sku1lrose-blog

[sku1lrose-blog]

First kill

It was in the aftermath of what had happened with my brother. I had to go through a lot of therapy, a lot of suppressed memories. I didn't think I needed that mandatory therapy, I still think the same. I think it was all just a time spent talking about things that are where they supposed to be, in the past. I had to take a lot of medication too. Annoying. I was fine, and still am. I don't need some pills to do my job, nor live my life. I am fine.

I came back to my outpost, and back on duty 6 months after killing my own brother in the abandoned hospital. I had a lot of paperwork to do, and, quite honestly, a lot of time to do so. After all, I lived in the most boring town of the most boring state in the world.

It was all easy money. No work, but get paid, really nice.

Anyway, to get back to the story.

I was bored. But not like checking the fridge every five minutes bored. No. I was out of my skin bored. Nothing felt comfortable, nothing felt quite right. So I decided to change it.

That's when I found her.

A cute little red haired woman. Social study proffessor at our local community college.Almost as damaged as me. I ran a background check on her the same day I met her. Don't judge me, in my line of work, we are taught to doubt everyone.

Anyhow, it was like in the movies. We met by bumping onto each other on the street. I knocked some papers out of her hands. Must have been an exam or something like that, since she was carrying a lot of those.

Stress... That was all I saw in her eyes. It was like she was ashamed of looking me in the eyes. Either that, or she was afraid of me.

I mean I wouldn't blame her. Even my coworkers looked at me with a certain dose of fear. I guess that was because I shot and killed my own brother. My own flesh and blood. But that didn't change me.not one bit.

All I know is that I started writting again. I used to do that a lot when I was a child. All of my proffessors told me I had a gift for imagining, and writting things only I could see. But alas, it was not in my plan. To live of of my imagination. It's too unstable of a job for theese times. And I liked catching idiots in crime more. Seemed a lot more fun than it really is. I mean the worst was when some granny called me to report her senior neighbour for "killing" her dog. It would be all good, if that was my job, and if that same granny DID have a dog. Her dog died of old age five years prior to her calling me to investigate.

Anyway, that night I got back to writting, I didn't even realise I was writting. I was just sitting home, at my lap top (kind of the same as I am now) and I was doing my research on the proffessor I mentioned a little bit earlier. I was listening to Beethovens' Moonlinght sonata third movement, when my fingers started following the music on the keyboard. Funny enough, I don't even remember opening Word when I started typing.

When I finished, I was stunned by what my subconcience, along with my brain, produced. I never knew I could write something like that.

"It was at the corner of the main street, and 52nd. There was a nice warm breeze, with a really nice, and sweet smell in the air. The sun was shining, so I needded my sunglasses to see better. It was really nice, and pleasant to be outside in this conditions. I felt warmth surrounding me, and soft breeze going through my hair and beard. How long since I shaved last time? I don't even remember. Or maybe I do, but I just don't care. Something hit me!!! Panic! Wow! That smell is hers. Did she bump into me, or did I bump into her while being lost in translation of this fine fine pre-summer weather? I menaged to collect myself to muster a simple and quiet "sorry". Then she looked up, while we were both collecting some papers of fromthe pavement. Those eyes. Wow! I was simply stunned. Like someone had just hit me over the head with a montauin, on top of a plane on top of a tractor. I was cemented in place. That sorrow. Fear. Shiverring. So much potential for those eyes. I hope to see them lighten up next time I meet this mysterious woman."

Amazing what my subconcience caught, and remembered. I couldn't put it like that even if I tried my best to do so.

I did my "research", and I found her.

She was broken, almost as I was. Her ex, who she lived with abused her. Beatings on a daily basis, and sometimes even rape. And she tolerated his behavior. Idiot. He is not changing for anyne honey. Get that through to that smart brain of yours.

I waited for her outside her classroom the next day. As she walked through that door, I suddenly smelt that same beautiful candy flavored scent all around me.

"Hi. Can I help you with something?" were the first words she said, after which she froze for a second. I guess she remembered who I was.

"Actually, you can. I would like to talk to you, if that is okay with you." I said after a moment of hesitation.

"This way, please" she said as she lifted her right arm, showing me the way.

"Please, hae a seat. Would you like something to drink."

"Just a glass of water, if you don't mind, it's very hot outside." I lied. I was feeling hot, and I was sweating like a pig because of her.

