Answer: Wouldn’t say I’ve been abused. He’s surely never been. We’re just interested in what’s hidden. Too much is hidden, shoved underneath the façades civility gives us. If I’m a scholar in any area, it’s in getting what I want.
I always get what I want.
Answer: He’s been with others like I’ve been with others, but it’s the first time we’ve ever been with anyone alive. Everything else, it might as well have been necrophilia.
Answer: This is just a body. It’s what he’s capable of that’s most attractive. He looks at me and I know what he sees; he’s not just seeing my skin, my chest, my face, my curves. . .that’s what you are seeing. Not him. He’s seeing what’s within. He’s seeing beyond the pickup and beyond the seduction. He’s seeing the ether of me.
Answer: I’ve heard of it, yes. Doubtful he’s heard of it. I’ve lectured about it once or twice. The Macdonald triad is just another theory working to make sense of what’s hidden so far underneath; only way you can understand is by doing. Seeing means feeling. Feeling means being right there, fingers in an orifice.
To answer specifically about the triad:
No, he’s not a pyromaniac.
No, he isn’t sadistic. It’s all about the kill—whatever factors into the kill is entirely for accentuation of reason; it’s to keep you all interested. Nothing else. If he shot a person and walked away, you would forget a minute later. You’ve probably already forgotten how he killed that kid. Jeff. Only reason you remember is because it’s on me. It’s on my mind. It’s still on my mind, yes. It’s always on my mind.
No, he’s never tortured animals. What did I say about torturing animals? You should have been paying more attention. This isn’t the kind of stuff that you can watch out the corner of your eye.
No, he’s not a bedwetter. He surely gets me wet. But he saves the urine for the urinal. Or the kill, if there’s a need for a little something extra to get people leaning forward, edge of their seat stuff.
Answer: Stats are just that—Concrete evidence that can only resemble the past. I’m here to tell you that the momentum is too quick to ever be completely accurate. Those stats explain what happened a few years back. A few years back, to me, can sound like fiction. That’s all it can be.
Answer: I don’t know what you’re trying to get at but let’s leave it to the mystery.
The mystery can be anything and everything. And surprises outweigh expectation.
No one is spared and everyone will, at some point, be surprised.
After the pickup game, it’s the game of devotion and obsession, but the switch of sex and violence is exactly the same. It’s how anybody stays interested; it’s how anybody gets along.
They lust for something they don’t quite understand.
But want—it all starts with that wanting.
If you’re like me, you’ll need to find it.
You won’t stop until it’s all yours.
2.
I know firsthand the anatomy of betrayal.
I knew that something was wrong when I couldn’t find my phone. Using a payphone to find it, I couldn’t hear my ringtone. And then I couldn’t find her. My phone goes missing and it doesn’t just go missing. One and two equal reason.
The blonde one.
You think she’d be able to be me. I’ll show her a thing or two.
No—I’m not angry. No. I’m not. I’m intrigued. To think she believed that she could replace me. Whereas, I’m sure my pet is far from interested, using her as something to fill the nothingness of our long drive. And it is a long drive.
No—I’m not angry. He’s bored between each of my exes.
No—I’m not angry at all. She’d try her best. I’m sure of it.
But guess what? She’s not getting away with it. I’m approximately fifteen minutes behind them, and I can only assume that she’s with him in the broken down coupe.
I already know that in order for this to have been possible, she somehow took advantage of him. He’s mine. You’re mine.
My pet is young and full of excitement. In his excited state, he might have confused her for me. From a distance, in this dreadful heat, the bright sunlight, I’m thinking it’s truly possible.
No—I’m not angry. But something is going to happen.
Got to think about what she’s done to get him inside her. She probably did it all, everything she could think of, using what she observed from me. Anyone around me long enough, it usually rubs off on them, the act. The whole act and nothing but the act. The truth, it’s no court case.
See it like it’s some kind of recap at the beginning of an episode. . .
