Life is Full of Sacrifices

[pileofskulls]

Cold. That was what awoke him. The frigid cold from the waves that lapped at his skin. He stirred in shock, his heart feeling as though it skipped a beat. He attempted to sit up but upon doing so, the throbbing pain in his head rushed to the forefront of his mind, so that he lost his balance and toppled over on his side. His face hit a hard, coarse surface that sloshed and cracked upon impact, increasing the throb to a knife point in the center of his head. But at least his head was out of the water.

As he lay there, he became slowly more aware of his surroundings. He heard the dull slosh of waves at low tide. He heard the low whistling of the wind above it, and felt it creep up his sleeves and the legs of his soaked pants. He willed himself onto his back and saw that the sky was a dark grey, clouds heavy and sagging with oncoming rain. There wasn't a single sliver of sunlight. But by the little bit of light behind the clouds, he guessed that it was either sunrise or twilight.

Then he began to notice the smell of the place. He smelled the salt of the sea and the earthy grime of the sand. But under that was another scent. A disturbing mixture of smells. Some sickeningly sweet, some like wet parchment taken from a tomb, but all of a quality that made his stomach to turn.

As the dull throb subsided to an irritating ringing, he finally found the energy to sit up. The effort made his muscles clench and his bones ache. But with the help of his numb, water-wrinkled hands, he finally found enough balance to sit somewhat upright. As soon as he did, his cramped legs seemed to forget all of their pain and propel him onto his feet and backwards from the grisly sight that awaited him across the beach.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Each in various states of decay. Some stiff, ancient and mummified, with eyeless sockets and permanent screams frozen on stretched brown skin. Some bloated and purple, with bellies busted open from the effort of moving them to their designated spot, intestines trailing out like a grim party favor. And perhaps worst of all, some fresh. With clotted blood drying dark red, and some still oozing bright crimson from throats freshly slit. He could have sworn he saw one still twitching in the final signs of its death throes.

The pain in his legs, back and head forgotten entirely, he frantically searched for some way out. In his panic he located a rocky path up a hill and latched onto it with tunnel vision. He sprinted up it, his limbs seeming to guide him in his mingled fear and disgust. As he reached the top, he felt safe enough to stop for painful breaths as the stitches in his sides needled him mercilessly. He stood at the top of the hill gathering his wits, and dared to look back down the hill.

At the bottom lay the bodies. They'd been arranged into the pattern of a sigil which he could not identify. Some fresh, some old, seemingly at random. And as the horror began to sank in, he lurched and began to vomit.

[Asphyxia]

A low tsk emanated suddenly, loud enough that it could be heard despite the horrible retching coming from the man.

"Pity." Came the accompanying voice, feathered to an alto without being annoyingly pitched, but flat to the words that escaped which knocked it down a notch. With the voice matched a stunning face, marred by what seemed like permanent scowls lining perfectly defined and youthful features. Her upper lip was slightly fuller than her lower, so the sudden hitch of indifference further accentuated the disgust at everything.

"Here I thought we might become good friends." But her tone deceived her, still fell flat with the evident apathy she seemed to hold for the world. Her steely eyes flickered over the man's head toward the array of corpses and dragged back to the retching individual. "That explains a lot." As if the smell alone weren't enough to even phase her, the words rolled off her tongue as if corpses were the norm--which, technically they were in this particular island, but perhaps not in the form that it was presented, so elegantly splayed and thoughtfully arranged for the world to see as a beautiful message.

"I hope you can stomach more than this or else you're in for a treat and since you're the only witness, well..." those gray eyes narrowed to slits from an already razor sharp stare, peered through thick, full lashes back toward the shore and marveled strewn bodies. "Let's say you might have to get acquainted with them." There was something smug in the way those words were spoken, but the woman was already skipping formalities and heading straight on for the horrorshow down below, drawn to it like a moth to a flame while remaining perfectly stoic about the macabre display.

[pileofskulls]

The man stared after her in disbelief. Carefully avoiding looking down at the mass arranged grave, of course. The last thing he remembered before waking up into this nightmare, he had been sitting in his room back in Toronto, pondering his place in life after another pointless day of work. Suicide had crossed his mind, and not for the first time. But now he feared it would be his last. Or had it already been? Was he dreaming? Did he do it and not remember? Was this Hell? Or was he asleep and dreaming?

He was frightened and astounded at this woman. The cruelty in her eyes and apparent interest in the corpses made him want to wretch and vomit a second time, even though he doubted he could muster up enough stomach content to do so. But he also could not help but notice her beauty. Even with the scowl, she was far from ugly. Hypnotizing even, given different circumstances. And she was also the only other human he had encountered thus far... If she was human, he hoped.

He slightly stammered, nervous to speak. But finally ventured to weakly call, "Hey!... What is this place? I have no idea where I am..."

