Sociopathic Conscience

The night is cold and wet as I step out of my car. Perfect weather for the acts that I have committed and the deeds yet to be done. Everything about this night is perfect. The streets are empty and the air is still. Sidewalks are drenched and the curbs are one big puddle ready to welcome and hide blood from poor passersby. Even the sky has molded itself to match my soul: dark and empty. Tonight is the night. I can feel it with every steady beat of my sadistic heart.

I slam my car door and stare at my trusty ride. It isn't the greatest vehicle, I will admit, but it gets me from point A to point B well enough. The thing is a small car from one of those earlier decades with good music that no one longer listens to. Rust clings to every corner of it like a baby to its mother's tit. Located in the center of the windshield was a large hole that was created by a twelve gauge that belonged to a man who no longer exists. In fact, I'm sure some of him might still remain in the front fender of the car.

I remove my gaze from the car and focus on the multi-storied building in front of me. I think briefly of the person I had come to meet, his office and what could potentially give him what he deserves. Running my fingers through my hair, I feel something sticky. Letting my hand slide back through my short blonde hair, I brought it in front of my eyes. Blood. Blood from my earlier meetings. Without a second thought, I wipe the blood onto my jeans and start toward the building, silently thinking of the beginning of tonight's misdeeds.

I didn't really want to kill those people but I did. I smiled as my compulsions led me to various houses. Laughter erupted from my mouth as I squeezed and sliced the life out of people. The look in their eyes was the best though. The way the last piece of hope vanished and the panic set it sent chills down my spine. I felt like God as I stared into their eyes and watched the life leave them. It was awesome. It was orgasmic.

The lobby of the building is just as I had expected. Marble floors and white walls. Men and women in fancy suits and ties. Large pictures of the many people who once worked here or founded it and now lie in gilded coffins. Boring. My gaze searches the room and finds the sign I need. Restrooms. I need to get the blood out of my hair. If I don't, people will ask questions. They might ask the wrong on and then I'll be forced to add them to my list of victims. A list I don't want longer than it has to be. As I move I get a bunch of dirty looks from the snobs around me. I don't blend in. I'm dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The part that probably disturbs them the most is the combat boots on my feet. Cretins.

The bathroom I find is small with a buzzing light in the ceiling. The blood washes easily out of my hair and as I finish, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. My dark brown eyes look almost black compared to my almost gray flesh. Dark circles sit under my eyes due to a constant lack of sleep. The circles make me look like some sort of human raccoon. If I had a normal sense of humor, I might find it funny. But I don't. Death is what makes me laugh now.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I get another collective dirty look. Assholes. I'm not dressed in the designer outfits so they think their better. Maybe they are. But it's better to hide your disdain for those you consider inferior. After all, I've done it for years and I've turned out fine. Well, as fine as someone in my mental state can be considered. I shrug them off and walk to the elevator. A young woman in front of it gets in right before me. I follow. Facing the front of the elevator as it starts to move, I tell myself to ignore her. I don't need the attention. I don't touch her. To the best of my ability, I don't even look at her. She's about 5'5". Blonde. Easy prey. The elevator continues to climb as I spin and hit her in the face with my elbow. Before she can say a word, I wrap my hands around her throat. Her death is quick and painless. Within three seconds, her neck is broken and I let her fall to the floor with a sick thud. She looks unconscious. Like she's sleeping. No one will know she's dead until they're right next to her and staring at the lifeless eyes that hid behind now messy hair.

Eight people have died tonight and more will follow.

Seventeen floors up and it's my stop. Leaving the corpse behind, I can't help but smile at the thought of its discovery. Marching down the long hall in front of me I imagine the look on the discoverer's face. Of how priceless it would be when they realized that the beautiful lump on the floor was a new worm buffet. At the end of the hall is the one and only door on this floor. The door itself is red and leads to the office of Dr. Philip Trenton, professional shrink. I hate him and every trait he has. Especially his hair, which is the color of snow and just as blinding. Even his shit-green eyes annoy me.

