Chapter one: Gathering more materials
He stood overlooking the artistry he had created. The scene filled him with grotesque euphoria; he couldn't help but smirk at his gorgeous handiwork. He hadn't seen anything more magnificent, more grandiose, and he was proud. One glance around the room forced his eyes to take in all the scarlet perfection, seeing the large murals he had created with intoxicating rich blood, freshly harvested of his projects. The body of his victim was sliced, bleeding. The blood pumped from her neck in a rush of wild red, and harvester of this blood couldn't but bite his lip in passion; these kills always sexually excited him. There was just something about the way his victims begged him to spare their lives, informing him of their 'justifications' for their salvation. He always made sure to let them finish their little naďve pleading, letting themselves come to the conclusion that it was futile.
The man was in control for once, able to pick the path he wanted in life, not please the world by faking his emotions just right and trying to fit in. A world as corrupt and defect as this shouldn’t deserve his commitment to fit in, not even at a base level. The only reason why he pretended to do otherwise was to keep up the ruse that ‘Lance Applebee’ was your average Joe, save for the eccentric tendencies that usually went along with painters and other crafts of expressing one self.
He watched as the blood of the dying woman was slowly leaking towards a drain, all collecting in one place that he could remove safely afterwards, allowing him to either safe it for another painting or simply dump it somewhere to remove all evidence of a murder being committed here, not that they wouldn’t find ample of incriminating evidence in the adjacent rooms.
The room he was currently in was his ‘work room’, the place where all the artistry happened. Captives that were brought into this room were either ‘used up as paint’ or simply changed in some way, simply to suit his own cravings at that time.
The room itself was an old basement swimming pool that he had remodelled and strengthened, ensuring chains and cables could be easily attached and that blood was swiftly washed away by nearby hoses. He had some of his more prized paintings hanging here, simply for when he was feeling nostalgic for old memories. Adjacent to this room were the holding cells for his captives, a hatch that led to the stairs upwards and a small storage room where he kept most of his tools, all neatly organised and secured.
He spend the next hour or so cleaning up before he made his way down to the holding cells, watching the footage of each 24 cells before entering. He only had a handful of captives yet, the rest all eternalized in his paintings or sold off to a trustworthy and likeminded individual, one who happened to be an avid admirer of his works. The individuals that remained were mostly female, although one male still remained, if only for this week. Most of the females were either pregnant or simply unique in their features in such a way that he couldn’t just throw them away, yet.
He smiled as he watched some of the more active captives try and get his attention, some cursing whilst others pleaded for mercy and forgiveness.
He collected each specimen because of their connection to his one true love, be they best friends with her or simply people she went to school with or had once chatted with. He couldn’t care less what age they had, nor their genders, only focusing on their connection with his love.
The ones that reminded him of his true love were only used at the end, only after he had ravaged them sufficiently and forced them to birth him new life, filling the world with at least partially perfect children. He knew his one true love and himself would create the perfect offspring, yet these projects would suffice for now, functioning as ‘practise’ before he created a masterpiece.
He even let the males try to persuade him into ‘offering him something’ although most of that was purely for entertainment sake. In the end, each one of them pleaded.
It always amused him how often people did that; asking forgiveness when they had no idea what they had done wrong in the first place. In truth, most of these people, if not all of them, had some connection to one person; his one and true love. The mere mention of her name, the lingering memories of her that he cherished, all of it brought shivers down his spine, fuelling his lust even more. He had once pondered on what had happened if they had not torn him away from her, steal his childhood with her away from him. He liked to imagine that he would have grown up happily with her, yet the realist inside of him knew that he would have probably found the same hobbies to keep himself occupied with, regardless if he already had her or not.
One might say that Lance possesses a very convoluted personality, adapting mostly to whatever his surroundings might depend of him at the time. It is impossible to determine exactly what mental illness he suffers from, or even if he does at all, as his knowledge and training enables him to outsmart any standard tests without even trying, not that he has ever had reason to let himself be tested more than once.
He grew up in a warm household, having only one sibling, but he quickly found out he was different from them in some way. Doctors had tried to diagnose him when he was a child, the murder of his family dog reason enough to worry his father and mother enough to seek mental care for their son. He had been diagnosed as schizophrenic with sociopath tendencies, with an unhealthy dose of narcissism, although he has some right to boasting, considering his impressive knowledge and skillset, even at that age.
At first they thought it was an effect of suffering from a head injury when he was still a child, yet with each treatment they quickly realised just what they were dealing with. The last his parents had heard of him was when he was admitted in a specialised facility in London, although that mysteriously burned down a few months later, removing any trace of their son, believing he had perished in the fire.
At first glance Lance is impeccably cultured and sophisticated despite his vicious tendencies to his projects. He does not hurt or kill without reason, carefully picking his victims and treating them with care, almost like a canvas before draining from them their precious life blood that he used to eternalise them on actual canvases.
He has used his brilliant, if not twisted, mind to cultivate himself from a youth to a knowledgeable adult, having extensive knowledge of the human body and other fields he deems as required. All of this in preparation of slowly isolating his one true love, capturing her friends and family one by one, turning them into his artwork until she is as alone as he is, forced to be reunited because she would have no further distractions in her life.