September 12th, 2011

"Please, Mama," Petruccio begged, "I just want to get the feathers before the wind blows them away."

"I said no, Petruccio. It's too late and dark out now, they will be there in the morning," Maria replied firmly, "Now please, go to bed."

Petruccio rolled over in his bed, pouting into his pillow as his mother turned off the light to his room and closed the door behind her. An eagle had been perched on tree just outside his window but was suddenly startled by something and flew away, leaving behind a few feathers that floated gently to the ground. If his cousin, Connor, was there, he would go get the feathers for him. He shared Petruccio's interest in collecting feathers. Ezio might get them for him as well, but as far as Petruccio knew, he was probably out at a party or some girl's house. Federico always sided with their parents, so he probably wouldn't.

Petruccio sat up and looked through his window at the feathers. They were feathers from an eagle, just sitting there, how could he resist? As quietly as he could, he slid his window open and carefully crawled out, using the thick vines of ivy clinging to the wall to steady himself. He glanced down at the window below his to see if anyone was in that room. Thankfully, the window was dark and there would be no one to see him. He made his way nervously down the ivy, wondering how Ezio could do this so often. Once he reached the ground, he brushed off the little bits of plant stuck to his hands and sprinted over to the tree where the feathers awaited him.

Petruccio knelt down and picked them up gently by their shafts. He took a moment to admire the deep brown and white feathers before returning to his room. He stood and turned quickly, but his retreat was halted when it felt like he ran into a wall. He fell back onto his rear, dropping the feathers. His first thought was that it was Ezio, sneaking back from wherever he'd been. Until the person spoke.

"Not my first choice," a voice grumbled.

Petruccio stared up in shock at the man standing over him.

"But I'm feeling a little lazy tonight," the man added, taking a white cloth out of his pocket.

Petruccio scrambled back to get away and tried to scream, but the man grabbed him by the throat and smothered the cloth over his face before he could make any noise. Petruccio scratched at the man's hands for only a minute, if that, until the darkness of unconsciousness swallowed him.

xXxXx

"Using the front door tonight, eh?" Maria called from the sofa where her and Giovanni sat.

"I always use the front door," Ezio defended as he walked into the living room.

"Oh please, Ezio, do not think we don't know what you're up to," his mother laughed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, suppressing a grin, "Is Petruccio already asleep? I found some feathers outside he would like."

"He should be, I put him to bed about an hour ago," Maria answered.

Ezio made his way upstairs and lightly knocked on his younger brother's door. When he received no answer, he silently pushed the door open so as not to wake Petruccio if he was sleeping.

"Petruccio, are you awake?" Ezio called softly, poking his head into his brother's room.

He saw the window was open, but didn't think much of it. Their mother always insisted that Petruccio keep his window closed at night because she was afraid he might get sick, since he was not very healthy to begin with. But he would open the window anyway because of how stuffy his room would get. Ezio crossed the room over to his brother's bed and reached out to shake him awake. With his hand touching nothing but the mattress, Ezio now thought something suspicious of the open window. He set the feathers on the nightstand beside the bed and hurried back downstairs.

"You're sure you put him to bed?" Ezio asked quickly, "He's not at a friend's house or something?"

"Of course," Maria replied, worry beginning to work its way into her.

"Why do you ask?" Giovanni asked.

"He's not in his room," Ezio answered.

xXxXx

As he came back to a state of consciousness, Petruccio found himself spread eagle on a table, unable to move. He struggled against the restraints, but to no avail. He looked around the room in a panic; it was dimly lit and wreaked of the stench of gore. He glanced down at himself, restrained to a metal medical examination table. The restraints that held him were well-worn leather, but he him tightly nonetheless. The sleeve of his right arm had been literally ripped away, leaving a few threads sprawled over his shoulder. His arm itself had been drawn on. Dotted lines ran down the length of his arm and around his wrist, elbow, and shoulder. Just like the lines on a pig at a butcher shop. His heart hammered rapidly in his chest and a horrified scream ripped out of him.

"Please don't do that, it gives me a headache," the same voice from before spoke, "Then I can't focus."

Petruccio's head snapped to his left to see the man entering the room. The dim light in the room provided a better view of him than the clouded moonlight had. He wore a stained and battered lab coat over relatively casual street clothes, his hair slicked back, and had eyes that felt like they were piercing into him like knives.

"W-who are you?" Petruccio choked.

The man didn't reply as he walked around the examination table to the counter on the other side of the room. He opened a drawer and began to rummage through it; the metallic sounds of metal tools clinking together reaching Petruccio's ears.

"What-what're you gonna do?" he whimpered.

He continued to ignore the boy and set a few things onto the counter before closing the drawer. He picked up whatever it was that he'd been looking for and walked over to Petruccio's side. The man pulled a stool up to the table, sat down, and leaned forward to speak to Petruccio.

"Who I am isn't important. As for what I'm going to do…well, I think you're smart enough to figure it out," he said in quiet growl, nodding towards Petruccio's arm.

The man raised his hand to just above Petruccio's arm, a gleam from a small knife scaring Petruccio to his core. He screamed at the top of his lungs again, making the man flinch and pull the knife back. His scream was quickly muffled by a cloth being stuffed into his mouth.

"I thought I asked you not to do that," the man snarled.

He huffed and turned back to the boy's arm. The knife gleamed at him again before slicing into his soft skin. The sight of his own blood blooming from the incision was enough to make him pass out.

xXxXx

"Looks whose handiwork just came in," a man called, announcing his presence as he rolled in a metal cart that supported a covered body.

"Again?" the man's partner sighed, "Why can't they catch this guy? It's not like he's being very careful."

"Must be doing something right," the first man replied.

For the past two and half years, New York City had been plagued by a psychotic cannibal who, for some reason, seemed to be impossible to catch. Dr. Ragland had seen all of the killer's work and watched as it became more refined. His mind wandered back to the first victim, a woman in her mid-twenties. He was sick to his stomach when he saw what the killer had done to her. All the flesh had been viciously ripped away from her body, leaving her corpse an unidentifiable bloody, mushy mess. He wanted to believe a wild animal was responsible for the woman's death, but her autopsy revealed it was in fact a human who did that to her.

The two men pulled back the canvas sheet, revealing the body of a young boy. Or rather, what was left of his body. The muscles of his right arm had been cut away, leaving the crimson stained bones exposed. It looked like someone had begun to cut into his other arm, but quit halfway through. The morticians knew where the muscles were, as did everyone involved in the case. They remained with the killer and were mostly likely being eaten as they spoke.

"Doesn't look like he was picked clean like the others," the second man said.

Dr. Ragland picked up the file that had come with the body.

"Auditore, Petruccio. Age eleven," he said, "The boy was pretty sickly his whole life. Guess our cannibal friend figured that out and decided not to take that much."

"We'd better call the family and let them know we found their kid," his assistant said, "They started raising all kinds of hell at the police station last night."

Dr. Ragland set the file down and told the other man to get to work. He complained that there was no point, since the cause of death was quite clear. But Ragland reminded, as always, that they still had to try to find anything that could be used to tell who the killer was or at least where he was taking the victims before killing and ultimately cannibalizing them. They hadn't found a clue yet, but with every body, Ragland hoped there would be some little slip up that would give the killer away.

Author: I know I should be working on my [prototype] fanfic, but this idea started plaguing my mind and I couldn't focus on it until I wrote this out. so I guess I'll be working on two stories at once now.