a shocking experience {killer/cleo}

[cluekiller]

TW: violence, torture

I am feeling impatient.

Capturing her was easy enough. One swift jab of the syringe rendered her unconscious. Dragging her body was difficult, but I had my practice with Cassius. Now she is strapped to a chair, the same chair I killed Cassius in. Parts of the wood are stained a black cherry red. I did not bother cleaning it. I want the horrific realization to sink in when I tell her what really happened to him. Everyone thinks he ran away or fell sick. Those rumors enrage me. Everyone loves to deny truth even when it stares them in the face.

I am here to make my statement.

When the bitch wakes up, she will not see me. She will see a suit and a mask, and she will hear a voice muffled by static. I want to be a genderless reaper in her eyes, except today I do not plan to kill. The temptation is there, I can feel it writhing in my bones, stirring my heart, but it is pointless to ruin tonight's plan. I want this one to escape, to tell the others what she heard from me. I want panic, I want fear, I want chaos. I want them to lock their windows and wonder why they are being hunted.

"Cleo!" I exclaim the moment she stirs. I know it will take a moment for her to adjust. She will wake up to find a device strapped to her head, a band wrapped around her temples. Two wires trail from either side all the way to a silver box at my side. There are various buttons and dials on this box, and I know what all of them do. Her feet are also submerged in a metal tub of water. Two metal clamps bite the sides of it, two additional wires attached to them. She almost reminds me of a spider, so many black strings attached to her body. I wonder if she knows what it means.

"You're awake at last. It is good to see you," I continue. It's half-hearted sincerity. I am never excited to see this hateful bitch, but oh does my stomach flutter at the thought of seeing her right now. She is positively powerless, perhaps for the very first time, and I thrive in it.

"I'll give you a moment. I'm sure you're wondering why you're here." I move to the silver box and press a button. A soft buzz hums in its bowels. An electric current is building, but I am not releasing it yet. Not until the bitch talks.

charade

[charade]

c l e o .

"Electro-shock therapy
Zombie-version tryna feed
You're my melancholy medicine
Love me 'cause I'm lonely, please"

When she came to, it took a moment to get her bearings. She could barely move, and panicked slightly when she realized her arms were tied to a chair. There was something on her head too. Motherfucker.

She’d just gotten her hair done at the salon. And headbands were out.

It was dimly lit and something smelled. It was bad. Like, real bad.

Cleo wasn’t afraid, but she was startled when she saw the masked figure staring at her.

I’ll give you a moment. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.

No shit, she almost spat. But then a thought struck her. It wasn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility.

“Grady? Grady is that you?” Cleo gasped coquettishly, struggling against her bonds. “Grady, have you actually been looking at my diary?” She’d been wanting him to be more assertive. Do something exciting. He was too tightly wound for his own good. He needed to relax and she had a little bit of experience with stress relief.

After all, she was doing all the work in the relationship.

“This is—a bit more than handcuffs.” She pouted. Also, she’d wanted to be the one to tie him up. Come to think of it, her bonds were uncomfortably tight. Ah fuck. Was this one of Stella’s pranks? Fuck, and she’d mentioned the handcuffs. Stupid. She looked around the room. What little she could see was unrecognizable and filthy.

Where the hell was she? Who the fuck was that? It definitely wasn’t Grady. No, this was something else. It was confusing and she didn’t understand what was going on. Other than it actually looked like whoever this was actually intended to scare her. Like actually scare her.

And they had used her name.

Bitch.

She’d been walking somewhere, hadn’t she? There’d been a sharp pain and then—this. The penny dropped.

Had she been kidnapped?

“What is this?” she snapped, struggling against her bonds in earnest. “Who are you? Where are my shoes?” They weren’t cheap. Imports from district one. A gift from Grady last Ratmas. Her feet were wet. Water? In a container? If it was anything else she was going to lose it. It was a prank, wasn’t it?

Had Stella found out about her escapade with Benji? It was a little over the top, even for that drama queen. Oh, well whoever this was would soon find out that they’d bitten off more than they could chew.

“Don’t you know who I am?” she hissed indignantly.

Cleo Burns was always in control.