"Okay, so please tell me, detective, what can I do for you?"

(I could think of a couple of things) "Well, this may sound a bit wierd, but I can't get you out of my head since yesterday, so I snooped around for a bit, and I came here with intention to just have a conversation with you. I hope that is okay with you miss."

"Wh... Why would you like to have a conversation with me? Did I do something?"

"No, no" I assured her "I am not here onofficial police bussiness today. I just wanted to get to know you. You intrigue me."

"Intrigue?"

"Yes! I could see fear of men in general in your eyes, not the usual kind of fear I am used to, after... Well, you know."

"Yes, I do. So what would you like to know?"

"Tell me everything."

And she did. Don't worry, thi isn't a play, so I will not write the entire conversation. Even if I wanted to, I don't remember like 70% of that.

Anyhow, we started dating. Me, a loner, who didn't like to be touched, and just sat in silence, or listened to classical music for hours at a time, and her, a social study proffessor, beaten and raped by her ex boyfriend.

We heard he was in jail for possessing, and using drugs, and a gun. I was so 'surprised' when I heard the news. Scum of the earth. Parasite. What do you think, who tipped him of?

To this day, he swears he was framed. I only partially agree with him. He was stupid enough to not notice what 'someone' left in his apartment.

Anyhow, her eyes were glowing that day. It was like looking into two big-ass hazelnut colored stars on top of a body sitting across me during dinner.

That night she went wild. We ended up in my house. It was like magic. She was out of control.

Like she knew what I had done, and rewarded me for my 'mision'. I felt her. Everywhere. That scent I felt, it wasn't perfume, my friends, no. Her skin was what gave that scent away. And now, that scent was smeared all over my body. So much sweat, those moans, right volume, right place. Right into my ear, as she bit that same ear. That drew out some unknown flame out of me. Even I didn't know I had that inside me.

I was like wild animal. I kept going faster, harder, deeper.

"Choke me" she whispered.

Her pulse. So strong. So disturbed. So unequal. Her blood flow. As I squeezed, I felt more and more things under my palm. I felt her breath wearing thin, her voice chords stretching, like she was trying to say something. But I couldn't hear anything lost in that sudden impact of power, passion, and bloodlust. I kept squeezing life out of her.

That fear in her eyes. That look as she realized she is not going home anytime soon. That look as she realized she said wrong words to the wrong person. That fear as she realized she was, indeed, going to die.

That somehow made me want more of it, and made me even wilder.

When I came to, she wasn't moving.

As I looked down, I realized that she wasn't even breathing.

Ode to death. That was playing in the background, on my gramophone, silently, inpatiently.

A fitting part, don't you think?

I have to make her disappear. So, i went into the woods, and lit a fire. I was very careful, and I waited for quite some time.

I didn't know that human flesh smells so bad when set on fire.

After the fire died out, I checked to be sure there was nothing left as evidence. After all, I am a homicide detective. It would be a very cruel joke if I had to chase, and try to catch myself.

After that, I called Rangers'department, and reported a smoke coming out from the forest.

As I sat down in a chair in my living room, I sipped some bourbon, and I was looking at the almost empty bottle, when I realized one little fact. Now, I am a killer. I am not terrified, nor am I sorry for what I did. I liked it, very much, for that matter. And I was sure of only to things.

One, I am not stopping anytime soon.

And two, that was my first kill.

[sku1lrose-blog]

I have the most boring job in the world. I am a homicide detective in a small town. But, I still like what I do for a living. I bring closure to poor people that have lost someone close by the hands of someone other. And I like that I don't have much work, since everyone knows each other, and it is a small town.

But that all changed one day.

Two couples moved in, in about a week time period. They got me curious, since I lived in a cop neighbourhood. And none of them were cops. Of course, as a good neighbour, I went over, and introduced myself. One couple, the Millers, they were amazed by the fact they have a neghbour that is a homicide detective. I think they were more amazed that there is a homicide detective in town, rather than me beng one. They had a child. A very young and nice little girl, around five or six years old. Her mommy always did her hair, and it managed to hold on throughout the day without falling apart. The afternoon I met them, the girl had a perfectly made little gold colored curls. She was very joyful, and always had a lot of things to ask, a lot of things difficult to explain to a five or six years old child.

Mr. Miller was a sales representative at a local market. He was just appointed there. He looked like, and sounded like he was a valedictorian student of menagement. His wife was a sales agent. She could sell any house for any price. And she finished suma cum laude from law school. Quite impressing, I say.

