Synonymous With Violence

Synonymous With Violence

Preface

I am a never ending conglomerate of things other than myself. I am not who you see. I am not who you may feel or touch. I am nobody in particular. I am lost inside a mind, but even that, I do not own. I am on automatic. I am a savage. I am brutal. I know it only because of what these words read in a dictionary. I don’t feel it. I never feel. I can flash a smile and laugh with every one; I really am quite good at doing these things. My eyes don’t smile and laugh. What’s behind me is behind my eyes. I like to play these games because I am the only one who knows I am playing. I cannot lose. I watch people, and I know when they feel, the actions they take are in accordance with their feelings. They react to this rule naturally. This rule doesn’t apply to me. I do not feel love but I can look you in the eye and tell you how much you mean to me. I can say anything I want because words to me are meaningless. You will believe anything I say and do. I am trained well. It took me awhile, but I am a great pretender. I will show you. I will show you all.







Chapter 1
He was born to woman and man. A child does not know it is their parents without a constant reminding of the fact, without nurture and love. Absent of that he was. The man was a gambler. Any money he worked for, he spent just as fast. The man won but lost more. Coupled with a mean temper and a love for the bottle there was no safe place for him when the man lost or was drunk. The woman didn’t care. She did drugs at night and hid during the day. Sometimes she was even worse than the man. She would lock him in his room all day and if he would bother her she would scratch him. She would rake her long dirty fingernails down his stomach or back as hard as she could until he knew not to bother her anymore. The man was barely ever in this place. When he was there, he was either drinking or sleeping. There was a rule set forth by the man very early on in that place. He was not to speak to the man unless he was told so. If he ever broke this rule, the man would punish him for it. He learned very quickly that this rule was sacred and it must be abided by at all times.
The man was unique in his forms of punishment. Once the man put a lighter to a coat hanger and stuck it down his throat. He did not like that. He did not like that one bit. He learned though, he learned how to play the game very quickly. He watched on the tube how people laughed and cried. He learned how they spoke to each other. He learned pleasantries and mannerisms off the tube. He picked up a dictionary and learnt how to read without learning how to feel. He went to school sometimes. He wasn’t well liked. He was dirty and skinny. An easy target for predators. When he would come home with a black eye or a busted lip the woman would laugh and call him a pussy. The woman would sometimes slap him in the head or kick him in the back or spit in his face for no reason. He was fed the bare minimum. Sometimes he didn’t eat for days. He learned though. He always watched and learned. Sometimes he wouldn’t see the woman for days. She would be locked in a room and not come out. He would sometimes hear her yelling and throwing things at the door and the wall. Sometimes the woman’s friend would come over to this place. Sometimes when the woman was asleep she would come and lay next to him. Sometimes she would touch him or sit on him or put her mouth on his or his part. He mostly just would lay there. He did not know what this feeling was or how he should react to it. Like so many other things though he would learn.
He did not remember when the man stopped coming around exactly. He hoped that he never would come back and sometimes he even wished that bad things would happen to the man. He saw things on the tube that he didn’t understand at a young age. He was watching the tube one time and he saw a man lying on a woman and putting the same thing he had inside the woman, almost exactly like the woman’s friend would sometimes do. When it was all done he heard the woman say that she was in love with his cock. He looked up the word love as he was very young at the time and was still learning the game at school. From his understanding at that time love was a good thing. Like when he was at school and he would sometimes see other men and woman giving their children hugs and kisses. This is what he figured it was or how it was expressed at least. He once tried to love another student like he saw on the tube. The student would sometimes say hi to him and he would sometimes say hi back. The student would sometime smile at him and sometimes he would smile back. He wanted the student to know that he could fit in and show love. He saw the student go in to the washroom one day and decided to follow them in. The washroom had three stalls and the student was in one of them. He locked the door to the washroom and undressed. When the student came out of the stall and seen him without clothes, the student failed to give the reaction he hoped or thought they would. They screamed at him and called him a freak, opened the door and reported him to the principal. He was sent home by the school and was told he was not welcome there anymore. The woman tied a belt as tight as it would go around his neck and dragged him around the place they were for that.
