Author: Tiffany 

Title: The Gemini Killer

Chapters: 1

Character: James Venamun

Rating: PG-13 - R




The Gemini Killer

        The steel door slammed shut, trapping me inside the cold, dark cell.  A 
single ray of light shone through the barred window high on the cell wall.  
Every now and then there was the echoing sound of a water droplet falling into 
the metal sink.  The mirror above the sink was missing, a few minute remnants 
strewn across the floor, iridescent diamonds in the light from the window.  The 
third cell of the psychiatric ward - for the hospital’s severely disturbed - 
was silent, with only the sound of my heartbeat to fill its foreboding walls.
        But I was not alone.
        A tattered man in worn, hospital-issue trousers sat on the bench to my 
immediate left, confined to a strait-jacket.  His head was lowered in either 
thought or sleep.  He was bound by the ankles, barefoot, with chains that, for 
now, were slacked.
        “Who are you?” he hissed, startling me into flinching.  “What brings 
you here?”
        I shook off the cold shiver his voice sent down my spine; I could hear 
my own voice shake as I gave him an honest reply.  “It’s unlikely that you’d 
know me,” I began, “but I know you.  And I know your work.”
        At hearing my last sentence, he raised his head to look back at me.  
His long, black hair flowed wildly around a tightly-drawn face.  The skin 
around his eyes was tired and worn, but the eyes themselves seemed to pierce my 
soul, as if searching my very thoughts.  Anyone else would have already called 
for the guard outside; I fought to meet his gaze.
        “You know my work?” he asked.
        “Yes, I’ve actually studied you for a while.”
        The man before me was known to the public as the Gemini Killer - a 
dangerous serial killer notorious for the brutal dismemberment or decapitations 
of his ill-fated victims.  It was a great risk to remain in the same state 
while he was a free man.  It was madness, now, to share the same room.
        But certain questions had left me without sleep for days.  I needed 
some answers that only the source could provide.
        “There’s still talk about you out there,” I said.
        His eyes gleamed and narrowed simultaneously.  “Really?” he asked, 
interested in his reputation.  “What do they say?”
        “That you’re possessed, according to some, by Satan himself.”
        The man chuckled mildly, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.  
Then, picking my brain, he asked, “Do you believe them?”
        “No,” I replied.  “You could say I’m not very religious.”
        He laughed again, and this time his laughter carried an amused tone.  
Then he stopped suddenly, just staring at me.  There was a moment of 
uncomfortable silence as I forced myself to meet his gaze again.  Tilting his 
head to one side with a mischievous smile tilting the corner of his mouth, he 
finally asked, “What’s your name?”
        My breath caught.  “Yours first.”
        An almost entertained look passed over his face as he chuckled.  “Oh, 
you think you’re a clever girl, don’t you?  But are you clever enough to even 
know my name?”
        I released a breath I’d been holding.  “The only records I had access 
to were vague,” I replied.  “I could only manage some guesswork.”
        “Such as . . .” he prompted.
        I was silent.  I didn’t dare lie, but I also didn’t have an acceptable 
answer.  “I don’t know.”
        “You don’t know?”
        I swallowed hard and shook my head.  I was growing increasingly 
frustrated with my timid approach.
        “Well then,” he replied coyly.  “It seems you’ll just have to... figure 
it out, then, won’t you?”
        I opened my mouth to say something, then changed my mind and 
asked, “What’s it like living here?”
        He leered at me, almost suspicious.
        When he didn’t reply, I continued, “Does it ever get lonely in here?  
Do you cry -”
        “Cry?  I never cry -”  He leaned forward, infuriated.  “What makes you 
think I have any tears left to cry?”  He stood, and face-to-face, I saw a blaze 
of madness in his eyes as he escalated into a rage, spewing sweat and spittle 
with every bitter word.  “There aren’t enough tears in the whole fucking world 
and beyond that could save my soul or set me free from this godforsaken 
prison!  You better find some fucking religion and pray to whatever god it 
worships that you never have to discover the difference between your tears and 
mine!”
