colormemadness: (mhm yes quite)
Title: Mr. Smith
Rating: PG-13 for adult concepts
Summary: Jessica, a struggling journalist, thinks she's met the perfect man in Michael Smith. He's kind, charming, and everything Jessica could ever ask for. And she'll do anything in her power to keep him for herself.
Notes: The summary does not do the story justice. Believe me. On a side note, this whole thing is fourteen "mini-parts," but I've decided to post it into two huge parts. I'm still in the process of editing and I plan on getting this published one day.
Important: Everything here takes place in the year 2011 and is told in a nonlinear narrative.

I own everything here!!! bahahaha.


1. Thursday, February 17th

'He's coming,' the voice whispers urgently. 'You have to run!'

'He's going to kill me!' she all but shrieks, panic lacing her voice. A sob threatens to tear through her throat and she looks around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of him, of his pale blue eyes and his wicked smile.

The streets are crowded with people. Bright lights from the various shops and buildings splatter the cloudy sky with an eerie glow, casting harsh shadows on the city below.

Black and white paper cutouts fill the monochromatic world – too sharp, too clean to be real. They bustle past each other, white on white, black on black. They're melting into each other, they're moving so fast they've become one being, one faceless figure making his way back home.

And then, amidst the black and white and the buzzing static of noise, she sees him. His lanky body is slouched against the brick wall and his dimples are showing. His blue eyes - so, so, so blue – are staring straight at her.

She gasps and tries to inhale, only to feel her windpipe constricting. Arms flailing, she tries to motion for someone to help her. No one moves; no one so much as looks at her.

‘Run,' the disembodied voice repeats. 'He's coming.'

Hands and voices. They're cackling with mirth, the hands are everywhere. She tells them to stop, pleads for them to stop, but they will stop at nothing to tear her apart and leave her lying in the streets.

She opens her eyes and they're gone. But the world is off-kilter, as if it were a picture frame that someone had just deliberately made crooked. She's standing by herself as people swarm past her, completely unaware of the turmoil that she's in. Her eyes search the streets, but the man has disappeared. She breathes a sigh of relief and turns around.

'Hello, Jessica,' says the man who's been following her for the last two weeks. He's all dimples and boyish charm.

But she knows better. His name is Lance, and he wants to kill her.

She doesn't shake his proffered hand, but he seems unfazed and reaches up to run it through his hair.

'What do you want?' she demands.

The man cocks his head to the side. 'I thought it was obvious.'

Jessica swallows a lump down her throat. 'What do you want?' she asks again.

The man flashes a smile. 'You.'

She breathes out a hysterical laugh. 'You can't kill me here in front of all these people! You'd be dead before you could even take two steps.'

He looks genuinely confused. 'Why would I want to kill you?'


'What seems to be the problem?'

‘I’m reporting a murder,' she says. The phone is slippery in her clammy hands and she presses it between her ear and shoulder to wipe her palms on her jeans. Her eyes dart nervously from the window to her bedroom door.

'He's killed someone – I can see it from my window,' she babbles. 'You have to come here now, he's getting away!'

'Miss, slow down, did you say you were reporting a – '

'He's killed someone and he's coming after me!' she shrieks into the phone. 'He just saw me and now he's walking in my direction and oh my god he has a gun!'

'Miss - '

The phone lands on the other side of the room and shatters completely. She crouches down to the floor and crawls across her room to lock the door.

He's going to kill Daisy when he gets here. He's going to kill you when he gets here.

She crawls back and sneaks a glance out the window again. The man is gone, and so is the body.

She falls to the floor and tries to remember how to breathe.



Jessica points an accusing finger at him. 'How should I know what serial killers like you think? Why am I even talking to you right now? I’m calling the police!' She scrambles through her purse for her cell phone.

'No, wait!' Lance – the man, don’t humanize the villain – sounds alarmed, Jessica notes with vicious satisfaction, but she doesn't hesitate in dialing 9-1-1.

'Stop it, Jessica,' the man warns. His voice has taken on a dangerous edge. 'Do you remember what happened the last time you called the police?'

Her thumb hovers over the call button on her phone. 'How do you know that?'

'I know everything you know.' His hands are in his pockets – the picture of nonchalance – but his gaze is still fixed warily on the device in her hands.

Jessica lowers her phone, noting vaguely that the throng of people around them is leering at the two of them. A group of girls walking by is whispering and giggling at her, and she immediately feels self-conscious.

They’re after you too, she thinks. They’re all working together!

'If you're not going to kill me then why are you following me?' she asks, turning back to face him. Everyone is watching them. Their eyes are drilling holes into her skull.

'Who says you're not following me?' he counters. 'For all I know you could be the serial killer.'

A man carrying a briefcase makes eye contact with her and sends her a glare. Jessica flinches and tries to refocus on what the man is saying.

‘I...' She trails off in confusion and looks around wildly. 'Hello?' she calls out, drawing perplexed looks in her direction.

'Where did he go?' the voice asks urgently. 'Do you know where he might have gone?'

‘I,' Jessica answers, 'I don’t know.'



2. Friday, May 20th )


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