Page 7

Cole: April 2005

My foot collides with the rotten wooden post that the gate hangs precariously from. It’s already fucking falling apart so I’m sure the fucking bitch-whore won’t even notice. It swings and comes back to me. Kicking it again, more forcefully this time. Biting my tongue hard to stop from screaming out. I want to break her fucking face into pieces.

Bitch.

Whore.

Mother fucking slut!

I HATE HER!!!

I can’t even say her name; I will never say her name again.

It’s starting to fucking rain and my fucking stupid fucking things are laying outside in the garden. A shared garden that cunt has with her upstairs neighbour, the single mother in her 30s with the two small children. I’d sometimes play with them during the nicer weather. Kick a ball around, play hide and seek. Simple, easy games with two kids who’d had a bad start in life already thanks to their father and mother, idiots.

Kids though, I’ve never really wanted them myself, I know that what I am can be passed onto any child, especially male children. It’s hard enough keeping myself in line, but a child? Especially knowing what they are capable of, knowing what they will grow into. It’s too much responsibility, too much to risk. Too much that can reflect badly back on me.

I won’t do it. I’ve already at my young age had that chat with the GP and they have agreed to give me the snip so that I can’t accidentally get anyone pregnant. The last thing I’d want is to get trapped with someone I don’t want to raise a child I equally don’t want. As heartless as I am, it just sounds like too much work. Too much energy, money and…

I go back to looking across the messy as fuck space that I had tried to tidy up and keep neat for my cunt of a now ex-girlfriend.

She’s done you a favour, you were getting too attached.

Yes, I was but I’m fucking angry in principal because she fucking cheated on me. ON ME? Who the fuck does she think she is?

My clothes, my stuff has been thrown out into the grass and mud, the soft rain no doubt will only get heavier, and my things will be ruined. My stuff thrown away outside like fucking trash, mine?

She fucking cheats, throws herself at one of my best friends (I’ll deal with that betrayal later), fucks him and then throws my things outside? Apparently, it’s not the first time she’s fucked someone else… No, of course, not because that wouldn’t be bad enough, would it? No… she’s fucked my friend, a whole bunch of her friends, one of her neighbours… the list goes on… All while laughing at me, laughing at how fucking stupid and gullible I am.

Truthfully, I had never given it a second thought because who the fuck would cheat on me? She had me, and what? Thought she could do better? Than ME? Outrageous.

I laugh a little, it’s a laugh that I know is only just holding off the madness that exists within. I am ready to explode, kicking the gate has only enraged me further and I want to tear things apart with bare hands. I’d like to kick her head, her stupid, ugly, fucking face. I’d like to take my foot and kick her skull until it cracks into multiple pieces. I want to squash her eyeballs until they pop underneath the sole of my trainer. I want her blood to soak the canvas of the shoe and the cotton of the laces. Staining permanently with the only reminder I want of her now; her blood. Her death. Yes, that might bring me some peace.

I close my eyes and feel the rain pitter patter gently across my face. I look up and see the sky darken, the beautiful spring day is turning into an early night. Deep, heavy clouds appear above me, blacking out the sun and changing my mood for the deeper, the darker.

Maybe this is good, this is what I need.

I have spent my whole life keeping my temper in check, keeping it locked down tight inside me. I can smile when I’m angry, I can keep my eyes bored and a little vacant looking. I don’t mind if anyone whispers that they think I’m a little slow behind my back. No one says it to my face and I'd rather they think I’m a bit on the stupid side than know what I am. Have anyone figure out what drives me, focuses me, what calls to me.

Blood, death, wrath.

Everything makes me angry; people, talking, chewing, anyone having any expectations of me, being told what to do or how to do anything.

It makes me see red, but the red isn’t the flag being held out to a bull, it’s the deeper red of blood. It’s staining my hands and brain with it. I’ve mostly kept my hands to myself. I’ve gotten into a few fights, sure. I have refrained from hurting animals. I wanted to when I was younger, I didn’t because I knew what that meant. Even at that young age, I knew that line wasn’t one I could cross if I wanted to remain hidden. Out of sight, out of mind was what I wanted from everyone.

I stare at the clouds above and the dark colours remind me a little of Luna and her latest attempt at dying her already dark brown hair black. I don’t understand why she’s changing it when there's barely a visible difference. Her own hair is such a rich, luscious colour but she wants it to be devoid of colour at all. Black.

Black like my fucking heart because of course it’s not actually broken. It’s my pride that is wounded. It might feel like a death blow but it’s not really.