        I stood, stunned.  Slowly, he sat down again, panting in deep breaths.  
I caught a brief reflection of light flickering across his eyes.  Another 
uneasy silence followed as he stared back at me, perhaps wondering if I could 
see the tears he’d built up in his rave.  Or perhaps he was dreaming up 
inventive ways to murder me - debating whether he should cut me open... or 
apart.
        There was a sharp pounding on the steel door.  “Everything alright in 
there?” a guard demanded, sliding the window on the steel door open.
        “Yeah, everything’s fine!” I replied with a wave.  His narrowed eyes 
found me in the dark, but I didn’t recognize them.
        It wasn’t the same guard.
        There must have been a shift change-over.  The guard looking in on the 
cell was just doing a routine check.  To not realize what cell he was peering 
into, he must have been the new guy on the job.  Which left me alone.
        With the Gemini Killer.
        “Alright then!” said the guard.  “Just use the access card when you’re 
finished.”  The window slid shut, and I traced my finger along the edge of the 
card in my pocket.
        Realizing I’d been holding my breath, I inhaled deeply.  The Gemini 
Killer had reclined again, the fury dissipating from his eyes.  It was strange 
how he’d given no notice to the guard at the door, but rather, had been 
studying me the entire time.
        In a much calmer voice, he asked, “Why are you really here?  You’re not 
interested in my work . . .”  A curious look took over his face, never removing 
his gaze from mine.  “You’re more interested in . . . me.”
        I was surprised by his accuracy, however blatant I had been.  “I 
suppose that’s true,” I said.
        “You wouldn’t happen to be . . . interviewing me, would you?”
        “I -“
        ”I don’t like interviews,” he interrupted.  The angry tone in his voice 
remained but was now restrained by his patience.  After a brief pause of 
thought and consideration, he said, “I’ll make you a deal.  If you unlock all 
these chains and buckles and straps, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
        I was suspicious.  “What makes you think I can do that?”
        “I saw you - you took the keys from the guard on your way in the 
door.”  He nodded to my pocket.  Almost guiltily, I removed my hand from my 
pocket and held a key ring with several similar-sized keys jingling from 
it.  “There’s nothing holding me that you can’t unlock.  Besides,” he added 
with a smile, “your motives for doing so interest me.  Perhaps you have as many 
answers for me as I offer you.”
        “Why should I play this game of yours?  What assurance do I have that 
you wouldn’t just hack me into pieces?”
        He almost grinned.  “I don’t suppose my word is of any value . . .”
        “You tell me,” I said.  “Is it?”
        A wicked smile spread across his face.  “Dare to take a chance?  To -” 
he added with dark fervor, “roll the dice?”
        I studied the keys on the ring.  The ploy was dangerous, but it had to 
work.  I needed the answers he was waving in my face.
        “What do you say?” he dared.  “Are you game?”
        Either way you saw it, I was indeed.  “I’m a gambler,” I answered with 
overconfidence.  “Why the hell not?”
        The grin calmed itself but retained its mischief.  “In that case, what 
is it you seek?  What do you desire to know?”
        I considered my answer far too briefly, and decided I was too impulsive 
with my reply.  “You.”
        He quirked an eyebrow.  “Me?”  After a brief moment of thought, he 
replied, “If it’s me you want, then so be it.  Third key - number seven.”
        Suddenly, the key he indicated seemed to rotate around the ring, 
singling itself out from the others by its own phenomenal power.  I glanced at 
the Gemini Killer.  The look on his face was so falsely cherubic.  Perhaps he 
was possessed.
        My thirst for knowledge driving me, I stepped forward and dropped to 
one knee, unlocking the chains around his ankles.  As I fumbled with each one, 
I grew nervous.  He could rip me apart right here - in this cell - and no one 
would know.  I finished, and he rolled his ankles to relieve the tension.  I 
glanced up.
        “Sixth key -” he said, “- the smaller one.”  Again the keys seemed to 
move themselves until the smallest key stood alone.