[Asphyxia]

A quick whirl of blue-black presented back the disturbingly perfect features over her shoulder, her choppy tresses falling over her shoulder, accentuating her back. The corner of her lips threatened with a devious smirk at his question, those smart skirting across the whole island, taking it as a whole in a slow rotate of her body until falling back in the same position of before.

"Reilig." She said in perfect Gaelic, a faded lilt denoting in the way she pronounced the word, obvious that she wasn't exactly from anywhere around but had perfected the language enough that it sounded like her native tongue.

Back to the bodies, her attention presumed to whatever she was fascinated examining, lingering over the fresh corpses more than the exaggeratedly decayed ones which just seemed off. Her examination looked like an engrossed child, her eyes wider than they would ever get, tracing down post and pre mortem details. Delicate, slender fingers drew shapes in the air, following odd patterns while humming some indistinct conversation to herself before absentmindedly answering this stranger.

"It means cemetery." Her fingers traced around in a circle, urging him to look at his surroundings to notice that in the outskirts, somewhere in the light mist, there were towering tombs in various shapes that clearly indicated marked or held graves. "As the name implies, it speaks for itself. This island is, you guessed it, a cemetery." With that, her figure kneeled for closer inspection of the most fresh body near her feet. Somewhere in the time that they had been talking, the woman had slipped on rubber gloves and was fingering the corpse, searching for marks, entries or any telltale outstanding feature that would paint a story as to what happened to this unfortunate individual.

"The way the body is decomposing suggests this body has been here for approximately 3-5 hours. Relatively fresh," the words almost sounded chipper, as if this relaying information was something to be excited about. "Levidity suggests they didn't put much of a fight, they were dead already lying down. Wounds look post-mortem, cut with surgical precision--no hesitation. They knew exactly where to strike and how to cut." And now she sounded almost like she was admiring the work of the killer, emphasizing on how precise they were with certain, chiller glee. Her eyes blinked again at the man who seemed to not want to come back any further to the vile display which knitted her eyebrows in an encountering furrow. "How did you get here?" Squirrel. Sudden change of subject.[/i]

[pileofskulls]

The man felt his stomach drop at her rhetorical question. He was more terrified of this woman than he had even been of the corpses, which up until this moment, had been the most disturbing thing he had ever seen in his life. But underneath, or perhaps even equal to that fear, was his attraction towards her. The way her wicked sharp eyes penetrated his soul with shocking indifference. The sensuous way her hips swayed as she glided across the beach. He felt powerless to her beauty. But this didn't stem the tide of fear in his mind. He looked back at the monolithic tombs behind him with renewed dread, and returned his half-stupefied gaze to her. He asked, "Why am I here? Last thing I remember I was at home."

[Asphyxia]

Those smart steel colored eyes narrowed knowingly -- she recognized that body language and something in her head clicked, knowing she had this man in the web of her womanly wyles. The satisfaction she felt with herself at how little it took for that to be achieved successfully gave her some renewed cheer within, yet her eyes still spoke nothing but an intent, knowledgeable gaze that was both formidable in how much it showed that it knew and how they naturally oozed an unspoken threat of a feral woman. The natural air of superiority that presented in the lift of her jaw as he spoke would tell how much of the upper hand she had and the confidence that just dripped out of every movement made for well-executed woman. Now everything she did would have the exact expectation she hoped for and the slow, purposeful rise from the ground completed the picture of eerie the island already set.

At his words, however, her brows shot down into an impossibly straight line, deadpanning in his general direction. Was he serious? She was highly unamused and her dismissive hum spoke of how bored she already grew.

"Well, Waldo, do you have a name perhaps?" Whatever possessed her to play his strings, she was unsure of but she picked the card and stuck with it. With a sudden snap, the latex was off her hands and stuffed into the sunken side pockets of dark jeans that hugged her frame and left nothing to the imagination. "And a story--" her eyes were doing that whole nonchalant scan of the environment again, flickering to points of interest before taking notice of the police officers already flocking the area and marking with yellow tape and red markers over miscellaneous things on the sand. "Because you'll need a good one for the uniforms." With that, she casually patted him on the shoulder as if they were the most acquainted people in the world, her eyes devising a slow scan of his body and squinting on cue as if interested. That's how she played her card and with that--cut off. Attention to a cop who had suddenly ran up to both of them accompanied by a detective and their special agent helper.

"Oh, nice to see you here, Doctor Lecter (I HAD TO I HAD TO.)" Lane turned her eyes, almost as if embarrassed by the addressing title, waved her arm distractedly at the gentlemen talking to her.

[pileofskulls]

He stood dumbfounded and nervous. The slight touch on his shoulder and her gaze had made his heart twinge. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. But his thoughts were interrupted by the police officer who approached them.

