Metal Detectors

Hi everybody! So I know that usually fan fiction is something like Alexa wrote but I have been seeing a lot of things like the one you are about to see, and I have read many of them for TMI (The Mortal Instruments) , so I will be honest and say how these are not all my ideas, they came from all different kinds of places and if I were to site my sources it would be like a ten page works cited.... So of course I didn't make a works cited. I hope you enjoy this and get a good laugh at it even if you haven't read The Mortal Instruments!! Disclaimer: ALL of the characters here belong to Cassandra Clare.

Alec: *tries to go through the metal detector at airport* *metal detector beeps*

Magnus: *sees what is going on and chuckles* 

Officer: Sir (Alec) can you please remove any metal items you have in your pockets 

Alec: Okay *takes out keys from his pocket* * passes through metal detector again* *metal detector beeps* 

Magnus: Honey I think the officer means ALL metal items like your ahem weapons 

Alec: But then how am I to protect you on the airplane? 

Magnus: I think I'll be alright sweetie

Alec: Fine

Magnus (to officer): Sorry about my boyfriend he gets moody when he can't protect me with his favorite blade

Officer: *looks like he is about to feint* 

Alec: *removes 12 blades from hidden pockets and one big sword from underneath his shirt* 

Officer: ....

Alec: *passes through the metal director* *metal detector beeps again* 

Magnus: Sweetie you are holding up the line

Alec: *grumbles and removes a tiny blade from his shoe* *walks through the metal detector* *metal detector doesn't beep* 

Magnus: *walks through metal detector* *metal detector beeps* 

Officer: *gulps* How many weapons are you carrying? 

Magnus: Oh me? None but I think that putting on that metallic glitter this morning was a bad idea  

Queen of Darkness

Chapter 2

Aiyana cried. And cried. And cried. She couldn’t take this anymore; she had been in this darkness for days, screaming for someone, but no one came. No one. She became hopeless. Her back hurt more and more every day. One day, she stopped feeling her back because of the pain. She was sitting in a pool of blood -- her blood. Her back had not stopped bleeding yet. She knew she was going to die. Every time she woke up after a dreamless sleep, she always prepared herself for the worst.

“Oh, Aelin. I miss you so much. You were the only person I ever had -- my sister and best friend. How I wish I could see you one more time,” Aiyana whispered and sobbed at the same time. The only person to comfort her, help her, and protect her was taken from her life. When Aiyana was little, her parents were killed by the King of Adarlan -- like Aelin’s. Aiyana spent days hiding behind the stands of the market, in an alleyway, a dumpster, and any other place she could find. One day, the King of Adarlan was walking through the market, and had found her. He took her to the salt mines of Endovier, and she has been there ever since.

Sleep tugged at Aiyana. She slumped against the dirt wall, and closed her eyes. An image of Aelin appeared behind her eyelids. As Aiyana fell asleep, the image of her last dread of hope disappeared into the darkness.

…

Something rocked Aiyana back and forth, waking her up. She gasped, and her eyes shot open. A brown roof made of wood appeared a couple of feet above her head. She was lying on a soft, surface -- a bed. She heard the crashing of waves coming from beside her. She was wearing a white nightgown that fluttered in the wind. Aiyana turned to her side, and immediately regretted it -- pain zapped through her back, and she screamed. Rushing footsteps sounded in the distance. The door to her room opened with so much force it almost fell off its hinges. A man ran to her side.

“What’s wrong? What is hurting?” he asked. He had black, curly hair that covered his ears. His eyes were a sapphire-blue, and had a sword slung by his side. He wore a grey tunic that brought out the color of his eyes.

“My back,” she croaked.

“Oh, yes. Your back. Let me call Rowan for that.” he walked to the door and yelled:

“ROWAN!”

At that moment, a beautiful, white hawk flew through the window. There was a flash, and then the hawk was gone; a man had taken its place. I shrieked.