Previously on. . .and then it’s her but her face is blurred out. Because something’s wrong. She’s not me. Could never be me. But the betrayal is real. It is its own problem in need of its own punishment.
Oh, look at her. She’d look right into his eyes, never breaking eye contact, just to show that she’s confident. In needing to be so obvious, she reveals to everyone watching that she’s insecure. There’s truly nothing like that affection for another to make them feel alive; she’s doing her damnedest to make him feel good.
Look how she’s blushing like any other victim.
And then she’s giggling too, flirting with the threat of disaster.
I don’t see him in this.
Shot for imagined shot, this is not part of the show. This is part of my imagination. And I’m only telling you what could have happened.
I’m telling you it wouldn’t have been any better than this. She wouldn’t have been able to replace me, much less do any better an impersonation than the one I just prefaced.
No—I’m not angry. I’ve repeated it enough times for it to be true.
We’re getting right up to the picture, where we left off.
This unexpected juncture consists of the following:
The coupe, where it was, dirt road cast in the heat of midday.
He’s as he should be. And me, where am I?
I’m where I’ve always been—driving.
I could crash into the coupe.
I could crash into her.
I’m thinking about it, but if I did that it would reveal that I am, in fact, angry. That would make it so that I was lying. A liar means anything said is in question of it being real or not.
I’m telling all of you this is real. Unexpected and a real surprise, the blonde so boastful of the fact that she wants him. . .when really she has no idea how to satisfy him.
You wouldn’t know what to do with him even if you got him.
Look at that, then—my pet so bored that he’s passed out in the driver’s seat.
Where is she? She’s sitting right next to him. At the last second she tries to duck behind the dashboard. Too late dearie, you’re not getting away with this.
Stop the SUV in a way where the coupe wouldn’t be able to steer away from me. Nothing wrong with this, babe. I’m not blaming you, my pet.
No. I’m not.
You are not his. You are mine.
All of you, mine.
I’m the driver. I’m the master.
So then when I leave the SUV, walk casually down the dirt road, open the front passenger door, remove her from the equation, this is what’s supposed to happen next.
It’s my right to do this.
And I’ll take her, bind her with rope and duct tape, to the gas station where we should have been, where we will be, and I’ll bring her in the back.
Hey, clerk, you won’t mind will you? Course not. He sees three attractive girls and his pubescent self can do nothing but imagine the sexual possibilities.
Enough of him though. He’s next, not now.
I’ll take her back here so effortlessly.
Treat this as an outtake.
And if you’re still watching it’s because the camera’s still rolling.
Camera’s rolling and yeah, you can think of it as a little privilege. You get to see what sometimes happens when you let the
study evolve on its own. Everyone gets ideas. Some ideas don’t end up working for the entire production. My study, remember?
Brunette is quiet but she’s still my assistant.
I’m telling her to keep up. This is not on her. Blonde’s on camera now.
And then you get that one frame, the shot that changes everything:
Her betrayal is her only way out. She wants out of our endeavor.
Blonde has lost sight of the study.
I’ll fix her. She wanted this anyway, right? Full attention.
So let’s start.
“Tell me what happened,” I’m commanding.
And her voice is shrill. Obvious that she understood the repercussions for deviating from the study, going against my wishes. Now she gets what she can only expect will be death. But I’m not killing one of my own. If she’s going to be victimized, it’ll be after she loses all of her worth.
She’s still of some use to me.
Next we have a little back and forth session where I’m forcing her to repeat after me.
Repeat after me, same tone, same inflection, same. Everything about it the same.
Am I just another lay?
Her response: “Am I just another lay?”
Again.
Am I just another lay?
“Am I just another lay?”
Am I?
“Am I?”
Louder. Am I?!
“Am I?”
Am I really?
“Am I really?”
I’m no different than you.
She pauses.
Say it!
“I’m no different than you.”
I’m Claire.
“I’m. . .Claire.”
Not good enough.
I’m Claire.
