautiful Lena Belle," he told the picture of the young woman, fingers gently stroking the smooth paper. "Oh, my dear, I do hope you can solve it."

Sweet Lana Belle

Lena Belle. Sweet, beautiful Lena Belle. Light blonde hair falling in gentle waves to her shoulders, bands always hiding her crystal blue eyes. Small hands shoved in her jeans pockets when she walked. She walks quickly, like she has some place to be. But that is never the case; she never had anywhere to be. Gentle, loving Lena Belle. A goddess of pure beauty, stuck here with the scum of the world. Rushing to be somewhere, but never home.

Home. That has never been a word in her dictionary, had always been a dreamland she never found. She's never had a true home, just the Hellholes CPS put her in, until she turned eighteen and moved into her own apartment. But, still, she always felt there was something missing.

Could it be the lack of people around her? The dead family she never knew? The lonely nights she spends without a warm body next to hers, the sweet musk of a man beside her? The answer-she will never know.

Poor, sad Lena Belle. Scared of everything. Always looking for somewhere to hide. To flee. That was her; flight or flight, never fight. Sad, that is, but she was never raised right, only saw the worse in everyone and everything, never the good.

But it has gotten her far in life; a beautiful twenty year old woman, living in her own apartment by herself, with a full-time job at a café, and a hobby of singing. No-more than a hobby; her voice was more beautiful than all the angles in heaven combined, a sweet sound you would kill for to hear-to be blessed by her voice. Yet, no one knows of her talent; her stage-fright keeps her from singing in public, though she's love to have an audience one day. But, for now, she kept it a secret, only singing to her reflection in the mirror, or in the shower.

Working at the café had a few perks for her; she learned to be less anti-social, for one. Second, she got to have a true father figure; her boss, the nicest person she's ever known, Mikhail. They were close enough that he allowed her to call him nicknames, like Mickey. Sometimes Mickey Mouse, depending on his mood. She tells the other works when he's angry by using the name he didn't know about, "Hail Storm".

Now, she was at work, waitressing. However, today she didn't know she was going to be waiting on a infamous criminal. The Riddler, in fact. And the worst part was that Mikhail was his cousin and he knew all about what the sick bastard did.

What he didn't know was that his cousin was visiting to give Lena Belle a riddle, one that would mark her as his victim, one that would end her life or let be. The second Mikhail saw the determined look in his cousin's green eyes, he dragged him through the café and into his office, closing and locking the door.

"What the hell?!" Deveron-The Riddler-yelled, jerking his arm away from Mikhail's firm grasp. "Don't," Mikhail pleaded softly, eyes begging. "Please don't, or I-"

"Or you'll what? Tell someone the truth?" Deveron laughed once, humorlessly. "I own you, Mikhail. You have to listen to me, or you know what will happen."

Mikhail glared at him, though he was trembling like a leaf under the shark eyes of the murderer. "Please, Deveron..."

"Why? Have you fallen in love with her?" His voice held mockery and sarcasm, which made Mikhail's rage spike.

"She's like a daughter to me. I love her."

That struck a thin nerve deep inside Deveron and his knuckles became white under his tanned skin as his hands balled into fists. "Like a daughter? And what, exactly, did you do with your real daughter? Hm?" Mikhail looked down at his feet, silent. "You killed her."

"You made me!" Mikhail blurted out, face reddening with hate and rage. "You made me kill her! And my wife! It's all your fucking fault!" The second it all left his mouth, he regretted it deeply.

"What did you just say?" Deveron took a step towards Mikhail, hands clasped lazily behind his back, his green eyes cold and emotionless." You did it on your own accords. Now, whose fault was it?

"Mine," Mikhail said quietly after a long, harsh silence.

"I can't hear you."

Mikhail glared at his feet, hands clenched into fists. "Mine," he said louder, his voice cracking at the hate and fact knowing that the bastard was right.

(Under Construction)