They were like the image of a perfect little family of three. Always smiling, never late. No criminal records to their names. Not interesting to me.

The other family, on the other hand, they got my attention as soon as I walked through their front door. They seemed to be in the middle of a fight when I knocked on their door. Name: Coopers. They stopped shouting as soon as they heard the first knock on the door. Mrs. Cooper opened the door like she was hiding a dead body behind her. Cautious, she has my full interest.

"Who are you?", she asked, "Are you a policeman?"

"Yes", I sad, "But I'm not here because of a report. I came to introduce myself."

She wanted to say something, but I interrupted her, "I am your neighbour, I live just a couple of houses down the road. Is this a good time for you, madam?"

"Oh yes, please come in", she said opening the door completely.

"Sorry for the mess", she added.

I had no problems with messes, I'v seen my fair share of those.

I met her husband, and their two kids.

They seemed like nice people, but they just, hopefully, had a misunderstanding about where to put a lamp. They seemed uncomfortable when I told them I was a homicide investigator. Both their son, and daughter, seemed fascinated, and they started asking me questions any teenager would. Like "Did you kill anyone?" or "Do you often see dead bodies?" or "Is it like in the movies?"

Of course it wasnt. Or at least I thought it wasnt.

It was a warm winter day. Actually weird for a town in the mountains. But it felt good.

I was at my desk, doing my paperwork for a fight I had to process, because of to drung truck drivers fighting in a bar over a parking space, or something. I was amazed how they could still talk, and stand, for that matter.

Then I got a phone call. It was the forest ranger. He was terrified, and all he could muster was "You need to see this, ASAP!" I went to the scene, and what I discovered, well, I can just say, that's not something you learn, and even see in the movies. But I wasn't horrified, not one bit. I felt something much more vile, and something I didn't know exixsted inside me for so long.

The sight was just pure gore. Intestines all over the place. It was in a small cottage on the outskirts of the forest. The ranger went there just to check the campers that were there over the night. Alas, he didn't find them. Instead, he found this "artistic" display of human intestine, blood, and body parts. The door was busted open, like they were knocked down by a bear. Only one problem, there are no bears in those forests, and in those mountains, for that matter.

I found what I was looking for, all those years. And I felt great. The thrill of the hunt. thirst for blood. Amazing. Exstatic. Beautiful. There were two campers last night, so I either have a suspect, or a witness. The only thing was, the other camper was missing. Then I get a call from the Millers.

Their little girl disappeared. They don't know how, since she was in her room, and everything was locked. That's a huge problem. For Christs' sake, they were in the safest part of the town. No bueno, amor.

"Maybe there's a connection there.", I thought to myself. "Worth checking, and doing some snooping around."

I asked the Millers did they hear any weird noise during the night, did they spot anything unusal that day, anyone suspicious.. They said no.

Funny how people when scared can remember the tiniest detalis. I'm now intrigued. So I start pulling some records from other towns they lived in, to see if I can maybe find anyone that would try to harm them in any way.

Nothing.

"That's weird", I thought, "No family, friends or enemies. Somethng smells there."

I started digging deeper. What I found horrified me. Mr. Miller had a twenty year old charge of raping, and murder of four girls. I arrested him and processed him, just as I would anyone. He was against it, and even threatened to sue me for diminishing his rights. All of that went away with just one sentence,

"If you are not who I think you are, then this will clear your name for good, since I think this will happen again. Just stay here for a few days, and if it happens again, I will make everything dissapear."

And I was right. It did happen again. Coopers daughter disappeared just two days later. Same report, same tone, same details.

What is going on? We all live in the most boring part of the most boring town in the World.

And, since I was the only one doing this case as an investigator, the rope around my neck was getting tighter by the minute.

It was dark. I was so tired, since I spent three days investigating, and searching for evidence, possible suspects, and even a lead to point me in any direction. I just knew I had to solve this mess.

And there, on the crossroads, I spotted something unusual. A swing on the outskirt of the forest, and a child swinging. It was really late, and dark, so I took my flashlight, and I went there to see why is a child still out so late.

As I approached the child, who didn't response to my question, all I could do was watch in both terror, and fascination the body of a five or six year old gold colored curls go near and far as the swing was swinging. Her entire abdomen was taken out, looked like it was ripped from her body, her throat slit wide open, and her eyes gouged out. I had a serial killer on my hands.

