Raw Red Devil

“Charlie Bradbury is dead. She died a year ago – you killed her. My name is Carrie Heinlein. Oh, and guess what. Now I’m going to kill you, too.” Her eyes narrowed, and she carefully knelt before her prey. Dean’s posture was slumped, defeated, broken; his horror at her transformation so beautifully clear in the lines of his face. He’d given up, and the woman felt a perverse rush of joy, of righteousness. This is my revenge.
The hunter’s mouth flapped open, as though he was trying to speak, and anger seized her. With a snarl, she dug her dagger into the soft skin of his throat, and a slick of blood ran down his collar. “No, I buried myself,” she spat in his face. “When Dick Roman went down, his company belly-up, I figured that for once everything would turn out fine. I got my life back. Now you’re here, come to destroy my world all over again. Do you enjoy taking everything I have? Do you enjoy watching me be torn me to shreds?”
Dean opened his mouth to answer, and her hand closed around his windpipe, flawlessly painted nails gouging into his flesh. “Don’t answer that,” she hissed. “I don’t care.” She straightened up, throwing her dagger to the side with a clatter. She slowly pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans, the delicious fear flaring in Dean’s eyes making her heart glow.
“Are you proud of me, Dean?” she asked softly. A lifetime ago he’d confessed to her that she was like a sister to him, and that made this whole thing so much sweeter. “Haven’t I come a long, long way from that cute IT girl who liked to play dress-up?” One corner of her mouth curved up into a sneer. “Remember, it was you who set me down this path. It was you who abandoned me to the darkness.”
“No, I never –” Dean croaked desperately, and her nostrils flared. She slapped him full across the face, her long nails raking lines across his cheek. “Don’t say a word,” she breathed, eyes wild.
“You abandoned me. I was drowning in the darkness until I realised the secret – don’t resist. Don’t push out the dark, breathe it in. Take it deep inside your heart and let it fester, let it rot, until you are reborn.” She spread out her hands. “I am the perfect version of Charlie Bradbury.”
Pressing the barrel against his forehead, one beautifully manicured finger held the trigger. A smile pulled her lips apart, a smile that had no trace of humanity. “Brother,” she scoffed, disgust rising like vomit in her voice. “As if.” Dean’s eyes widened, mouth falling open and urgent words forming on his lips –
Charlie Bradbury pulled the trigger… and Dean’s last words remained unspoken.

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