The woman would often call him a queer or a fag after that incident. As he got older and time went by he learned more. He liked school even though they picked on him and he was alone. He got good grades despite missing a lot of school. He never failed a class. He would speak to his teachers sometimes and they would often tell him to come out of his shell a little. He understood this metaphor because turtles go in to their shells when there is danger around. Sometimes they would ask questions about his home life and his parents. He would smile and tell them that his parents loved him and did a lot for him. He didn’t mind being alone but he wanted to play the game. He wanted to try it out and see how he would do. He was given the opportunity when the woman died just before he started high school. He had found her dead after she hadn’t come out of her room for a while. He was glad to not see her anymore and he practised smiling in the mirror after she died. He quickly learnt that this was not good to do when someone you were supposed to love died.
He moved in to the womans sister’s house after the woman died. She was the definition of nice and happy. She definitely knew how to play and must have been taught accordingly. She taught him how to play the game well. She taught him the difference between expressing joy and sadness and many other emotions. Although she never acknowledged it, he believed she knew deep down who and what he truly was. By the end of high school he was a master at it. He had managed to fool them all in to thinking he was like them. They even called him a friend. He played sports, hung out with his classmates and even went steady with a couple girls. That did take some trial and error but he eventually got the hang of girls in general. She was like a mother to him, or at least what he imagined a real mother was like. He wanted to repay her in some way for showing him how to play the game. By this time he was a master at the game he knew everything there was to know about it. He was sure of it. He had watched for so many years and learned. This was what he lived for. This was his new language. This was a language very few even know of. He had done all the research he needed to do.
He remembered a time when he was younger living with the man and woman. The man had passed out drunk at the table with a switchblade on his lap. He had seen the switchblade before. The man had used it many times to cut his hair. He was fascinated by it. He wanted to feel it. He knew there were consequences if he was caught, but he didn’t care. He picked up the switchblade quickly and in a matter of seconds was in his room with it. He remembered pressing the button on the black handle and watching as the blade moved in to striking position. The blade was like a mirror. For the first time, as he held it close to his eyes, he could actually see himself and who he was. He stared at his reflection in the blade for a long time. He had watched enough stuff on the tube to know what you did with the blade and what it could be used for. He remembered sticking it in his urine soaked mattress and hearing the clang as the blade caught the metal springs. He remembers wondering if it would make the same sound hitting bone. He wanted to try again. He looked to his window and saw stucco which had been placed around the windows most likely by the previous dwellers of this place. In some spots it was about 6 inches thick. He slowly pressed the tip of the blade in to the stucco and began to push it in. He was amazed at how smooth it felt going in. He wanted to try it on something else. Something living, something with a pulse.
He wanted to see what a lot of blood was like; he wanted to know how something living would react to having a blade make penetration through its skin. He was always fascinated by the sight of blood. When he was very young he remembered a time when he was walking to school through an alley he would take whenever he would actually attend. The alley was aligned with old wooden fences on both sides of him. They were about one storm away from falling over. The alley was linear, a straight shot in and out of it. He remembers that day hearing an argument behind one of the fences near the end of the alley. He looked in between the little cracks in the fence and saw a man pointing a shotgun at another man. The man holding the shotgun fired and he watched as the blast ripped a hole through the man’s chest. The amount of blood that was coming out of the man on the ground was breathtaking. He examined the area surrounding the man who was now about 6 feet from where he was originally standing. The ground was full of blood and little pieces of flesh and bone. He could see the side profile of the dead man’s face and he was amazed by the fact that the dead man’s eye had popped right out of his head. He also noticed that the man was bleeding from not only his mouth but his nose, eyes and ears.
He remembers seeing people shot before on the tube, but this was different, this was real. At first he was very sloppy. He would contribute that to his excitement. He would look for stray cats around the neighbourhood, try to corner them, and rapidly stab at them with one of the woman’s knives. On occasion he would actually penetrate one. The first time this happened he was quite shocked at the cats cry and how fast it dashed out of there. He couldn’t help but laugh at this. A real genuine laugh, A deep belly roar. He was always a quick learner. Soon he was catching cats and stray dogs in the shed that was out behind the place he stayed. He would leave the shed door open and place whatever little food he could scrounge together. He would hide sometimes for hours across the yard in the bushes and wait. He was very patient and silent when his luring was successful. The man and woman never went in to the shed and it was the perfect place to let his curiosity run wild. He loved slowly creeping up to the shed door on his unsuspecting victims. He noticed that they always let their guard down when attempting to satisfy their hunger. He enjoyed quietly opening the shed door and watching as the noticed his presence in the door frame. He enjoyed the thrill of luring these animals in to his trap and he enjoyed watching the panic and fear set in once they tasted the first bite of his blade. He especially enjoyed seeing the blood.