“Don’t worry. I am here to help you,” the man said. He seemed extremely young -- about 25 years old -- had pine-green eyes that sparkled in the light; short, white-silver hair that barely covered his ears; and a tattoo than ran from his neck, down to his fingertips. He wore a black leather suit that was tight enough for her to see how extremely muscular and fit he was, and a black cape as well. “I am going to heal you. Now close your eyes, and just relax. Don’t move. This won’t hurt. It will only take two minutes.”

Aiyana followed his instructions; she closed her eyes, and relaxed. I have no clue who these people are. Once they are done healing me, I am going to jump out of the bed, dash out the door, jump into the water, and swim. Wait-- I can’t do that. What do I do? What else are they going to do to me? Fear slowly crept into her. She felt little tugs in her back. Are they mending my back together? How? Aiyana started to panic. Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.

“Finished,” the man finally said. Aiyana opened her eyes. She turned to the side, and did not feel any pain. She turned to the other side, and didn't feel any pain, either. Aiyana slowly sat up. She touched her back, and couldn’t help shrieking in surprise. There was no blood -- none. Her back was smooth; all she felt was skin. There were multiple scars, but that was fine. A smile tugged at her lips. She looked at the dark-haired man and the one who helped her; they both smiled. As Aiyana opened her mouth to speak, a woman walked through the door. The woman was beautiful. She had white hair that reached her shoulders, was skinny, and wore a twin suit to the one the white-haired man was wearing, but only she wore a red cloak. The woman walked forwards, her tall, black boots clanking on the wooden floor.

Aiyana’s heart stopped beating as the woman walked farther into the light; those eyes -- the turquoise eyes that were rimmed with gold. She knew them. They were Ashryver eyes.

“Aelin,” Aiyana cried. At that moment, Aelin lept onto the bed, and embraced Aiyana. They both started to cry.

“It’s really you,” Aelin sobbed.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Aiyana said over and over again, caressing Aelin’s hair. Aiyana pulled away from Aelin, wanting to see her face. Tears rolled down Aelin’s cheeks; she smiled. Her skin was slightly tanned, but perfect and beautiful. “Oh my gosh, Aelin. You look so grown-up! How old are you?” Aiyana asked.

“Nineteen,” Aelin answered; she couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at her lips. “How old are you?”

“I am eighteen,” Aiyana said. She smiled, too.

“Why won’t you clean up; there are some clothes in the bathroom -- the door to your left -- and some towels, too.” Aelin slowly sat up, standing in front of the door. “Then, I will take you on the deck and introduce you to everybody.”

“Okay,” Aiyana stated.

Aelin smiled, turned around, and left. The dark-haired man and the white-haired man walked right behind her. After the door closed, Aiyana got out of bed, and walked into the bathroom. She stopped in front of the mirror; her face was pale, and dried blood crusted beneath her lips and nose. Man, she desperately needed to clean herself up. Her nightgown was splotched with blood, and her hair was messy and tangled, full of dirt and dried blood.

Aiyana turned the sink water on, took the white, medium-sized towel hanging on the rack by the sink, and wet it. She scrubbed at her face with the wet towel, and put the towel back in the sink, rinsing it. The water slowly became red as the blood washed off the towel. She then took the wet towel and cleaned her hair with it.

After Aiyana finished cleaning herself up, she walked back into her room, past the bed, and opened up her closet door. She took out a black leather suit -- similar to the one Aelin wore -- and a gray cloak. She quickly dressed, put on tall, black boots -- also similar to the ones Aelin wore -- and put her hair back in a small ponytail.

She was ready.

…

By Alexa Gantt

Arena // Chapter 1.2

“What to do, what to do?” Queen Vermillne watched as Ollormania paced the room in distress. She sat with her skirts folded neatly around her, her back stiff and her hands in her lap.

“I have already told you—” she began.