I heard a sound from the forest. That was the fastest I have ever drawn my pistol from my hip. I called it in, as I requested back up, and went into the forest. I saw a silhouette moving out and about. Circling around me. Measuring me. My life in danger, and I wasn't afraid. I was happy.

Pure art. It moved around like an animal, even though I knew it wasn't one.

"Show yourself, or I will shoot you!", I shouted, as I felt his gaze on me. No response. A cold grip on my shoulder. I turned around, and the sheriff was looking at me with horror on his face.

"You okay?", he asked.

"Take that crazy smile of your face, the parents are here."

I enjoyed that, he wasn't wrong. I am a predator, and now I am hunting a predator. I felt so alive I wanted to scream.

But that meant two things. I knew who the killer was, and I knew soon I will have the Coopers' daughter served to me in some wonderful display of intestines, blood and organs. Wait, organs? He's evolving. He wasn't satisfied with hs previous work. A true artist. Artist I had to catch as soon as possible. There was a young girl tied up, probably tortured and killed as I speak.

Abandoned buildings and houses. I need to check them all. That won't be easy, seeing how a lot of people moved out when the industry here went out of business.

Old industry bildings, all squeaky clean. Abandoned houses, most of them torn down by the city management. The only place left was abandoned hospital. There was a terrible fire there, I barely lived after that, since I was a patient there. A gunshot wount through my chest. Heist went wrong. It was either me, or an innocent woman. A sacrifice I was willing to make.

As I went through the abandoned building, and it's many rooms, I thought I heard a chain sound bellow me. I had to check, even though it was probably just a draft. But it wasn't. I found the Coopers little girl all tied up on a table that seems to have been used for lobotomising mentally ill people. I tried to call it in, but there was no signal.

Strange, it's near a radio tower.

I was all alone, with this terrified and tortured girl, I had to get out of there, ASAP.

Someone was watching me. I felt him again.

A loud bang. Splat!

That was the body of my second camper, torn to pieces, in a black garbage bag. He didn't like that one, but he still managed to make my shoes, pants, and shirt dirty ith blood. He was aiming to hit me.

"Everything is gonna be all right!", I said to the girl, "I'll be right back."

As I was searching for him, I just felt his chilling breath on the back of my neck, and the last thing I heard was "Hello brother, remember me?"

Darkness, pain. Then, a bright light. I woke up. In my bed. I ran straight to the Coopers, just to see their daughter open the door. She was uninjured. What a relief.

I raced down to the station, and started digging through my past. For some reason, I never could remember my parents, as well as my relatives, if I had them.

"Fire in hospital kills a family of three, only one child suruved."

I stared at the screen in awe. "Could this be? Is this true?"

It was summer. We were hunting. A piercing pain in my chest. After two weeks in a coma, I awake, only to see a nurse pushing me through the halls, trying to get me out.

I went back there. "I just want to talk!", a shout in the empty space, a shot in the dark. But it was my best shot.

I saw the silhouette approaching me. It was my own brother this entire time.

Scarred beyond recognition. But I knew him. We spent nine months inside our mothers womb.

"Why? Why did you kill those people? you could've just reached out to me."

"The thrill of the hunt, remember. What dad taught us. The day I almost succeeded. I shot you on purpose, little brother. The gun didn't go of by accident. We're the same."

"No! We aren't. I'm nothing like you!"

"Really? So, if I were to jump on you this second, you would let me kill you?"

"No. I would wound you, and then arrest you. I am nothing like you. You probably set this building on fire as well, just to kill me."

"You've got brains little brother. You always did. But you're a psychopath, just as me."

"This doesn't have to end this way. Just come with me calmly, and we will solve this."

"Farewell little brother."

A shot. Another one. The same piercing pain in my chest and stomach.

"Not this time!"

I shoot, as I'm falling to the groung. A loud bang, another, and another. A splat couple of seconds later.

Darkness. Light again. There's a nurse by my side. Sheriff behind her.

"You got him. He won't kill again. He's dead."

"God damn it!", I thought.

"That's great.", I said.

A couple of weeks later, I went to his grave.

"How does it feel? Torturing someone?", was the only question in my head.

I still don't know, but I am considering trying it some time.

That would sound very interesting. Trying to catch myself. Looking at my crime scenes, and my art.

Sounds like fun!