Killing. For a lot of people it’s unfathomable. But for me, it’s easy. Like breathing. I still remember my first. I remember the blood, it was much warmer than I thought it would be. The way it pooled around the lifeless body on the ground. I don’t regret it. He had it coming. They all did.
Even now, as I stand outside the town’s local bar waiting for my next victim, my heart beats calmly, steadily. I rub my hands together and ignore the cold chill creeping up my spine. It’s just the cold.
I try to peek inside the bar through the clouded window, but only make out the blurry silhouettes of some men walking around a pool table. Shouldn’t be long now. As the night inches towards day, shadows of men begin to stumble out. Vile burns at the back of my throat.
Finally, I watch the unsteady outline of the man I’m waiting for, exiting the bar. He stumbles along the poorly lit sidewalk. With a shaky hand, I touch the cold handle of my dagger on the side of my thigh. Breathe. I begin to walk after him, steps so light that I don’t even hear them. I recognise his blue shirt, same one he wore the night before. Pity he didn’t wear something nicer to die in.
His dragged steps echo down the empty street. Not another soul in sight.
My fists shake at my sides. I am not scared.
I fight the urge to huff at his slow pace. His legs are wobbly and his hunched frame makes him look small, insignificant. It seems almost impossible for someone that looks like that to be capable of much. In truth, it almost feels wrong to pry on a drunken man. Almost.
By the time he reaches the parking lot, the sky is a faded blue. He doesn’t notice me, though I’m almost breathing down his neck. He turns to go around a small bus but I can’t wait anymore.
I push him against the bus. He gasps but manages to catch himself but he’s cornered. He sees my reflection in the tinted window. His shoulders ease up and his mouth twitches up.
‘Her name,’ I demand.
He turns to me.
‘Well, hello little lady,’ he slurs with a smirk.
His breath is pure alcohol.
‘Her name. What was it,’ I ask again.
He straightens up.
‘Whose name?’
‘The girl you raped.’
His eyes widen and look around.
He shakes his head, ‘I don’t know what you’re-’
‘Her name!’ I say, louder.
‘I-… What?’
I cross my arms, ‘Don’t make me ask again.’
‘I… I don’t know,’ he admits.
I suspected this, but a part of me hoped he’d at least consider the identity of his victim.
‘Her name was Emily.’
‘Was?’ he asks.
‘Shame does strange things to people, she took her life.” His green eyes glow. Just like a demon.
He hisses, creases his brows. But the feigned surprise is short-lived. His eyes dart to the sides and his fists close. A cornered animal ready to flee.
‘I had no idea,’ he doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t slur.
Time to finish this. I shrug and turn my back to him.
‘It’s only fair,’ I say in a low voice, but loud enough for him to hear.
‘What-’
I look back at him over my shoulder, ‘That I take yours.’
I reach for my blade and with a swing of my arm, I slash his throat open. And there it is again. The blood. Spluttering around his neck. Some taints my hand before I can pull away. It’s the same as always. Red. Warm. He reaches up with both hands trying to cover up the wound, but it’s no use. The blood slips through his fingers the same way the sun bleeds through the earth as morning comes.
He slides to the ground. He wheezes and his eyes roll back. The blood flows and spreads changing the colour of his blue shirt. I stay until the very end. I let out a sigh. I know I did the right thing for Emily, and for all the girls before her.
His body is shutting down, yet his eyes remain wide open. I hear wheezing even when his chest stops moving and I realise it’s me.
Stop it.
With a shaky hand, I grab my blade and carve the word ‘RAPIST’ on the bus right above his corpse.
I slip back into the dark streets, sneaking through alleys and back roads until I reach the river where I wash the blood off my hands. No trace of my crime. My breath catches in my throat and even though I am not underwater, I feel like I’m drowning. I feel no relief. Nothing’s changed.
I look around for a hiding spot, somewhere I can leave my blade and forget about it forever. After some walking, I reach a small bridge that goes over the river. The base of the bridge is set with stones. There. A crack in the structure. Big enough to fit the blade, small enough to go unnoticed. I place the knife inside and hope the memories stay there too.
As I make my way back home, my shoulders let up and my fists unclench. The air feels lighter. Peaceful. I can’t help but wonder how long this feeling will last.
When I reach my front lawn I bend to pick up the newspaper.
‘Man charged with domestic violence granted bail’.
The paper crumples in my hands.
Val Writes 