The story of how I ended up here IV: First hunt
( NOTE : Before I begin the following solo I would like to let you all know that rape is not a matter of joke and that the solo has been written with only entertainment purposes and not promotion of violence in any shape or form. I strongly recommend not following me or reading my solos if you are underage or sensitive to brutal topic.)
“Do you know why I chose you?” I asked her calmly but she only winced.
Didn’t take long for her to start crying, choking on her own sob with that low pitched sound girls make when they’re whining. No response.
“Do you know why I chose you?” I asked again, my palm holding beneath her chin to make her look at me. The tears had gone dry on her pale face and the coolness in the air or perhaps the uneasiness had made her white, usually colorless skin to go pink in certain areas and the puffy eyes, having cried themselves to their current posture, did wonders to it. Made her look exactly like the captive she was meant to be with all that wet her pinned to her face from sweat and tears and well…A little bit of water dripping. Oh the water dripping…The dripping water…That was my first mistake. I should have paid more attention to it but then again when you have a girl tied to the ceiling and ready for your entertainment you don’t really pay attention to detail. For me the focus part takes place / before / the actual acts begins. Or it was that way at least…Now I know you should never turn that part of you off. You don’t want to get caught.
She moaned in pain and I whispered caringly. “Because no one will ever miss you. It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”
I know I know… I shouldn’t be teasing even the paper with starting it that way but if I didn’t write that down, I might forget. Things are starting to get blurry over here and I don’t exactly enjoy not knowing what will happen to me or what is…
The girl a few doors over committed suicide a few nights ago and since that has happened the whole security system has doubled. Well…It’s not like there are cameras or anything…It’s just the walks. They’ve doubles the guards and nurses everywhere to make sure everyone is sedated enough not to kill themselves or…Others.
That makes my job harder than it already is in here. You have no idea how many opportunities I have had here and just how many I had to let go…
It’s so sad I feel like strangling myself to death but that way they will never know my story…They have to know my story, and my name. And my face. They have to fear me and the thought of me. They have to wince, they have to be scared because I’m out there, roaming the cities. They have to be afraid. Oh wouldn’t that be lovely? To have women check their doors twice before they go to bed because they are afraid I’ll get to them? Ah that sounds splendid…
That’s why I haven’t killed myself yet. I can’t die unnoticed. Not after a quick spree and before they’ve learned the truth. The entire truth…And nothing but the truth.
All they know now is what I’ve told them which is what landed me here in the first place but I couldn’t exactly make any deals for the rest of them now, could I? I had to make them think I’m crazy. Who the hell wants to go to prison and be put on death row? Hah. Like I’d ever risk my life because of a few mistakes I made along the line.
I don’t really know how the others do it…Those who go unfound, uncaught and unheard of. It’s kind of sad though, isn’t it? No one knows their name or cares enough to do so but then again they probably are having fun with a blondie or a brunette right now and have no one doubting that the church going righteous man could be in fact a serial killer, spotting young women outside of the area he lives in.
That is the spookiest thing about us but I don’t quite count myself in with those.
I’m different…Younger, more experienced…smarter, better. An improved serial killer who with access to internet and various tv shows teaching everyone how to kill and get away with it, could make something so uniquely beautiful that there was no need for a mentor. I always had me. And me is fucking awesome.
So that is why I have to keep writing. With the double guards roaming the place at all times and the moaning and the weird noises the walls have decided to make, I know it’s fucking weird and sometimes I do wonder if it’s me imagining things but let’s hope I haven’t gone coocoo just yet, I find it hard to go on not thinking about it.
The need is growing inside of me, poking me and begging me to pay attention to it while I beg it to leave me alone but the need is much like eating…
You think it doesn’t control you but it takes over your body. Making your stomach growl and your head ache, making you dizzy and angry after its done making you hurt all over…So you eventually give in and shove food into your own face and after you’re done, you might feel bad for eating too fast but you know that the release you got from the agony that was controlling you was so fucking worth it.
Killing for me is like that. You think it doesn’t control you but it does. It practically takes over your entire life.
I hear it calling…It has been calling FOR DAYS now but I couldn’t find any pieces of papers to write this down on so I just had to browse through my memories and to be honest they’ve become blurry and are fainting away.
Must be all the drugs they shove down our throats.
I should be sleeping now…The lights have gone off and the wincing is audible on the background but still…It’s quieter than it is during the day and the nights for me are the worst.
I don’t like to be left alone with my thoughts when I can’t do anything about them.
Slowly drives me insane…
Which is why I have taken it upon myself to gather all the papers and tissues that I can so I can write. I can’t draw. That would take too much of my pencil away so instead I write and by the looks of it I pretty much suck but who cares? It’s not like I’ll show these to anyone.
No…This is just for me. For my own amusement and for my own pleasure so I could read back and remind myself of what I truly am.
Instead of moving out, I collected and saved all my money made with hard effort at the university ( I did research there, physicists and all of that crap) or whichever job I could handle to get a warehouse in an isolated place, never visited by anyone, like a paper town only pretty on the map, perfect for crimes I had planned to commit there.