“I do not agree with what you have told me!” Ollormania spun sharply on his heel, clenching and unclenching his fists. “We have to provide some kind of explanation; the citizens will tear each other apart asking questions. If you claim me your son, and a new heir to the throne, they will be startled into a revolt, and maybe even some kind of rebellion. If you deny it, we’d have the responsibility to find this Blind Warrior and interrogate her.” He ended with an extravagant string of curses.

“Trogne,” began the queen.

“Do not call me that!” He crossed the room rapidly and jabbed his finger at her chest. “You do not have any right to that name.”

“And why do I not?” cried Queen Vermillne, reaching for his extended finger; he snatched it back. “I am your mother, no matter what we say to the public. How could I not use your real name? The one I gave to you?” She stood in an outrage.

“You,” growled Ollormania in response, “are not my mother.”

“Now, young man—”

“You’re not my real mother!” In a flash, he drew his sword and hurled it across the room. The queen inhaled sharply as it lodged in the headpost of her bed. Ollormania’s chest heaved.

There was an extension of silence. “This is not your decision. I will remain to the people only another pawn of yours.” He spat the word. “I vow, I will find she who uncovered our secrets, and I will punish her for what she has done.”

“Ollormania,” said Vermillne, deciding wisely not to use his real name again for fear of having her bed destroyed, for she quite liked that particular one. “I may not have raised you, I may not have taught you what a mother teaches her son, but I am your real mother, and I need you to understand—”

“That is not the topic of discussion presently. I have other concerns that I must look to.” Although he did not show it, he felt once again he was the hurt little boy he had been, wishing he had known his real mother and why she had given him up. And Vermillne watched with regret in her burdened eyes, feeling once again she was the conflicted young woman who had and would make a thousand wrong decisions.
By CJ Bishop

Queen of Darkness

Prologue

There was blackness -- I couldn’t see anything else. It enveloped and wrapped me as if I were a present being wrapped for Christmas or a birthday. I couldn’t feel my body as I fell. And fell. And fell. I was screaming, but I couldn’t even hear; the panic had taken over. Nausea and bile rose in my throat. Great big, white, bony claws came up to snatch me; they had extremely long nails that were made of iron, and were razor sharp.

I started thrashing, trying to grab onto something. But nothing was there. I screamed and screamed as I fell closer to the demons waiting below.

I am going to die, I am going to die, I am going to die. I tried. I tried to escape and free myself. It never worked. My life is over.

At a point I couldn’t recall, I started sobbing. I tried to stop myself from reaching the demons, but my body did not move. I let myself fall. It was the only thing I could do. I shut my eyes, stopped sobbing and screaming, and fell through the darkness.

My life was terrible, anyways. There was nothing and no one I had to live for. My life is over. My life is ending.

I fell into the hands of the demons, and didn’t have any time to scream before my soul left my body.

…

Chapter 1

Aiyana gasped for air. She knew she was alive and breathing, but could not see. She opened her eyes; there was darkness. She slowly sat up. The never-ending darkness spread before her.  

She knew this place too well. She had never been here before, but she heard of it. No slave had ever survived it. Sometimes, when mining, she could hear the sound of screams coming from below the ground at her feet. Every time she heard the screams, bile and nausea would rise in her throat. I hope I don’t end up down there, she remembered thinking. I would kill myself before they would even take me there. Well, here she was. All alone with no one but darkness to greet her.

Aiyana felt dirty; she could feel dirt clinging to her skin, making her feel as if she were underneath a blanket. She rose to her feet, and abruptly cried out. She fell back to the ground. Her back. She reached behind her, and felt something fluid and thick -- blood. Her blood. Pain immediately seared through her back, and she screamed. Tears started flowing down her cheeks and splattered on the dark floor. Her back felt as if it had been torn into ribbons. What had they done to her?

…

The clang of metal on metal rang through the mine. People were breaking their backs in trying to mine for salt and other resources that would be shipped to the lands that made up Erilea. The slaves varied in ages; there were many kids, and many middle-aged people as well. The slaves all carried axes and other mining utensils, and their clothing was ripped, torn, and worn. The slaves went day and night with barely any food and water. If they did not work hard or well enough, they would be whipped. It was a tragic life for the slaves; many never went back home or came out of the mines alive.

