Chapter 50: Modern Problems Require Modern Solutions
Edward wrapped his arm around Jennifer's waist, his steps steady and unhurried, that gentle smile still fixed on his face.
To any observer, he looked like a man completely lost in the bliss of young love, utterly oblivious to his surroundings.
Only he knew that ice-cold fury was slowly building in his chest.
Two idiots with a death wish. Worst timing ever, Edward thought grimly.
His enhanced perception, like invisible radar, had already mapped out everything inside that black sedan.
Two people—male and female. Their elevated heart rates, irregular breathing, and that unmistakable bloodlust practically radiated from them like heat signatures.
He recognized that particular brand of crazy. This wasn't ordinary street crime—not a mugging or gang violence. This was something purer, more deranged. The kind of madness that fed on suffering and death like a drug.
Like predators stalking prey.
"Master?" Jennifer felt Edward's body tense briefly. She looked up at him with concern.
"It's nothing, babe," Edward said, kissing her forehead with practiced ease. "I was just thinking—the moon looks incredible tonight. Shame to just head straight home. Want to walk down by the river? It's quieter there."
Jennifer didn't question it. Her entire world revolved around him, so wherever he wanted to go, she'd follow.
Watching the couple change direction toward the more isolated riverside park, Bobby—in the driver's seat—let out a low, excited laugh.
"Oh, would you look at that! Honey, he's making this so easy for us!" Bobby turned the wheel, following at a leisurely pace like a gentleman in no particular hurry.
"He must sense it too—sense our artistic vision. He's leading his girl to the grand finale himself!"
The woman in the passenger seat traced her blood-red fingernails across her lips, her breathing quickening.
"I can barely wait, Bobby. I can practically smell their youth—it's going to be the perfect medium for our masterpiece."
"It will be, sweetheart. Everything will be absolutely perfect," Bobby's voice carried the softness of a lover's whisper, but every word dripped with bone-deep malice.
Edward led Jennifer all the way down to the riverbank.
This area sat far from the main streets, with only a handful of flickering streetlights fighting against the darkness. The river shimmered under the moonlight, and the constant rush of water drowned out the distant city sounds.
Perfect spot for a murder. Perfect spot for dumping bodies.
Edward stopped walking.
Almost simultaneously, the black sedan glided to a silent stop on the roadside about fifty feet away.
The doors opened, and Bobby and his wife emerged.
Both had changed into black tactical gear, and on their faces they wore grotesque white masks—featureless except for two large heart shapes painted over the eye holes in dripping black paint.
Through those heart-shaped openings, only unfathomable darkness stared back.
"Good evening, lovebirds," Bobby's voice came through the mask, muffled but theatrical. "Sorry to crash your romantic evening. But trust me—what we're about to share with you will be far more memorable than anything you had planned."
Jennifer's body went rigid.
Only now did she understand why Edward had really brought her here.
A faint sulfurous scent—her demonic nature responding to danger—began emanating from her skin.
"Master..."
"Get behind me," Edward's voice was quiet but carried absolute authority. "Two clowns want to put on a show. We'll watch, then we're heading home."
He gently moved Jennifer behind him, then stepped forward, studying the two masked figures with casual interest.
"So... serial killers?" Edward asked.
Bobby and his wife clearly hadn't expected that reaction—or that level of calm. They hesitated.
"Oh? Looks like you're not your average victim," Bobby said, genuine surprise in his tone. "That's right—we're artists. And you two? You're going to be our masterpiece: 'Lovers' Death Beneath the Moon.'"
"At your happiest, most loving moment, we'll use your blood to paint an eternal flower of devotion under this moonlight! Poetic! Magnificent!" The woman spread her arms wide, as if already embracing their finished work.
"You done monologuing?" Edward stuck a finger in his ear, looking bored. "Look, bottom line—you want to kill us, right? Can we skip the pretentious bullshit? I've got an 8 AM lecture tomorrow."