One time when he was in the shed the man came home drunk and parked his car out back. He got out of his car and began to walk to the place they stayed when he noticed a cry of some sort coming from the shed. The man opened the door and got a glimpse of whom and what he truly was. The man grabbed him by his hair and dragged him out of the shed and in to the place where they stayed. The man took out his switchblade and held it open in one hand and his wrist in the other. The man slammed his hand down on the table and told him to spread his fucking fingers. He did as he was told. He always did as he was told by the man. The man began to slam the knife down in between his fingers gradually building up speed. Faster and harder, faster and harder, all the while screaming this is what you get you fucking freak. The man was getting extremely close to his fingers and all he could do was watch. He knew fighting would only make things worse. Faster and harder the man went until he finally stopped out of breath. The man still with his wrist planted on the table looked him directly in the eye and said “Remember, this is what happens when you fucking play games” and plunged the knife down in to his hand and back out. He was mesmerized by the blood that started to pool around his hand. It hurt but not nearly as much as he anticipated. Now he truly felt what it was like for those animals. He did not feel anger or even worry about his well-being. The only thing on his mind was that he would never be treated like prey again.

Chapter 2
Holden Diggs grew up in a loving home to parents Gene and Rebecca Diggs. Gene was a respected professor at a very prestigious university and Rebecca was a lawyer. Holden was an only child and therefore was spoiled like a mother fucker. He dressed with class, wore nice jewellery and drove a beautiful car. Holden was humble though, for everything he had, he had never asked for. Holden was a college football star. He broke state records for most touchdowns thrown in a season and most passing yards in his junior year and went his senior year and broke his own God damn record. He fucked all the cheerleaders, he hung out with the jocks and he was liked by teachers and even admired and respected by the school losers because he was just that cool of a guy. Holden didn’t cause no shit because Holden was the shit.
When Holden told his parents and friends he wanted to join the police force they were flabbergasted. “Holden, son, you have the potential to do great things” his father would often say in a way that screamed privilege. “Police work is so….dirty and below you” his mother would retort whenever he would exclaim his interest in pursuing it as a career. His girlfriend at the time Melissa Jones even went so far as to break up with him when he told her he was serious about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Holden didn’t see what the fuss was all about. He had always admired and held first responders in high regard due to their ability to deal with everything and just keep trucking day in and day out. In his eyes it took a special kind of person to don a uniform day in and day out. He loved his parents but in the end it was his decision to make and he made it.
After high school Holden applied and was accepted to police academy where he would stay for 6 months. It was difficult adjusting in the beginning to making your bed perfectly and polishing your boots but like seemingly everything else, it didn’t take long for Holden to master the art. Holden learned the laws of society and the laws of police academy fairly quickly. For instance, It was law that after every test the other students assigned to his dorm would go to the local sports pub a few miles away from the academy and have drinks. Holden took to the academy well and excelled at everything he did. His report writing skills were by far the best the academy had seen in a while and his ability to put detail to pen was simply amazing. Holden thrived especially when it came to defensive tactics training and during scenarios when he was forced to react to different stimuli created by his superiors. When it came to fight or flight, Holden was definitely a stay where the fuck you’re at and fight kind of cadet.
