Misconception (chapter 1)

Darkness filled the atmosphere that the spirits of the deceased linger leaving an eerie presence behind them which remains for a moment. Longer than a moment. A lifetime.

He takes a step towards the light, so that a ray imprints itself onto His face like a stamp. He grinned with modest mystery, a grin that a young child may make after being shunned by their parent. Like any man He had a garage full of tools tainted with rust and dry glue. Scraps of wood, metal and odd nails conceal the gore forever imprinted on the floor. He takes a cloth and wipes His hands, obliterating her memories. Two, three, four minutes passed as He stood there in deep thought. The deepest of thoughts that no psychiatrist can indulge their cognizance into. It was His psyche that motivated Him to do what He did.

He grabs her arm and pulls her into the light, swings her over His shoulder in one swift movement and places her elegantly on the worktable like an affluent decoration. He looked admirably at her like a painter to artwork, glides over to His tool box and pulls out a drawer; somewhat like a secret compartment. He then seizes the sharpest of scalpels and makes a fine incision, finer than the beads of sweat that declivity from his forehead. He takes a larger blade and slashes her abdomen removing her insides with great care, spears them through the top with a fishing hook like a grand treasure. He moves back ever so slightly knocking a hammer onto the floor making such a sound it causes Him to vault from one side of the garage to the other. Now, with speed and anxiety He hacks of her arms and legs like a lamb to the slaughter. The concentration on His face was abnormal.

A quick glance at the clock; 3.46AM. He took the corpse, car keys and gardening gloves and scurried to His car, threw her in the back and drove. He was an adrenaline junkie, He lived for these moments; you could even say they empowered him. He lived in a quiet town with a population of just over 700 people. Everyone knew everyone and everyone knew everyone’s secrets. The houses all looked the same from the outside. Semi-detached, 4 windows, garage, driveway and a door that shrouded the sights beyond it. Trees lined each side of the road like boulevards in Hollywood; except, this wasn’t Hollywood, this was Mabel Lane. A left turn, a right turn and then another left; He knew His way like the back of His hand, kind of as if He’d been practising. Watching. Waiting.
He dropped of his passenger at 14 Chordae Valley with great pleasure and excitement. “Same time next week?” He said with a hint of spite and furtive, the words seem to roll of His tongue with ease. He took one last look, this time with awe and sarcastic sympathy before He returned to His car. He took a deep breath of relief and smiled with content.