Aiyana was mining towards the entrance of the mine; sunlight filtered through the large hole, lighting up the mine. Overseers watched each and every slave with a whip in hand. Aiyana was panting, her back breaking. She had been mining for six hours, and it was only noon. Her short blond hair reached her chin, and her brown eyes were as dark as the rich soil that made up the Earth. She was frail; she had not eaten nor drank since a couple of days ago. Her clothes were extremely worn, and were torn. She wore a long-sleeve navy blue shirt with khaki pants, and no shoes. Her hands and feet were black with the silt coming from the ground in the mine.

Outside, overseers were guarding the wall’s main doors, usually where the King of Adarlan would come through when he would pick slaves to take to Adarlan with him. Big, metal crates and pipes were out near the wall, ready to be delivered to any country at any moment. The wall was tall, but was small enough for a skilled climber to climb over and get to the other side. This did not happen very often, since the slave would get caught and whipped, or would die in the process of reaching the wall.

The crack of a whip sounded in the distance. A shrieking cry echoed through the mine. Everyone stopped mining, and straightened up to see what was going on. The slaves all started moving towards the entrance of the mine, forming a large crowd. The overseers moved closer to the crowd, surrounding it, but were not going to interfere yet.

Aiyana straightened up, and walked slowly to the crowd of slaves. She pushed past the slaves; when she got to the front of the crowd she stopped moving. She couldn’t breathe. A girl, about thirteen years old, was kneeling on the ground, sobbing. Her clothes were ripped, and her wrists and ankles were tied together with a rope. Her brown hair was held back in a ponytail, grazing just below her neck. An overseer was standing over her, a whip in hand.

“Please,” she cried out. “Please. I didn’t do anything, I swear.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was trembling of fear and pain.

The overseer’s face showed no emotion; he uncoiled the whip, letting it fall to the ground. He stepped back, lifted up the whip, and whipped the girl.

Again.

Again.

And again.
“Please!” she screamed. Blood streamed from her back, turning the dirt beneath her a dark brown. The whip cracked again.

“Stop! Please! Just please let me go! I didn’t do anything! Please!” she cried.

Aiyana turned away, not able to watch, and strode towards the closest overseer, who was smiling in delight. She stood in front of him; the smile disappeared. She was cold all over. Feral rage radiated through and off her. Aiyana punched him hard in the gut, catching him off guard. She took the axe is it fell from his grip and raised it above his head. She let it fall; blood splattered all over her. The killing-calm had taken over. She was a beast.

She found the next overseer, and killed him too. She walked closer and closer to the screaming girl and the crowd. People were screaming in horror and running in different directions. Whips cracked in the distance as the overseers tried to whip the frantic slaves and calm them down.

Aiyana reached the girl, and the girl looked up at her. Blood was running out of her nose, and tears stained her face. Aiyana lifted the axe, and quickly finished the overseer. Blood sprayed, turning the ground black. She reached down, grabbed the girl, and pulled her on her feet.

“Thank you,” the girl  said. It sounded like a plea.

“No time for talking. Let’s go,” Aiyana roughly said.

Aiyana bolted to the wall enclosing the mines, dragging the girl along with her. The girl whimpered, bet kept on running. They were getting closer and closer to the wall.

Shouts came from behind them. Aiyana whipped her head around in time to see an overseer running towards her, reaching for his whip. Aiyana ran even faster.

“Now, you have to quickly climb the wall and climb down its other side. After you have climbed over the wall, run as fast as you can into the woods. Don’t ever look back or stop. Always keep going, until sunset.” Aiyana turned around, making sure that the overseers weren’t too close.

