Tag Archives: Dexter

The Serial Killer – Cut Open the Doctor


I Am Not a Serial Killer

I Am Not a Serial Killer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Serial Killer – Cut Open the Doctor

 

Empty my purse and scroll out my pockets because I am about to make a killing, one that would shake the world free from all other shallow-graved bodies. Power is my motive and power is what I am wielding within my hand, bring forth the dark ages as this temptress of the apocalypse is on the verge to seduce sin itself. Thou shall not kill; whoever, people or persons that wrote that wasn’t taking to me, I am an uncomfortable need and like every need, you begin with small doses, soon addiction take effect. Let my weapon free.

“Where you off, babe?” Alan ponders, while picking up Gracie’s toys from the hallway.

“Well a girl has to work and I have to go to my other home and see my other husband, have to do the whole family-time-thing, it’s really hard to be a bad wife.” I jokingly jeer; almost believe my own lies sometimes.

He trundles over and runs his hands all over my body, while I apply my war paint.

“Well give those papers hell, make sure you don’t work too hard; and while you’re out I will invite one of my fancy-ladies around here, maybe a few drinks a few hours under the sheets, you know how it happens.”

I burst out laughing. “Well all those hours I don’t see must be going on her; give her hell, not too many friction burns as I maybe home later and may want to crawl naked into bed with you both.” I apply my burning red lippy.

“Oh God, you can’t say stuff like that and then split.”

I stretch up to his face and leave my red imprint on his cheek.

“Put on the cable and turn to the dirty channels, look for some ideas because when I get back I wanna’ see your best game. I’m going.” I grab my bag.

“Take your umbrella, it said on the news it was forecast for torrential downfall of rain for the next twenty-four hours.” He waft’s the brolly my way.

“Thanks, I love you!” I holler, not too loud to help creek open Gracie’s eyes.

For years I have been losing sleep, it’s countless to finger how much beauty I have lost with this thought; my masterpiece has finally found colour, bring the brush to the skin of the canvas and give evil a face.

This drive will be represented within my life as a bridge; the white lines on the road slither passed my car, should I follow? Nah… This is my purpose. These lines will lead you to his home. Around every turn my bag of bad tricks rustles, chinks and clonks, something wicked inside wants to break out. The heavens open upon my windshield, crying at the future the clouds have already seen, my path in life is soaked in rainwater and blood, luckily I am wearing my boots. I used to think as a girl, everytime it rained, someone had died and it was God crying because they were important; what does he do when a bad person dies? Makes it thunder and lightning, heaven may have a party and that is the angel’s music. Tonight we shall see if he is really watching.

Dr. Jeremiah Rivers, you have abused your position in life and taken innocence from people less than you, today I will extract back what you have taken from us all. But as a doctor you must hear of all kinds of conditions, my true-true shape is that of a Nyctophiliac, I feel comfort and safety within darkness.

I pull up to the woodland that surrounds his safeguard home, a small wall perimeters his castle, this King is about to be killed by the same sword that knighted him. My hair turns from thread to a leather whip which snaps an attack-attach on my face. The mud is that thick it almost takes off my boots with every footstep; luckily the rain will wash away all that I stumbled through. I am rather anxious to get this done for some reason, the feeling of not cleaning a mess when it first arose.

I’m armed into a dingy dim-lit room by a female police officer, a one way window, one table, two chairs, one ashtray and two plastic cups.

“C’mon in Sally, now here is Doctor Rivers, he will be helping you through the emotional anguish from losing a friend, some of us on the force know exactly how you feel. This guy will be able to help you.” She affirms with a smile.

Shockingly I bite into another fingernail the nub seems close, I should move onto another finger before I show blood.

“Will this be recorded?” I lisp in the chaos of my sobs.

“No – no. What you and the doctor talk about will be for your ears only, it will never leave this room.” With her thumb she stokes a tear from my cheek.

Would she treat me the same way if she knew I was the one to commit the heinous crime the news babbles about?

I wrestle into the chair, snugly. The ticks from the clock above the door mimic my steady heartbeat; I must keep up this facade for my sake, if I am too ever get free without chains straggled to my wrists attached to the chair.

Deaden voices chunter beyond the door where two silhouettes stand idle one another. I know one is the female officer, who is rather pleasant to be a police officer, than most. But the fellow reflecting her, he must be the invader of my senses, set in human form and named a psychologist. Yeah, go team psycho!

The doorknob turns and with a twitch so does my head, I find a black smudge on the wall opposing and do not take my focus away from its awesomeness. Do not give him anything, Sally.

“Hello Sally, my name is Doctor Rivers, you can call me that or Jerry, if it makes you feel more comfortable; or not.” He places a wad of papers on the table; he licks his index finger and flicks through each of the top layers with pouting lips from concentration, the occasional murmur from interest and an information overloaded nod erupt from him. What does he know?

“The policemen and women outside, along with your guardians would like me to talk to you in private to perhaps get a better insight into yours and a Miss Lacy Burns. You can tell me anything, your relationship with each other, school, anything that may be inferior; I have to get a broader picture of the people in and out of her life. Okay?”

