Beneath Her Flesh Ch. 03

Written & edited by Amnoartist

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Note: Beneath Her Flesh is a dark horror-themed series with a focus on story and characterisation. Eroticism will likely play a part where appropriate for the plot's benefit and advancement or delving deeper into the characters themselves. There will be no sex just for the sake of it being there. The chaarcters that DO partake in sexual intercourse throughout this series are all aged 23 or older The themes in this series include but are not limited to: mystery/thriller; incest/incest pregnancy; autism; murder; cannibalism & gore. With this all taken into account, go in with a relatively open-mind and enjoy :)

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Grunting exasperatedly, Kimberly struggled to unlock the door leading into her apartment. Ivy stood behind her clutching the suitcase, anxiously looking down the hallway in both directions. The building was no more inviting than the institute; burn marks seemed to indicate a fire of some sort broke out only recently, in partnership with the patches of damp dotted across the walls, and the occasional shouts from the neighbours. It was a hell-hole. It was Kimberly's home.

Eventually, the satisfying click of the lock turning brought relief to the two sisters. Kimberly would've given up otherwise and kick the door in if she had to keep going, while Ivy struggled to resist the shouts from a few doors down. The door groaned open to reveal the equally disheartening air of Kimberly's apartment. The curtains were drawn, letting only the slightest crack of moonlight into the not-so-humble abode, various recreational drugs laid atop a small desk in the corner, next to which were small polythene bags and a weighing scale. There was a TV at the right-side wall but looked like it hadn't been used in months. The unmistakable smell of sex hung in the air too; pungent and rich.

"Welcome home, sis." Kimberly's tone was an obvious indication of disinterest. She slumped into the couch and slowly peeled off her boots and jacket before, almost as if acting on pure, subconscious drive, sitting down at the table in the corner and started counting the pills.

Kimberly didn't even notice Ivy stood aimlessly in the middle of the room taking in the drab atmosphere of what would be her for indeterminable future. This was the first real home she had in years and didn't know how to live. Where was she supposed to sleep? Ivy was afraid to ask in case it was a stupid question, which in turn would no doubt receive a mocking answer. As far as she was aware, there was only the one bed in the next room. Instead, she watched Kimberly weigh the pills and pack them, no doubt to be sold to her customers. It was upon closer inspection Ivy noticed the cocaine near the desk's edge. She had to speak up.

"Drugs are bad."

Kimberly stopped, as if her joints had frozen up, irritated by the words from her sister. Ivy hadn't said much of anything since they met, but all she did say was nothing but judgmental. Just like Mum. Turning her head, she glared at her long-lost sibling, filing through all the various insulting ways she could respond but instead opted to continue with the task at hand, using an old credit card to make a line of coke, finely dicing the snowy powder.

"Mum would—"

Kimberly had had enough. Tossing the card aside, she pulled herself up to stand face-to-face with Ivy, an obvious indication of annoyance painted on her face in the form of a grimace. Kimberly wasn't intimidated by Ivy's larger form, staring coldly into the blonde's eyes for a reaction.

"Okay. New ground rules. You live with me, you don't bring up Mum - ever. You can share my food, even my clothes. But you don't talk about Mum. Got it?" Kimberly maintained her unflinching stare in the hopes that Ivy would blink. "You can thank her for putting me in this shit state. She wouldn't give a shit."

Ivy just stood there, trying to process the meaning behind Kimberly's last statement.

Sizing her up, Kimberly was visibly repulsed by Ivy's odd choice of clothing. It wasn't that much unlike an old lady's garb. Kimberly scoffed. "You gotta get a sense of style about you, girl. And a shower."

///

Ivy stepped out of the shower carefully, her calf muscles rippling like gentle waves as her feet touched the glistening tiles. This had been her first proper shower in months since the boiler system in Summerstone seized up last winter. The institution was running low on funds and could barely scrape together enough money for the place to get a heat. It was by luck alone everyone survived. So for Ivy to get a warm shower at her questionable sibling's home felt more like a gift from God.

Wiping the steam away from the mirror, she sighed dejectedly at her reflection, contemplating whether staying with Kimberly was truly worth it. Her mother always said drugs were bad and could kill, but Kimberly said she drove her down that path. Ivy didn't want her sister to be a bad influence, but she didn't have anyone else, had nowhere else to go. She shrugged, watching her deltoids pop, bulge and roll. The fact Ivy was this large muscular thing probably didn't help either. It was likely difficult enough for Kimberly to come to grips with the fact she had a sister.

Kimberly had fished out some old clothes presumably suitable for Ivy; a checked shirt not unlike a lumberjack's, denim jeans with rips fashioned into the knees and light brown boots. The boots were nice, but the shirt and jeans burned holes in her head. It was the textures - they annoyed her, creeped her out like a phobia. But she was too afraid to ask for something else, didn't want to come across as a burden. She hadn't even bothered to look herself in the mirror yet. Sometimes it was an internal debate on whether it was due to her Autism, or the fact she was scared of herself. Compromising, Ivy decided to slip into her underwear and socks.

A sudden knock from the apartment's door caused her to jolt with fright. Voices next, Kimberly's first, then someone else's, presumably a male, though their words were difficult to make out. Stress shot through Ivy like a needle. Having to stay with her sister was unanticipated enough a change, she didn't expect someone else to enter the picture so soon. Biting her lip, she wasn't aware of her gripping the towel tightly.

The voices became clearer without warning, closer to the bathroom.

"I was busy. You can't wait an hour?"

"I'm not paying you to waste my time, bitch."

A moment's pause, long enough for anything to happen, yet, being behind the door, it was impossible for Ivy to get a clear picture, though some details were obvious. The visitor was clearly one of Kimberly's customers - the same customer she was supposed to meet earlier in the day, hadn't she visited Ivy.

