The Wicked Game of a Psychopath

by Stan Hendriks

  Chapter three Day three

  An exclusive club

  The following day, Susan was seated on a comfortable leather chair, next to her bed and next to the phone, and as she was staring at the television—which had been on standby for a couple of hours—she emptied her glass of wine. She hadn’t slept all night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she heard Mr. Miller and saw how both her son and Muhammed got murdered by him. She was determined to catch him and hurt him; however, she couldn’t help but feel that by the end of this wicked and evil game, she was going to lose regardless. But giving up was out of the question, she had to keep going, knowing that things were most likely going to get a lot worse. She had to, for her son and Muhammed. So, she tried to keep her mind clear and focus only on somehow winning this game if that was even possible. She looked up at the clock above her bed and saw that it was eleven in the morning. Outside, people left for work, and the mailman rode through the streets on his bike, throwing the newspaper on the front yards. It was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the police car that stopped in front of Susan’s house. Susan heard the car pulling up on her driveway and somewhat confused, she peeked out of the window. It was Detective Rogers and he looked troubled as he walked up to her front door and rang the bell. But right when Susan was halfway down the stairs to answer the door, the phone in her bedroom rang. “I’ll be right there,” Susan shouted as she then rushed back into her bedroom and picked up the phone. “Mr. Miller?”

  “Yes, my dear Susie.”

  “I can’t talk right now; Detective Rogers is at my door.”

  “As expected, however, that doesn’t mean that you’re incapable of talking to me. In fact, this will spice things up a little, which is exactly what we need. So, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to open the door and let him in. He is most likely going to ask you how you are feeling and tell you that Muhammed’s murderer is quite possibly the same person who murdered Kyle. You’re going to act surprised, and you’re going to show interest while at the same time expressing how terrible you feel. After you’ve done that, he will embrace you or give you a pad on the shoulder followed by a, ‘things will get better’, speech. After that, he’s most likely going to leave, but right before he does, you will confess that you had a crush on him ever since you first met him and that you’re deeply in love with him. And before he can respond to that, you’re going to throw the door close in front of his face and you’re going to do what you would normally do in the morning. Do you understand?”

  “I… I can’t do that.”

  “Are you certain about that? Surely, I don’t have to remind you about the consequences that come with you not cooperating, right?”

  “But… no, you don’t have to.”

  “Excellent. You will hear from me soon,” Mr. Miller replied as he then hung up.

  Detective Rogers rang the bell again and Susan ran downstairs and opened the door. “Detective Rogers, what… what are you doing here?”

  “I don’t want to bother you, especially not at this time, but I came to check up on you and to ask how you were doing.”

  “I’m… I honestly don’t even know what to feel anymore. With each day that passes, I feel as if my emotions are being silenced more and more and I begin to feel numb. It’s like my body is on autopilot and my mind is somewhere else.”

  “I completely understand. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be going through, and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s… it’s all right. I’m happy you came here, thank you for that. But do you want to come inside or?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  About ten minutes later, Susan and Detective Rogers sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and Susan asked, “So, are you telling me that the same person who murdered Kyle also murdered Muhammed?”

  “Yes, the murderer actually left a clear message behind that he was the same person who murdered your son. Kyle’s name was carved into Muhammed’s skin.”

  “Yes, I heard your colleagues talking about that outside of Muhammad’s house, that is… terrible. I don’t even have words for it. Which person is capable of doing such a horrific thing?”

  “A person with a severe lack of remorse, conscience, and empathy, that’s for sure. A sociopath. Most serial killers have sociopathic traits and I believe that this case is no different.”

  “But why did he wait a year to commit his next murder?”

  “We don’t know, nor do we know if he only murdered two people. For all we know he may have killed hundreds already without connecting those murders to him. As I said before, we’re dealing with a professional serial killer. Not some intoxicated guy that just had a dreadful day.”

  “Wow… I just can’t believe that some people are capable of doing such horrible things. And I don’t understand it, from what I’ve heard and read, serial killers want the attention and want to be recognized for the murders they committed. I even read somewhere that they would often contact the police themselves and tell them what their made-up killer name was. But that’s not the case with this person, right? I mean, it looks like this guy doesn’t want his name to be out there.”

  “I guess he now does as he has decided to make himself known by connecting the murders of Kyle and Muhammed to him for whatever reason. However, please know that this person will get caught eventually. He may know how to commit a murder without leaving any evidence behind, but in my twenty years in this line of work, I learned that they never win. They never come out on top and eventually, they always get caught. And this time will be no different, I just hope that we will be able to catch him before he commits even more murders. But I’m positive that we will and once we do, you will be the first person to know. On that, you have my word.”

  “I hope so as well,” Susan nodded. “The past year… it’s been tough, extremely tough. Many times have I considered taking my own life. I just can’t seem to cope with this. Kyle was… he was my everything and without him, I feel lost, worthless. And now his best friend has been murdered as well and… is it ever going to stop? Is he ever going to be stopped?”

