An Early Memory

I didn’t choose this life. The life to which I refer began on my birthday almost fifteen years ago. I turned sixteen that day and how the events of that night occurred, their specific sequence, I can’t recall. I remember the family party around the dinner table, presents, cake almost everything apart from what transpired between leaving my home and returning hours later with aching muscles and a deep scratch on one arm.
I went to school the following day hearing the latest gossip and thought nothing of it focusing on regressing back to the previous night and the lost hours. The school day passed by with such velocity I found myself riding home before it felt like lunchtime. I checked the kitchen clock as I walked through the house toward my small bedroom on the second floor. It was almost four in the afternoon and the video player in my room reinforced the kitchen time. I closed and locked the door then collapsed on my bed. Somehow time was starting to get away from me. Not once but on two separate occasions in less than a day. Something was wrong. I’d never experienced blackouts before and I could only assume that was the cause of my time loss. Either that or alien abduction but that doesn’t seem to be an affliction Australian people suffer from for whatever reason. There had to be a different reason for the time loss.
I attributed the rapid passing of school time to my attempt to ascertain the cause of the blackout but that still left me with the problem of why I’d lost time and what I’d been doing while my brain was on hiatus. My muscles ached all over. The mysterious activity involved physical activity of some description but exactly what I was unsure and when I closed my eyes and tried to picture my friend’s faces and places we may have been but nothing came to mind. I pictured some of the people I fancied at school and while those images brought a smile to my face they did not help me remember.
I opened my eyes and sat up facing the television. I didn’t turn it on for I knew it wouldn’t help me. I gazed around my room, my shoebox, searching for anything that would provide some stimulation. All I saw was the same familiar beige walls, a small walk in wardrobe, a ratty pine desk that held my TV and video and a combination pine drawer and bookcase. The books were all Stephen King with the only exception being the soft cover dictionary I won by being the dux of my primary school. I should say that the smarter kids won hardcover dictionary’s so I guess I wasn’t that smart.
My room provided no inspiration and I opened the door making my way to the phone located in the adjoining rumpus room. I settled into the soft cushion of the beige armchair next to the phone leant over and picked it up. I noticed a scrap of paper with the name Chris on it. I recognized the number as the Chris Bergins from school I was keen on. There was a time written underneath the number and after some thought I reasoned that the time printed on the paper lay in the missing time period I was desperate to remember. I punched in the numbers and waited while the phone rang on the other end. The call went unanswered for an eternity and when my heart felt it would burst the line picked up.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice sounded tired almost drained as though something had sucked all her power.
“Hi!” I said trying to sound as upbeat as possible to counteract the lethargic voice. “I’m a friend of Chris’s from school. I was wondering if we could speak.”
Silence. I heard the buzzing of the phone line and waited as long as I dared before prompting a response.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“I don’t know who you are but you’re a horrible, horrible person and I hope you burn in hell!” The woman’s voice, I assumed it was Chris’s mother, switched from meek and mild to angry and venomous in the space of three seconds.
The phone went dead and I was left with my original problem plus the added dilemma of how I’d managed to upset Chris’s mother simply by requesting a conversation. I attempted to explain my actions when I called back but the line was not responsive. I gave up on the number being the cause of my growing concern and weary muscles. Something else must have caused both the physical and mental strain I endured.
The scratch on my forearm drew my attention. Any number of activities required muscle work but few resulted in deep lacerations to one’s arm. I sat by the phone tracing the line of the scratch wondering what activity caused the injury and if anybody else was to blame. As quickly as the thought flashed into my mind a glimpse of darkness coupled with a playground swam before my eyes. I delved into the vision to discover its hidden meaning. It dissipated from my sight preventing the extraction of any understanding. I closed my eyes inviting the image to reappear and when it returned I recognized the vision playground as the one from across the street. I opened my eyes and pondered the relevance of the playground, and in particular the combination activity piece of equipment that dominated the vision, in the previous night’s activities. I rose from the chair, grabbed my keys and ventured across the street to investigate.
The two ten-year old boys playing in the park thought it rather strange when a sixteen year-old repeatedly encircled the playground but I took no notice of them. The equipment I was investigating combined a flying fox, a rickety rope ladder and other odd bits and pieces to climb and fall off. I examined each piece and was about to dismiss the notion that this piece of equipment contributed to my activities when I noticed a smudge of blood inside the cubby house. The blood appeared fresh and when I ran my finger over the mark it smudged further. I wondered how I’d ended up here of all places last night assuming this was where the problem originated.
The two boys had lost interest in my strange musings and without anybody else around I freely examined the remaining area of equipment to determine whether any further blood existed. I completed a lap and didn’t find any further cause for alarm then returned to the point of the smudge. After the success of the previous vision I closed my eyes again and attempted to delve deeper into the recesses of my memory. Slowly the sounds of the afternoon park drifted away and were replaced with less obvious sounds of the night. I heard then felt the night breeze whistle through the trees then I could feel it on my skin. I was standing below the cubby house with eyes closed enjoying the breeze as it cooled my skin and dried the sweat of anticipation I felt. I awaited someone’s arrival.