I open his door without knocking and he looks up at me. He's expecting me. Not letting him speak, I sit and start talking. The words spill out of me without stopping. They detail everything that I've done for the last three years. Every single detail of every single crime I've ever committed becomes known to the shrink who is becoming more and more terrified. Before I even get to the blonde, the shrink makes a mistake. His hand flies toward his phone. It doesn't make it. As the plastic comes within millimeters of his fingers, my body is colliding with his knock. We hit the floor and he struggles to get away. He doesn't get far. Thinking quickly I grab his framed diploma from the wall and bring it down on his skull. The glass cracks and the doc falls. With a strength saved for only such events, I hit him with it again. With a loud sound, the glass shatters and provides me with a dozen better weapons.

The glass's call is too much for me to ignore and I grabbed a large piece. Sadistic thoughts ran through my head, bringing me to stand upright and watch the little doctor struggle to leave. Slowly I walk in front of him and stop his already futile attempt. His eyes travel up and find mine. A quick glimpse of the darkness that awaits him. With a fevered excitement, I pounce on him and start my slasher-like attack. I tear the doctor apart for the next several minutes. He's a mess when I leave him and start down the stairs. Not even his mother will recognize him. I do good work.

Nine people have died tonight. Four away from my lucky number. Four more and my compulsions will be appeased. Thirteen is the number I've been attempting to get. The one I need to reach. I only need four more and I can retire.

As I slip into my car after the trip back to the lobby, I hear the sirens. Somebody found the blonde or the doc. Perfect. I wait until I see the lights before driving away. After several minutes of mindless driving, I feel my stomach rumble. Usually I wouldn't mind the rumbling but tonight must be perfect. Tonight is the night. Everything must go according to plan. So to that end, I need to stop the rumbling. I need food.

I continue to drive until I see a small fast food restaurant. The place is tiny. It doesn't even have a drive through. No cars in the driveway. More perfection. I pull up in front of the restaurant and kill the engine. My eyes scan the empty streets and sidewalks making sure I'm alone. Standing outside the tiny fast food place is one of the workers. Reaching into the glove compartment, I pull out a switchblade and a revolver. I stuff the gun into my pocket and leave the car. The worker drops his cigarette as I approach. With one swift motion I cut his jugular. A strange gurgle boils up from his lips as he starts to fall. His hands clumsily cling to me as he crumbles to the ground. I drop down and embed the blade in his throat as a memento for the police, whenever they arrive.

Ten.

My next destination is the counter of the restaurant. Before the clerk asks for my order, I pull out the revolver and spray his brains against the back wall.

Eleven dead.

I stand for a moment as the cook shows his face. A split second later and part of its removed courtesy of the steel in my hand. Jumping the counter, I move to his body and empty the rest of the shots into his chest.

Twelve down. My heart is beating so hard I can't focus on anything else. Numbness spreads through me from the excitement of being so close. This as far as I'd ever come before. No going back now. I must finish. Tonight has to be the night. I quickly find some premade food and eat it. The disgusting meal slides down my throat. It tastes vile but it'll have to do. My compulsions lead me to the phone. I dial the police and set it down before crawling back over the counter and leaving in my car.

Without thinking, I drive to the church. One last stop before my final kill. The cathedral towers above me as I pull up to it. Something about the brick structure tells me that my final kill is in there somewhere. The final death on my rampage lies beyond the large wooden doors so I enter it. My gaze scours the room for my perfect and final kill. Yet the only place I feel the compulsion to go is the confessional. So I obey. Inside the confessional, I confess everything the way I did at the shrink's office. The priest is nice enough to let me finish. After I finish I stand and leave the confessional. The priest follows me out. He screams behind me, yelling obscenities and going on about his brother. I ignore him.

Then it happens. I feel something that feels remarkably like rosary wrap around my throat and tighten. I don't fight it. My compulsions tell me not to. They tell me to just accept it. I do. Without air, my lungs start to ache. My throat hurts. After about a minute, the world starts to disappear. Only blackness remains. Blackness resembling my soul and the empty sky. I don't fight even as the end nears. The quiet end that approaches fast and passes faster. The end isn't like anything I've heard. No light at the end of a tunnel. No angels. No hell. Nothing. Just blackness.

Thirteen are now dead. Twelve from my will and one from my actions. Thirteen are dead and I can retire.