and the clowns have all gone to bed
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
footsteps dressed in red
And the wind whispers Mary
And with this crutch, its old age, and its wisdom
it whispers no, this will be the last
And the wind cries Mary
The Wind Cries Mary �“ Jimi Hendrix
"Although Victor Creed, the notorious Blinder City Strangler, is still at large; policemen say they have a few leads in the case." The beautiful, toothy-grinned brunette, known as Kathryn “Kitty” Pryde gave the cameraman a firm nod and looked back into the small lens. “Back to you, Robert.”
Not more than ten feet away, a sixteen-year-old orphan by the name of Ororo Munroe crept in the shadows. Her platinum hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and her hands still bore the blood of the destroyed woman she'd found. It would be soon, too soon, before the two detectives found her. When Blinder City officials were determined in their capture of intermediate criminals, they proved to always get their man, or woman, in her case.
It was simply by chance that she just happened to be creeping down the alley that lead to the main street of downtown. Ever the busy area, Ororo took all the side streets to avoid any possible interaction that would cause her trouble. She'd promised to meet Remy and Kurt (her friends since she'd ran away from that incorrigible foster home) after she'd done her daily pickings.
‘Daily pickings’ consisted of robbing the biggest idiot on the street. It was easy, really; she always went for the top rollers - the men that spent their time trying to show off just how much money they had. Her latest victim had been a man proudly flaunting his wallet in one hand and his whore in the other. He stood there sporting his obviously tailored pin-striped suit with his Italian leather hand made shoes or, at least, what she assumed every wealthy man wore. Remy had told her the first day they'd met that she would be the best damn distraction they could think of.
With white hair like untouched snow and eyes the color of a cloudless sky on a beautiful spring morning, men and women alike would stare at her in complete awe. It didn't help that she was being constantly reminded of her killer good looks. She wasn't boasting; it was just an honest fact. Had it been any other black woman, she was sure they'd stare with that same, stupid awestruck expression.
While Mr. Short, Fat, and Balding gawked at Ororo, she not only had the opportunity to take his wallet, but she'd also managed to pull the slinky, strapped purse from the blond whore that was pulling at his arm and demanding his attention. She pretended as if she'd been bumping into the woman, all the while stripping her of whatever little bit of money she'd had on her. If she'd felt particularly tricky, she would have taken the car from them while they stood there gawking at her strange appearance. There wasn't time, though; as she'd promised Remy and Kurt both that she'd buy dinner for them tonight. It was only fair, as they'd been supplying her with food and shelter for no charge the moment she'd started tagging along with them.
Scampering off before Dumber and Dumbest could realize they'd been robbed, Ororo found herself in the alley between Preston's Food Store and J & J's Liquor Depot. She'd looked down at her pickings and smirked. Her ever growing bangs hung in her face and she pushed them back absently and went through the man's wallet as she walked down the alley.
A neatly folded wad of one hundred dollar bills was the first thing to greet her. She pulled them out and slowly counted them to herself, grinning mischievously with each bill she count.
Eight hundred dollars!
When would people understand that it wasn't wise to walk around Blinder City with eight hundred dollars in your pocket? She brought one of the bills up to the darkening sky as though she were testing to see if it were counterfeit. Of course she had no idea what she was doing, but it did make her feel significant. Besides, it greatly amused the thirteen-year-old Kurt when she did it while Remy would just playfully pull at her hair.
Though the weather in Blinder City was taking a nasty turn from the fall into the winter, young Ororo was not dressed appropriately for this. Donning a "Sex Pistols" shirt that Remy had affectionately stolen for her and a pair of Kurt's blue jeans, Ororo looked quite ridiculous. It was the jeans, fitting her growing hips properly but obviously three sizes too short that stuck out like a sore thumb. Sockless, her bare ankles were exposed and she had on an old pair of Remy's black, faded, and torn Converse.