I chug a nod. “I don’t know what you want from me.” I sputter from excess saliva.

“Anything really; what was Lacy like?” He crosses his palms on the stack of paper.

“Lacy was my best-friend, she was so wonderful to be around…” He jumps into my train-of-thought. “Sally, do you know what secrets are?” I dip my head once. “Well, I have spoken to others within your class and friends of friends and there was a rumour going around that you two were more than friends.” Busted!!! “I am not here to judge, but if you want me to help, I need to know the entire story, not just the parts you feel me, the reader, wants to know. Now shall we start again? Were you and Lacy intimate?”

I give in; if I am going down, there is no point playing it down. He knows.

“Yes. I loved her, I would have died for her; she knew that, but I found out at the end, it was a relationship based on her terms and conditions. I was the outcast and she was the popular girl, our love was the thing that love stories were made of, but in every true love story, tragedy shows its ugly face. She broke my heart with her words, so my actions took on bad-words and I could stop myself, I killed her.” The tears spill over the verge of my eyelids and within a suicidal plummet they each fall to their watery graves. “Tell the world it was me, I was betrayed in love and I did a stupid thing, this is my life. Go tell them.”

He sits back in his chair, his whole demeanour instantly shifts within a sniff of confidence.  His eyes analyse all of me, bit by bit.

This silence lasts forever, almost.

“Now why would I do that?” Okay, I am confused. Is this a trick? “Do you think you’re the only one with secrets? Now keeping secrets is my specialty, I keep them for a living and I have done many a stupid thing in my time, some I am proud of some not so. Now do you really want to spend your life behind bars?” I jiggle my head. “I didn’t think so, now there are no suspects within this case, I could go out there and tell them you two were just friends, I know you want me to do that, but if I do you have to agree to come and see me for private sessions, in my sessions are only my rules.

Back then I reluctantly agreed; I was young and naive. He was just like my disgusting father, made me do things that no one should ever have to do. He abused me along with his power over me; give me life in a real prison any day because he helped put me in one within my mind every day.

The path to his home is spotted my marble stones imbedded into the grass. I stray closer, the kitchen light is on and his back door is wide opened. Something isn’t right. I could always turn and walk but this chance my never come again, he’s heading to an all male prison.

I stretch through the doors, quiet as cat’s footsteps. I hunch-sway through the kitchen, I hear women laughing coming from the living-room. I prey forward, blade in tow, my heart take a leap into overdrive. The living-room is dark-out, the laughs come from a porno on the television; one lazy-boy chair sits in front of the massive screen. A hand extends from the right, grabbing a whiskey bottle and swilling up a glass full, taking the glass back into its confines.

“Well aren’t you going to say anything? I left the door open for you. I knew you would come for me one day, I thought it may have been sooner after what I made you do.” A drunken slur chants with a slurp.

“You knew I was coming to kill you? Why didn’t you run?” I boast with my own confidence.

“Because I help make you; I saw that evil and one thing you can’t run from is the evil you help make. I am the Victor to your Frankenstein monster.” He spins around in his chair. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

I smirk.

“Gladly doctor Jerry. I’m going to cut my secret from you. Nurse – Scalpel.”

 

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Writing Competition


Writing Competition

Hello my word-loving friends.

I am giving one lucky reader with an idea to have their outlined-story written by me.

All you have to do to enter is, within the comment section below just write the basics of the story.

For Example…

“A cop is on the hunt for serial killer who only kills college-students.” A logline.

Simple!

What will you get when you win?

  • Your name all over the story itself
  • Also a link to your page within the post to direct more traffic to your blog
  • The chance to work with me again in the future on other stories
  • And just being my fave-looked after blogger on the web

So just put your comments below and I will see them every day.

CLOSING DATE FOR COMPETITION IS 22’nd AUGUST 2013 (One week)

And don’t worry if you don’t win this time, we will be hosting these from time to time, so keep entering.

Keep those pens busy!

Alex

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The Serial Killer Part 1. Chalk-Lines and Blood-Spatters


Here is another installment for the Young Adult Fiction Writer, Alexander Kennedy. This is a narrative thought processed story of a serial killer with good intentions and also alot of raised questions about her past. Like, Comment and subscribe.

Caution Adivised – Bad Language.

The Serial Killer Part 1. Chalk-Lines and Blood-Spatters

I am going to show all of the saners worldwide, my world.

I guess introductions are necessary at this point, my name is Sally. This is my fifth Vic; I would like to believe I am doing a public service when killing. There are not large job openings on either sides of my curriculum vital, upon one side, my normal job title of TV reporter, advanced literacy conqueror, mother to my little girl, Grace; wife to my beloved Alan, a police officer for six years, seven months and fourteen days. Upon the other side of my page, written in invisible blood, I am a psychopathic murderer.

He lies hogtied in his stripy boxers on the motel bed, wriggling, baby-like; unable to shuffle his little toes just yet. Not yet found his big-boy voice to cry for his mommy, the pervert’s mouth is duct taped; I drew a smile over it in black felt-tip. How dare he anyway think I was streetwalking bimbo; who just came here to fuck the dark memories away, how wrong was he? My dark memories are about to fuck him.

