She sleeps peacefully.

Curled around her pillow, dark hair flowing around her cherubic face, lashes making charcoal like smudges against her soft, white skin. Luscious. But he did not come here to kill. He only came to watch. To watch and to wait. Someone else was going to lose their live tonight. Not his precious angel. --She was not as beautiful. Such beauty did not deserve to live. He slowly crept in, knife at the ready. First he would make sure she could not scream. Screaming attracts people. People attract police. Police were not welcome here. Then he would slowly carve her into beauty. Like a sculptor with a mound of clay, he had a pile of flesh, waiting, calling. She would not see dawn. When they found her the next morning, her room was bathed in blood. She lay on the bloodied sheet, her body mutilated. The flesh around her waist was cut, trying to make it thinner, her legs were whittled down almost to the bone. Chubby cheeks were made narrow, the large nose was sliced to a smaller one. Her arms were nothing but bone and folded across her chest. They found the leftover flesh in the bathroom, a note on the mirror. I carved her up to beauty, didn't I? --There was, however, a flaw in his plan. The beauty, the angel from heaven, was guarded. Though she lived alone, he visited often, with his blonde hair and bouquets of flowers. Her guardian made him sick. It was time for Plan B. Of course, Plan B always works. --Lily walked into her little apartment. It wasn't very big, but it was home. And home, right now, didn't feel very homey. She walked towards her kitchen, flipping lights on as she went, convinced that there was nothing in here about to jump out at her, she turned to her bedroom. She shook her head, trying to get a grip on herself. Why was she being so paranoid? She stepped into her bedroom, and screamed. Her scream was cut off short as a hand covered hers.

"No use screaming, moi dorogoy," a deep voice hissed in her ear. "You... you..." Lily gestured wildly to her bed. What was once a clean bed, was now covered in sticky dried blood. Atop the bed was her late suitor, his limbs severed and mismatched. "Beautiful, is he not?" her captor said, "Do not worry, you shall learn, you shall be my angel of death." Lily was too terrified to even cry. --It was called a kidnapping. For even though Lily may have gone willingly, it looked like a kidnapping. Not to mention the murder. How often do you find the dead body of a boyfriend in his girlfriends house? Was there a third party? Or did she kill him? --"That is right, hold it steady," he instructed. Lily tried. "You are shaking, solnyshko," he said tiredly. "Because I'm scared," she replied, "And stop talking to me in that language. I don't know what you're saying." "That is the point, dorogoy." Lily held her gun up higher and steadied her hand. "Perfect," he smiled, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. Lily took a glance at her captor. He was interesting. A conundrum. He told her nothing of himself, other than his name: Dmitry. His hair was dark, his face was shaved, he had dark eyes and pale skin. After she found Alex, dead on her bed, she was too weak to make an argument and allowed him to lead her to his car and drive her to an unknown location. He fed her, clothed her and gave her a room of her own. He said that she was his angel, that she was going to help him. After the first few days of fighting against him, she finally gave up and did what she was told. Learn to be a sniper. --Whitney didn't expect this when she was a cop. She was supposed to be in her car pulling over speeders and drunk drivers, not put on a murder case. The police didn't know much, and what they did

know was all bad. The killer believed in perfection. He was slightly religious, continuously talking about angels and making beauty by killing. The killer was probably male, since he prayed primarily upon young women. Whitney desperately wanted to lump in Alex among the murders, but Lily was still a suspect in the killing. "Any luck?" Dan, a coworker, popped his head in. "None," she replied, "The message... it's strange. All I can gather is that he wants us to know where he is going to be killing next." "What kind of murderer tells the cops where he is going to strike next?" Dan asked, sitting on her desk. Whitney glared at him and leaned against the wall of her cubicle. "One who wants us to know," she said, "He's planning something. He says 'you don't want to miss my angel, da?'" "Da?" Dan repeated, "What's that? Some kind of sick code?" "It's Russian," she said pointedly, trying to prevent an eye-roll, "Which means he is probably Russian." "Aaahhh, Russian, I see," Dan said. "Get off my desk," Whitney said, "Now." Dan smiled as he backed off, "I expect to be invited to this Russian Party." He dodged as Whitney threw a book at him. --Lily was poised at the top of a building. Dmitry had given her a sniper rifle and she was terrified. Just because she knew how to shoot a gun didn't mean that she was ready to take the life of another. However, her captor had very convincing ways of making her do as he pleased. The bruises never fade away quickly. Below her, Dmitry had a young woman in his arms, and was probably seducing her with his charm. Lily was surprised at the jealousy that rose within her. The urge to pull the trigger and blast the girl's head into a bloody mass was great. She was right there, right in her sight, the gun was loaded, all Lily needed to do was pull the trigger, such a simple thing. But Dmitry beat her to it. Five cop cars came around, their lights blinding. Shouts were heard, guns

were aimed, and Dmitry held fast. He pulled out a knife and slit the girl's throat open with it. Her blood fell hot and fast on the ground, splashing up on his boots as he began to laugh. "Drop the knife and put your hands up!" Whitney shouted. "I like women with a little fire," Dan said. "Shut up!" Dmitry dropped his knife, like he was asked to do, and put his hands up. The smile was still on his lips. "Watch out," he said, "My angel, my solnyshko, will protect me." "What is he talking about?" Dan asked, coming closer. "Look up," Whitney said, looking up and dropping her own weapon in terror. Lily was at the top of the building, sniper rifle in hand and no longer terrified. Anger flowed hot through her body as she lifted the gun up. The wind blew and her dark hair swirled around her head. While they were mesmerized, Dmitry pulled out his own rifle from under his coat. He opened fire. Blood splattered the ground as one by one the police fell, his manic laughter echoing in their ears. Those who hid had their brains blown out by Dmitry's destroying angel. Her laughter was louder than the gunshots. --She was beautiful. Curled around her pillow, dark hair flowing around her cherubic face, lashes making charcoal like smudges against her soft, white skin. He was proud to hold her in his arms that night. He was proud to call her his. "Lily," he mumbled, "Dorogoy." "What is it, Dmitry?" "Do you have anything planned tomorrow night?" She thought for a moment, snuggling deeper into his chest. "You know," she said after a moment, "There was always a guy at work I didn't like. Just so you know."

Dmitry tightened his arms around her. "You are my angel," he said, "My dear, destroying angel."