His superiors noticed and loved it. During his time at the academy he would spend most of his time in his dorm hanging with his dorm mates or in the gym exercising. Holden was 6’2 and about 220 pounds. He was in excellent shape and wanted to keep it that way. Holden met Richie Stoker at the academy. Richie was the type of guy who would always fall asleep during the lecture but still manage to ace the fucking test. Richie was also a lazy mother fucker. He was the type of guy who would wear his dirty, sweaty academy gym attire all week without washing it because “it was just gonna get fucking dirty anyways” Holden liked Richie immediately. Although they were almost complete opposites, Richie was always real with him. Richie was about 5’11 and couldn’t have weighed more than 180 pounds. Holden would sometimes look at Richie and laugh because to him he thought Richie looked like he belonged in the 1970’s. Richie had long slicked back brown hair and awkward smile and a weird way with words. Sometimes Richie would let his moustache grow and when he did he often resembled a porn star dressed up as a police officer.
There was a rule at the academy that if you dropped your handcuffs on the floor during training you would have to do push ups. The first time Richie dropped his, the instructor stopped the class and waited in silence for Richie to do his push ups. Richie looked the instructor dead in the eyes and said “If you expect me to get down on this dirty fucking floor and do push ups you’re out of your fucking mind.” The instructor didn’t like it but there was no way Richie was backing down. That’s just the type of guy he was. Holden learned a lot about Richie in those 6 months. He knew that Richie had a rough life growing up. More than once during one of their late night ventures to the local pub the two would sit and talk about their childhoods and upbringing and what they hoped the future would entail. Holden learned Richie’s parents were scum. Richie didn’t go in to detail about his parents but from what little he did divulge he knew he had no love for them. Holden learned that the reason Richie wanted to become a cop was because of his neighbour who was once police. “I shit you not Diggs, the reason I am here is because my neighbour Steve.” Richie confessed one night. “This mother fucker had the biggest, nicest house on my block, it took up half the fucking block as a matter of fact” Richie claimed with a laugh while also somehow managing to take a sip of his beer at the same time. “I looked at this house, and I said to myself, I want to do what he does” Richie said. “So here I am” and with that Richie finished his beer as Holden looked at him with skepticism. Richie was known to bullshit and at times it was hard to distinguish what was bullshit and what was the actual truth. Holden could tell though that this was the truth.
Holden learned that he and Richie would be employed by the same PD upon successful completion of the academy. It made him feel better knowing he wouldn’t be going alone. Graduation day came and Holden and Richie wore full uniform in front of their family and friends in attendance. Holden was proud to be sworn in as a police officer and he knew in Richie’s case it was just a job that paid well. Holden wanted to make a difference in the community. He swore that he would be firm but fair once on the streets. He swore he would take no shit on the streets but he also knew that he had to pick his battles carefully and not go in gun-ho.
As he accepted his certificate he was also given a folder from his department. He went and sat back down in his seat and opened the folder. Inside he found instructions on where to report for duty and who to report to on his first day. He was to report to a Sergeant Susan Illitch on his first day. After the ceremony he met up with Richie and told him about the folder and who he was to report to. Richie in excitement told him that he was to also report to Susan Illitch. Holden went back to his newly rented apartment that night with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Holden turned off the lights and lay in his bed for a long time thinking before sleep took him. The reflection of the moon light on his face periodically darkened by the fan blades spinning slowly on the ceiling above his bed. He lay there excited and nervous to start his new career and his new life. Before falling asleep Holden gazed out his window upon the darkness beyond the city. He focused to the area that wasn’t illuminated by street lights or homes lit up by electricity and appliances. To the area that was void of anything other than darkness. To the place where few had ever been. To the place where one day he knew he’d end up. In the shadows, forced to face the worst.













Chapter 3

The woman’s sister had died and I was left to fend for myself. I was ready, I had been ready and eager to show and prove. I had a job that paid well and I drove a nice car. I was living a normal life in a small one bedroom apartment and blending in so well with the rest of the people around me. Sometimes after work I would even go out to the local pub with some of my co-workers and tell them made up stories of my childhood. They gobbled it all up and believed every word of it. The world was my canvas and I was free to express myself how I wanted. The only colour I ever used was red. I never really lost control of my urges. I always maintained an ability to dictate when I killed and who. Killing children never interested me. They were weak and it was just too easy. That doesn’t mean I never tried.....The first time I ever killed a person took time. It is true I had the urge to kill them immediately, but considering the circumstances it would have certainly been foolish to do so.