Resentment builds as I think of Luna.

If she wasn’t such a bitch too, we’d have been together and instead I ended up with this other cunt instead. My precious girlfriend of two and a half fucking years! Fucking whore-bitch. It’s her fault.

No, it’s not, it’s yours.

I can’t stand being wrong. It’s easier to blame other people than take the blame for anything myself.

I stand there no doubt looking monstrous in the oncoming rain, a storm in making both above and within. I have a feeling that this is it, the day my life has catapulted me toward and I have been simultaneously trying to avoid and embrace. I want to do it, but I also don’t, because what if I can’t stop? What if I throw myself from this cliff and there’s nothing to bring me back?

I stand there knowing I cannot under any circumstances walk back inside that flat where there are three people I could murder right now. My ex-girlfriend and her two as equally slutty fucking friends. Bare hands would turn into improvising weapons. A table leg, a knife, a lamp… anything can be a weapon when there is enough rage and determination behind the swing.

Is this premeditated? One could argue it always was and would be, but it feels impulsive. I didn’t set out to kill anyone today. That was not on my to-do list this morning.

My hair is getting wet, flattening against my head as I feel the rain now in full force, how quick the weather changes here. How quickly my life has fallen apart and maybe fallen back together in the same moment.

I cannot go back and kill that bitch, I could, I won’t no matter how much it would make me smile.

I dig my fingernails into the soft skin of my palms as I hold them hard in fists. I do this to ground myself a little, I need to be in control here or else everything I’ve been working for will be for nothing and I will not succumb to being another statistic because of that little cunt.

I wouldn’t be surprised if there is blood in my palms when I eventually open them.

I don’t look back at the flat I’ve spent the past two and a half years almost living in while going back and forth between university and my parents' home.

They have offered to help me buy my own flat or house for when I graduate with my degree. Me, who could barely spell and write throughout primary school, constantly scolded at school and at home for not being clever enough. It just turns out I wasn’t as good with words as I was with numbers. That’s where I excel and once I was able to focus enough, I took an interest in something that made sense to me. That’s when I really flourished.

I laugh a little thinking about how Sundrop and I back in college ended up sitting together. She was there working on her numbers because she failed her maths exams. She couldn’t understand them. How she would read the numbers in a sequence backwards and sometimes, she’d get the first and last number correct but jumble up the numbers in between. I had enjoyed helping her with her homework, it gave us a reason to spend time together and to talk. There were always opportunities to take the piss out of her for how stupid she was but she’s not really, no more than I am.

I think about Sundrop and wish she was here to lean on, she’d probably offer to beat up my cunt of an ex-girlfriend for me. That’s one of the things I liked about her, how at her tiny and adorable five foot almost nothing, she was never scared to throw her weight around, small as it was. Who did she think she was, but it was sweet. She was fiercely protective of those she cares about. That’s how I know she does care about me, as a friend at least.

Luna would help, Luna would talk shit about me being a loser for feeling like this, but she’d never let anyone else say anything like that about me. That was how we were with each other. She’s in Glasgow, so many miles away at Uni.

Luna’s not here to help me so I must find a way to do this myself. I know what I’m going to do. I just can’t think about Sundrop because honestly, I do worry what she’ll think of me. She can never find out.

I move around the garden, picking up my stuff and taking it to the boot of my car. It’s a shitty little thing, red but it moves from one place to another, that’s about all I care about currently. I must make three trips to pick up anything I remotely care about but mostly I just don’t want to have to come back here for any reason. I won’t be back, no matter what happens.

Even in the future when I perfect my craft, I won’t come back to this door, I won’t put my life at risk. No matter what happens or how I feel, my life is more valuable than her death is to me. I get into my car and drive off, not glancing back, resolved never to.

The sky is pitch black outside the car, the world whizzing past as I drive far too fast, especially in this shit heap of a car. The roads are soaked, slick as I fly down the B981, trying to keep the speed below the limit, not pushing above it like I want.

I want to do something fun, impulsive and reckless. I am going to kill someone tonight, preferably a female someone. I need to take this rage I’m feeling out on a person. I must. It’s more than that though, I want to take my passport and fuck off somewhere, anywhere, like get to the airport, maybe Edinburgh. Not Glasgow, if I drive all the way to Glasgow tonight, I’ll end up dropping in on Luna at her dorm and break down in front of her.

I can’t do that, she doesn’t know how much she means to me, we haven’t seen each other much or talked apart from an email here and there. She sends me pictures of the paintings she’s made, some of the sketches she’s done of clothing she wants to design. Her ability to focus is worse than mine but she’s trying her best.