        He leaned forward so I could first unlock the back straps.  “So,” I 
asked, avoiding his eyes.  “Are you really possessed?”
        “Not exactly,” he answered.  When I had finished the back, he reclined 
again with a sigh allowing me to unlock the sides and front of the jacket.
        I reassured myself that, if things got out of hand, my knife was tucked 
safely in its sheath on my boot.  “Just sold your soul or something?”
        “Mmm . . . I didn’t need it.”
        With a click that seemed to echo in the silent cell, I unlocked the 
last of the small padlocks.
        I had barely taken a step back and put the keys in my pocket when the 
Gemini Killer stood and viciously tore off the jacket, as if he fought with it, 
tearing it loose until he managed to pry it over his head.  Then, as if 
disgusted, he threw it aside.  Underneath the jacket he wore a hospital-issue 
shirt stained with a collar of sweat.  Breathing heavily with a feral gleam in 
his eyes, he turned to me.
        Suddenly, he rushed me.  Unprepared, I threw my arms up in defense.  
With one smooth motion, he took a firm hold of my wrists and spun me around, 
pushing me forward into the opposite wall, forcing me into the cold steel.
        “Obviously not as clever as you thought you were,” he said between 
anxious breaths.
        He spun me around to face him, keeping me pinned as he pushed himself 
against me.  Before I could react with either word or action, I realized he’d 
already drawn my knife from my boot.  He siultaneously wove his hand through my 
hair and pulled down viciously, tilting my head back.  He held the knife’s edge 
at my bare throat.  I stood helpless as I felt his heart beating in his chest, 
his pulse as rapid as my own.
        The Gemini Killer added more pressure to the knife.  “This should be an 
interview you’ll never forget!”  He seemed to relish every word he spoke.
        With my head tilted upward and to the side as I avoided the blade, I 
found it somewhat difficult to speak.  “I -”
        “You lied,” he said accusingly, ignoring my attempt at conversation.
        Realizing I couldn’t shake my head, I uttered, “No.”
        “Yes, you did!” he exclaimed, pushing harder on the blade, forcing my 
head to turn even further to the side.  “You said this was an interview, didn’t 
you?  Didn’t you?”
        “Yes,” I whispered, forced to agree.
        “Then why don’t you ask me a question?  A real question . . .”
        Wincing as he flipped the blade and pressed the serrated edge against 
my skin, I grimaced a reply, “I - I don’t know what to ask.”
        “Yes, you do,” he said, nodding slowly as if proving a point.  “You 
know.  But you don’t want to.  You’re just here to mock me - just like all the 
others!  Now it’s my turn to ask the questions - allow me to be your 
psychiatrist . . .”  His face was so close that when he moved to whisper in my 
ear, his cheek brushed against mine.  His skin was clammy with sweat, cold to 
the touch, and sent shivers crawling over my skin.  “What’s going through your 
mind?  How does that make you feel?”
        Incredibly, I actually found responses to the question, but there were 
too many all at once.  I felt the blade slowly separating the first layer of 
skin.  He could slit my throat at any second and I would be helpless to stop 
him.  Adrenaline pounded in my blood.
        “Fear?” he coaxed, his voice low, as if keeping it a secret.  “Is it 
fear?  Are you afraid?”
        Submissively, I mouthed, “I don’t know . . .”  I swallowed the saliva 
collecting in my throat, nearly choking me, and as I did so, the blade drew a 
trickle of blood.  A gasp escaped from my lips.  As if taunting me, the Gemini 
Killer drew his tongue along the red line, licking the blood from my skin.  I 
shuddered.
        He turned to look at my face.  I felt his grip on my hair loosen.  With 
his free hand, he gently turned my head so I faced him, yet the blade still 
forced me to tilt my chin upward.  He gazed into my eyes and brushed strands of 
my hair away from my face.  I found it difficult to stare back this time.
