I don't think I had **ever** had a chapter that made my stomach churn as much as this one did.   This chapter is extremely disturbing and it deals with the death of children, if you can't handle it, don't read it...but I am warning you...READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

-  -  -

"Kkiill tthheemm..." A voice whispered into the head of Warren Adams, causing him to jolt awake, sitting up and frowning as he sat up from his lazy boy in the living-room and taking in his surroundings. Nothing seemed to be out of place. He sighed, glanced to the side table on the right where his half full mug of beer sat, reached over, taking a huge swig then slamming it onto the table before leaning back and getting comfortable in his seat.

Smacking his lips again and feeling the lids of his eyes drooping, his head lulled to the side, and he felt sleep begin to claim him when he heard that whisper again.

"Kkiill tthheemm....rriidd yyoouurr lliiffee ooff tthheemm." Warren frowned as the words stirred in his mind, an insatiable urge to get up and do as the voice said and kill the only two beings in the house besides him, and they were the little brats that he had to have the displeasure of having to babysit them. God, he fucking hated children. Absolutely despised the heathens.

His eyes narrowed, the urge growing stronger and stronger, the voices becoming more and more prominent, and as if his body moved on its own accord, Warren soon found himself in the kitchen, staring at the deep fryer, his mind whirling with insane and cruel thoughts, deep in the back of his mine he knew he shouldn't do what he was doing.

But, he refused to take responsibility for someone else's cum stain. They were not his children and he sure didn't want them in there, why he even agreed to look after his five year old niece and nephew, Warren wasn't certain, but he was going to make sure his goody-two-shoes older brother of his would regret it.

Warren giggled at the thought, smiling as he saw the temperature of the cooking oil rising steadily.

Again, as if someone else had possessed his body, he went over to the back door, slid the over one side of it, stepped out and down the stairs, taking the pathway leading to the old wooden shed in behind the house. Upon reaching the door, he swung it open, stepped inside. Warren's body was rigid as his eyes swept the small shed from left to right, searching for something, and when he found them he went over and picked up the two metal pails and went back towards the house, not bothering with closing it.

Entering the house, he checked the temperature, another smile gracing his lips as he opened the lid of the deep fryer, tapping the metal pail with his foot until it was directly lined up with the fryer before he grabbed hold, listening to his hands being burned as he tipped it over. He emptied the contents into both pails, hurriedly grabbed more oil and poured it into the fryer and closing the lid.

With both pails in hand he calmly walked down the hall towards where the kids were sleeping and pushed the slightly cracked door open, a wicked smile plastered permanently on his face as he placed one pail on the floor by the beds.

If anyone had been there to see him, they would see his eyes that were once green in colour was now a pale green, his skin now pale as a ghost, and Warren wasn't breathing.

He couldn't hear anything but he could see, but he could see himself going over to his nephews bed first, throwing the blanket off of the sleeping child, went over to the opposite side of the room, pulled the covers off of his niece. He woke her up.

Groggily, the little girl sat up and looked at him. "Uncle Warren what are you doing? Is it time to get up?"

Warren didn't reply, it was as if he didn't hear her as he grabbed both pails and made his way over to the young girl first. Through the haze of his mind, Warren could see little Amy staring up at him with curiosity and apprehension as her gaze shifted from his face to the pail that was held tightly in his hands. She pointed to it, he could see her mouth moving, indicating that she was speaking.

He couldn't hear her; he didn't want to hear her either.

Warren was done.

He was done with children and he was certainly done with life.

Without hesitation, he then doused her in the hot oil, listening to her screams of agony as it echoed throughout the house. It woke her brother from his stupor as he jumped up, his wide eyes still in a daze, but he too understood what had happened. The other pail was then poured over him.

The scent of burning flesh stung his nostrils as he dropped the pails onto the floor and left the room, the screams of both his niece and nephew sounded awfully like music to his ears as he trudged down the hall and back into the kitchen, seeing that the temperature of the oil had gone up to a hundred-and-eighty degrees Centigrade.

"Yyoouurr ssiinnss sshhaall bbee oouurrss ttoo ffeeaasstt uuppoonn." Warren's smile widened even more, the skin of his lips stretching to the point that it wouldn't surprise him if it started to rip. The voices urged him to do what he was about to do.

You deserve it, his mind mocked, as Warren lifted the lid of the fryer, taking the strainer out, staring at the dark yellow of the oil, thinking of and relishing in the sweet sound it'll make once his skin plunges into its depths. Both the voices and his own conscience encouraged him. Warren thought no further as he bent forward, first his face plunges, the stinging, scorching oil making him want to pull back, but something kept him there, his face excruciatingly slow, made its way deeper into the oil. He felt his mouth open and widen.

How he remained alive, he wasn't sure, but the pain which was little to none slowly increased, becoming steadier and steadier as time passed. He then inhaled.

The voices giggled in his mind as they continued to speak of his sins feeding them.

Then there was nothing as Warren's body fell backwards, taking the fryer with him.

- - -

"This is the fourth death in not even two months." Superintendant Charles Shackles snapped, slapping the file photos down onto the table. His brown eyes blazing with both fear and fury. "Any fucking leads whatsoever on who may be doing this?"