I opened my eyes and Chris stood before me. We exchanged awkward glances that became smiles and I led Chris up to the cubby house. I set my bottle of water down next to me as we made ourselves comfortable in the cramped space. Neither of us seemed to mind the cramped quarters we occupied. We both knew why we were there. An attraction built over the last three years and although we’d both kissed other people we knew we only wanted each other. A sweaty hand found mine and when I turned Chris smiled. We leant in for our first kiss.
Having kissed before the sensation was nothing new and it wasn’t until I felt a hand on my shoulder that I began to feel anything. Our lips parted and our tongues played with each other as the hand continued its progress over my body. It moved from my shoulders to my back then around to my chest. I squirmed a little as it passed that region but the hand didn’t linger so I let it go. It progressed south across my stomach and when it attempted to penetrate my shorts I recoiled.
“What’re you doing?” I asked. I’d never done anything like that before and the movement startled me.
“I thought that’s what you wanted?” Chris asked looking both confused and aroused. An odd combination for a sixteen year-old.
“I thought we were just going to kiss and stuff?” I asked readjusting my crumpled clothing.
“Well we did that and I thought we should do some more.” Chris said advancing on me.
The lusty eyed look was something I’d never seen before but one I’ve noticed numerous times since. Although I protested, the advances didn’t relent. Chris tried to grab me and pin me down but I managed to squirm out of the grasp. Chris came at me again and I forced my foot up to impede any progress but Chris cast it aside and continued to advance. I spotted a glinting eye and as Chris moved closer I brought my foot up in protection. Chris took the full force in the midsection then turned and crumpled over in a blubbering heap. I seized the opportunity and kicked the protruding ass, attempting to send Chris flying out of the cubby house and away from me. I figured I would have enough time to escape by the time Chris recovered.
I hadn’t counted on Chris’s head catching the side of the entranceway on the way out. I heard the crack as Chris went passed, saw the head whip across the flying body and then listened to the thud as it connected with the ground ten feet below. I got to my feet and peered over the edge. Chris lay below not moving. I stared at Chris’s chest to spy any breathing. From my vantage point I couldn’t detect any movement and rather than escape I jumped down to investigate cutting my arm on the same piece of wood. I landed next to Chris’s lifeless body and removed the jumper from around my waist. I tied it over my bleeding arm and bent down to examine the body. I attempted to locate a pulse by holding my fingers against Chris’s neck, then wrist and found nothing.
Chris was dead.
Feelings of panic began to creep into my mind and rather than allow them any weight I decided to hide the body. I didn’t mean to kill I just wanted Chris to stop touching me. It wasn’t my fault. I looked around the park. It was an Australian theme setup with the playground in the middle of eight sections of varying sized parkland devoted to each state and territory complete with indigenous flora. I chose Victoria as the state to hide Chris in. I had become a murderer but I remained loyal to my home state.
Chris proved too heavy for me to lift so I dragged the body across the tan bark, over the thick logs separating the playground from the grass and over to Victoria. The lights setup throughout the park illuminated a gap in some shrubs and I pulled Chris through it. I felt spider webs across my face and hoped the indigenous quality of the plant life didn’t extend to the wildlife. The last thing I needed was a Red-Back spider crawling on me. I hid Chris’s body underneath a tree behind some shrubs. I thought the body would remain hidden long enough for me to determine a better plan. My muscles ached from the effort of fighting then disposing of the now lifeless body. I returned home without saying a word to my mother as I walked passed her and collapsed on my bed moments and fell asleep.
That was the first time I killed a man. Now, fifteen years later, I look back on it and smile. What ran through my mind regarding the safety of a late night rendezvous with a pubescent boy I’ll never know. That’s how this life that I now lead evolved. By day a mild, mannered librarian and at night I hunt and cut down cowardly men that attempt to take advantage of women. I didn’t choose this life, a man chose it for me a long time ago. My mission is to eradicate those that would hurt females all over the world. The fact that I enjoy taking out anywhere up to three, sometimes four, men at a time is incidental.
My name, my real name, is Karrie Tracey Hunter but I refer to myself in surname only. You wouldn’t have heard of me, as I never use my birth name. My crimes span both this country and various other parts of the world. I particularly like America. The stupid, testosterone driven men there are easier to seduce and kill than any other I’ve found in my time. I’ve disposed of over a hundred worthless men using a diverse range of personas but I receive no acclaim. Nobody ever suspects a lady of committing crimes of this nature. I never have sex with these men and I don’t leave any evidence. I make the kill quick and clean and escape before the body hits the ground. They will never catch me.
Ooh I’m sorry I have to go. Lucky number one hundred and eleven has arrived if my estimations are correct. I guess I should keep better records being a librarian and all. Life is wonderful when you enjoy what you do!