Serial Killer Round 45: The Roaring Twenties (3: Voting Period)

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Karl said nothing in response to the discovery of the corpse. He had seen a couple over the course of his career, though never with that much blood lost. He did, however, raise an eyebrow at the message on the wall, and the note accompanying the gun. Already people had started to scrap at one another.

"Dear god, whoever invited us here wants us all to die... are we really going to play their game?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I'm not going to stick around. Excuse me." He pushed past some of the others, uncaring of any attempts to stop him, and tried the front door. Locked. That did not surprise him. What did, however, was the complete lack of lock mechanism from the inside: the door could only be locked from outside of the building.

"Clever bastard," Karl thought aloud to himself. But not clever enough to outsmart me. I'll be out of here eventually, was the unspoken end of the sentence. He turned back to the group. "So it turns out we're locked in from the outside. Whoever wants us in here is trying to send a message, I think." The thief made his way over to the bloody mess and crouched down to investigate closer, thinking over the situation.

"They want us to find the one who did this... I'm no doctor, but it looks like this person knew what he was doing. Might be a stab wound, hitting an artery judging by the blood pool," he noted, though Karl knew he was guessing. His business was the taking of property, not lives. "Who here's got a blade on them? It might help to narrow down the list of potential suspects."

Of course, he was carrying a knife, but he thought it highly unlikely that anyone would know that. It was well concealed, and had yet to leave its sheath that evening.

"...are we really going to play their game?"

Richard smiled at Ray's comment weakly. He thought to himself 'Well, if there are games, I suppose there at least are rules.'

and said:

"I suppose we have to, what choice to have have but play their game?

Belmont stood in the corner of the room, color drained from his face. The only sensation that could concentrate on was the sweat forming on his trembling palms. The doctor laid dead before him...the first dead body that he had ever set his own eyes upon. The business that he had been a part of in the past may not have been free of mortality but he hand never had to come even remotely close to the dirty work. He simply ran numbers.

Why...why would they bring me here?

He had only come to try and sweep his part in the activities of his superiors under the rug. Monty could not even begin to fathom why he was the one summoned to take part in...whatever this was.

A pounding in his head. The room was getting hot. His vision darkened and his slipped out from under his body.

Monty crashed to the floor, unconscious from the sudden shock of this brutal crime.

Bobby stared at the body lying in the crimson pool. So much blood. Oh, God. Uncle didn't bleed this much. He glanced up on the message of the wall. A knot formed in his gut, but he never closed his eyes longer than a blink.

He stuttered to Emile, "I- I don't think you should be asking the questions. I mean, you were right there when the lights came on. We can't just... ignore that."

He heard a voice call out, "Who here's got a blade on them? It might help to narrow down the list of potential suspects."

"All I have is my-" he paused, hesitating on telling the truth. "...my pocketbook." No, no that's my only defence. What if the killer is right here among us?

-

A sudden thump rung across the floor. Startled, he exclaimed, "CHRIST!" Regaining control, but still breathing heavily, Bobby asked, "Is... he dead too?"

"Dear god, whoever invited us here wants us all to die..."
Harold started shaking his head. It didn't make sense. It was a whole lot of trouble to round up a whole bunch of strangers just to kill them, even more to watch them struggle like this. His eyes widened at what this thought implied. This rag-tag bunch of people wasn't the party. They were the entertainment.
A loud WHUMPF from across the room drew him away from these thoughts to study a man he hadn't noticed before that was lying on the floor. Was there another victim already?
"Is... he dead too?"
"Someone check him,' Harold said, his eyes darting again at the pistol still on the table.

Henry's question caught him by surprise.

"Yeah... yeah... Ray Hastings from Gettysburg. I live on the road now."

He struggled to recall a name but the pressure of the situation, particularly when it was discovered they were locked inside, was strangling his mind with a nameless fear.

You're going to die Ray... You're going to die...

He had felt that fear once before and this time he didn't have friends with him.

"Sorry, with all that's going on I... I can't remember you."

When Belmont fell, he stared at his still body.

"Don't tell me the food and water was poisoned too. Is he breathing?"

"I- I don't think you should be asking the questions. I mean, you were right there when the lights came on. We can't just... ignore that."

Emile rolled his eyes. "Calm yourself, this is what the killer wants. He wants us to turn on ourselves don't you see?!"

