Situs Inversus

Slick and shining the organs lie in their jewelbox, precious articles awaiting the caress of the ripper's tongue. Smashing through their protective skin-and-bone shell, he had become thoroughly soaked in red wetness, its warm saltiness prickling his skin rapturously. When he catches a glimpse of glistening entrails at the bottom of the gash he has made, he pauses, admiring the first gleam of the treasures further effort will unearth.1

Suddenly, the phone rings on the desk near the dying man's head, bringing him out of his trance.2

The ripper reaches for it, but when his snow-pale hand touches it, the ringing stops. 3

Oh well. Must be a wrong number. 4

The rubbered hand retreats, returning to its original activity. 5

The knife remains embedded in the left side of the prey's chest, quivering. 6

The ripper is curious, because the knife isn't still. This means the man is still alive. Wondering if perhaps his eyes deceive, the ripper leans in for a closer look, and finds that they do not. The prey is, indeed, still breathing; hitching, gasping, choking out halting half-syllables, twitching weakly as if his brain still believes his body capable of struggling. 7

Acetyl had done much striping on the limbs, and carefully severed the important tendons early on before binding and treating the wounds. Strictly speaking, the prey shouldn't be conscious or able to move at all -- above and beyond the damage done, the ripper had forced at least 120mg of OxyContin down the man's throat at least two or three hours ago. He should be stoned insensible, if not unconscious. 8

(What must be done must be done, but there's no reason anyone should *suffer* for it. Besides, the screaming and wailing and begging is truly obnoxious, and often hurts the ripper's ears. He has very sensitive ears, you know.) 9

His tongue flicks serpentine through half-parted lips, drawing blood from the ripper's face, and he withdraws the six-inch butterfly knife from the prey's chest, almost unconsciously leaning forward in order to lap at the blood puddling up from the wound when the blade slides free. His mind had been full of thoughts of steaks, burgers, all the wonderful meaty things to be prepared later tonight, the raw sashimi he had been slicing off and consuming along the way as a snack -- but now he is intrigued by this mystery. The stab to the chest had been aimed quite perfectly; the blade should have pierced the aorta and caused immediate, intense bleeding and death. However, to all appearances, the injury caused the man no more detriment than a flesh wound. 10

Curious, the ripper drives the blade home into the left chest several more times, observing carefully the man's reaction to each piercing. The prey jerks, emitting a sharp, ragged squeal for each strike, but he does not die, and when the knife pulls back after the last stab, the prey's muscle tension vanishes as he collapses sobbing silently against the computer chair that had become the hunter's butchering table, but he is still breathing, still alive.11

What manner of witchery is this, the ripper wonders? How fascinating. 12

Unable to resist the call of discovery, the ripper wipes the butterfly knife's blade with a clean white cloth, then ties it into the cloth for later purification-disposal. From his belt, a new blade is drawn, glittering bright anticipation as it considers its task. His fingers lovingly caress the back-serrated, single-edged hunting/gardening knife with its red-and-black pyramid-studded hilt; its sleek singular blood grove; the uncompromised perfection of its sleek, arched cutting edge, hewn and honed to absolute razor smoothness. 13

He licks the blade, feeling its cold metallic presence coil about his own spirit-self in welcome, then returns his attention to his prey. 14

The big knife ka-thunks into the helpless man's flesh, expertly splitting the collarbones in the center before sliding down the prey's body, slitting his still mostly-undamaged skin in half. Deeper and deeper the ripper excavates, intent on discovering the answer to this mystery. 15

The jewels in their box are revealed in their full glory; first the abdominal cavity is rent open, the skin and muscle peeled carefully away. Then the big knife punches through the ribs, one after the next, before sawing through the sternum to lift it away in two neat pieces. The ripper proceeds with his task so carefully that at the end, the man lies with his hidden secret exposed, heart beating erratically but beating still even as the cold air washes against the pericardium, wrinkling it.16

The hunter is amazed. Someone has played an incredible trick on the prey. The guts are mirror-imaged, reversed, switched! Transposed viscera! What a trip! 17

The knife and the hunter are both extremely amused.18

He cannot stop chuckling to himself even as he leans forward. With great care, the hungry one rests his jaws around the dying, shuddering heart, lifting it free of its place ever-so-delicately without biting down, so that it remains connected to its vessels even as he begins to pull it free from the body.19

Acetyl shivers happily, feeling its final spasmodic desperations against his tongue, his gums, the roof of his mouth. 20

Then he crushes it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue as if eating an oversized pear tomato.21

A little moan escapes the killer's throat at the incredible rich rush of flavour and aroma; it explodes across his awareness like blue and crimson fireworks.22

That mystery explained, the ripper swallows his morsel and sighs, satisfied.23

For the moment.24

With that in mind, he begins to dress and butcher the prey's corpse, preparing the choicest remaining portions for transport. He wants burgers for dinner, and doesn't care for fast food ...