The cop was young. He still had that slightly innocent, rookie look in his eye. The man thought perhaps maybe he could be clever enough to talk his way out of this situation and just walk away. But walk away to where? Home? Where was home? And what situation? He wasn't guilty.

The cop took one look at him and the water and sand covering him. And he saw in the cop's body language that he wasn't getting off that easy.

"Sir, what is your name and what are you doing here?" the cop asked.

"Uhhh my name is Jack... Jack Bruin" said the man.

The officer paused for a moment and finally said "Okay Mr. Bruin. Do you mind telling me what you are doing here?"

"I... I just woke up here on the beach. I don't know what happened. I don't know how I got here..." said Jack

The officer needed no more explanation as he began taking his cuffs out. "Mr. Bruin, I'm gonna have to take you in for questioning. You have the right to remain silent-"

As his hands were pulled rather roughly behind his back, Jack looked at Lane in a way that said "Any help here?"

[Asphyxia]

Lane acknowledged the pleading look for what it was for, but did nothing to cover the sly smirk that was giving a glint to those stunning defined features. Slowly, she began sucking on her upper lip before they thinned in thought and she turned, subsequently abandoning Jack.

Good to know he had a name.

For a few minutes, Jack would probably think he was being deceived by a cunning rouse, but Lane had practically breezed back out of nowhere, touched the rookie on the shoulder and had seemed to whisper something that made release Jack from his cuffs. With a nod, the cop looked disappointed by stalked away, stealing glances back at Lane whenever he could or wasn't distracted with instructions from the detective who was now making hand signals and pointing at the corpses on the ground.

"You're a lucky man, Jack...or a fool," she said lowly, a note shy from whispering. "I pulled some strings," Lane said almost coyly, but still held this frigid denote about her as if hiding something. "and got you free. You're still coming to the station for questioning," the sudden darkness in her tone spoke of her much enjoyment she was getting from the ordeal in general, "but under my custody--" and at that, she very lightly jabbed a finger on his shoulder, was getting too familiar with the touching now, "so you're welcome." She finally finished flatly, lips falling back into that unamused slant and brows back to that permanent, slight furrow. With that, she motioned him to follow, walked up to the detective, relayed information while pointing at the most fresh corpses before nodding and fluttering her wrists dismissively.

"Alright, I'm taking our friend Jack here to the station. See you there." The words sounded cloying like that of a deceitful woman trying to play her prey and with that, her fingers beckoned again for him to follow, setting out to the car on the nearside of the beach where a small parking lot was nestled in between barricades.

[pileofskulls]

Jack followed Lane to the car. He was half-relieved to have the cuffs off and to know that he wasn't going in under arrest, but those darkened expressions Lane gave still frightened him. He could not read the meaning behind this gesture. Nor could he shake the feeling that this may be a much worse fate than what the police had in store. Either way, he was grateful to be away from the corpses and the whole damn beach. And being this close to her was intoxicating. He felt every fiber of his being shiver every time she even looked at him. And almost went over the edge when she touched him.

They entered the parking lot and walked to Lane's car. It was a beautiful black classic Corvette, much befitting of her pale skin and black hair. They got in and Jack finally swallowed his fear and asked her "What... WHO are you exactly? How was it that you could influence that cop back there? You're like no woman I have ever met before..."

[Asphyxia]

As they walked away, Lane made sure to sway her hips in that hypnotizing sashay that women always did when they knew people were looking. The supple curve of her thighs made it possible to almost exaggeratedly jut outward in every movement and the warm breeze of the beach rippling against her hair, making it undulate in elegant wavelets just added a captivating, effortless air about her. How was it that every movement just seemed like a calculated, well-executed, perfected art? The slight air of superiority she held in her confident strut spoke more outwardly than her words ever would because her words, like everything she did, were exactly that--cold, calculated, thought out and selective expressions from the depths of her mind. Very little flew under her radar.

Once they entered the car, her arms quickly grasped the steering wheel and clutched, not expecting this sudden surprising onslaught of curiosity. Perhaps it was the delayed aftermath of shock that caused Jack to be so straightforward and for once, she only blinked those full, painted lashes at a loss for quick witted words. The gratification she felt from the things he questioned, however, had those luscious smooth lips hitching deviously at their corners. This woman was an unpredictable force of nature--one Jack was unaware of yet she played off her humanity too effortlessly.

No wonder he questioned her.

"Leilani Lecter, PhD in psychiatry, psychology and forensics; specialty fields: the crazies and the killers." The way those words rolled of her lips as if it were the most normal of things to say in a conversation just dripped with airy seductive connotations.