Then a thud made him turn his eyes to someone else that had fallen, seemingly from nothing but it was safe to assume that the man needed medical attention. We're dropping like flies...

Emile walked over to the unconscious man, putting his head to his chest. The short man was still breathing but sparsely. Emile hopped that the man merely fainted. Some relief filled his head but there was still the fact of the matter that he was locked inside a room with a killer.

"He's still breathing... maybe the excitement got the better of him, no?" Emile got up, trying to think but his options were dwindling fast. The killer is still in this group and there's still the matter of rounding up everybody that was here.

"Yeah... yeah... Ray Hastings from Gettysburg. I live on the road now."

Henry pulled the best face of disappointment he could, almost perfected now he reckoned.

"Sorry, with all that's going on I... I can't remember you."

"It's fine. Understandable when a fella gets in a situation like this you can't remember that random guy's name, huh?" Henry replied in jest.

Ray wrests his arm away, but Connolly keeps a tight grip on his wrist.

Redlin5:
"Get your hands off of me! I was at the bar with a drink when it all went down. I'm not sticking around to sing for a murderer while he rips my guts out. I say we all go our separate ways and let the cops handle it."

"You t'ink I'll believe t'at sob story?! You're staying put!"

He releases his grip, staring Ray down as he straightens his suit and backs away, watching as he strikes a conversation with some other player. Sheamus rests his hands on his waist and turns to look out the window. Moments pass as he watches the rain pour. He can hardly see ten feet in front of him.

"Coppers won't come. Not until t'at storm lets up... We're not going anywhere."

He looks away from the storm and notices one of the other guests trying the door. Rook, he thinks his name was.

CounterAttack:
"So it turns out we're locked in from the outside. Whoever wants us in here is trying to send a message, I think."

"I'm not so sure 'bout t'at. Proving a point is one t'ing, but t'is... Whoever sick fuck brought us here, we're playing by t'eir rules now."

Sheamus follows Rook as he kneels by the body, standing far enough away to keep his shoes from the blood.

"T'at's too much blood. Bastard didn't leave any prints."

CounterAttack:
"They want us to find the one who did this... I'm no doctor, but it looks like this person knew what he was doing. Might be a stab wound, hitting an artery judging by the blood pool... Who here's got a blade on them? It might help to narrow down the list of potential suspects."

"I don't carry a knife laddy."

Sheamus sweeps his left hand by his waist, pushing back the side of his coat. The butt of a Bergmann-Bayard sticks out of its holster.

Ray just looked at the young man.

"A clarinet... A jiving one at that... Your name Henry? Who do you play with?"

Ray closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was at an actual party where there were no bodies on the floor or blood smeared on the walls... That would have been nice. He opened his eyes and looked around. There were some nice dames about too.

Damn this murderer!

Henry couldn't help but notice the big Irishmen. He looked like the kind of guy who took fellas out for a ride, not a romantic one either.

"A clarinet... A jiving one at that... Your name Henry? Who do you play with?"

"Oh it changes every time. I'm in high demand you know," Henry replied, chuckling after he said it. The man looked no less disturbed than before, but at least he wasn't making a run for it. Henry couldn't blame him, considering the Irishmen had just grabbed Ray with enough force Henry swore he could have ripped it off.

Alex watched the surveyed the room and the people in it. Some of the people in here didn't seem quite as comfortable around dead bodies as he was. Alex didn't enjoy being round the dead, but he was certainly used to seeing the occasional stiff. It came with the job. People were getting restless, grabbing each other, accusations were on the tips of everyones tongues.

"Verdamnt Nochmal! Let's not start fighting. That's what this... This freak wants from us. Whoever invited us here wants us to be suspicious of each other, do his work for him. IT wouldn't surprise me if none of us were the killer, and there's someone else skulking about."

"Where would they be skulking, exactly? That man died in this very room. The one who invited us here is probably among us right now." Amanda said to Alex, rolling her eyes at his naivety.

"Though I agree that shooting someone over this is ludacris."

"Well, if they were in this room, why would they be encouraging vigilante justice? I mean, that would put them in a position of being killed. The room was dark, he could have come in and left within seconds, picking a target at random." Alex retorted.

Alex was annoyed by the way this girl had rolled her eyes at him, but decided not to mention it. It would be best not to cause any trouble, the air was tense enough as it was.

Despite the crowd's self righteous murmuring, someone was going to die. Almost all eyes immediately fell on one person, who for one reason or another, had become suspicious in their eyes.