“Once the sun goes down, find a safe place to rest, and sleep there for the night. Just remember to always keep moving North.” Aiyana ran a bit faster, so that the overseers could not catch up. “Once you get to an open field, run quickly across it. There, you will find a friend of mine waiting for you. Stay with my friend, and she will take good care of you,” Aiyana panted.

“Okay,” the girl said. “Will you be coming with me?” The girl started to run faster, too.

“No, I will not. Tell my friend, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, I will see her once I survive and escape this slave camp,” Aiyana breathed. She and the girl sprinted even farther. The overseers were getting closer.

“Okay,” the girl panted. She was getting tired. Aiyana had to move faster. Aiyana grabbed hold of the girl’s arm, and pulled her forwards.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” She was losing her breath. They were almost there.

Aiyana smiled, and the girl smiled back. Aiyana abruptly stopped, but the girl kept on running. Aiyana whipped around, pulled the knives from the inside of her beaten pants, and threw them one at a time. Overseer after overseer fell to the ground, but more kept coming. She was going to lose this battle, and she knew it. Aiyana quickly looked behind her. The girl was on the top of the wall, and looked at her. The girl nodded, and then disappeared.

Aiyana took too much time. The overseers had caught up. The crack of the whip sounded through the air, and a searing pain shot through Aiyana. She screamed, and fell to the ground. They whipped her again; black spots had entered her vision. The overseers whipped her again; and this time, the darkness had taken over.

…

Ideas are taken from the Throne of Glass series written by Sarah J. Maas

Story by Alexa Gantt

Arena // Chapter 1.1

Written by CJ Bishop

“Ya hear about Marsuia?”

“I was there, I watched the match.”

“Heard she sprouted wings and took off afterwards.”

“I saw her with my own eyes, she only scaled the walls.”

Taverns and pubs were bursting with news of the Blind Warrior. Those who had not been invited or had not attended the battle were especially susceptible to false rumors. There were many claims of what had happened; none were quite completely true, for the human eye deceives one who does not look for the right thing.

“What about Ollormania?”

All went quiet. The only noises heard were those drifting from the kitchen, along with the incredible smells that had been longed for but were now forgotten with the mention of the queen’s most prized warrior.

“Think he’s really the queen’s son?”

“I’d bet the cow that I’ll never own, he sure as death is.”

“But if that is so, then how come Queen Vermillne endangers him so? Why, she sticks him in gladiator fights ‘most every week!” The babble took up again, stronger this time as the men argued over their own creative theories. One believed Ollormania adopted, another claimed him a bastard, and a third was convinced that it was all a lie that Marsuia had conjured to set the kingdom in its present state of chaos.

“Now then!” hollered the bartender. “We don’t know and we shouldn’t be stickin’ our heads up e’ryones’ behinds tryna ask! I’m not having my tavern closed over some petty gossiping boys, so shut up or go home!”

At the end of this very noble speech, the door of the tavern, with its curled green symbol embedded in the wood, was pushed open, its hinges rattling in protest.

“Welcome to the Burnt Snake,” greeted a few servant boys as a few men snapped outraged cries at the drift of cold that had boisterously slammed into the room. The newcomer entered and pushed her hood back from her face, revealing neatly cut bandages over her eyes and honey gold hair pulled back upon the crown of her head. Up close, the cloth that confined and bound her vision were sliced in even rows wrapped tightly around, resting on the bridge of her rows and tied at the back of her skull beneath the band of her pony tail.

“Marsuia,” murmured one, and another whispered a hushed prayer.

“So, you know who I am—then it is in your best interest that you obey my orders.” Those who had witnessed the Blind Warrior’s battle with Ollormania shivered from the refreshed memory of her voice. “I need a meal and a place to sleep.” Tracing her finger on the unmistakable shape of a sword beneath her robes, she said, “I hope I will not have to remind you that I am armed. Any mention of me to others will get the tavern burned.” It was eery how she set her blind gaze upon each man in turn. “Others meaning I do not wish to be aroused suddenly in the night by the queen’s guards . . . you may feel free to speak of me after I leave.”