        “Don’t be afraid,” he said calmly.  I could still feel his heart 
beating against my chest, though it had slowed, whereas mine had quickened.
        He moved his face closer once more, brushing it with mine so that he 
almost suggestively whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you call for help?”
        Able to speak somewhat, I answered in a labored breath, “I don’t know.”
        “It wouldn’t matter anyway,” he said.  “Even if he was paying 
attention, the guard still couldn’t hear your screams through the walls.”  He 
tapped his fingers lightly on the padding for cruel, sadistic emphasis.
        After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I asked, “How are you going to 
kill me?”
        He moved his face closer to mine, his lips tracing mine as I breathed 
heavily.  “Any way you want me to,” he whispered with a slight grin.
        Just then I realized he’d swept my feet apart with his own, making me 
sexually vulnerable.  I felt him lean into me as he deeply inhaled the scent of 
my hair.  He moved his lips to my ear and whispered, “Could you imagine what 
it’s like . . .”  At the same time he removed the knife from my throat and 
traced the tip along my neck, moving it down to my collarbone.  “. . . to be 
truly alone?”  His lips moved lower, kissing my neck softly.  I shuddered as he 
carefully bit at my skin.  He moved his mouth to the cut along my throat, 
sucking at the wound.  I flinched, gripping the cold wall.
        The knife fell from his hand and dropped to the ground with a slight 
clang, and still I felt helpless under his gaze and touch.  He caressed my 
waist, drawing my body nearer to his.  “It’s been so long,” he 
whispered, “since I’ve been with someone . . .”  As his other hand moved to my 
breast and gently pushed upward, his lips trembled over my open mouth, begging 
to be kissed.
        Now seriously shaken, I turned my head away and asked, “Why are you 
doing this?”  My voice shook as I spoke; my body trembled as he touched me.
        “It was part of our deal,” he replied, kissing my neck instead of the 
lips he hungered for.
        Feeling frustration boil beneath the surface, I retorted, “If the deal 
included rape, then you can take your deal and shove it!”  I pushed him from me.
        Surprisingly, he didn’t fight back.  He turned his head as if I’d 
struck him across the face, his empty hands suspended at his side.  Although he 
was now half-hidden in the shadows, I could see he had winced at my words. 
        “You freed me from my bonds,” he said.  “In return, I promised you 
whatever you desired.”  He looked up at me, and his gaze pierced my soul.
        Indeed, my reply was too hasty; I’d said it was him I wanted.
        He was right.  I hadn’t fought back, hadn’t called for help.  I hadn’t 
even told him to stop.
        “Would you rather take back our agreement?”  I looked back at him, and 
he plucked the knife from the floor, placing it in my hand.  “Oh, by all means -
 defend yourself!”
        I was so stunned by his sudden submissive behavior that I found myself 
speechless.
        “I haven’t met my end of the bargain, yet, you know.”  He left the 
knife in my hand and opened his arms to his side.  “Go ahead,” he offered, 
obviously without resistance.  “Kill me.”
        Why would he give me the opportunity to kill him - apparently without 
struggle?  Was he bluffing, toying with me as he had done so far?  If so, then 
why had he touched me with so much passion, so much desire?  Was there a man 
beneath the Gemini Killer?  Now that I saw so much in his gaze, I was no longer 
sure if the answer was “no.”
        “No,” I replied.
        He seemed stunned.  “Why not?”
        There was an eerie moment of silence as I hesitated.  I didn’t want to 
reply.  Almost locked in standoff, I kept my attention on him, occasionally 
glancing at the knife on the ground.  Watching his eyes, I saw him do the same.
        “Anyone else would have relished the opportuinty I just presented you,” 
he finally said.
        “I’m not anyone else.”  There was a brief pause.  I could hear my heart 
beating in the silence.  I wondered if he could too.
        “Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked again, almost disappointed.
        I turned the tables.  “Why didn’t you kill me?”
        Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and placed his hands on both sides of 
my face, tilting my head upward to face him, staring back at me as if searching 
my soul.  A sudden paranoid realization came over me that he could snap my neck 
like a twig.  After a moment of silence, he said, “Indeed, you’re not anyone 
else.  Even I can see that.”  He waved a hand in front of my face, brushing 
aside another strand of my hair.
        “You’re very tired inside,” he continued.  “You’re tired of fighting.  
All that sadness, all that anger . . .”  His hand caressed my face softly.  “It 
burns you - hurts you.”  I suddenly found myself holding back a levee of 
emotion, realizing he was speaking to the reflections in my eyes.
        “You believe yourself to be alone in this world.”  He lowered his 
arms.  “Are you so sure that’s true?”
        It occured to me that I had not once intentionally touched him.  I 
brushed my hand up the side of his arm, slightly underneath his shirt sleeve, 
and felt goosebumps on his cold skin.
        “Do you still want to know why I didn’t kill you?” he asked, barely 
acknowledging the gentle touch.
        I nodded.
        He sighed as if a pressure hatch had been released.  “At first, you 
were just a victim.  And then I considered you a toy - something to use -” He 
traced his finger along the wound at my neck, drawing a small drop of blood.  “-
 to satisfy the lust I’ve wanted to express for so long.”  He gently smeared 
the droplet of blood on my lips; I licked them instinctively, the metallic 
sweetness staining my tastebuds.  “The burning rage and anger I’ve used to kill 
so many people -”  He licked the rest of the blood from his finger.  “- the 
painful feeling of worthlessness I’ve always known . . .”
        Saying this, he opened his arms in the welcoming gesture as before, but 
in the light I could see his forearms, scarred with obviously intentional cuts 
along major veins.  I hadn’t noticed them before.
        “It all seems to vanish when I look into your eyes, when I touch you -
”  He moved closer to me, barely placing his hand on the side of my arm.  But 
then he stopped, as if afraid of my reaction.  It was then that I realized even 
he - the Gemini Killer - was as human as I was.
        “I . . . I don’t understand.”  I was almost speechless.
        “Go find religion,” he said.  “Pray that you won’t end up like me.”
        He began to cautiously remove his hand from my arm.  I took it and 
moved his arm into the light, studying the scars on his forearm.  I ran my 
finger along them gently, treating the wounds as if they were still fresh.  He 
watched me, surely seeking my thoughts as I sought his.
        “So much pain,” was all I managed to whisper.
        He looked at me.  “Have you ever hated yourself?”  His voice was so 
melancholy that I was almost overwheled with sympathy.  “Hated what you’ve 
become.  Hated what you never got the chance to be.”
        Now it was clear he was not the bloodthirsty murderer the newspapers 
claimed him to be Instead, I saw someone who had been hurt too many times, with 
no one to turn to, no one who cared, left with nothing but anger, hatred, and 
sadness.
        I felt an impulse that made me nervous, yet I succumbed to it.  Almost 
standing on my toes, I held onto his arms for balance, moving my mouth to his 
as I softly kissed his lips.  A tingle of pleasure ran down my back so I 
lingered and kissed his lips a second time.  The Gemini Killer opened his lips 
to kiss mine as his hands danced around my waist, supporting me.  As our lips 
parted for another kiss, I felt his body shudder, staggering his breath as he 
exhaled into my mouth.  I leaned forward a little more, now fully embracing 
him, and softly caressed his tongue with mine.  Kissing him sent another shiver 
through his body.  He pulled me against him, my hand moving to the side of his 
face, tracing my fingers amidst his unruly, black hair.
        Then, suddenly, he pulled away.
        The light from the small window was just enough to give shine to tears 
building up within his eyes.  He turned away glancing in several directions as 
he fought with his pride, almost ashamed to cry in front of me.
        “James,” he said.  “My name is James.”
        I could almost feel my heart skip a beat, and for a brief moment, it 
was difficult to breathe.
