Killing Jerry Hart

It was an average night I suppose. But what’s average for me isn’t necessarily average for you. I’m a serial killer, my name is Edward Barker. Before you ask I’m not one of those serial killers with a purpose, my killings don’t have a message and I don’t have some hidden motive for performing them. The reason I do it is because it’s my job, I kill people and rob them. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy my job, and I take a massive amount of pride in it. I don’t think I’m really suited to do anything else. Anyway back to tonight. I spotted this one in a fast food joint; I used to be in fast food before I found this line of work. He was around my size, a bit stouter than me, he wore an old, plain jacket and torn up work jeans. He had a buzz cut and he wore a ball cap most of the time, he couldn’t have been that much older than me, I’d say around 26 or 27. My guess is he unloaded trucks or something in that line. He was being an asshole about his fries being cold or something to that affect, the guy at the counter said he’d fix it but this guy refused and walked out. I followed him, all day, just waiting for my chance. He finally went into an apartment building and I watch him press the button for the 4th floor, I took the stairs. I like to think I’m in good shape and sure enough I managed to make it up four flights before the elevator opened its doors. I could tell this guy didn’t live with anyone, it’s not hard, you’ve probably done it a thousand times and never noticed. He was too much of a prick to have a room mate or a live-in girlfriend, and he lived in too much squalor to be married. So I followed him to his door and when he opened it I shoved him inside. I shut the door quite as he fell to the ground and I turned the deadbolt as he got up. I could tell I was what this guy was waiting for, he didn’t say anything like an average person on an average day would, no this guy wanted a fight. He came up with a bat he grabbed from beside the door, inner city security I suppose. Anyway, he swung it like he was Babe Ruth, really slow and like a true drunkard, aiming for my head. Rookie mistake of course, I ducked down and let the dumb bastard spin around. I jumped up and put a knee into his kidney and he dropped the bat. I kicked him in the back of the knee and he fell forward, hands and knees style. I picked up the bat while he was on the ground. He got up and took a swing with his right hand, utterly hopeless. I ducked him again and a shot to the knee cap with that Louisville put him back down. He laid there on his back and I put the bat handle to his sternum, held it there, and smashed my palm into the top. Now he was out of breath, which allowed me some time to do one of my favorite things… talk. “You’re going to die tonight.” One of my favorite lines. “What do you wish you’d done with your life?” He grabbed at me, but he was far too weak by now, and I was still pressing on the top of the bat. “What do you wish you’d done with your life?” I punctuated this one with a firm press and turn on the slugger. “Found a girl.” He said in a huff, still trying to regain his air supply. I leaned down next to him with my hand on the bat and spoke into his ear. “Too late now, you’re going to die tonight, in just a moment as a matter of fact. But before I take your life I want to tell you something. There’s no point in regretting what you’ve done with your life, you can’t change it. The best path is to accept it and move on, and live. That point may seem lost on you because I’m going to kill you, but in these last few moments I think it would be best if you just let go of all that regret and breathe your last breath without the past laying heavy on your chest.” With the aid of the bat I got up and picked the bat up once again, I lifted it over my head and he looked at me one last time, I didn’t see anger or want in his eyes, just peace. I nodded my goodbye and he closed his eyes, I lowered the bat and turned his head to the side. I lifted the bat once more and came down, hard, and precisely on his temple. Blood shot on to the wall and began oozing onto the floor; I got a small spot or two on my shirt, not a really big deal. I laid the bat down next to him and took his wallet. The I.D. I found said Jerry Hart; He didn’t have a whole lot of cash on him, $50 and some credit cards. So I took the cash and started to raid the apartment. He had a gun in his nightstand; I guess in this neighborhood you can never be too careful. I didn’t take the gun, too loud for my work and far too easily traced. However he had a few shirts I liked, I took mine off and put on his old AC/DC T-shirt. I grabbed the others and stuffed them in the duffel bag in the bottom of his closet. Next was the kitchen, I grabbed the bread and some cereal from his cupboards and threw them in with the shirts. The guy had a decent collection of 7” records that I grabbed and tossed in with the others. Nothing else of value really, I grabbed the bat, wrapped it in my old button up, and stuffed it in the bag. Then I left, took the elevator this time. I walked home through the park in search of some lost souls. Sure enough I found a group under the park bridge, huddled together over a fire barrel. I opened Jerry’s bag and pulled out the bread and cereal. “Here you go guys.” They came over and began dividing it up amongst themselves, as they did so I pulled out the bat and tossed it in the barrel. “Have a good night boys.” I told them as I zipped up the bag, I heard mumbles of thanks through their full mouths, and with that I left them to toil about with their lives.