No, I can’t go near her, not now. Not with what I’m about to do but maybe I should take a little impromptu holiday afterwards. It would be a great alibi after all. “Why no Mr policeman Sir, I was driving to Edinburgh airport and took a cheap last-minute flight because my girlfriend dumped me. So, I went to Ibiza to get shitfaced and fuck as many girls as possible. I even got this trendy sexually transmitted infection while I was there.” I’d get a pat on the back for that, I was sure.

Women were just a bunch of fucking whores, the lot of them.

This was all they were good for.

Fucking, which I couldn’t get to grips with the mess and the noises. It was all so gross and cumbersome. Maybe that's why bitchface fucked other people. She wasn’t get fucked properly by me.

No, she’s just a cunt.

It was disrespectful I think, trying to keep my thoughts on the road and realising that for once, I didn’t care if the car swerved. What was the worst that would happen? I crash into another car? It’s not like I cared if anyone else was hurt. My car being damaged would be a nuisance but who cares?

I turned the radio on, some sappy R bright blue eyes, fair skin, freckles, a strong nose, and thick pale blonde hair. I’ve let it grow ever so slightly; there’s now a curl to it. It’s handsome. I’m not arrogant, it’s just a fact.

“Where are you heading?” Her smile is a little bigger now, her teeth are clean and straight looking. Obviously takes care of herself. I notice her nails are well manicured too, not too long, not too short. Shame she dresses like a fucking slut, she might have otherwise been a decent girl. I let her get a bit more wet, reminding myself I’m not flirting with her to fuck her. I’m flirting with her to get her to let her guard down so she can get into my car, and I can bash her fucking brains in.

I smile again, showing my own straight teeth. Two and a half years of painful braces and tracks, a nightmare of dentistry which I hated but was worth every moment. She relaxes her shoulders but in doing so must remember how cold she is. She looks miserable. “I was just driving around.” I offer; she looks confused “In this?” She asks. I open the door for her and hold out a towel, it’s not too large. My mum's pale blue bath towel, one I keep for emergencies. It’s all she needs to trust me as she takes the towel, taking in the freshness, while getting into the car. Shutting the door behind her, she places the towel around her shoulders and uses it to try and pat her face dry.

“Would you like some music?” I ask, letting her get her seatbelt on, before starting the radio, “I was listening to the local station but” She laughs, and just butts right in, rude fucking bitch, “That’s fine, we can listen to that.”

I don’t ask where she wants to go, and she doesn’t offer. Maybe she already knows she won’t be reaching her original destination. Only for a moment do I think about the fact that I’m about to kill this stranger. That she must have parents, family, friends, maybe a boyfriend. Maybe a guy in her life like me and who I am to Luna. My Luna.

The thought of Sundrop almost makes me stop but I force myself to turn back towards the road. The rain is getting heavier as I start the engine and slowly pull away from the curb. I look at my passenger, who never offered me her name and is currently trying to dry herself off a bit.

I see those erect nipples, hard enough to cut through the thin black tank top she’s wearing. I lick my lips, the sight of tits and hard nipples always arouses me however, a different need is taking control now.

I can only see her as blood and death as I imagine how her fear will taste. I smile at her, my deadened half smile, nodding to the music as she sings along a little. She can’t sing for shit, but she tries which is admirable. I wonder what it’ll take for me to make her sing.

There’s an abandoned lot not far from here, in fact it’s less than a mile away. On dry nights it’s where people park and participate in dogging. I go along often, wearing a disguise as a lot of regulars do. We recognise cars though; I like to watch people fuck. This is a great way to do it. So many times, I’ve wanked myself stupid over people fucking their own partners, other peoples… Sometimes people swap between cars. I’ve even watched men and women roll down car windows for a man to stick his dick through for them to touch and suck.

I’ve watched women get fucked multiple times by different people. I’ve seen men fuck one another too. That’s always done something for me but I’m not sure I’d ever actually want to fuck a man myself. It’s the watching I like, not necessarily participating in the act.

I don’t think I like being touched, not really.

I take the road straight ahead going through the roundabout as I move towards the bridge. I’ve thought about jumping off it a few times. Not because I wanted to kill myself but because I feel like I would survive, I just know somehow, I wouldn’t die.