        Of all the secrets he had divulged, I remember he had dared me to earn 
the right to know his name.  He had shown me more than he had shown any other 
living person.  I knew his emotions - the lonliness, the sorrow, the pain 
behind his mask of sinful murder - that he felt he could never reveal.  Except 
to me, prying open my soul as he exposed his.  And now I knew his name.
        James Venamun.
        I knew who he was, and now I knew who he was not . . .
        “What’s your name?” he asked with glistening, admiring eyes.  “Who are 
you?”
        . . . now the game was over.  And I had won.
        I gripped the handle of my knife and forced the blade deep into his 
upper abdomen.  He froze instantly, a shocked and wounded look on his face.  A 
tear managed to roll down his cheek.  His eyes held fierce pain that burned 
like fire at my betrayal.
        “Go ahead,” he managed to whisper.  “Do it.”
        I obeyed with a sudden, all-consuming bloodlust, twisting the blade 
within him.  He flinched with pain and held onto me for support, gritting his 
teeth.  I hissed into his ear, “You should have slit my throat when you had the 
chance, Jim!”  His knees grew weaker, and I released my support, letting him 
slump to the cold, metal floor.  He rolled onto his back, his hands at his 
side, reluctant to touch the knife protruding from his abdomen.  The pained 
expression hadn’t left his face.  I towered above him.
        He attempted to speak through steep gasps of air.  “I -”
        Interrupting him, I placed a boot upon his chest, near the wound, and 
pulled the knife out swiftly and viciously, feeling the blade slice backwards 
through tissue and organs.  He barely restrained a scream that forced its way 
up his throat as he convulsed and covered the wound with his hands.  His 
breaths came labored as he lay with his eyes closed.
        “I -” he tried again, his words caught in his throat.  I crouched 
beside him and placed a finger lightly upon his lips.  He glanced at me 
momentariy before a pained grimace consumed his face as he rolled onto his 
side, curling into a fetal position.  My knife had penetrated part of his 
liver, maybe his lower lung.  He lifted himself up onto one elbow, his hand 
still covering the wound.  Eyes still closed, his expression relaxed, his lips 
tilting into a half-smile.  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, “but I didn’t 
prepare a last request.”
        I ran my fingers gently through his matted hair.  Then, taking a firm 
hold, I pulled upward, turning his face to mine.  For the first time, I could 
see past his eyes - to his soul - where I discovered something I hadn’t noticed 
before.  Fear.
        “Do you still wanna know my name?” I asked, allowing an evil smile to 
creep across my face.
        The frightful gleam in his gaze never faded as he struggled against my 
hold to nod his head yes.  Malicious thoughts danced through my mind.  He must 
have seen it in my face because he blanched to a near chalk-white.
        I leaned in closer to his face, nearly nose-to-nose, and said, “I am 
the Gemini Killer.”  With that, I drove the black six-inch serrated blade up 
through his chin and into his lower brain.  His eyes rolled back and his body 
convulsed, twitching in its death throes.  I wrenched my knife loose, pushing 
it towards the back of his spine as I did so, leaving the thinking portions of 
his brain in tact and somewhat functioning, while his body became fully 
immobile.  There was reconciling to do before he should finally die.  His body 
sunk to the floor, his head lolling to the side, rivulets of blood issuing from 
his mouth and nose.
        And then all was still.
        I paused to gaze at him.  Fairly handsome in both death and life; so 
much potential, so very promising - so much I could have gained.  He would have 
made a very suitible heir to my legacy.  And in a way, he already had.  But 
he’d played the game and lost.  And now . . .
        I took his bloodied hand in mine carving the sign of the Gemini deep 
into the palm with my knife, then dismembering the desired finger as my 
souvenir.
        Standing, I took one last look at him.  His body had relaxed by now, 
the smell of urine and feces drifting to my nostrils. 
        I spat disgracefully upon his corpse.  “I fucking hate copycats,” I 
uttered.
        Walking to the exit, I swiped the card through the electronic slot 
beside the door.  The door opened, and I smiled to the guard on my way out, 
leaving the cold, dark cell behind me, with only the sound of dripping water to 
fill the void of silence within.