My First Kill
Champs was the name of the pub. Champs was situated on the corner of a busy road in an area I frequented in my younger days. I had only been to Champs a couple times before. It was more of a building than a pub. The building was about 4 stories and the owner of Champs rented out a bunch of units within the little building. Champs was on the bottom floor. The units were accessible through the front door via a stair case. Whenever I would go to the pub I would often look through the big glass window that was out front before going in to scope out the scene. There was an exterior door made out of glass that you would walk through in to a little cubed hall with chessboard floors. Off to the right there was a black metal door with a small window to look through. The door had known its fair share of depravity. It was the epitome of every dive bar. I gathered it was named Champs due to the fact it had pictures of former boxing champions all along the walls of the establishment. A few pool tables lined the wall to the left, above them hung scalloped lights. A few feet behind them was an old juke box that played a vast selection of the greatest hits from days gone by. To the right was the bar and aligned with stools and a long metal bar along the bottom to relax your feet. Behind the bar was a bartender who was almost as guaranteed to be as fresh as the next lit cigarette. To the left of the bar was the washroom. The washroom was lined with machines. The machines were stocked with condoms, horny goat weed pills, and bubblegum. The floor was a thin layer of carpet which was stained so bad I could not tell which colour it had begun as. At the back of the establishment was an exit door that lead to an alley out back. The only light being a small bulb directly above the door. Often the light would get smashed out, so the door would be propped open with a chair. This is where the fun began.
I often speak about my first murder as though it were the first sexual encounter of a teenage boy. Even now, many years later it excites me. It was a hot and muggy summer night. The kind that leaves a cool sheen of sweat hanging on your back. I decided to stalk around Champs for a bit. I always knew I would kill people. I am a little disappointed in myself it took me so long to start. The bar had maybe 15 people in there judging by the in and out movement. I had an urge to go in and get a good look. I got out of my car and quickly dashed across the street, beating the oncoming traffic. I could hear “Down on main street” blasting from the juke box inside as I made my way closer to the entrance. There were a couple skanks out front with a tall fat man who looked like King Kong Bundy. I said excuse me to the man as I walked up to the door. He ignored me and I had to squeeze by him. He smelled like cigarettes and ass-hole. I sat at the bar and gave a quick glance around. There were a couple black guys shooting pool with a some white women. The men were red eyed, from a mixture of substances, heat and alcohol I’d wager. The cigarette smoke was heavy in the air and I could see it slithering through the light like a camouflaged snake. A couple of old timers were sitting at the bar retelling tales from years past. I had a hunting knife and a metal pipe on me. No one worthy of using it on here though I remember thinking.
I wanted my first victim to jump out at me. Like what some call love at first sight. I wanted to see someone and know for certain they were worthy of my choosing. I lit up a cigarette and ordered a beer. An old whore stumbled out of the washroom and asked me to buy her a beer. I politely declined and took a swig from my mug. I watched as she stumbled out the door but not before turning to shoot me the middle finger. I fantasized about cutting it off for a moment. A couple minutes later she stumbled back through the door, but this time not alone. She was with the big foul smelling shithead I had mentioned earlier. Without turning to look in their direction I heard the whore say “That’s the cheap son of a bitch”. I felt a hand slap the upper portion of my back and instantly the last remaining beer I had emptied out of my mouth and onto the bar. “You too good to buy my ma a drink ass-hole?”. I turned around to reply when I caught the glares of everyone who was once around the tables. Before I could offer a reply a giant hand found it’s way across my face. I felt the sting and immediately thought of the man who had done that many times to me when I was a child. I felt as if I had become a furnace. This was anger. I stood up from my stool. I simply wanted to leave at this moment. I saw his hand approaching again but this time I was able to slightly duck under it. He caught me on the crown of my head. I ran towards the door without looking back. I heard laughter from the pool table and the large man boom “Get the fuck outta here you little bitch”. I crashed through the door and in to the street. I ran to my car, opened it and slumped in to the front seat. I was shaking with adrenaline. I looked in to the mirror and could see half of a hand print across my face. I smiled at the site. I knew at that moment I would murder that man.
