mellovins
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The year is '98 and Spring is approaching fast. For most, the season is a symbol of new beginnings with Mother Nature’s chaste kiss that breathes life into everything once more. It's inspiring, peaceful and beautiful. So, the fact that this is exactly when a certain serial killer loves to strike makes Detective Winchester's blood boil. Two years in a row now, the guy has slipped through his fingers, not leaving a single trace behind. No clues, no leads, just murdered women in the most picturesque places imaginable. And the worst thing of all? Sometimes Dean catches himself admiring the killer's work.
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Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest, the adrenaline making his whole body buzz. Taking one deep breath, he ran a hand over his stubbled cheek. He had seen those fingers snap. He had heard them snap. He had felt the grace spill out of the vessel and flood the entire room he was in. It had swallowed him whole and he had expected to turn into dust.
Yet, here he was.
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The day after Dean moved into his newly purchased house, he noticed one of his neighbours. The guy just seemed different compared to all the people he knew. Intriguing even. So, sheltered by bushes around his property, Dean stood by the balustrade of his back porch and... watched. On that Saturday the weekend ritual was born, with Dean in his rocking chair and the bucket hat wearing guy that had no idea about his existence.
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Ten years after their graduation, now in mid-thirties, Dean and his college friends have a reunion at his cramped flat he calls home. What’s meant to be a simple night of fun turns into a mix of misunderstandings, jealousy and raw hurt that leads to a journey of mutual empathy, rediscovering what was once lost and creating something new out of the old pieces that just waited to be picked up again.
As it turns out, all it takes is a bit of patience. -
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“Look what a beautiful offering you are, the best we could find.”
Dean did look at himself, then, tied to a chain dangling from the ceiling, his arms above his head while he sat on his bent legs. In the dimmed light his eyes looked dark. When a candle flickered just right, he could catch a glimpse of a gleam, but it disappeared quickly; just like any hope for survival he had felt previously.