"You can call me Lane. Doctor Lecter sounds horribly droll." The stunning woman was already flourishing her nimble fingers, tracing down the steering wheel, stealing over the keys and injecting them into the ignition before turning and rolling her eyes with satisfaction once the engine roared to life. She just gave a slight 'heh' to the rest of his questions as if the answers were some guarded secret that would be a sin to divulge.

"Influence? Why, Jack, what do you take me for?" Her lashes batted in play with the dulcet tone before those same features fell flat, the car pulling out and lapping onto the streets, rolling toward their destination. "I simply have more authority than I lead on to believe." And with that, she left the explanation to stew in the atmosphere of the car before falling silent.

[pileofskulls]

Jack watched Lane's exaggerated and flirtatious motions with eager interest, but tried as hard as he could to hide it. He was beginning to realize that it wasn't just his own natural bashfulness in the presence of a beautiful woman. She WAS powerful in some seductive way. And most likely dangerous. whatever this place was, it was certainly not his own world. And so if he could just vanish and wake up here, who was to say even more crazy things could happen and exist here?

Still, Jack could not deny her beauty. And it made him burn with lust. Cruel as she may be underneath, she was enchanting in every way. But he knew he had to watch himself and not just follow her blindly like a lost puppy. It may lead to a trap. But he'd asked this much and steeled himself again for another question. Swallowing his fear and instinct to stay quiet, he spoke up in a (hopefully) brave and slightly flirtatious tone.

"If you have so much authority and power here, then why take so much interest in me? Why help me out? I'm jut a regular guy who washed up on a beach full of corpses. I'd venture to guess from this crazy looking world, that kind of thing happens all the time. Or do you make a habit of getting strange men surrounded by dead people into your car?"

[Asphyxia]

Lane seemed so pleased with herself, knowing the proximity of her presence alone affected this stranger in her car. It was almost delightful the way she felt his presence react toward her, both reeled and cautious and the confusion made her wriggle like a child with a newly found toy in her seat, the clingy fabric of her wrinkled shirt hitching up a notch, exposed a dangerous inch of taught, snowy skin. She was surprised that her skin tone hadn't set him off but more her cruel intentions and the way she went about projecting herself. Jack was captured on her radar only for the way he observed and that was dangerous to her, something to watch for closely rather than at arm's length.

Her eyes flickered in his general direction knowingly--the dangerous intent of a smart woman appreciating the snark in his remark.

"You seemed so utterly lost and confused. Is it a crime to help a citizen in need? And..." her voice began to trail, her eyes trailing along, skirting to the stretches of the car, rolling around before falling on him with a chilling glint of a woman questioned. "Seeing as I work closely with the FBI due to the nature of my work, I'd say yes to your smart ass question." That sentence held a dangerous underlying, but successfully thwarted his attempt at firing in her direction.

[pileofskulls]

Jack saw the dangerous gleam in her eyes and felt a stir go from his heart, through his stomach, and downwards. He was beginning to like her sarcasm and the danger he presented. But then he realized that, perhaps, that's exactly what she wanted. She was tricky. And her wiles seemed to present traps in every conceivable place. Every word and every movement was both an inviting hint and a dangerous threat. He tried to tread carefully with his next words. But as he opened his mouth to say them, she parked in front of the police station.

[Asphyxia]

Lips parted as if with intent to further continue the banter but a slender hand fluttered to the ignition of the car instead, stroked the keys with pressed hesitation and swiftly removed the metal before, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, getting out of the car and awaiting at the foot of it for Jack to also follow suit.

Seeming bored by merely waiting, once Lane finally saw the other man get out of the car, her eyes brightened with an indistinct spark--perhaps that of a woman awaiting some secret reaction. With quick, hasty steps, the lithe woman walked toward the station and promptly inside, ducked through a security detector and flashed a badge hooked to her hip before entering what was a cavernous examination room/morgue. There, they were encountered once again by the detectives and chief whom were hovering over only the freshest dead bodies in case they could get a clue sooner and the more decayed ones were being wheeled and shuffled slowly. Lane approached a statuesque, thin woman with smooth olive skin and smart feline green eyes--she was the perfect picture of exotic and alluring.

"Whatcha got, Sabini?"

The woman addressed as Sabini gave a demure smile, feline eyes glinting with excitement. Her fingers poked through the dead man's mouth and with a pair of tongues, pulled out a piece of flesh with an unrecognizable insignia to Lane. "Dey like to leave cryptic messages." Sabini said in a very thick Amazonian accent. "Dey also seemed to have injected some-ting in de eye. Needle point scar right dere." (Lol that's what the accent is supposed to sound like.) About to open the eyeball to show Lane where the tick mark of the needle entry wound was, the corpse twitched, sending blood spatter from its mouth unto all 3 around it before remaining lifeless again.

"You recognize this symbol, Jackie?" Lane addressed the man beside her, unphased by the blood droplets staining her skin.