From: "Paige Caldwell" Title: A Tell Tale Heart Author: Paige Caldwell Feedback: paigecaldwell@hotmail.com Classification: S Rating: NC-17 for stark, visual images Spoilers: None Archive: Please do, just let me know where. Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, damn it! Summary: A tale of horror and suspense, as told by Old Edgar, himself. Some say I'm a madman. I tell you that I'm not. It wasn't delusion that prompted my actions, but a heightened perception. Some describe it as a keen auditory discernment. To me it was a maelstrom of sound. Tempting me, taunting me, imprisoning me more effectively than the white, padded walls that now surround me. It was her.... Because of her, my prison is no longer red, but white.... Red.... the color of blood... the pigment of her hair.... When did I first notice her, you ask? Oh, I know the exact moment. It was her hair. Yes... it was her crimson hair that shined through the permeable darkness of our shared basement. While she and her partner occupied one end, I took up residence in the other. Amidst rows of storage boxes, nestled in between broken down equipment and other articles of neglect, was my office. The cubbyhole called "Janitor's Closet". You laugh? Well, as small as it was, it was mine. Unlike her, I did not share with another or have my door labeled with someone else's name. I never understood why she tolerated this lack of acknowledgment. One look at her and you could tell that she was superior to him. She possessed a dignity about her, a carriage that was not stiff, but regal. She was pure majesty.... And, he was nothing more than a lanky, court jester.... For months I watched them. Listened to them. Swished my mop to the rhythm of their bantering. I cleaned the basement last just so I could eavesdrop on their late night arguments. His theories were ludicrous, but entertaining. But, it was she that held my fascination. Rational, intelligent, lucid... the same qualities I attribute to myself. One day, it began to change. I could sense that their partnership was going sour. His bickering took on a cruel edge. He provoked her at every turn, maligning her logic with his stale witticisms, tarnishing her sublime opinion with his sordid one. Yes, I heard it all. As I told you, my perception was not limited to the touch of stubby fingers that pushed a broom or a floor waxer. My senses were acute. My ears could decipher words from yards away. My eyes could strip away a facade like sandpaper to layers of paint. How easily I saw through him. How much I wanted to see into her. The opportunity presented itself a few nights later. It was late, where the only ones left in the building were those who sanitized the floors or defiled their partners. He was berating her, the pitch of his voice rising to such a level of sarcasm that it bounced off the walls. "As usual, Scully, that obdurate viewpoint you call logic is little more than your anal retentive attempt to avoid the truth." The same old argument between them. Except this time, he was debasing her with the use of his obscene analogies. I felt my fists tighten around my mop handle. For a minute I imagined a better use for it. But, I hesitated. I knew she was a capable sovereign of her emotions and her reactions. Her manner would be sedate. Her tone would be tolerant. But, her message would be sublimely reciprocal. Silence.... Even better.... Her Majesty was simply taking her leave. As she approached me, I felt myself gasp, not realizing that my location was parallel to the elevator. When her gaze lifted to mine, I saw that her blue eyes were filled with tears. Quickly, she blinked them away, giving me a look of polite curiosity which faded into acknowledgment. I heard a slight groan, an attempt by her to push aside anguish long enough to deliver a greeting. The veins on her milky white throat quivered. Unconsciously, she pushed back a strand of vivid hair, trying to regain her composure. I pitied her at that moment.... And, I hated him.... "Late night?" I prompted her, trying to fill the void of her discomfort. "Very late," she agreed, her contorted smile dying before it could form on her lips. That bastard murdered her first pleasant reaction to me. I could kill him for that.... "Edgar, isn't it?" she called me by name which instantly replaced my fury with awe. "Yes," I murmured, staring at my feet. I couldn't move, but I felt... Oh, I felt.... The sleeve of her jacket brush against me as she reached passed me to press the button of the elevator. It was then that I heard it.... Pulsating with agitation.... Her heart.... It was beating like mine. The sound of it was thrilling. My own heart matched its cadence. Each pulse echoed inside of me, penetrating the isolation of my existence, giving me identity and a thread to this indelible woman. Can you hear it? No... of course, I didn't say these words to her. She heard them, though. I know she did. Her eyes opened wide as if she, too, was startled by our unspoken connection. When her heart skipped a beat, we both gasped. It was him. The court jester... the fool... the odious imp.... He was following her, seeking another audience. Good fortune parted the elevator doors. My eyes urged her to go. "Scully...." How proficient I was. What foresight - what cunning I employed! I toppled the bucket of ammonia stenched water at his feet. Fumbling for my mop, I stammered my apologies. Inside my head, I snickered with delight as water slopped over his shoes and stained his designer slacks. "Shit," the agent groaned as the doors to the elevator slammed shut. I turned my back on him and went back to work. How easy it was to tune out his grumbles of anger. Easy... because a new sound drowned out all others. You still think me mad? Let me finish my tale before you pass judgment. It was her... her heart that drove me to this vile act. The sound of it haunted me for days. Every night, I found myself back in that basement listening for it. I was lured by it. With every contraction, my tepid blood was turning into hot, scathing desire. Don't look at me like that. It wasn't desire of flesh. It