"There. That should last you about a week. I've put in some Blitz too, to sweeten the deal."

"Now that's more like it." Another pause, but this time its air felt different, calamitous like a knife revealing itself from the shadows. "You up for some fun tonight? Maybe I'll bring a friend to make things more interesting."

"No, Carl. I told you: no sex."

"Always knew you were a carpet muncher anyway."

"Fuck you."

The reactionary thud was obvious - Carl had pushed Kimberly up against the wall in response to her retort, a switchblade held to her throat. But she didn't say anything in return, instead, suppressing the boiling urge within. It was upon Carl's attempt to goad a reaction out of Kimberly that the bathroom door creaked open, revealing Ivy in all her nakedness, albeit looking at Carl vacantly. His go-to reaction was to gaze perversely at her nubile genitalia bulging underneath her underwear before registering the rest of her, muscles and all, not particularly fazed by her largeness.

"Case in point. You into she-males now?"

"Please leave." Ivy's words were softly-spoken. Not exactly the best way to make a potential attacker do one's bidding, but she didn't know better. She didn't even have the courage to look at Carl, instead staring sheepishly at the carpet's patterns.

"Aww, the little lesbo's upset." Carl laughed, flashing a sadistic grin. Frankly, he found a sick sense of enjoyment in seeing Ivy naked, shamelessly redirecting his obvious erection at her as if to entice her, before pulling his trousers down just enough to whip his cock out. "Why don't you have a taste of this instead?"

Ivy quickly glanced at Carl's manhood before flinching, reflexively clenching his fists. Frozen to the spot, she didn't know what to do.

But the expression from Carl seemed to indicate he had second thoughts, fixing his trousers up again. "Nah. You look like you'd just complain."

Pulling away from her, he gave Kimberly a knowing wink as if to indicate his likely return. Great - just what the girls needed. The door slammed shut upon Carl's departure, allowing them to finally breathe. Kimberly instinctively reached for her neck to wipe away the trickle of blood from the fresh nick Carl gave her.

"Where are your clothes?"

Ivy sighed, forgetting. "Don't like them. They...they annoy me."

"What do you mean, they—" Kimberly stopped, realizing. The Autism. Hopefully, that wasn't going to be too much of a problem. "Right. I'll see what I can do."

///

Despite being around death more times than she could count, Carly hated morgues. It was the idea that she felt outnumbered and at times alone that nibbled at her the most. Xander may have been at her side but that didn't amount to much on this occasion. It didn't take much to figure out he'd been drinking again, something the police chief had already, repeatedly scolded him about. A coping mechanism he called it. Maybe, but that didn't give Xander cause to look the way he did; dishevelled and distant. He clearly tried shaving at some point during the night, but the cuts across his chin indicated even that could've proved disastrous.

Still, Xander ought to be happy in knowing he was far more fortunate than the stiff presented in front of them. Harriet Ford, found in the alley behind Beatrice's Pinup diner. Carly still hadn't fully recovered from the first time she looked at her, yet had to steel herself for the likely more gruesome autopsy. Perhaps it wasn't so bad an idea that Xander drank after all; he looked at Harriet's corpse with eyes cold as her own, unflinching despite the smell of booze billowing from his breath.

"You never got around to seeing this last time." The coroner turned Harriet on her back, revealing the grotesque indications that the killer had at one point tried cracking her skull open; splits in her skin and the whiteness of bone daring to bust from it. Harriet fought the urge to throw up at seeing this, knowing doing so wouldn't be seen as admirable in Xander's eyes, especially considering their line of work, even if she was just a rookie. "Killer took almost everything; heart, lungs, liver, pancreas. Judging by the damage to her forehead, I can only assume they were after the brain as well."

"They were gonna eat the brain?" Carly gripped the edges of the autopsy table, severely doubting her ability to hold back the vomit building within her, feeling Xander's judgemental gaze on her like a burning light. "Why the fuck would they eat that?"

"Oh no. There's no guarantee they were going to eat it like the rest of her insides, although it's definitely a possibility." The coroner gently laid Harriet down again. "Perhaps they saw a sense of value in it though."

"You mean, monetary value? To sell it?" Xander couldn't tell if the sudden nip in his own head was part of his hangover or a cruel circumstantial joke played on him. His eyes blurred, he blinked, also hoping he wasn't right on his hypothesis.

"Perhaps. You'd be surprised how much a human brain would be worth on the black market."

Carly had had her fill of brains for the day, opting to change the subject that would better help her gag reflex than anything else. "What else can you tell us?"

"The MO definitely matches the killer we've been looking for, but..." the coroner trailed off, unsure if he should disclose the information he had. It could blow the investigation apart, even in spite of the lack of evidence the duo had for the case. "The strength applied to this killing is considerably less than the one prior, as if the killer itself has, somehow, become stronger between victims."

"That's only three days. How—" Carly stopped, picking up on Xander's incoherent mutterings, then plucking out the curious words from them: growth hormone.

"We could be looking at a male perp. Maybe a bodybuilder with a history of violence brought on by anabolics?"

The coroner nodded. "It would certainly line up with the increase in strength, depending on the steroid's potency and dosage. But—"

"—That doesn't explain why the victim was female" Carly pointed out. "Not to mention the cannibalism."

"No." The coroner was stumped and didn't want to admit it. Even so, he could feel the sensation of judgement be cast on him anyway. "I'll do what I can to figure that out though."

In as much of the fact Xander didn't place much of it in anyone, Carly trusted the coroner. Admittedly, more so than her own partner. She was just about to thank him for doing so well when the doors leading into the morgue barged open before a plump police officer huffed his way over to the detectives.

"We got another one."