I look at my companion and turn the heat on in the car, maybe I should have done that a little sooner and hot air blasts into the car. “Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all but knowing I should say it. Smiling, she says, “It’s ok, mine does that too.” Finally, something in common to talk about, “Yeah? What kind of car do you have?” She pats the dashboard in front of her gently, and I can’t help but think of all the places I’m going to have to clean and rub down to remove evidence of her being inside my car. I don’t know her name. Maybe I should ask, so I know who I am about to kill.

Just as she is about to answer, I pull into the left, taking a turn that is obscured by overgrown bushes and trees. There are a lot of these planted up this side of the road, there’s a small wood that separates the bridge from another residential area. That’s mostly what this town is; groupings of houses, trees and roundabouts. Nature has been uprooted by development and then forced back down in the cracks in between. It’s very green.

I don’t like it.

Home is ahead, this bridge went through the local town park and was built some years ago. I remember it being done. It was to bring both sides of the town together and make it more accessible for everyone. There’s even a walking and cycle path. The bridge itself is a regular spot for suicides or potential at least. There’s always someone the police are trying to talk down from jumping. I wonder then, how many have been successful?

My passenger suddenly gave a squeak. Even though I felt my turn was more of a glide, she clearly didn't think it was so smooth. No matter.

I turn to her, smiling, trying to reassure her and for the most part she is. She opens the mirror on the sun visor and is checking her makeup. Her eye makeup has run, I’m not sure if that’s eyeliner, mascara or eyeshadow or a combination of all three but it’s run down her cheeks in dribbling lines.

I think of the porn I watch; I think of eye makeup being messed up like that and for a moment I wonder if I should just fuck her. Or rape her. Who cares? She was going to die anyway, what did it matter?

No, you might get caught if you stick your dick in her.

Sundrop wouldn’t like you as a rapist.

A murderer? Perhaps not but certainly not a rapist.

I didn’t want to rape her, I knew that if I really wanted to I could and that should have scared me but the anger, the excitement running through me didn’t care. I turned my focus back on the task at hand, the reason I had brought her here and as I pulled up to the empty clearing I parked the car slightly at an angle.

There was a view of the hills and river from here, it’s nice. I stopped the car, put it in park and let the music play. She smiled at me, and I smiled back at her, probably for very different reasons.

I was considering how to kill her, probably my bare hands, strangle her maybe? I didn’t have any weapons inside the car, I did have a few tools in the boot. There were things I kept on hand in case the car broke down and thought about the tire iron that I had just lying there in the back… My eyes widened at that; I couldn’t help it. Now, a plan is forming.

My passenger however was probably expecting me to kiss her, to put my fingers inside her, to run my hand up the inside of her top and feel the tits she knew I had already been staring at. She wasn’t wrong, being messed up like this, being so far away from Sundrop and any normality, I did want to touch this girl. I wouldn’t though, I couldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of monster I would be.

I’d thought about this for years, my first time. Who would it be with? When? Where, how old would I be? How I would do it. There were so many fantasies and now it was right in front of me, just mine for the taking.

I licked my lips, bringing life back into my plump lips. Lips people always talked about being good for kissing. Talked about it while I was far too young, and no one cared enough to keep me safe. I never felt comfortable in or around my body.

Now though, I leaned over to her and placed my hand gently on her face. Her skin cold, she shuddered slightly as I ran my fingers across her lips, touching them softly before letting my hand come down to rest on the side of her neck. I stroked my fingers tenderly back and forth a few times. It was enough that she leaned her neck to the side to allow me more access. Her eyes were closing delicately as I reached my other hand up.

With my two hands I held her neck and squeezed.

For the first moment she was too shocked to react, eyes opening quickly and widening rapidly as she took in my smiling face. I can only imagine how I looked to her then, more demon than angel. She didn’t cry out; I pressed down hard and fast onto her windpipe and squeezed her with such force that she started coughing and spluttering instead.

I crushed her throat, releasing all the pent-up rage and anger I had felt in my 20 years. It all came bubbling out of me, showering my hands with strength I didn’t know I had.

I strangled the life out of her, and I watched her die. I kept my eyes open, and I observed closely every look of panic as it flew across her features in the limited range of motion she had. Eventually she grabbed my wrists, digging her nails into me but I held on.

She kicked her feet out towards me, tried to move but I got on top of her, straddling her and not having much room. I effectively pinned us both against her seat as she was still strapped in with her seatbelt on.

I used the full force of my body weight to hold her still and eventually the scratching and pulling, the tiny little punches she tried to make with her fist against my wrist, stopped.

I watched the light go out of those eyes, a brilliant blue, her wet, red hair was limp. I stared at her, taking in every change in her face. The relaxation of letting go of all that stress and tension in the end, in dying.