Ororo stuffed the money into her back pocket and inspected the other contents of his wallet.
James Madison ... he was that seedy politician that was trying to rid the street of the riff-raff. She scowled at his photograph. Bastard; she happened to be one of those little street urchins he was trying to throw in prison. Just because she didn't live with her rich mommy and daddy, she was considered riff-raff. He was nothing but an amateur politician, trying to climb the social ladder.
Credit cards and driver's licenses were of no use to her, so she threw the wallet over her shoulder.
"Now for you ..." her rich accent and soft voice sang as she pulled open the gold shimmering purse and rolled her eyes. Its contents consisted of make-up, condoms, costume jewelry, sanitary products (those, Ororo took), and a small, worn leather billfold. Inside, there was a picture of an alarmingly handsome man with bright brown eyes.
Staring at the photo, Ororo barely heard the thud in the background, but she was smart enough to know that it wasn't the best sound to hear in an abandoned alley. She accidentally dropped the woman's purse but she left it there, running to hide behind the large green dumpster nearest her. Crouching low, she perked her ears to listen for any sign of danger. Oh, it was a definite sign of danger.
Ororo knew the sound of thuds and thumps in the darkening evening. She'd even seen the results of thuds and thumps, and none of them had been pretty sights.
"I think you were my favorite," his low and guttural voice, sounding almost like the growl of a panther, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She was beginning to feel very uneasy and stupid, considering she probably should have attempted an escape the moment she'd heard him. This was what she got for looking at photographs of men, Ororo thought bitterly, and she bit down on her bottom lip.
A woman's moan made Ororo's eyes widen and she heard a ripping sound, followed by the dreadful and disgusting sound of tearing flesh. She heard it and she was sure the woman had definitely felt it. She covered her mouth to force down the scream rising in her throat. Whatever sounds the woman was emitting, she'd stopped suddenly and there was a choking, gargling sound. Ororo's eyes instinctively filled with tears and she sunk even lower against the grimy brick wall, holding on to the back of the dumpster like it was her only savior. At this moment, it was.
Oh, Goddess in Heaven, she silently pleaded, please let this man not see me.
While the woman choked on her blood, her soon to be killer fiddled around some more and then there was complete silence.
He was grunting now and then came the footsteps. While mentally shouting commands that she should just attempt that neat trick she'd always wanted of disappearing into the wall, his footsteps were getting relatively closer. It wasn't the fact that he was approaching; it was the fact that her long legs would give her away if she so much as inhaled. The man walked lazily down the alley and Ororo hugged her legs tighter to her. She was curled with her knees to her chest in the darkest spot she could find in the dumpster's shadow.
Closer he approached and tighter she held herself. He stopped and she heard him grunt as he bent over to pick up the purse, wallet, and its discarded items.
Regret tugged at her stomach and she thought about how she would change her life if God had decided just this one time to spare her sorry, pathetic, teenage ass. She would go back to one of those shelters if she had to, and she would go back to school. She would even go back to that foster home, anything to survive this encounter.
And by some sort of miracle, he'd walked on.
She waited until he'd turned the corner and sat there for a good ten minutes. Her knees were hurting her and they cracked as she stood. She looked around frantically and took off to the opening of the main street.
"Help..." the woman's weakened voice called out to no one and Ororo knew she couldn't save that woman, nothing could. She stood there for a moment, the money in her back pocket making her entire right leg tingle.
"Please..." the woman coughed and gurgled what could only be her blood.
Stupid legs! Stupid, stupid legs! They had a mind of their own sometimes, and Ororo was sure it was the reason she'd gotten into so many terrible, terrible situations in her lifetime. While her brain argued with her feet not to, she headed back towards the dying woman.
The sight of this poor woman's state made Ororo gasp, and she knelt down next to her.