Wasn’t she?

elegant

[cluekiller]

Her initial reaction is puzzling, so I wait. To presume this is a bondage type-situation is amusing, albeit not out of the realm of possibility. She isn't the type to imagine the worst possible outcome. A self-interested doll thinks of herself as invincible. It must be why she questions me. What is this, who am I? Vanity does not escape her even for a moment. Her shoes will be the least of her worries when this is over, but maybe I will burn them out of spite.

I want to laugh behind the mask, and it comes out a chuckle instead. I knew I picked the right one! She dares attempt a power struggle in a powerless situation. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do!" I say cheerfully. I do not care to answer her other questions. I will be nameless and faceless in her eyes, yet she will never forget me. The itch for power surges through my veins and threatens to burst at any moment. It is a dormant addiction, and my gloved fingers twitch in anticipation.

"You are a bully, a bitch, and right now you are at my mercy." The cheer in my voice is gone, replaced by a hiss to challenge her own. Sinister, wanton.

I pat the machine next to me. It hums beautifully in tune with my racing heart. "I don't think you realize how much trouble you're in, so let me show you," I follow up, shifting to turn the dial. It releases an electric shock, pumping waves of convulsing pain into her body. Suddenly that headband will burn against her pretty little head, and the muscles in her feet will spasm. I know I will enjoy the sight of her body tensing and contorting in pain without her permission.

I wait one, two, three seconds, if only it could last forever. I turn the dial again to quiet the room. I cannot kill her now, as funny as it would be.

"Do you get it now, or do you need another demonstration? I have all night, princess."

[charade]

c l e o .

"Electro-shock therapy
Zombie-version tryna feed
You're my melancholy medicine
Love me 'cause I'm lonely, please"

Whoever they were, they had presence. She wondered if they had rehearsed what they were saying. Putting on a show. Though the voice was being altered in some way, she could hear a hint of familiar sadistic glee. It was what colored her own words when she was picking on someone. She was in trouble? As soon as she figured out how to get out of the—the whatever it was she in, she was going to—

Cleo screamed, her legs jerking uncontrollably as she was unable to get her body to obey her. Muscles spasmed, her nerves lit up like a ratmas tree and her vision darkened.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before it was over, but it felt like an eternity. Was that—had she just been shocked? It was an electric chair right? She remembered something about it from history class. A form of execution that hadn’t been used since the dark days, not since the Capitol had invented the games and avoxing.

There were tears streaming down her face and ruining her mascara. Whether they were tears of pain or fury she couldn’t tell. But she wasn’t crying out of fear.

She wasn’t.

Wasn’t afraid of this masked stranger. Wasn’t afraid of not being in control of the situation. It could be easily rectified. Her initial indignation had been replaced by something. 

Do you get it now?

Get what? That whoever was underneath that bargain bin excuse for a Halloween costume was a psychopath? Wait. They called her a bully. Was this revenge? But who? If she could figure out who, she could flip the script. Cleo could always turn the situation to her advantage. It was how she’d climbed the social ladder at the academy. Because everyone wanted something. And everyone had their price.

“Is that you Cass?” she tried, shooting in the dark. She’d been a bit physical with him lately. Maybe this was his way of getting back at her? “Oh, I always knew you were a fucking weirdo,” she stammered, trying to blink the stars out of her vision. “What—what do you want? Money? Clout? Me?” She would have smiled coyly if she could have but her face felt numb.

“Whatever you want, I can—I can give it to you.”

elegant

[cluekiller]

Her screams delight me. Not a soul will hear her through these walls. It is a private showing designed for me, created by me, controlled by me. Cleo is only a puppet participant who will do as I say if she knows what's best for her, and I trust that she does.

I pat the machine like it's my pet. She looks at me through tortured tears and streaked mascara. It's funny to see her look so pathetic, when she tries so desperately to make others look the same. A taste of her own medicine, and she can't handle it for more than one shock. I click my tongue at her, tsk tsk tsk. I already know she is blinking stars and static out of her vision. Shocks are disorienting, from what I understand. I give her a moment to collect herself.