I made sure I had easy access to it but at the same time it was safe enough to be locked from the outside and not opened from the inside when I wasn’t there.
Also…The basement made for a hell of a dungeon.
I know I know…Fantasy and all of that. Call it cliché but it’s the perfect place for me and still is standing like a good little boy.
I went through all the possible outcomes of just hunting freely and sometimes even before I knew it was a hunt, I would imagine what it would be like to just grab one of the passing strangers and do to them what I wanted to for so long but I knew that just anyone couldn’t do it for me.
The possibilities of one of them being best friends with the mayor or something like that just never seemed worth it to me so I made a list of all the areas I could actually do hit.
Women who live alone with successful jobs are the most appealing but you know what they have? Dogs and cats and those are just a no go for me and there’s no guarantee that one of them wouldn’t have a boyfriend waiting or a good friend at work who would immediately report them missing so the cougars were immediately a no go.
Same with the MILFS and housewives, the thought just makes me go ugh.
What you want to actually go after is not the pretty girl at school who has shiny hair, you want to go after the dorks who live alone and only have internet friends or…The best option of all…Prostitutes and homeless girls.
People that will not be missed or reported or cared for when found.
It’s sad when you think about it but it’s just too convenient to be forgotten.
I do have my own needs and wants under that category…
If you don’t count the no mistress, no escort, no agency bits of it, I like girls with a certain body type.
I never much did care for ‘sexy’ women. I never found that attractive, I mean yes, I will fuck one if we meet in a café or whatever but I won’t go after one. I like tiny petite girls. I always have.
That does count for the type of porn I used to watch as well by the way. Just putting it out there.
I met her well…I learned about her by whispers and the public records I couldn’t dig out, another good sign, but I made it my mission to learn everything about her.
When and how and where she took her coffee, where she lived, who she hung out with, what time she woke up and what time she worked, where she deposited her money…All of that good stuff.
They all screamed lonely and perfectly safe for me to fiddle with.
I like to give them a heads up before I actually do make a move so I leave them clues well…I know it’s dramatic but it’s so much fun!
I ‘accidentally’ bumped into her and made her coffee spill and oh my, we have the same taste in coffee! OF COURSE I would offer her mine and insist she lets me pay for the dry cleaning, which by the way I did and of course I would keep popping out in places she had business by sheer ‘accident’ but the day we met was the day I started the phone calls.
It’s an old trick in the book but don’t you just love that?
I allowed the audio from Jackson’s death to play on the background when she picked the phone up and did the same thing for every night two months straight, only missing a few nights to make her believe it was over but it never was.
Didn’t take long for her to become paranoid and start checking the doors twice each time she left and entered the house.
I even sneaked in a couple of times to rearrange the stuff she had put in , into my own liking , to mess with her head a little bit, something she had begun to notice.
Finally on a Friday night when her business would be the busiest and hardest to handle as it usually was, I stroke.
I can still feel her nails cutting my skin when I put the napkin over her face, that too taught me a lesson. ALWAYS WEAR LONG SLEEVES!
You don’t want DNA all over you.
But it was my first one and I was so excited and scared at the same time though nothing would compare to how scared / she / was. I picked up the three videos I had made so far and put them on replay on the crappy tv that was set in the basement and with her being tied to the ropes hanging from the ceiling, she had no choice but to watch them.
I think in a way her being scared was what did it for me.
I left her there for two days, I had set up cameras of course to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere but it I had to leave her there to increase the fear she already had built up.
Finally when I got to be with her alone, I turned the tv off and sat in the corner of the cold dim basement and opened my journal to draw her beautiful body and posture. I did it for hours and she cried and begged me to let her go, that she wouldn’t tell anyone.
Human instincts…Weird fucking stupid shit, that is , huh? How stupid you think I am? For fuck’s sake!!
I drew her as she was but something about the picture in front of me didn’t satisfy me enough and that pissed me the hell off.
I went to her and started fiddling with her, trying to get her in the right angles but she wouldn’t shut the fuck up so I had to use my personal gag to just shut her up while I inspected her.
I really did wanna hurt her so I tried it soft core, vanilla style and slapped her a couple of times and that got me going, which is when I knew just how much I needed to hurt someone in order to reach that certain level of ecstasy, something I felt with Alice and something I felt when I masturbated to the video of Jackson dying for the first time. That beautiful sudden moment of relief…
I couldn’t ever get there again and it frustrated me so bad.
That’s when I started actually beating her up. Making my fist crack a few bones here and there which now looking back was so enjoyable. It did hurt me as well as it did her but the way her skin changed color first to a fierce crimson and then to a blackish purple…That was euphoric for me and I knew in that moment that she’d do whatever I told her to do.
And so she did.
Said and did everything I wanted her to while I pounded into her and somewhere in between her moans , I managed to finally reach that euphoric place. Something I tried with her over and over again, for almost a week every night till I grew bored of her and well…You know how it goes.
I can still feel her bones crackling under my touch and the smell of her hair and how she bounced back and forth…I can still remember it all.
Oh hey…I actually do remember it all in details!!
The coldness of the basement, the heat of her body, her feminine voice and all the drawings of her I had sketched…
I might not be losing my mind after all!