There were little burst capillaries in her eyes. Some around her nose too. Her lips had gone slack and loose. Those eyes though, they remained bright and blue, a glaring contrast to the red around them. Her pupils had blown wide, in shock or in terror I’ll never know.

I sat like that for a while, just watching her body, staying there with the storm raging around me, the storm inside of me calm for once. It was odd because something in me had always known that indulging in my need to kill would soothe me. Here I was, for perhaps the first time in my life, feeling calm and at peace. Nothing was vibrating inside of me anymore; nothing was forcing its way out. Just silence.

Is this what it really took for me to feel better?

I would sit with those thoughts at some point but right now, I had to dispose of this slut's body. Part of me was overconfident, thinking that I would get away with murder. Being honest, with the way women are treated overall, who would care that I had killed one. Who was she really? What would she ever provide society with that was worth her living? Some kids? Was that really it? It’s not like some slut working at a local bar was ever going to cure cancer or invent something worthwhile.

She got into a car with a stranger because what, it was raining, and she thought I was cute? This has been a serial killer ruse for generations. Do people not learn? She can't have been that bright.

This is the reason I decide that her life isn’t worth anything. That her corpse doesn’t deserve much care.

I weigh up my options; I could just dump her here. Perhaps I could drive out to the nearest large body of water which would be the Forth or the Tay. The Tay would probably be a better option than the Forth, far less busy. There’s the river Leven but I don’t think it would have current enough to pull a whole body, even such a small one like her, all the way out to the Forth. Most likely the body would be caught somewhere, discovered quickly.

I think about water and how it removes a lot of DNA evidence like maybe some of the fibres from my clothes, maybe some skin or tissue from underneath her nails. I look at my hands and I do have little marks from where she tried to scratch me. There are a few where she did draw blood. She must have my tissue and blood underneath her nails.

Trying to recall what I know about evidence, I can’t remember if it makes a difference whether it’s freshwater or saltwater. Does one do more damage quicker? Isn’t there a minimum amount of time a body needs to be underwater before it is discovered for evidence to be destroyed or at least contaminated?

There are too many variables, and I can’t remember enough right now. Serial killers have been my passion throughout my life. I begged for information when I was barely allowed to watch horror movies at home. The worst thing about being an only child was never being neglected enough to be able to watch things without my parents knowing.

Oh, how they cared so much about how much TV I was watching and what I could watch. I’d have to watch things at Finlay’s house, he had cable and alcoholic parents who didn’t give a fuck about what he did or what he watched. It was always his house we’d try and hang out in. He always wanted to escape from them for as long as he could.

The body isn’t as interesting to me now that she’s dead. I prod at her a little, making sure she is in fact dead. Now, that would be embarrassing.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a big fat vibrating that is impossible to miss. Pulling out my black Motorola Razr, laughing to myself about how Sundrop has the matching one in pink. I see that it’s Finlay who has texted me. There’s a few, I did manage to miss the first 10 or so texts he has sent me.

It’s abbreviated and he’s using numbers to make the words shorter and I can’t decipher them in the mood I’m in. The letters are already wobbling together without him spelling “mate” as “M8”. I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING MATE, I think.

Maybe I should kill him too. I’ll have to forgive him though, kill him or forgive him, laugh about it. Tell him that he did me a favour, that he’s a true friend, taking one for the team. That makes me wonder if the whole group has already had a go at her and I was the last to know.

The anger is threatening to rise in me again, so I tap my hand against her leg, her cold, dead leg and try to balance myself. I have just killed someone. I can wait before doing it again, there’s a lot to think about, plan, learn because I can do this. I can be a long-term serial killer who can evade the authorities. Fife Constabulary can fuck off.

I will not get caught.

What to do?

I think about texting Sundrop, but she won’t have credit to reply. She never does. My little angel doesn’t have financial support from her family the way I do. They are mostly dead and those she does have, well, she’s created a distance from them intentionally. That’s why we email. She normally has internet access if not at the dorm, then within the campus itself. Even if it’s the library she must use.

I leave Luna alone just now. For some reason I can’t think about Luna while I have this dead whore in my car. I think about the last time she sat there in that seat.

No, not Luna. I need to message Finlay back; this can be part of my alibi for the evening. I message him and say that I’m very upset and have been driving around, that I can come pick him up shortly and we can “talk.”

Right, but what to do about the dead bitch?

That's when I get the most stupid and yet simple idea. ?