The mob has decided to take matters into their own hands, and by a surprising majority, have chosen their victim. Check your inboxes!

"I highly doubt the murderer among us is the one daring us to find them," Karl chipped in; he too had picked up on the man's naive commentary. "Our host, whomever they may be, has likely set all of this up as some sort of devious 'game'." He raised his hands and performed air quotes as he finished that sentence.

"I still think we need to find some way out of here before this gets any worse. If that bridge to the mainland is still an option, then all we need to do is bust out of this house." An easy matter for one of my skill. He began to pace back and forth, his gaze jumping from person to person as he usually did. Any one of them could be the killer.

David kept sitting on the stairs in the Landing of the Manor, unaware of the general feeling in the Group.
Still, his watch of the front door wasn't going well, not a single trace of anyone coming in or out.
Ahhhhhh Feck....Bastard must be gone by now... He thought as he lit up another cigarette, giving his position away in the dark.

Without being noticed, Henry took the gun and the bullet named 'Justice' and exited the manor along with Ray.

"I can't believe we're actually bumping off this g-," Henry said before coming to an abrupt stop. The victim was right there, lollygagging on the stairs.

"I ain't too good a shooter from afar, especially in the dark. The plan is, we go up to him like everything's Jake. When I give the sign," Henry winked "you'll back off. If he makes a run for it, tackle him." Henry announced before calmly walking up to the man. Henry didn't want to come off as someone who knew how to make a hit but it was better than messing it up.

Ray was uncomfortable with the whole situation. How he had been chosen to accompany Henry with the gun was a mystery to him.

Why the hell am I even doing this?

"Er, you go it alone. I'm going to have a smoke here. If he tries running for safety back here in the house... I'll stop him."

How? Strangle him? Push him off the cliff? Hit him with something? One bullet for justice...

Ray found himself wishing that mobster he had fled from in Boston had just shot him that fateful night.

Trying to win it all back in one game...

"Christ you're not scared are you?" Henry asked.

"Er, you go it alone. I'm going to have a smoke here. If he tries running for safety back here in the house... I'll stop him."

"Not going to help if he runs away but whatever," Henry retorted. A panicky accomplice was worse than no accomplice.

Henry continued on his way to the man and decided to strike up a conversation.

"How's the night watch?" Henry asked.

Nouw:
So Sorry

Nouw:
I'm Late

David looked up at henry and answered "Not to busy, don't seem to be no one making a break for it to call the police or to confess to being the killer. How about you?"
He opened his pack of cigarettes and offered him one.
*Will Reply tomorrow, Need to sleep*

Diablo1099:
"Not to busy, don't seem to be no one making a break for it to call the police or to confess to being the killer. How about you?"
He opened his pack of cigarettes and offered him one.

"I'm Jake. And thanks, nothing like a good cigarette to ease the mind," Henry said. "Now where's my lighter..." he asked himself, reaching for the gun.

"Aaah, there it is," Henry said. He pulled out the gun and aimed it at the man's head.

"Nothing personal buddy."

Carl looked out of the attic window and rolled his eyes at the scene unfurlling outside. He had decided to hole up there until things quieted down a bit. There was only one entrance to the attic, so he took out his trusty pocketknife and a hard candy and watched the entrance . He lasted nearly five minutes before falling asleep and nearly choking on the hard candy...

David's eyes widened in fright at the sight of the gun.
"You....YOU'RE THE KILLER!" He shouted as he tackled Henry to the ground, trying to get the gun off him before he killed again.
The pair rolled down the stairs in the struggle, David managing to get the upper hand thanks to this IRB (Irish Repubilican Brotherhood) Training.
Still, At the end of the day, only so much you can do against a bullet.
Henry pressed the gun into his gut and fired, Shock filling David's face as he fell back, slumped on the stairs.
David gasped for air as his time came, premature thanks to the stupidity of others.
"...You....YOU FECKING........Asswipe!....I....didn't do nothing...to no one....You jus'...Killed....an...innocent...man..."
His bloody hand shaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to reveal a picture of his family, Not wife and son mind, but brothers.
"Tell Me Brothers....enjoy....America....And that...I'm sorry...for sleeping with Paddy's woman...."
And with that, David West was dead.

Mob Execution Victim 1: David West

"...You....YOU FECKING........Asswipe!....I....didn't do nothing...to no one....You jus'...Killed....an...innocent...man..."