  “Hey, listen to me,” Detective Rogers replied as he lied his hand on her shoulder. “The sun will shine again, okay? I promise. It’s tough, and it will most likely get worse, but at the end of this all when the murderer will be caught, it will get better, all right? And know that I’m always here for you, always. No matter what time, you can always call me.”

  “Thank you,” Susan said as she wiped away her tears.

  They then embraced each other, and Detective Rogers said that he had to leave again. As Susan walked him out, Detective Rogers said, “I will speak to you soon.”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” With a slight smile, Detective Rogers nodded and walk back towards his car. “Jack… wait.”

  “What is it?” Jack asked as he turned around.

  “I… I need to get something off my chest.”

  “What is it you want to tell me?” Jack asked as he walked up closer to her.

  “I’ve had a crush on you ever since I first met you at the post office. I… I just can’t hold it in any longer. I love you, Jack, and I have loved you for a long time already,” Susan replied as she then slammed the door shut right in front of his face.

  Confused, Jack stood there, staring at the door and Susan ran back into the living room. Her heart was pounding at a rapid pace, and she struggled to catch her breath. “What have I done?” Susan quietly asked herself. It took her a while to calm herself somewhat down again, but when she finally managed to, she noticed that Jack’s car was still parked on her driveway and he was still standing in front of the door. And he stood there for a good five more minutes before he walked back to his car and drove off. “I’m so sorry,” Susan quietly said as she held her hands in front of her mouth. “What have I done?” She then grabbed a plate out of the sink and threw it on the floor and as the plate shattered into a million pieces, she shouted, “I hate you! Why are you doing this to me?!” Sh
e let all her anger and frustration out through a scream and threw three more plates on the floor before she eventually calmed down again. But right when she had calmed down again, she got spooked by the doorbell. A delivery man was standing in front of her door with a bouquet of red roses in his hands. Confused, Susan opened the door and the delivery man asked, “Susie Wilson?”

  “I’m Susan Wilson, not Susie.”

  “Oh, then it might be a typo. Anyway, this is for you,” the man said as he handed over the bouquet.

  “Who… who sent this?”

  “It doesn’t say so, I have no clue. But anyway, have a wonderful day,” the man said as he walked back to his van and drove off.

  Susan stood there for a while, staring at the beautiful roses and not knowing what to think of it. However, the roses reminded her of a better time in her life. She had received roses on many occasions, and she took comfort in thinking back of those romantic and wonderful times. In a rather unusual way, it gave her a sense of peace. But it was short-lived, as the phone inside of the living room rang. She immediately snapped back to reality, the horrible and disturbing reality.

  In the living room, Susan threw the roses on the couch and slowly moved the phone closer to her ear. “Are you there, Susie?”

  “I am.”

  “Wonderful. Now, that was quite the experience, wasn’t it? I wish I could have been there to see the priceless reaction on his face. I’m certain it was beautiful to witness. But tell me, have you received your present?”

  “Yes, I have. But why roses?”

  “You should put them in your backyard because it looks a bit dull at the moment. You know, my mother always used to say, ‘People who don’t have plants inside or outside of their homes are not happy with how their lives are going’, and she had a point, I think.”

  “Does your mother know about the monster you have become?”

  “If you believe that the dead are watching our every move from above, then yes, maybe she knows.”

  “Let me guess, you killed your mother, right?”

  “Correct.” Then there was a fleeting moment of silence. “Does that come as a surprise to you?”

  “I… it shouldn’t, but somehow it still does.”

  “And now you’re probably wondering why. You know, maybe we should have a little story time. Maybe it’s time for me to disclose my motivation behind my actions. Would you like to get an answer to your why, Susie?”

  “I do.”

  “Excellent. Take a seat, grab a glass of wine, and make yourself comfortable.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Do I have to remind you every single day about what happens when you disobey me? You should understand that I can’t have this turn into a reoccurring thing. So, do as I say.”

  “Okay, I will, I will.”

  “Good.”

  It didn’t take Susan long before she sat down on the couch with a glass of wine and her feet up on the coffee table. “All right, I did what you asked.”

  “Wonderful. But for the future, if we want this relationship to work, I strongly suggest you do as I say. Is that understood?”

  “I understand.”

