A Stranger Mind

A Stranger Mind

Chapter 1.

As I took my nightly stroll through the park late one evening, sub-consciously listened for the reassuring, dependable tolling of the town bell. I had gone on this walk tonight solely to clear my head of all the crap that had been thrown at me for the last week or so. Abuse that had been directed at me over the phone from my bitch ex-girlfriend, ever since our breakup six weeks ago. She had been nothing but malicious, vindictive and spiteful even though we had both seen the bust-up coming. I vaguely heard the deep resonate sound ring out eleven times, but my mind was in such a state of turmoil it barely registered. It wasn't my fault that we had fallen out of love, and it wasn't my fault she had taken another lover. And was I in the wrong, going straight from work to the pub to have a few drinks with the girls? It had certainly given me an excuse to not go back to our apartment just to listen to the vacuous, malevolent whining and bitching that had been non-stop, right up to the day she walked out.

A strident intrusion suddenly broke through into my consciousness. I heard the sounds of what could only be described as the shrill, child-like cries of a young woman or a girl in trouble. It was obviously a heated argument between a young man, and his strident-voiced girlfriend judging by their raised voices. As I neared the northern car park, I saw the lights of a lone vehicle being repeatedly flicked. On, off. On, off. On, off. Quickly but quietly, I approached the car from behind the cover of some nearby shrubbery. As I sidled up to the driver’s door, I clearly saw an extremely young girl in the passenger seat. She was certainly not old enough to be here, particularly at this time of night. Hell, she didn’t even look as old as my kid-sister, and she was just old enough to be in high school, but I could tell this one was a fighter and that she wasn't going to give in without a struggle. As she fought from the passenger seat, she pummelled the head and shoulders of her attacker, a youth, aged somewhere around twenty-one or twenty-two. Her fists beat down futilely against his back and face, his head and shoulders. He had his pants pulled down around his knees, and was now desperately fumbling with her panties, ripping them in the heat of the moment, enduring the rain of blows that descended upon him, such was his blind desire to have sex with her.

I quickly slipped my knife out from a pocket in my jacket and gently tapped on the driver’s side window with the butt of the handle. No response. I rapped on the window again, harder this time, and was rewarded with nothing except a muttered oath. The young man desperately continued his attempt to rape his companion, using his hands to widen the gap between her legs, whilst ignoring my unwelcome intrusion. I banged his window three more times with the butt of the knife, each time harder than the last. At the third smack, the driver’s side window shattered inwards, showering both of the occupants with shards of broken glass. “What the fuck...?” The driver began as he struggled to extricate himself from his somewhat less than dignified position. He had regained his footing in the car park by this time, and seeing me by myself, started to become defensive. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Who do you think you are anyway? Some fuckin’ super-hero?” he continued, shaping himself up for a fight. “You sneak up on us here and break me fuckin’ car window... I’ll teach you a lesson, you fuck!”
I felt my blood pressure rapidly begin to rise and the red mist begin to descend, at this stage, so I stepped forward, grabbed a hand full of his shoulder length, oily hair, and slammed the back of his head into the door pillar of the car. Blood instantly matted the back of his head as, with a low moan, he slowly crumpled to the ground.

So infuriated had I become, most of the sounds of the night became inaudible. Most that is, except for the piercing, exasperating sobbing of the young girl who had been trapped in this car. Trapped like a small animal in a snare. “Please...” she wailed. “Please don't hurt me! We were at a party and my girlfriend was gonna give me a ride home, but she went off with some boy and just left me there! This guy promised me a ride home! He said he would take me straight home... H... h... he promised! But then he said he had to meet someone in the park first... Please don’t hurt me! My Mum is gonna kill me for getting home late already... I don’t want no trouble, I just wanna go home”
I strode around to the passenger side door of the vehicle, opened it, and tenderly helped her out of the car. Throwing her arms around me in relief, I felt her small, pert breasts press into my chest, and her warm, body mold itself around my leg as I covered her with my jacket. I assisted the child, for that was all she was; a child - no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, to cover her nakedness. In deference to her age, I turned my head the other way to allow her to get dressed, and let her re-adjust her torn clothing, although I still stole the occasional surreptitious glance at her nubile young body. Then I gently smoothed her damp hair away from her tear-stained face, all the time murmuring quiet, meaningless platitudes to her as she finished her ablutions, my almost crooning voice noticeably calming her down.
After I had helped her to wash the tear-streaks from her face, and clean the superficial cuts on her hands, arms and legs, inflicted by both her attacker, and from the window I had broken, she was much more composed, and she reached back into the car for her purse. As she turned back to me, she started to ask ”Could I possibly get a lift...” , but before she had a chance to end the sentence I quickly slit her throat from ear to ear. The only thing still attaching her head to her shoulders was her thoracic vertebra, and the flap of skin behind it. She was dead before she hit the ground, which was, in all reality, a good thing. I really didn’t want her any further traumatized by what was to follow. She had been through enough already that evening.

