In my opinion, investigating an attempted murder

case is extremely interesting. Having to think of

possibilities of distractions that may have disturbed
the usually precise routine of a practiced killer, or
making speculations about the amateur error made
by someone relatively new to the world of crime are
things that make the adrenaline rush through my
veins. And when the victim of said crime is you, it
makes the ordeal all the more gratifying.
Being brought up in Berkeley, my fantasies were then
seen as, to frame it in the words of the church priest,
“results of satanic corruption”. I used to be obsessed
with the crimes that would appear on the news,
especially the ones in which the victims were left in
such a guttural state, that they couldn’t even show a
picture of them. That left it to my dark fantasies to
think of how bad it could have possibly been, and each
image that my brain fed me made my grin wider and
wider each time. sweet sweet memories, those.
Now, I hear you, what kind of twisted person is it
whose writing you are reading?
Well, an introduction is due, isn’t it? Let's start with
that. The maniac you read of is named Amelia Jane
Saunders, that is, me! I am a well-sought-after
detective of the states and have even helped in some
investigations in other nations like Britain, Germany,
Vatican City and so on. I was born in the British Isles,
but due to some issues, my family and I moved to the
U.S. before I turned 6. Even though I sometimes
despise the decision of my family to move, it quickly
fades away when a new crime comes onto the screen
and drives my dark, twisted mind to speculate about it
in the most gruesome ways possible.
The crimes here are so unruly and horrid, it makes my
blood spike from pleasure. such disgusting, mortifying
and unruly incidents are ones I had never even heard
of in the isles. It makes my job as a detective all the
more enjoyable.
well, enough about me. I'm sure you are wondering
about the description of me being fascinated with the
opportunity of investigating one's own attempted
murder. Well, dear reader, you are in for an exciting,
and twisted ride, for in this piece of writing, I will be
telling you about the incident when I had to search for
the criminal that had almost made me see the reaper.
And should I warn you, for this tale will have an
oppressively unexpected end.
————xxxxx————

It was the 18th of August, 2001. I was 18 at the time,

and yet I was one of the rich people of the states. This
was because I was at that time, the most famous
detective in all of the United States of America. Every
criminal was said to fear my name, and every unjustly
treated victim would chant it with their life. I used to
be quite, Quite busy. But of course, every now and
then, there would be the evening where I partied with
my friends about another easily solved case. It was one
of those evenings. I had just solved another case in the
locality, and was talking to the head lieutenant of the
police station. just the regular routine, asking for
physical evidence, documents prepared and so on. The
conversation had been perfectly normal until a wave
of pain suddenly surged through the left side of my
torso. it had been so sudden and sharp, I remember
doubling over, clasping a defensive hand over my left
shoulder. The poor lad in front of me panicked so
much, he looked as if he were about to cry. But the
pain went as suddenly as it came, and in no time at all
I was standing straight, my posture radiating
confidence. The lieutenant suggested a shrink, but
brushing it off as a muscle contraction, I waved his
suggestion away just as I waved him goodbye. I wasn't
about to waste a perfectly wonderful evening waiting
around for a doctor!
I telephoned my friends through one of the telephone
booths nearby and told them to reach our favorite
place for a night of drinks and gossip before heading
there myself. It was a short walk away from the station
I was at, so I reached it in just a few moments. It was a
tavern—The Bountiful Barrel—and was the place
where we had all our parties. The bartender knew us
well enough, so even after closing time came, we
never needed to leave before 2 or 3 hours were left for
the sun to come up.
My friends arrived a few minutes later, dressed in their
punk outfits and accessories. We headed inside,
greeted by a few odd looks here and there, but most of
the people were regulars, so they just held their mugs
up in acknowledgement. Our spot was left empty, 4
comfortable stools near the bar, where our friend, also
bartender, Lucas Davis, stood leaning over the counter,
a playful smirk on his lips. We sat, and he took my
hand and brushed his lips on my knuckles before
asking, “the usual, ladies?”
I was in the mood for something heavier, so I ordered a
neat martini on rocks.
“hmm~ feeling a bit risky, are we darling?” Lucas asked
me flirtatiously. my girls cooed, giggling like little
school girls. I slapped his shoulder playfully, and he
went off with a chuckle.
The night went on, the drink affecting my system. It
soon turned into one filled with pleasurable noises,
and I'm sure you understand what might have
happened between me and Lucas, so I won't
elaborate.
Let's just say, it was a long, long night.
I awoke the next morning, the sunlight pouring over
my exposed skin, basking me in warmth. I took my
leave a few hours later, after some much needed
sanitation. It was a sunday, so i roamed with my best
friend in the markets, browsing around. it was all well.

until it wasn’t.

The sudden pain from last evening was back, and it

had returned so sharp and severe that after a few
moments of black spots in my eyes, the light was
hidden and I was plunged into the darkness.

I woke up a few hours later, in a hospital bed, a

constant, burning pain in the left area of my chest and
my whole arm, along with a constant pounding in my
head. My friend was beside me, her head in her hands.
I gently prodded her with my arm, to which She
looked up, mascara running down her face. She made
a ugly wailing face and hugged me so hard I thought
my ribs would break. When she finally let go, the
mascara was all over the hospital shirt I was wearing.
After a while, the doctor came in and explained to me
just what a puddle I was in.
Somehow, I had become a victim of my favorite genre
of crime. a victim of attempted murder. While I was
grateful, the method of murder was one which has left
me with a prosthetic arm and a left implanted breast.
That fateful night, I had almost been Fatally irradiated.
And it was my job to find out who had done it.
————————
My left torso had been exposed to a dangerous
amount of Iridium-192, which had led to me
succumbing to the use of prosthetics. I was made
aware of this information after 2 months of my
surgery, and it was most irritating to know that such
sensitive information was hidden from me. the
criminal could have gone underground!
but he hadn’t. oh, no no.
the little rat already knew death was certain, so why
bother?
oh, how good it feels to remember the thrill, the
mystery of it all, the never thirst for gutting away the
piece of vermin that had invited doom to itself.
but alas, the vermin was one close to me.

one i had trusted, one that had made me feel love

truly and wondrously.

yes. it was him, my lovely Lucas. oh, the agony I had

felt then is something so deep, so full of hurt, so the
rancid……..
It is something I never want to fake again.
oh twisted mind of mine, how did you birth an idea for
such pleasure?
————————