Everyone in the briefing room shook their head. It stumped them and struck them to the very core.

"Sir, I think I know someone who may be involved." Jason Steele spoke up after a moment. Charles stood tall, took a few steps back, crossed his arms, and leaned against the window sill.

"Please do explain as to why you never brought this up before now?"

His voice was incredibly condescending, and it made Jason still for a moment before he spoke out again.

"Blair Treton, sir."

"Go on."

"In his youth he used to be considered violent, full into drugs and alcohol."

"He was also dealing with his mother's death."

Jason hummed in response, nodding in agreement. "That is true, and for awhile, after a taste of Juvenile Detention he smartened up, so to speak, and even with the bad boy attitude, he did as told."

A brow rose at the accusation. "That is a mighty fine tale, you're spewing, son."

"I'm just giving options, Sir."

"I understand that, but I also know that you and Blair also had a bit of a stand-off almost a year ago in the bar, didn't you?"

"That was myself and his friend Carlos."

"Right." Charles glanced up to everyone else and dismissed them with a nod of his head, as soon as the last person exited the room, Charles took off his glasses and sighed, "Steele, this isn't the time to making false accusations about someone just because you don't like them."

"I just have this feeling."

"Feelings aren't taken into consideration when dealing with a homicide suspect, and it certainly doesn't go well whenever the accused stands on trial in front of a judge."

"I know that Sir..." His voice trailed off when Charles sent him a look, silently telling him that he was finished discussing it. Charles walked to the door, shaking his head and inhaling deeply as he opened it and walked out. He was a few metres down the hall when the sound of padding of footsteps could be heard coming closer.

"Sir, I know its not ideal but..."

"Steele?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Enough." Charles' voice was firm, with no room to argue. "Unless you can get me hard evidence to back up your claim, you'll be taking some time off of this case. Understood?"

Steele's jaw clenched, swallowing, then replied through clenched teeth. "Sir."

"Good. Now go and have a beer or two and I'll see you on Monday morning."

Blair stood there for a moment before he took off, ignoring all that he passed as he slammed open the glass doors and stepped out into the cool evening air, glancing from one side to the next. To say he wasn't livid was an understatement. He knew that there was something going on with Blair Treton...he knew there was.

Jumping into his car and turning the key, listening as Metallica's Enter Sandman began playing over the radio. Turning the volume up, and squealing his tires as he left the police station.

Within due time, he pulled into his driveway, shut his car off, sat there for a second, took out his cigarette pack, lit it and exited the vehicle and headed up the walkway to his front door. It was quiet as he walked into the kitchen of his home, as he immediately went over to the fridge and pulled out a beer and one of the meals he had prepped the night before, placing it into the microwave.

As it heated up, he went to change, but stopped when something caught his attention. Jason wasn't entirely sure on what he was seeing, but it was making him uncomfortable.

There was something in the shadows, he could just feel it, but as quickly as the feeling came, it went away. He shook his head and continued down the hall towards his room to rip off his uniform and put on some sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt.

Making his way down to the kitchen a few minutes after, the feeling that someone was in the shadows was there again, this time more prominent as he held his breath and listened.

Nothing seemed out of ordinary.

Walking into the kitchen, he opened the door, the scent of chicken alfredo filling the house deliciously, making his mouth water.

Just as he was about to take a bite, time seemed to stop, his hand frozen in spot with a fork full of food. A strangled sound escaped his throat, Jason's eyes frantically searching.

What was going on?

He wasn't sure, but adrenaline was pumping through his blood as he fought control of his body. Unfortunately, for him, this was something that he somehow knew that he wasn't going to win.

Then voices came.

It laughed.

It taunted.

It scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

It forced him out of his chair, over to the kitchen sink, and under it, grabbing a large white bottle. Jason whimpered as he felt his fingers grasping the cap and twisting it.

He brought the bottle up close to his mouth and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent, and inwardly wincing as the strong scent of it burned his nostrils.

It startled him when he then brought it to his lips and began chugging it, muffled cries could be heard as the liquid burned his throat and he could feel it in his stomach, eating away at the lining.

He gagged, falling to the floor for a moment, urging himself to vomit. Sweat broke out across his forehead and his entire body shaking; insides relentlessly burning.

What a way to go.

The voices, stronger now, forced his body up, he keeled over, clutching at his stomach, tears now streaming down his face as he fought against whatever force was making him head towards his bedroom.

His heart skipped a beat as a dark hooded figure emerged from the shadows and only stared at him. Jason continued on towards his room without stopping.

He swung the door to his room open wide, spotting his uniform on the bed, the metal of his gun shining under the light of the room, went over, checked to see how many bullets were in, cocked it.

"No." He whimpered, as he felt his body pull the trigger, the shot echoed loudly in the room as it penetrated his left foot.

Another shot through his right.

Then through his left shoulder.

It shocked him when he pointed the gun right at his dick.

Not there! He thought pathetically before another shot was fired.

Pain laced through him, and his vision was blurring incredibly fast as Jason's movements became lethargic as he pointed the gun at the last limb to be shot, and pulled the trigger.

He cried out, sobbing as his body slid off of the bed and onto the floor.

The voices started again, the hooded figure from earlier emerged.

Then darkness fell.