  “Excellent. A year after the little incident at school, I was seated on my bed in my room, reading a book about various poisonous and venomous insects and reptiles. No school in the state wanted to have me and private teachers hung up the phone as soon as they heard my name. But it didn’t bother me, school is highly overrated anyway. Give me a couple of books and I learn more in a year by myself than students do in ten years in class. And it didn’t bother my mother either, she always thought I was a weird kid and she actually wanted nothing to do with me. In her eyes, I was doomed to fail from the moment I was born. Lovely, isn’t it? However, my father was different. He cared about me tremendously and always took a lot of interest in my thought process. I guess he tried to prevent me from letting me turn my unique thoughts into a reality. It’s safe to say that he miserably failed, but whatever. He thought that expressing his love for me and by trying to make me express my emotions was a way of saving me from committing horrific acts of violence in the future I suppose. Little did he know, emotions are something I do not possess. Well, he did know, but he refused to accept it. Anyway, my father was worried about me and the lack of education he thought I wasn’t receiving. But instead of speaking up and voicing his opinion, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey, hoping that he could drink his anxiety of confronting my mother away. As he did every single evening. But it never worked. My mother ruled the household as a dictator. She was always right, and if you dared to speak up to her and disagree with her, she didn’t hesitate to let her fists fly. Hence why my father had such an amount of anxiety, he got abused on the regular, both mentally and physically. I never understood why he didn’t put his foot down and simply strangled my mother to death or beat her up inches away from death only to repeat it once she recovered. Of course, now I understand why, but I will get into that soon. Anyway, one night, after he had enough alcohol in his system, he decided to speak up and confront my mother. From my room, I heard my mother shouting at my father, and I got profoundly annoyed that she disturbed my concentration once again, but when I heard my father shouting back, I laid the book down and walked over to the stairway. I knew that this was going to be interesting and my heart was pounding out of pure and genuine excitement. They went back and forth for a good twenty minutes, shouting at each other, hitting each other, and throwing things around. I got bored, nothing out of the ordinary happened so, I decided to walk back to my room. But right before I entered my room, everything got quiet, too quiet. Something had happened, and I got a strong urge to go downstairs to take a look, which I did. The living room looked as it always did, except for a few shattered vases on the floor, but the kitchen, oh man. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, it was as if someone had put another person into a blender and forgot the put the lid on. It was marvelous. But then I saw my father on the kitchen floor, lying in a puddle of blood with a knife buried deep into his chest. My mother had murdered him, but it didn’t seem to bother her that much as she was seated on a chair, staring out of the kitchen window while smoking a cigarette. In fact, she didn’t even look back at me once. She was lost in her own thoughts. So, I looked at the knife, at my mother who wasn’t paying attention, and I thought to myself, this is perfect. This is my opportunity. So, I grabbed a cleaning wipe from the table in the living room, wrapped it around the knife handle, took the knife out of my father’s chest, walked over to my mother, and then stuck the knife in her neck. I can’t even begin to describe how easy the knife went in. It was like her skin was made out of butter, it slit in so smoothly. It was unbelievable. But anyway, as I pulled the knife back out of her neck, I got covered in the blood that was spraying out of my mom’s neck, and she couldn’t believe what just happened. She stared directly into my eyes as her skin got paler, and the last thing she told me was that I was a sick little kid. I can’t really argue with that. But anyway, after that I was sent off to live with my wealthy aunt who, like my mother, also was a dominant and outspoken female. She despised me and her way of taking care of me was occasionally throwing money in my lap so that I could entertain myself. Which helped out tremendously with turning my vision into a reality. However, whenever she was home and highly intoxicated on illegally distilled moonshine, she went on these rants about why she was single. She blamed the men, and in her opinion, there weren’t any real men left in today’s world. They were all weak-minded and way too soft and emotional. She had a point and I couldn’t agree more. In the past, men used to be filled with tremendous amounts of masculinity, which made them real men. Never were they afraid to voice their opinions or to go after the things they wanted. And when it came down to women, they didn’t engage in a relationship to share feelings and whatever. No, relationships were a waste of time and a distraction. Women were only useful for reproducing and making sure that whenever the man came home
after a grueling day of work, the house was clean and there was food on the table. And, of course, the occasional pleasant nights in which a man is able to release some of his daily stress and clear out his mind. But in today’s world, real men have become part of a unique group. They are on the verge of extinction which doesn’t come as a surprise in this feminine dominant society in which masculinity gets silenced. The majority of the men out there have become petty, pathetic, little, emotional babies that still need a motherly figure by the time they’re above the age of thirty. It’s ridiculous and it has to stop for the well-being of this world. But since pathetic feminine men have the numbers, they reproduce a lot more, resulting in even more feminine men. Which is horrendous and tragic. So, since no one was trying to put a stop to this, I decided to step up by murdering these feminine men. Now, of course, I can’t kill millions of feminine men, but I can kill enough to make the message that this nonsense has to stop clear. Anyway, I could go on about this for hours on end, but time is something we lack. So, I’ll just end the story time here. But hey, now you know why I murdered your son and his friend.”

  “You are completely and utterly insane! You are sick! Beyond sick in your head!”

  “If only my mother would have chosen for abortion, right?” Mr. Miller chuckled.

  “You… the fact that you can laugh about this, take pleasure out of this is… I can’t even wrap my head around it. You’re… beyond evil. And the fact that you are able to justify your actions in your head by thinking you’re committing a good deed is… completely out of this world. You truly deserve to rot and burn in hell for eternity! How… how many men have you even murdered already?”

  “Are you certain that you want to know how many men I have murdered?”

  “Just tell me!”

  “Two hundred and forty men in total.”

  Susan dropped the phone as she fell to her knees with tears in her eyes. She was breathing heavily and her whole body was trembling until she eventually vomited and passed out.