She says the magic word and I smile in retaliation, though she cannot see. She assumes my identify and attempts to bargain. I have no interest in money or popularity. My goal tonight is truth. I want the lies and rumors to disappear. I want everyone to catch up because their selfish brains can't comprehend a damn thing outside of their pathetic social lives.

"Oh yes, Cass. I'm so glad you mentioned him," I coo, "You haven't seen him around lately, have you? You assume it's because he ran away, or are you too scared to admit what you really think happened to him?"

There are no coincidences here.

"I'll tell you what happened. I killed him. Right in that chair, actually. See that blood?" I point it out for her, blackened stains strewn across the arm rests where I chopped his hands off. "That's his. Oh, and down there-" I point to the floor this time. There is a faded pool of rusted red, where I had attempted and failed to clean it. What can I say, the place needed decoration for my esteemed guest!

"I can show you more, if you want. I have some pieces of him in here." I abruptly turn around and press my palm against a small cooler. I wonder if she is brave or curious enough to oblige. She needs to believe me, or all of this is for naught.

[charade]

c l e o .

"Electro-shock therapy
Zombie-version tryna feed
You're my melancholy medicine
Love me 'cause I'm lonely, please"

No.

No, she hadn’t spent much time wondering what had happened to her latest punching bag. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had transferred schools because of her. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that he might be dead. What had happened to Scarlet and Frankie—

Cleo shrieked, trying to pull her hands away from the stains on the arm rests. It was a lie, wasn’t it? But if it wasn’t—

Was that what the smell was? A dead body and dried blood?

“What the fuck?! What the actual fuck?!”

No. No, no, no no.

The masked figure had flat out ignored her attempt at bargaining. Which meant she didn’t have anything they wanted. Impossible. Fucking hell. Was there actually a psycho killer on the loose? Standing a few feet away from her? It had been exciting to come up with theories about what had happened to that little skank Scarlet, stories half-whispered over tea and cookies with Stella or laughing with Clara in her room.

It was a lot less fun when one of those theories was asking her if she wanted to see bits of a dead body.

“You’re lying!” she hissed. “I don’t—I don’t know what kind of prank this is but it’s not funny. It’s not!”

Cleo struggled fruitlessly at her bonds. Whatever was in that cooler, she didn’t want to see it. What she wanted was to get the hell away from the person in the mask. She was starting to panic. She couldn’t talk her way out of the situation and she was running out of ideas on how to turn it to her advantage. It made her feel small, and she loathed that feeling.

“You’re bluffing,” she managed to say, unable to keep a slight tremor out of her voice. She hadn’t liked Cass very much but she had always thought there was a spark of something stronger in him. If he had learned to stop being a victim he might even have been worth her time.

“And I may a bitch,” she continued, her shrill note in her voice rising in pitch. “But you’re a fucking psycho! Let me go!” she wailed as she kicked her feet helplessly.

“Let me out of this stupid chair!“

elegant

[cluekiller]

I let the truth sink in, watch the panic manifest and denial replace it shortly after. The dialogue is predictable. She cries 'prank' against her better judgment, calls a bluff despite the wires attached to her body. Is murder so far a stretch? She seems to think so, as the word psycho drips from her snake's tongue.

I roll my eyes indignantly. Without hesitating, I turn the dial again and send another wave of electricity through her body. Let's try that again. I count the seconds until I must turn it off. I cannot risk killing her on accident, and knocking her unconscious would only wear at my patience. This is a simple task, but necessary. I am tired of the little butterfly whispers.

"You act like we're so different, Cleo. Don't you also hurt and humiliate others for your own personal gain? For entertainment and self-satisfaction?" I ask, raising a condescending brow beneath my black mask. "Don't get mad at me because I learned how to do it better." I want to shock her again, but I have to wait this time. I cannot let myself get carried away.

I sigh, a long and harsh breath, and turn toward the cooler again. "Anyway, here is your proof." I open the cooler and pluck Cass' severed hand out of the ice. I interlace our fingers, as if I am holding hands with a ghost. "We can go into gory details if you want. I can tell you how he died, how long he screamed..." I trail off, smirking as I turn to face her again.

"Or you can accept the truth and move on. What's it gonna be?"

[charade]

c l e o .