It didn’t happen right away. No, I couldn’t let my excitement get the best of me. I stalked the man for many months. He frequented that bar at least 4 times a week. He worked at a factory that supplied parts for a major automotive company. He lived with his mother and a cat they would let in the house every night around 10:00 pm. He would often walk down to the corner store near his place to grab cigarettes. Other than that, this was the pathetic life he lived. His mother was no better. She was a bingo hall junkie. I followed them there many times. She was either there, at home or every now and then at Champs. I planned to torture the man. I was unsure how I would be able to get the man in to a vehicle quickly on my own. Once out cold there was no way I would be able to lift him in to a trunk or backseat. The man I guessed was about 6’2 and weighed close to 300lbs. I decided I would have to lure him to his own vehicle, and use his mother as bait. I always carried my hunting knife, the blade was 8 inches and razor sharp. I loved that thing. I also carried a10 inch metal pipe with me as back up.
They lived on a fairly quiet street. Their neighbours to the left were elderly and the house to the right was boarded up. There was a street light directly across from their house, but it offered little in the way of light. There was an open field with old fencing running down the length of the block on the opposite side of their street. They lived in a two story home. It was a few years away from being condemned. There was a small driveway to the right of their front porch. The driveway went back about 20 feet with the first 15 feet being concrete and the last 5 being grass and mud. There was a small lattice fence that separated their property from the abandoned one. Trash was piled all along the side of the house closest to the driveway. I decided to park a couple blocks down. It had rained hard during the day and because of this it was now wet and cold.
I painted my face black and put on a dark wig while I waited for night to come. The man was working an evening shift 3:00 pm -11:00 pm. The street was quiet with no movement. A busy day consisted of 1-2 cars an hour. I had made sure. The elderly couple turned in at 9:00 pm every night. I made my way to the house after waiting awhile being careful not to step in mud along the way. I walked up on to the porch and saw their cat in it’s usual spot. It was at the door staring up at it and paid me little attention as I crouched low to the left and waited with my metal pipe in my hand. I reminded myself not to hit her too hard in the head. My plan wasn’t to kill her.
The porch had a little light on top of the ceiling that hung down exposed. Electrical wire sticking out the sides from the circular hole it was nestled inside. The cat grew restless of waiting and began to meow loudly and scratch at the door. I could see the claw marks it had left behind from following the same routine nightly. When the woman opened the door I sprung to my feet and punted the cat off the porch and smashed the whore in the temple with my pipe. I grabbed her with my left hand before she could hit the ground. A waft of cat piss, cigarettes and booze caught my nose and i nearly vomited. I threw her over the railing and she landed with a thud on to the driveway pavement a couple feet below. I made sure to leave the door open a little. I laughed to myself when I inspected her on the ground. Her glasses had been knocked off her head but the impact had kept one of the arms stuck to her face. I wanted to kill her right there in 100 different ways. I was having so much fun. I pulled out a small strip of high grade duct tape and put it across her mouth. I didn’t bother taping her hands or feet. The whore had a hard enough time walking around sober without falling over. I wasn’t worried about her in the least. I put her body behind the trash and waited with my pipe raised in the air in case she came to.
We did not have to wait too long for the man to pull in. We were hidden well behind the mountain of garbage. I put my pipe away and took out my blade and held it to the whore’s throat. The man turned the car off and had trouble getting his fat ass out of the car. I could hear him mumbling to himself. I heard him start walking up the wooden steps and prepare to put his key in to the door. I heard him stop and say “What the fuck?”. I stuck imagining his face for a moment and I almost burst out laughing. “Ma?” I heard him call out as he pushed the creaking door open. “Ma? What the fuck? You forgot to shut the door again.” I almost laughed out loud and gave myself away as I thought to myself “What a dumb cunt”. I heard him call for his mother a few more times before hearing him step back out on the porch. I knocked over a garbage bag to get his attention. “Ma? I told you before about leaving the fucking door open” He exclaimed as he made his way off the porch and around to the front of his car. He stopped just short of the garbage heap and called out once more “Ma?”.