And talk about their visitor, they would, the members of the Burnt Snake, for they were human after all. The same could not be said of the Blind Warrior, and her sisters who have yet to be introduced.

Arena // Introduction

Written by CJ Bishop

Listen while you read

One: the queen's undefeated champion, known for his skill with a spear, which he could also wield as a staff. He was nicknamed Ollormania, meaning one who revels in glory. The other: a generic prisoner of war, her skill and fighting patterns unknown. She was called Marsuia, meaning silent one. She chose a dagger and a pair of swords, wearing no armor other than a hooded cloak that hid her eyes and shadowed her face. Upon being brought to the dungeons, she had refused to take it off.

Iron and steel clanked against each other as the fighters entered the arena. Roars and cheers rose like fire from an eagerly awaiting audience. The queen herself sat high upon her royal seat in her royal box.

Ollormania thrust his spear out, demonstrating a few twists and tricks for the crowd as he sauntered into view. Men bellowed and ladies fawned. A thundering of drums and the wave of a green and gold flag commenced the battle.

Marsuia’s small dagger deflected off Ollormania’s spear. He drove the end towards her gut and sword hand, an advanced technique used to disarm an opponent. But she caught the blow as her blade flashed to her other hand and engaged with that of the spear. Adrenaline flushed the opponents’ exhilarated cheeks. They were a blur; their weapons would clash on one side, and their fists on the other. As dagger slid against spear, Ollormania aimed a high kick at Marsuia’s head. In response, she flipped backwards, her robes spiraling about her graceful form. A blink of an eye later, she had shed her small weapon in exchange for the swords, which she held one in each hand.

Spectators leaned forward and strained to see, but their human eyes could not pick up how Marsuia fought with one blade and nicked Ollormania with the other. It is uncertain whether or not the mighty warrior was aware of this, but even if he had been there would have been nothing he could do about it. His knees buckled and he would have collapsed had not Marsuia caught him, hooking her arm around his neck. His wounds began to bleed as if time had been stopped and now it resumed.

Marsuia’s voice spoke out, calm and strong and triumphant all at once. “Your Majesty.” She addressed the queen mockingly, but when she slid her bloodied sword over where her arm gripped Ollormania’s neck, only menace could be heard dripping in her voice as she snarled, “Come get your son.”

A collective gasp shivered through the audience. The queen, looking flustered, rose slowly. “Who,” she said, her voice shaking, “are you?”

Marsuia pushed back her hood, revealing a row of bandages over her eyes. “I’m the Blind Warrior.”

Inspired by Game of Survival by Ruelle.

Drawing by Wlop.

x

Hi everybody! On this blog, Marizo, CJ, and I, Alexa, are going to be writing short stories to share with you guys! Please comment on any of our stories and give us some feedback.

Thank you, and I hope you guys enjoy our blog!😁

Masked Murders Ch. 2

There was this weird man that had just moved down the street from Drew’s house. Drew had often caught herself wondering what just happened in that house. A man named Matt Tias lived there. He spoke with a strange British accent. Matt didn’t have a wife and yet he owned such a big house.

Drew had invited him over to dinner once and her and her husband, Brandon, had agreed that he was an odd man. In fact, her husband had told her to stay away from him. And so today as she drove past his house she just maybe pressed her nose against the car window and slowed down a bit to try and get a good look at his house.

She was very surprised when Matt Tias tapped the window on the passenger side of the car. God, she hadn’t noticed that she had stopped the car.

“You are very nicely dressed,” Matt noted. Drew looked at herself. She was wearing a yellow dress and a pair of white high heels. She had even pulled back her brown hair into an intricate bun.

“Well I’m going for a job interview so I did dress nicely,” she explained. “I see you are dressed nicely too.” Matt was wearing a gorgeous black tuxedo.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Which is why you are going to be my partner tonight.”

“Pardon?” Drew thought she hadn’t heard him right.

