The Rippers

"Who sent you?" Rose said, her voice cold and hard.

He blubbered like a child; blood, snot and tears mixing on his face. "'m sorry!" he said, barely understandable. "Didn't mean nuthin! I just-"

"Drop the charade. You aren't fooling anyone."

With an unsettling abruptness, he ceased crying and looked calmly up at her.

"I asked you a question," Rose spat, digging the knife into his throat. He didn't seem to notice.

"May I ask how you knew?" the man asked, his voice cultured, gentle and impeccably polite. "Merely to satisfy my curiosity."

"I know what people want. I know what people _need_," she said. Her face screwed up in disgust. "I've seen what it is you need."

The man smiled, widely.

"I make them beautiful. I sculpt their bodies and paint them with a myriad hues of magnificent sacrlet."

"I know what it is you do. Now tell me where to find him!"

"He will make you all _so_ beautiful."

He lunged forward and slit his own throat against the blade.

Even as he died, the gurgling sounded like laughter.