As I stepped over her supine body, I made my way back to the driver’s side door. The driver was just regaining consciousness at this stage, and his sight was slowly but surely clearing. His eyes traveled upwards past my legs to my crotch, then onto my waist and chest, then on to my face, and I could clearly see the horror of his predicament began to sink in. The arrogance that had been in his eyes just minutes ago had evaporated entirely, only to be replaced with raw, naked fear.
Once again I grabbed a handful of his hair, hauled him to his feet, and threw him across the bonnet of his car. He landed head first on the bitumen, his face only inches away from his former conquest of the evening; the wet, dark, gaping wound that had been the warm, beating, throat of his companion only minutes ago, staring him in the face from a distance of mere inches. Scrambling backwards as quickly as he could, away from this horrific sight, he came up hard against the side of his car, with a loud thud. His eyes started to roll back up into his head again, so I grabbed another handful of his hair, to hold his head up, and slapped his face from side to side.
Looking desperately around him, in a state of panic, his eyes locked onto the blood-spattered toes of my black boots, and he looked up at me with a questioning plea. He managed to utter a croaky “H... h... help...?” as I reached down, grabbed him by his shirt front and, in one movement, hoisted him to his feet. The red mist had descended entirely now. “I don’t fuckin’ think so, shit head”, I replied and slammed his back into the side of the car, breaking his spine in several places in the process. The questioning look on his face instantly changed to that of terrifying understanding, as his unfocussed eyes slowly honed in on me standing there, grimly smiling, and shaking my head. “Wrong place, wrong time, lover-boy”, I murmured into his ear. Clasping him by the throat, I reached down with my knife, tracing the tip over his chest and stomach, lower and lower, until it was beneath his now pathetically, shriveled, genitalia. Shaking in complete terror, he started to moan “No, no, no…” I gripped his throat tighter to stop the dismal sound and, in one quick movement, I used the knife to completely emasculate him. He immediately fainted dead away, which was fine by me. I dropped his unconscious body, shook a smoke out of my packet, flicked my Zippo lighter, lit my smoke and hunkered down on my heels to smoke it. This gave me time to think about what I had planned to do next.
Field stripping my finished smoke, I put the butt away in the back pocket of my jeans. I began to work more quickly now, slapping his face until he regained consciousness. I stared intently into his eyes as I inserted the knife just below his rib cage, and watched the light of his life flicker and go out as I hoisted the blade up as hard as I could. It stopped at the top of his rib-cage. Stuffing his genitalia into his mouth was the least indication of the disgust I felt for this animal. That was the most intoxicating, and profound thing I remembered about this night.

Waking early the next morning I could see, quite clearly, that I was not in my bedroom; unless I had turned it into a botanical garden during the night. All I could see were trees, shrubs, bushes, the ubiquitous fountain just off to my left, and freshly mowed grass all around me. Then I remembered, I was in the park after I had gone for a walk last night. Taking in my surroundings a little more clearly, I noticed I was still dressed in the casual clothing I had been wearing last night. I wriggled my way out of the tangle of thorn, blackberry, and paspalam, which had been both my bed, and concealment for the night, and headed straight to the fountain. Looking into the crystal clear waters, I could see no difference in the way I looked, except there was plenty of blood on both my hands. Looking around to make sure no-one was watching I quickly washed the blood from my hands, boots, and the knife, which I then carefully slipped back into the pocket of my jacket, and made my may home.

I stormed through my living room, stripping all my clothes off as I went. I needed a shower - badly. After I had finished in the shower, I toweled myself off, got dressed into clean clothes, and made my way as fast as I could to the kitchen. God, I was hungry. I don’t think I can remember ever being that ravenous before. As I sat down to a plate of fried eggs on toast, onion, bacon, and two thick and juicy steaks, I flicked on the remote control for the television that was in the kitchen. Flick, change channel, flick, change channel, flick, change channel. “Great”, I thought, “Bloody news-reporters running over every single channel”. Whilst I was getting as much food into my stomach in the shortest possible time, I honed in on one particular channel, and started listening to what one reporter in particular was saying. I only started paying attention as her face seemed almost familiar to me; very déjà vu. She was also the most beautiful girl I had seen - ever. With smooth, silky looking, shoulder-length blonde hair, and the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen, she was absolutely charming, personable, and captivating.

“… and the bodies of the two unidentified youths, one a young girl of about fourteen years, the other, a male in his early-twenties, were found, in the car park. Police are appealing for any witnesses to this tragedy, or anybody with any information to come forward. As yet, the police have been unable to identify the bodies, as all personal effects had been taken. The police have not found any leads, or clues as to what could have led to this unprovoked, heinous and frenzied attack on these young people….”

The voice trailed off into the distance as I finished my breakfast. I knew it was me the police wanted, but I felt no compunction to “come forward” and “help the police with their inquiries”. I knew it was me the police were after, but I wasn’t too sure why. I did not know the difference in distinguishing “right” from “wrong”, and had no way in choosing whether right was right, or if wrong was wrong. I killed, as and when, I needed to. There was no guilt, no compassion, no revenge, vengeance, or mercy in my killings. There were also no pattern as to whom, where, or why, I killed. The red mist descended, but did not block out what I knew was going on. If anything, it enhanced the sounds, the feelings, and the noises of the kill. Looking around my apartment before I left for work, I noticed, with some satisfaction, that it was as spotless as ever. The cushions on the sofa were squared away, with an almost military precision. The throw-downs were artistically arranged on top of these, the photos, pictures, and paintings, few as they were, were hung on their precise angles. The carpet was spotless, with no stains or marks anywhere. Carefully locking the door behind me, I made my way to the elevator, and pressed the “DOWN” button.

Standing, waiting patiently, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a beautiful young lady walking slowly towards me. I kept my head down, my gaze centering on the toes of my now spotless boots. The quiet ring of a bell indicated that the elevator had arrived at my floor. As the doors slid open, I glanced at the young woman who had walked up, just before the elevator had arrived. She took a tentative step towards the now open elevator, so I stepped back to allow her access, then followed her into the small enclosed space. As I heard the doors slide shut, I turned, and, as my arm reached out to push the button to take me to the ground floor, she did the same. There was only that brief nano-second of contact, but in that electric instant, something, like wiring, in my head made contact and flicked a switch that I alone could see. She was the news-reporter I had just finished watching on the television.