Chapter 1
It's weird (or maybe not, he's not really sure of what is and isn't socially acceptable anymore), but Marvin kind of expected that the second he threw one foot precariously over the guardrail, he'd be hit with a moment of clarity.
That his brain would suddenly realise that yes, this is what he needs to do, without question.
Instead, his mind conjures an image of blood gently washing down the river below.
Of course, it's too dark at night for him to possibly be able to see actual blood, but the thought is comforting.
It shouldn't be comforting
, he reminds himself sharply.
But well, he's going to die soon anyway, why not go into his mind one last time?
It's not like he'll have any opportunity to act on it when he's becoming a part of the river.
He closes his eyes and imagines a victim.
A redhead.
The killer he'd read about in the paper today had focused exclusively on redheads.
Her face is obscured by her messy hair and her hands are bound behind her back.
She's trying to resist him
- there's a splash-
No. There's no water here.
He's in a small apartment building.
There's music playing.
He pushes the woman forward and she drops like a sack of rocks.
She's got a strong survival instinct, she tries desperately to pull her body away from him, but he just has to grab her legs and pull and she's
-there's another splash -
on antlers, the final altar for her body to be honoured upon.
He takes her
- splash -
arm and inserts an IV.
She's not dead but she won't ever be
- splash -
angels to watch over him while he
- splash -
opens up the throat to reveal the vocal
- "Damnit," Marvin curses, opening his eyes and pounding his hand against the railing in a show of frustration before realising that fist plus metal equals fucking ow.
He's actually shaking as he realises that it was something disturbing the water below that was interrupting his fantas-
imagination
.
He's not entirely sure who he is thanks to his brain skittering through all the latest killers he'd read up on.
That'd be the last time he'd be reading CrimeWire.com before bed.
He laughs then, because this is the last time he'll be doing
anything
.
Clutching his throbbing hand, he slowly comes back to himself enough (but not enough because the urges are still there) to look down to the river bed.
Where there's a man looking up at him.
Who has clearly been distracted from -
Oh
.
Throwing limbs into the river.
Human limbs.
Lovely, he thinks sarcastically.
Then he thinks it again because it actually is kind of lovely.
The man looks confident.
At ease with what he is.
He's kinda hot, too.
At least, from what Marvin can make out.
He's not even conscious of what he's doing until he's realised that he's just waved at a man dumping a body.
It's slightly more alarming when the man throws the last couple of pieces into the water and then heads for the opening of the bridge.
For a moment, he panics and considers leaping into the water before the man gets to him.
Then he realises that worst case scenario is that this guy kills him, which would actually be quite agreeable to Marvin, so he just waits patiently sitting on the rail.
He looks below him and considers whether he should kick his shoes off before he jumps.
It just kind of seems unnecessarily proper to wear shoes when you're about to off yourself.
He never liked shoes anyway.
Too constricting.
He kicks his left shoe off and smiles when it splashes.
The sound is faint compared to that of chunks of human being dropped in. His body will be louder still when it drops down.
A throat is cleared and Marvin jumps slightly, startled by the interruption to his thoughts.
He looks to the left and oh, it's just the serial killer.
No big deal.
"Lovely evening for bodies," he says, conversationally.
He takes a moment to appreciate the other man's suit.
It looks expensive.
Marvin kind of admires the man for doing what he was doing in a suit.
As if it's just an errand one completes on the way home from work.
"Apparently so," the man says, his voice carrying the low vibrations of an accent.
Melorinth, Marvin thinks.
It also has the advantage of being unfairly sexy.
"Do you make a habit of sitting on the edge of bridges?"
He sounds alarmingly like Sophie when she's telling him that it's okay to keep saying no to Harris.
"Oh, God.
You're a psychiatrist."
The man looks unruffled, but Marvin imagines that he's taken aback, deep down inside.
"Have we met?" he asks.
"Not until now.
I'm Marvin Stanley and I'll be making my first - and hopefully last - suicide attempt this evening.
Stay tuned to see how it all pans out."
The contrast of the man's silence to Marvin's not-quite-hysteria only makes him feel all the more unstable.
Which really, in a fair world, the guy who kills people should be more unhinged than the guy who just thinks about it.