“Open the door,” he commanded a sneer spreading across his lips. Matt pulled out a gun out of the briefcase he was carrying. “Open it.”

“Uh…” Drew quickly unlocked the door fearing for her life. Matt opened it and sat inside pointing the gun at her. Only then did Drew notice how his hair was disheveled and his breath smelled like alcohol.

“Drive. Follow the rules of the road and I’ll give you directions. Try to signal anybody for help you will die. Don’t listen to me, you will die. One wrong move you die. Are we clear?” He asked.

“Yes,” Drew meekly responded. She pressed down on the gas. Drew started to register what was happening. I’m going to die. I hope Brandon knows I love him. Tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, it makes you very noticeable and will ruin your makeup,” Matt ordered. Drew quickly wiped away her tears and tried to keep her emotions in check. She looked towards Matt’s cold amber eyes and realized they looked familiar. They were exactly like her own.

“Matt?”

“Yes Drew?” he responded feigning boredom.  Several things ran through Drew’s head at the moment. Matt Tias. Mathias. Oh God, this man was her brother that had run away when she was 17. Her brother. But why was he speaking with an accent?

“Mathias why are you doing this?” she asked him trying to keep the tears from her eyes. She had thought him dead.

“Oh goody Drew, you finally recognized you brother.” Matt grinned. “Do save all of that sentimental crap now. You were happy to think me dead. Just like everybody else.”

“Don’t say that. I loved you.”

“Oh, come on now.” His British accent faded away. Drew realized he had been faking the accent the whole entire time. He prodded her with his gun.

“Mathias, please. Why are you playing games?” They had driven about two miles by now. With the amount of time that had passed she would have been at her interview by now. Which would mean that ordinarily, she would be calling Brandon at about now. If she just kept her brother talking a bit more Brandon would realize that something was wrong and call her. And if she didn’t respond to that he would check her location on the Find my iPhone app. Some people might call that a bit weird but it had kept them safe over the years.

“Did you kill Stephanie too?” she asked allowing sadness to fall into her words. Stephanie had been her neighbor and her best friend growing up. When Drew found out that she had been killed she had cried for days. Stephanie was one of the victims of the masked murders. If he had killed her that would mean he would have killed even more people. They must all be connected somehow. Maybe they all did something nasty to him. Stephanie had been his lover and dumped him after she got bored with him. Drew had been a nasty child and had never been nice to Mathias. But that never meant she did not love him.

“My, my. Look who has gotten smart,” Mathias mocked. “Well yes, of course, I did. Who else do you think would kill that idiot. Can you believe she even pleaded with me for her life?”

Drew looked over at her brother and filled with horror at the site. He was happy that he had killed Stephanie and even found delight in it.

“You killed all of those poor people. The murder victims that were found with the mask over their faces.”

“Take this exit,” Mathias instructed pointing over to an exit on the highway. When had they even gotten on the highway? Her phone started buzzing.

“Oh, know who may this be?” Mathias asked picking up her phone from where it was in the cupholder. He sneered.

“It’s Brandon.” Drew held back a sob. Her plan had backfired.

“Oh yes. Your husband.”

“Please don’t hurt him,” Drew pleaded.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Or would I?”

“Please.”

“You sound so much like dear old Stephanie when she was pleading for her life,” Mathias maliciously said madness sparkling throughout his eyes. Drew sobbed in despair. He isn’t just going to kill me. He’s also going to kill the one I love. And even more people. But Drew would not let him get away with that. Her phone stopped ringing. They were coming up to a bridge. I love you, Brandon. I hope you know that.

Drew would allow her brother to kill herself. But not the one who she loved. Drew drove onto the bridge. I love you. I love you. Tears ran down her face. She jerked the wheel to the right and drove through the barrier at the edge of the bridge and into the rushing river underneath.

The police found her corpse on the beach with a beautiful Venetian mask covering her face. It was gold with black feathers. They scoured the beach and river for Mathias but there was no trace of Mathias. He had gotten away.