I sprung up from behind the pile with my hunting knife in my right hand and in my left his mother’s hair still connected to her unconscious body. He let out a sound which resembled a mixture of a gasp and a hiss. “Shut the fuck up, and don’t make a sound” I demanded. He tried to say something but I put my blade to the side of the whore’s head and he complied. “I am only here for money” I claimed. “As long as you listen to exactly what I say, and then follow my directions you and your mother won’t be harmed”. “Nod if you understand” I said. He nodded through sobs and sniffles. This was so rewarding. “How much money do you have on you?” I asked. “About $500” he answered. I quickly put my knife away and pulled out my pistol I had recently acquired unexpectedly through means I do not wish to explain. I did not like the thought of killing someone with a gun. I never intended to kill with a gun. It was to be used strictly for control or emergencies. I pointed the gun at the man and let go of the woman’s hair. She slumped to the ground and let out a soft moan. I moved a few feet away from the whore and told him to pick her up and put her in the trunk. “And be quick about it” I demanded. He nodded and did what he was told. “Now shut it” I instructed. He did so without hesitation. “Open the rear door driver side and then open the driver door and sit down” I told him. It took him a moment to register what I had said before he did. I sat down in the back seat after he had sat. I shut the door and scurried over behind the passenger seat. I told him to put his keys in the ignition and start the car. “Where are you taking us?” He asked shakily. “Take out your wallet, and give me all your money” I advised. He did so without issue. “I am going to take your car also” I admitted. “Sure, sure, whatever you want man” he said. I gave him exact direction on where to go.
I had already picked out a location. It was about 50 miles outside of the city in an area with lots of bush and trees. Void of light, traffic or people. The road leading to it was heavy with bush and forest on either side. The road was once a single lane highway before expansion began and multi lane highways were needed. The road was only used occasionally by long haul truckers and predominantly if there was major construction in the area. There was no reason to take the road otherwise. The day before I had made a clearing out in the woods hacking branches and bush with a machete. I was sure to park off road about a mile away. I had been looking for a good spot to dump a body for a long time before settling on this location. My burial ground was about 1000 feet from the main road. I had cut and hacked just wide enough to get through in a zig zag pattern. This opened to a small clearing that had roughly a 12 foot diameter. It wasn't much work to clear the area as it mainly had broken branches from the trees that towered above and small shrubs. in order to remember where it was I had plugged the coordinates in to my GPS system and drove by multiple times. I tried to spot anything that may help me recognize the location without having to depend on a GPS. I noticed that at a specific time the moon was situated in between two trees which had branches that reached to the sky and made it appear as if they were fingers grabbing at the moon. When I noticed this, I knew I had found my location. I waited to see how long the moon stayed captured in this pose for and it was an hour. An hour before the fingers caught hold of it and suffocated it's light. If I was going to put a body in this place i had to find it within that hour. The more I drove by, the more I began to get a general sense of where it was. Without my little hint though I would never be able to find it. There was no light out this way except for the natural light of the moon. This was not enough to be able to tell without assistance. Everything else looked the same unfortunately.
My kill spot was about 25 kilometers off the main highway. This land had been designated aboriginal land and there was a reserve many kilometers away. As we came up to the turn off I instructed the man where to exit. Once off the highway I told him to follow the road. The man had remained quiet for the whole ride, albeit his circumstances. The woman, not so much. She had come to not long after we had begun to drive and had since started moaning loadly and banging around in the trunk. “Follow this road for another 10 kilometers and then bring the speed to 40” I cautioned. “Ok” he agreed. “What are you going to do with us?” he asked. “I am going to have you get out of the car with the woman and walk in to the woods” I explained. “From there, I will instruct the woman to tape you up” I said. “I can’t afford a big fellow like you getting any big ideas”. “You...you can just drop us off on the side of the road mister.... me....me and my ma ain’t gonna try nothin’” he stammered. “If I let you off on the side of the road I risk people passing by and seeing me, Relax” I assured him. “If I was going to hurt you guys i would have done it already” I said with a chuckle. I had hoped I had made him feel at ease for the moment. The fact was, there would be no mercy.
With my gun still pointed at his head, the man slowed the car down. I looked at my watch and smiled as I saw we were right on time for the moon to play it’s role. I glanced in the mirror and saw that the black paint that was on my face had been streaked by my sweat. I reveled in my disguise. I personified sinisterism. Evil was no longer a thought or word. It was real and I was it’s channel.