I stick him in his podgy belly with a box-cutter; he groans under his voice in pain, his eyes shut trying to remember a few minutes prior to the cut.

“Stupid little man, I ain’t no prostitute and I certainly ain’t no business venture you can finger fuck over with your board of directors, overtake a small company and leave hundreds of people not only fighting for their jobs, but also money and food to keep their families from harm. This is your judgement Terry Wilkinson, CEO of the Formed Electrics Empire. You make billions off business investments and liquidizing smaller projects assets. And here we are a corrupt billionaire, a motel room and a killer.” I theorize.

I fix up my disguise in the finger-printed mirror, black gloves on, contact lenses and wig. From my jacket I reveal an item wrapped in a black cloth, I place it ever-so gently upon the dresser. And duel my reflection once more.

“Imagine, Terry, a plethora of teeth chattering, heart cupped, fear gulping saner’s, saners are people, which would inevitably be someone like you. Now this mob is being chased, about to be mort by a maladroit soul who is swinging an axe; he is chopping down people who are slow on the foot. This type of psychopath is what I like to call Fire-holders; these fire-holders have always had a problem with society, thinking they have been wronged in some fashion and have to take their angst out on innocent people.  Their mental health problems have always been known by everyone within their path of life. Now an ice-holder like me is the person who befriended you years prior to this act of an attack with axing; came round for beers and dinner, basically loved you. But hold your thoughts right there. Within this evil event, I am the person who would suggest hiding within this room where the lock is on the inside, I turn the key and put it within my pocket and reveal my own axe. You see, where the fire-holder only gets a handful of victims, I will get a roomful. I am smarter. I am.”

He begins to shake his head, I believe he wants to get something off from his chest; hopefully it’s his heart; if I remove the gag he will scream as if he was a teenage girl losing her virginity.

“Why are you shaking your head, Terry? Is your head going to fall off? Don’t worry, you will not be forgotten within this world, I want the whole world to know you were killed here in this poggy room, and still you are shaking your head. Here, let me give your head a head-start.”

I pick up the item wrapped in a black cloth and unfold it. An old knife rustic knife lays silently on the material, it has been over used and sharpened so many times, the wonder is, why hasn’t it been trashed by now?

Wrapping each one of my fingers around the handle, I march for a war of wrath against Terry, taking the knife and dragging the life from his throat.

Silence is the scream within the night that screams back around.

Nothingness has his grasp around my trembling hands and vacant eyes. The blood treacle’s from his void, spraying the sheets and carpet red. I wrap my weapon back in its cover, putting him to bed. I made sure I touched nothing and maintain on doing so. I retreat from the chalk-scene and blood-spatters into the danky bathroom, pubic hair toilet rims and used condoms in the bathtub.

I open the bathroom window and making sure no scuff marks are left, I exit cat-like. I do not close the window, the less I touch the less I am likely to be caught. I have no ties to this man; it will look on the news as a sex scandal gone wrong.

Over the brush I travel, not looking out of place, hood up and on a one way mission towards my car which is a thirty minute walk away. I take my high heels off and plonk them in a homeless man barrel fire, no shoe prints. I make no face contact with the homeless man; he was drunk anyway so his testimony is invalid.

I get into my beamer, sitting in my seat, putting my head back while I listen to Otis Redding – Dock on the bay.

I am a killer; I never thought as a child I would amount to anything, now all I do is scare the streets to staying in at night, an old west scenario, when you rolled into town and they closed their doors and shutter windows. I didn’t want any of this to happen but once I started it was for the greater good for my own benefit and now it’s a solution to stop people to find out who I am and what I’ve done. I feel so crippled with this anger of shadows within me.

I know now, I am here from this world’s amusement and disobedience; I am a walking, talking Frankenstein monster, they made me and now they can’t control me. I am worse than any terrorist, thug or nuclear weapon because I know who and truly why I am killing, I put the effort in to know how these people will die in a precise way and I follow no one’s plans. You can call me evil, scum or inhumane but my mother branded me as Sally.

I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve lost count on how many people have crossed my path and lost their future in some diabolical way. Someday I will take my own life, but before I do I would like to tell you my story, but with every story there is a beginning and an end. So let me take you back to the warm summer in Clayford, a small suburban community. It was nineteen ninety-seven, I was thirteen years old when my soul was taken from me, my father had a rough time at work and I was the one to blame, I was the one who helped his anger process really get loose, the office banter must have been my fault too. That’s when he and his friends came.

I laid belly flat on that ground, burning ants with my magnifying glass. I was a really goofy looking kid and that wavy brown hair was nothing to be proud of. She rolled by on her pink bike with entourage, Lacey Burns, Her dad owed Burns hardware store in Town. She will always live within my memory as perfection. She will always be my first love and first victim.

I’m getting a little too far ahead from head. I think I will leave my coldblooded thoughts to rest in peace for tonight, I do not wish to tell you all my tales, straight away, you’re a stranger. Perhaps another night we can continue.

But for tonight I am going home to spend time with my little Gracey before her bedtime; I like knowing the world has one less corruptor within in. I will sleep well after Alan time. Goodnight and I will be seeing you soon.

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