"Hey, talk it up with them, " he pointed towards the manor "I'm just the guy who does their dirty work."

"Tell Me Brothers....enjoy....America....And that...I'm sorry...for sleeping with Paddy's woman...."

Henry gave him a quizzical look and picked up the wallet, the very least he could do was uphold the man's wish. He closed the man's eyes and left the scene, back into the manor.

"Well it's done. He's dead." Henry announced.

David West

The Lady in Red crossed out another name from her list. They were all dirty scum of the earth that deserved to get whacked. Like animals they turned on each other. Of course, there was no way they could tell that David was innocent. Until someone else kicked the bucket. Sure, it was excusable when they killed someone because they thought he killed someone, but not when a single person was on a killing spree?


David West was not the killer! But no one can be sure until the bodies start dropping again...
It's time for the killer and physician to send in their targets!

In the meantime, feel free to explore.

The party hears the gunshot from the parlor.

"Well... T'at's t'at t'en."

Sheamus walks to the bar, blowing off an old bottle of what looked like whiskey, though at this point he could care less what it was.

He pours himself a shot.

The echo of the gunshot sent a shiver up Emile's spine. That man could have been the killer but what if he wasn't?

"With that done with, I propose trying to get the hell out of here." Emile clasped his hands together. "Since the door out is locked from the outside perhaps there is a window we can get out from."

Emile looked up, trying to spot one that was reachable but all of them were beyond any possible reach. He paced all over the room before spotting a hallway leading further into the mansion adorned with red wall paper. A quick glance and a man could mistake it for the color of blood. As much as he stressed staying in a group, he had to swallow his own pride and correct himself. He had to find a way out, even if it meant leaving the others behind so Emile walked forward into the hallway albeit carefully.

As Henry Goodman and Ray Hastings left the room with gun, their target clear, Harold Blake hung his head in thought. Someone had to die, that much was clear. But what if they were all wrong? What if David had been innocent after all? The chances of that seemed pretty likely, given how many people had accepted the invitation to this "party". The most nagging question...what would happen to them all if they were wrong here? What if the killings didn't stop? And what if this was their only given chance?
A gunshot is heard, echoing into the room.
Harold closed his eyes. It was too late for regrets now. He had to steel himself for whatever would come next. As he raised his head and opened his eyes, he silently noted another man leaving the room, though too lost in his own thoughts to know why. Harold resigned himself to leaning against a wall for the time being, keeping an eye on everyone still in the dining hall. He would be ready for what came next, whatever that may be.

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the gunshot reverberate the old windows.
He wandered over to the unconscious man and doused him with some cold water. "Hey, old man, we got him. It's over. Wake up."

No, it couldn't be that easy
Bobby let his thoughts wander while leaning against the wall, observing as people begin to spread out.
One figure caught his eye before he disappeared down a dark hallway.

I wonder if that promised treasure is true. Is it worth the risk to find out?
Wait, I just need to wait and see.

*BANG*

Calvin had tried to stay out of way, there was a bit of murmuring once one of the gentlemen had been stabbed, but it was obvious that reason was not going to reign supreme in this house. There was a slight scuffle, but in the end it was one of the Irishmen who went down, cursing to his last. It was clear that everyone was at risk here.

He turned to get away from the room where an execution had just taken place, trying to find a place where he could relieve the stress of having just seen two people murdered. It was bad enough he had to watch people die before. He wasn't going to do it again. At least not without some kind of aid.

He walked through the hallways looking for a safe refuge and it looked like he had found it. There was a man standing at what appeared to be a bar, and he had a shotglass filled with some sweet liquor. That'll do.

He walked up to where the man had just finished pouring. "Well if you're tending," he told the man in as suave a voice as he could muster under the given circumstances, "I'll need a bit more than a shot of that aqua vitae after what just happened. One of those pieces of crystal there should be enough."

"Disappointing," Karl stated to no-one in particular. The others had decided to off someone that the group as a whole knew absolutely nothing about. He had no reason to mourn the dead: he personally knew neither of the two that had fallen thus far. For some unknown reason there had been a lot of finger-pointing, most of it aimed at the individual who, while present, he could discern nothing solid about, not even his looks, voice or clothing.

The main priority right now was to escape. If escape was not possible, then the next task was to hide. Barricade himself somewhere until it was all over. A library or conservatory was ideal for such a defense. Karl began to wander the place in search of such a room.

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