"Electro-shock therapy
Zombie-version tryna feed
You're my melancholy medicine
Love me 'cause I'm lonely, please"

The sudden jolt sent tremors spiraling throughout her body, contorting her limbs as she thrashed but bruising them as she was held in place. It was an intense feeling of burning and piercing traveling from down her head to her feet in the water. Her fingers seized up. It felt like her skull was going to catch on fire from the inside out.

Someone in the room was howling at the top of their lungs.

When the pain receded, she remembered the noise was coming from herself.

Cleo shuddered, and then was sick on her lap. She wheezed, a small trail of bile leaking from the corner of her mouth.

You act like we’re so different, the voice said. Don’t you also hurt and humiliate others for your own personal gain? For entertainment and self-satisfaction?

Sure, sure she did. But shoving people into lockers was one thing and murdering them was another. The cooler was opened and they drew out a severed hand. Cleo threw up a second time. She told herself it was because of the electric shocks.

Despite the mind games she played to laugh and feel secure in her superiority, in spite of the time and energy devoted to acting like a Capitol socialite twice her age; it was so easy for this faceless entity to strip it all away.

Was she a bully? Yes. A bitch? The bitch.

But underneath that frosty exterior, she was still only a seventeen-year-old girl. Something that the psycho that had kidnapped her was making her painfully aware of.

“What. Do. You. Want.” She ground out between clenched teeth, as the last vestiges of her false bravado threatened to crumble away entirely. She had half a mind to flirt, to act like she was enjoying the situation, but she couldn’t.

It seemed that the games she played with people were useless here. She was on the wrong side of the board.

She was the victim here.

Just like in middle school.

elegant

[cluekiller]

A waterfall of bile decorates her luxurious clothes. I wonder if it is the agony or the corpse's hand that nauseates her. She is a disgusting, pathetic sight, and I stifle a laugh. I should take a picture of this moment, document it as a personal memento. The old me might've felt pity. I wasn't always like this, conjuring ways to destroy the objects of my rage. Something has twisted inside of me, and every time I kill I feel a wonderful weight lift off of my shoulders. I feel myself drift into clouds before the itch returns, anchoring me back to this miserable plane of existence.

I am not finished yet, and I cannot rest until I am.

I try, but I cannot muster anything at all for the girl in front of me. I hardly see her as a girl anymore. She is a monster and a means to an end.

She says the magic words again, this time without pointless cries and fillers. What do I want? I want so much and so little. "I want you to tell everyone the truth," I utter quietly, "Tell them Cassius is dead. He isn't sick, he didn't run away, he was murdered. I want my credit. Got it?"

I pause to cross my arms and tilt my head. "It should be an easy task. I mean, it's better than dying, right? Because that's your only other option. Refuse, and I'll bury you just like I did Cassius."

I remember his screams. Phantom echoes in the back of my mind. I hear them when I sleep, when I bathe, when I eat. I know he had a family. I know he was a victim long before I got my desperate hands on him. Do I care? No. I know exactly why Cassius needed to die, and I don't regret it.

"Oh, and make sure they believe you. You can spare the gory details about our meeting, since I'm sure you must feel humiliated right now," I add spitefully. I know this encounter won't change her for the better. Can't humble the devil, can you? "Just make sure you convince them. You don't want to know what happens if you fail."

[charade]

c l e o .

"Electro-shock therapy
Zombie-version tryna feed
You're my melancholy medicine
Love me 'cause I'm lonely, please"

Cleo wanted to sob.

She also wanted to beat the weirdo in front of her to death with a lacrosse stick. It was a complicated mix of panic, fear, anger and distress. The tears hadn’t stopped and she knew she looked dreadful. It was a horrible feeling, being powerless. Why her? She didn’t deserve to be treated like this. She was somebody important.

She mattered.

Some of the fear curdled into fury.

The figure in black was pleased with themselves. Or at least, that was the vibe she was getting from their body language. It was either that or they were getting off on her misery. Which was categorically gross. The featureless creep talked softly, something that chilled the back of her neck. She was to tell people what she’d learned, that Cass’s disappearance was because he was dead.