was the Queen of Hearts that I craved. Do you consider admiration and pathos the proof of insanity? No... the only lunacy was that I heard but failed to listen. The next night, the pounding of her heart became so intense that I was drawn to the other end of the darkened hallway. I crept towards the office door, which was closed - closed so tightly, I tell you - that not even a glimmer of light came shining through. The pulsing of her throat was growing louder. Louder, I say.... It was splitting my ears with its throbbing fury. My own heart was bursting to join hers. Because of this, I cracked open the door. There she was. And him. A single ray of light fell upon her red hair, igniting it like a flame as he was similarly igniting her body. She was spread across his desk, her ivory legs stripped of their stockings, her demure skirt hiked high above her waist. Between her open thighs was the jackal himself, rutting her with bestial debauchery. Her heart was escalating with each frenzied thrust, pumping blood to her face, staining it a hideous scarlet. Her eyes glittered like faux sapphires, no longer genuine but forged of vice and lust. She licked her lips greedily, prodding him on with the salaciousness of a slut. As her heart exploded into a million pieces of pleasure, each one splintered mine. Like shards of broken glass, each one pierced me... bled me... sliced through my arteries like a cadaver left to drain on her autopsy table. I closed the door and stumbled back to my office. Crouched in the corner, I stuffed my ears with two dust laden rags to stifle the sound of her heart. But, it was there. I could still hear it. Each beat of throbbing ecstasy... the slow, descending vibration as it eased into contentment. This red-haired monarch was hardly a Virgin Queen.... She was a whore.... It was a whore's heart that echoed mine.... The only way to muffle this sound was to suffocate it for good. Why do you cringe in horror? Take a deep breath and listen to me closely. Here is where the true madness unveils itself. My plan was clever and so perfectly executed, that even now, I shiver as I tell you of it. As a custodian, I knew every chink and cranny of that basement. What was a fissure in the wall of my office became her coffin. Large enough to accommodate her petite frame, yet small enough to asphyxiate her into silence. Because I was a patient man, I did not rush. I chose the day and the hour, rather then let it choose me. When she was alone in their den of iniquity, I snuck up behind her. With a swift blow to her head, I killed her. Yes... that's right. I killed her. I resisted the urge to carry her body, for she deserved no more than to be dragged. Within minutes, I stuffed her lifeless form into the crevice of the wall. I took planks of wood and hammered them securely into place. As I calmly picked off strands of blood colored hair that stuck to my fingers, I smiled with relief. Humming an upbeat tune, I set about my evening chores with renewed enthusiasm. Don't you understand? The whore's heart would haunt me no more. Or, so I thought.... The minute her lecherous partner stepped off the elevator, I heard it again.... Beating.... Her heart.... She was dead, but her carnal, ghoulish heart lived on.... Like a beacon, the sound of it reverberated through the corridor of the basement. Her heart no longer held a rhythmic beat, but an irregular one. One that was trying to resuscitate itself, believing that it could return life to her lust-ridden body. I smiled and nodded a casual greeting. What had I to be afraid of? He could not hear her. He lacked the intuitiveness, the sagacity that was necessary to develop such perception. I was the only receiver to her organ's pathetic cry for help. I couldn't have been more wrong. Now listen... this is where my story takes on a bizarre twist. Only a few steps were taken before he stopped. His head jerked up with such sudden alertness that I panicked. He spun around to faced me, cornering me with the fierceness of his dark, hazel stare. He knew.... At first, I wasn't sure which of his senses detected my guilt. No doubt, I had grown pale and my hands trembled. Perhaps, it was his sense of smell. My nervousness dripped from every pore of my skin. Profuse sweat stained the underarms of my shirt and streaked my face. Meanwhile, the beat of her heart grew louder. Like a drum, it tapped out the sentence of death. My death.... I beheld my executioner with dread, torrents of blood flooding my face. I shrank convulsively against the wall, covering my ears with both hands. My voice came out as shrieks as he closed in and grabbed my wrist. What I thought was his iron grip was the vise of handcuffs snapping in place. Startled, I watched him secure the other end to a pipe overhead. He left me there... dangling... panting my fury. "You're too late," I screamed at him. "Her body is dead. There is nothing left other than the beating of her hideous heart." I watched him, suddenly mesmerized by the clairvoyance of his intuition. He yanked open the door to my office and went right to the wall, the cover to her casket. With his bare hands, he tore away the planks. Soon the blood of his fingers mingled with the blood in her red hair. He unearthed the corpse and cradled her against his chest. As he called her name, I mimicked his cries. Chanting her name in death as he tried to summon her back to life. My elegy died on my lips when I saw her eyes flutter open. Her requiem had become mine. "How did you know?" I shrieked at him, twisting frantically in my restraint. "Could you hear it, too?" He turned the cold, impenetrable eye of the vulture upon me, and said, "You heard it... but, I felt it." You still call me a madman? Well, let me introduce you to another. The End. Happy Halloween, everyone! My never-ending thanks to Kimberly of Clinique's Hidden Gems, who is a diamond in my treasure chest. To Galia, who very graciously designed a page for a Paige at http://members.xoom.com/galias/paige.htm My special thanks to Exley_61, my beta whose own writing shines like the evening star...first...brilliant...enduring....