There was a large hole in the woman's stomach and whatever organs that were supposed to be there, weren’t. Something warm and thick dropped on the top of Ororo's head and dripped onto the the woman’s bruised cheek. Looking up, she let out a horrified yell when she'd seen the woman's intestines dripping blood onto the trash covered ground and themselves. Blood was everywhere, especially between the woman's legs, and Ororo couldn't ignore the dark thoughts running through her head.
And suddenly, the woman's arms shot up in the air and she grabbed Ororo by the face. Trying to pull herself away, Ororo couldn't, victim to the woman's vice grip. The blood from the woman's hands slipped over her skin and she whimpered as she tried to pull away.
Just as quickly as she had grabbed Ororo, the woman's hands fell to her sides and her cold blue eyes stared up towards the sky.
With her chest rising and falling rapidly, Ororo scrambled away, kicking her legs in front of her as she tried to find the right footing. She jumped up and took off towards the alley entrance. If she ran out into the street, covered in blood, people would notice. They may act indifferent at first, but with her face and hands covered in someone else's blood, she would eventually get the attention she did not want.
She paused there, looking around.
Her only saving grace was that the man had not seen her, but she had seen him.
"Remember that deal you made?" she asked no one in particular, but definitely someone important enough to listen.
***
These were the days he'd dreaded most, Logan thought dismally as he parked his motorcycle into the BCPD employee parking lot. It was an underground garage littered with cars that belonged to members of the graveyard shift.
At seven in the evening, any asshole that considered themselves dedicated enough to work these hours would be found out in Blinder City, picking up the petty thieves, the common prostitutes, and occasional drunks.
Anything worse would be left to the assholes that actually didn’t mind dying for this unforgivable city.
Logan had to admit that he loved his job. He'd come to Blinder City when he was just ten years old, and even then the crime was so terrible he had no idea why his mother had pulled him and his younger brother to this town. They had been running away from Dad, sure, but Jesus - it seemed to get worse.
He'd never been the law abiding citizen type. Not once.
The day his brother was killed right in front of him, in cold blood was the day he decided he wanted to become a police officer. The death had broken his mother's heart, and ultimately she seemed to fade away with each passing day until ... she was no longer there.
He would have loved a cigarette right now, but he couldn't bring himself to smoke after being told about the Blinder City Strangler. Calling the bastard a 'strangler' was saying that sharks were cuddly. Logan, as well as every other Blinder City official, knew why he'd been called that, though, and they'd begged - no - paid the media to not to release the real reason.
He'd been there in the small group of men that were called to look over the victim's home.
A woman was hanging in her living room, strangled to death on her intestines. It was the eeriest sight he'd seen in his entire life.
Pulling out his package of Marlboro's, Logan shook his head and pulled out the matches, too. He struck one, lit his cigarette and walked his slow walk through the garage, giving in to his cigarette temptation.
Bringing himself to a sudden stop, he'd heard it. It was the noise of someone trying to stalk behind him. They were pretty shitty at it, whoever they were, but he played this little game with them. Mariko, his trusty Revolver, was pulled from the spot in between the small of his back and his jeans, and he walked slowly through the garage.
The soft steps sped up and Logan could feel them approaching.
He really didn’t have time for this bullshit. Why the idiot had decided to attack a detective at a police station was beyond him, but if this was how he wanted to spend his last day, so be it. Logan wouldn't argue. The cigarette rested lazily between his lips and he tilted his head to the side and shook it as if saying, not this again.
"Whoever the fuck ya are, I suggest you show yer ass an' fast. I'm givin' you 'til the count of three, and then it's World War III in this sonuvabitch."
Those soft footsteps crept closer and Logan cocked his gun and raised it at shoulder level. His eyes peered over each side of the gun and he narrowed them. The gun was pointed in the direction of his new best friend. He should have fired anyway, but something was telling him not to. This was Blinder City, and if he was going to be attacked, they would have done it by now.
He lowered his gun immediately when his attacker appeared from the shadows.
And there she was … a bloodstained angel.