To make sure that people believed her. If she failed—what? WHAT? The chair again? Murdered by some sicko? The hell with that. She wasn’t going to be going anywhere alone for any reason. Never again. But the truth? A story as crazy as this from one of the queens of gossip at the academy?

Cleo swallowed thickly, ignoring the bad taste in her mouth. This freak was actually going to let her go, as long as she made them happy. It was a simple thing not to fuck up. She was Cleo Burns, she could convince people of anything.

“O—okay then.” She may have been furious and scared, but she wasn’t stupid. It was always the better option to give someone what they wanted. At least for the moment. No one treated her like this and got away with for long. She’d ruined people’s social standing for fun in the past, let alone fucking with her to this degree. But she knew nothing about the person in the mask, other than that they knew who she was and they had killed someone she bullied.

And…kept pieces of him in a cooler.

Cleo’s lip trembled as her body threatened to betray her true feelings again.

“I’ll—I’ll tell everyone he’s...he’s dead.”

Right after she went to the nearest peacekeeper outpost and reported her own kidnapping.

Moron.

“But—who, who do I tell them killed him? And—and why are you doing this?” she mewled pitifully, playing up the fear in her heart as being worse than it was.

Though she didn’t have to fake much.

elegant

[cluekiller]

She is predictable. I already knew she would ask this question. Most victims would ask out of desperation, a glimmer of hope that I might slip up and reveal a hint about my identity. Why would I do that so early in the game? That's amateur business. I can't meet my own goals if I act a fool.

I decide that she should be punished for this indiscretion. Part of me knows this is an excuse to cause more suffering, and I ignore the voice whispering in the corners of my mind. It used to be a scream, piercing like an alarm. It warned me when I plotted Cassius' death that I was going too far. I have reached a point of no return. Can I call myself human anymore? I have all the bits and pieces, but the soul attached is straying further and further away. I want to hurt her again and it's a shame to stop myself.

So I don't.

I abruptly turn the dial and present what I hope is the final shock of the evening. She will awake tomorrow with burns and bruises and scars on the inside. I know she will be the same, awful Cleo she was before, but she will never forget this. Her and the others can cry and report all they want. Nothing will happen, I am confident. Not until I am finished. They will live in fear until I decide to strike again.

"Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?" I hiss. She deserves to know nothing about me. "I'm doing this for me. I'm doing this because you all deserve it."

If nobody else will play God, then it's my turn.

I pluck a syringe off the nearest table.

"Now go to sleep, and remember what I said."

[charade]

c l e o .

"Electro-shock therapy
Zombie-version tryna feed
You're my melancholy medicine
Love me 'cause I'm lonely, please"

The agony.

Fingers of lightning dancing through her body, kissing her bones with tongues of fire. Cleo spazzed, her neck jerking to the side and her eyes rolling back in her head. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t control anything. The tears flowed freely and she thought she might have moved her leg so hard she pulled something.

Fishing for information had been worth a shot. But this lunatic was not so easily manipulated—and they were a lunatic, because any normal person would’ve fallen for her wounded gazelle gambit. Wouldn’t have rejected her charms.

They were doing it for themselves they said. Because they all deserved it? Who? Why? Cass’s bullies? Cleo’s ravaged mind couldn’t make sense of it. They grabbed a syringe and Cleo shrank into the seat.

Sleep, they said.

The goggled mask swam in front of her face, elongating and stretching as her vision blurred.

—remember what I said.”

***

It was dark and cold.

Trees?

She was in the woods outside the academy. Yes, she could recognize the academy in the distance. She needed to get to her dorm before anyone saw her in such a state. She got to her feet slowly, legs wobbling like a newborn foal. Cleo collapsed to the ground, weeping softly.

Whatever she’d been injected with was no fun, not like the whiskey she snuck out of her father’s whiskey cabinet or the tabs of questionable origin at that one party.

How was she to lead the peacekeepers to that freak’s lair if she had no idea where it was? Who they were? And she was supposed to tell the school what had happened to Cassius?

To herself? Lest she be kidnapped again? It was too much to process.

Cleo grit her teeth, choking back an angry sob and she forced herself back up and tried to battle the waves of nausea and dizziness blurring her vision.

That fucker had kept her shoes.

elegant