"You little—!" The woman bristled at his dismissive attitude.
Bobby raised a hand to stop her. He laughed darkly. "Interesting! So interesting! Fight back! Struggle! The more you resist, the more soul our work will have!"
The moment he finished speaking, both simultaneously drew wicked-looking hunting knives from behind their backs—easily twelve inches of gleaming steel. The blades were custom-made, with red gems set into the hilts that caught the moonlight with a bloodthirsty gleam.
They began closing in from opposite sides, herding Edward and Jennifer like wolves circling prey.
"Master, let me rip them apart!" Jennifer growled, her fingernails already extending into razor-sharp black talons.
"Nah, don't get your hands dirty," Edward said, pressing her shoulder reassuringly, a playful smirk crossing his face. "For dealing with anachronistic psychos, we need a more... contemporary approach."
He turned to face the two "artists" as they closed the distance, then sighed dramatically.
"Seriously, what year do you think this is? You're really bringing knives to this?"
Bobby and the woman paused, confused.
Then they understood.
Edward's hands moved in a blur, and two impossibly gorgeous handguns materialized from thin air.
One was matte black with intricate golden filigree etched along the barrel. The other was pearl-white like polished ivory, its lines elegant and lethal.
Ebony and Ivory—straight out of Devil May Cry.
The guns' appearance was so sudden, so impossible, it completely short-circuited the killers' brains.
The heart-shaped masks suddenly looked absurdly comical.
Has... has the world changed this much? The thought flickered through Bobby's mind.
"Ding ding ding. No prize for correct answers."
Edward's voice went flat and cold.
BANG! BANG!
Two sharp cracks echoed across the quiet riverbank, sending a flock of sleeping ducks exploding into flight.
The bullets punched through the center of both heart-shaped masks, and the kinetic energy blew out the back of their skulls in messy explosions.
Red mist and gray matter mixed with bone fragments splattered across the ground behind them in what could only be described as actual "performance art."
Both bodies dropped like puppets with cut strings, their custom knives clattering uselessly to the pavement.
From knife-draw to corpses on the ground: five seconds, tops.
So much for artists. So much for masterpieces. All that pretension meant exactly nothing against overwhelming firepower.
Jennifer peeked out from behind Edward, looking at the two bodies leaking into spreading pools of blood, her expression pure disdain.
"That's it? And they called themselves artists?" She stepped forward and nudged Bobby's corpse with the tip of her Louboutin heel. "What a couple of delusional losers."
Edward dismissed Ebony and Ivory back into his system inventory, walked over to Jennifer, and pulled her into his arms, gently stroking her back to calm her down.
"Alright, trash taken out, show's over," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Let's head home. Didn't you tell Maria you'd go shopping with her tomorrow?"
It was like he'd just stepped on a couple of cockroaches—his emotional state completely unchanged.
The next morning, the local news station's breakfast broadcast was in full swing.
"City police discovered two bodies in Riverside Park in the early hours of this morning. Preliminary identification confirms the deceased as Bobby and Cynthia Martinez, the couple behind multiple murders and dubbed the 'Valentine Killers' by media outlets.
According to the crime scene investigation, both died from gunshot wounds to the head. Two custom hunting knives were recovered at the scene, but no firearms were found.
Police are working under the theory that the pair likely had a falling out—possibly over their victims or internal disputes—resulting in a murder-suicide scenario.
The full details of the case remain under investigation..."
In the Connor family's kitchen, Edward leisurely ate the bacon and eggs Lily had prepared while scrolling through news alerts on his phone.
Seeing the headline "Valentine Killers Found Dead in Apparent Murder-Suicide," he couldn't suppress a slight smirk.
"What's funny, big brother?" Lily asked curiously as she set a glass of orange juice in front of him.
Edward put down his phone, took a sip, and replied casually, "Nothing. Just read about two clowns who bombed their final performance."