“I’m Claire.”
Oh that’s some bullshit. I’m taking the camera from the brunette. I’m zooming it on her face so the only thing being seen is her face. Her frightened, sweaty face.
Does she think she’s going to die? Of course.
But that’s not why she’s scared.
She’s scared because she won’t die. And this will continue. The study will continue.
She’s scared because she’s going to be quite an important part of the study.
When will I get you both to understand that we’re no different?
We’re all the same!
Tit for tat, that saying. We seek the mystery as much as the mystery becomes us.
They’re watching us. You both like and hate that you’re being watched.
I’m telling them both. You’ll be me yet.
Except for one difference. Where they’re searching, still searching, I’ve already been found. Rather, I’ve done all the finding and I’ve got plenty left to fight for. They’re envious because they’re the versions of me missing an important piece.
Master without pet.
That’s no good. Master without pet means you’re not really much of a master.
And there it is: the source of the fear.
Being me without what I need feels as much like a disaster as anything else can. It’s depression and desertion all at once. They’ll know and feel the loathing, the loneliness, the general disgust, the dark thoughts and many, many dreadful days I’ve felt when I couldn’t find one that would be mine. And I mean really be mine.
You both will be me.
To the blonde I’m shouting, “You will be me!”
Accept it. I slap her across the face. Camera’s still on her.
For a split second, you see only skin, you see a flash of what can only be surprise.
Accept it. Say it. Be mine.
Be me!
She doesn’t want to say it.
I’ll say it again, “I am Claire.”
Her turn quickly results in tears.
So another slap. I’ll do what needs to be done to fix you.
You’ll be mine. You’ll be me.
I’m Claire.
Say it.
“I’m Claire.”
Again.
“I’m Claire.”
Again!
“I’m Claire.”
Louder and more declarative with every successive utterance, she’s beginning to understand. She’s beginning to accept. Again. Say it. Again.
Be mine.
She begins to anticipate the slap, so I have the brunette use the stun gun on her, once. Twice. We’ll break her down.
It won’t take much.
Again.
Say it again.
Believe my words as your own.
You’re mine.
You always were.
You wouldn’t be anything without me.
What’s your name?
What’s your name?
Say it.
Again.
Say it.
What’s your name?
“Claire.”
Her name is Claire and she always was trying, wasn’t she?
She’s searching. She’s envious. She’ll never again think of betraying me. If she did, she’d only be betraying herself.
We don’t want that do we?
Of course not.
Data recorded.
3.
To brunette from Claire: Did you see that, hmm? An assistant thought better of herself. She didn’t quite understand what’s going on here. The mystery can be confusing, that’s for sure.
But you’re not like her, are you?
Just because she has blonde hair doesn’t mean she’s any different.
We’re Claire.
I don’t have to remind you, do I?
Of course not. You’re subservient. You’re like I was, on the surface. I was always the good student. I was always trying to leave an impression, but only if it seemed like it would help my grade.
I was always searching for affection, but none of what people had looked anything like what I was looking for.
I was looking for it a long time.
Really was a long time. Wow. . .
But you’re not like that, right?
You’re not worried about how long it takes, only that you’ll find what you’re looking for.
There are fighters out there.
Maybe one of them will be yours.
A pet of your own. For now, watch me and be me.
You are me. I’m hoping it doesn’t take as much for you to understand this. I’m hoping you’ve already understood the situation. This is my study, but you might get a chance to express yourself one day. Keep searching.
Find someone to be yours.
For now, you both will be me. You’ll learn.
You’ll identify as me.
I’m sure you’ve noticed, huh? Noticed that you never had much to identify with and that kind of led you in the direction of criminology. It led you to look at the bare essence of the mystery. It led you to where you’re at now.
And I’ll be the first to tell you:
It wasn’t an accident.
It’s all about finding something that completes you. That’s what it’s most about.
You’ll learn. I keep saying that, but it’s true. It’ll be grueling. You’ll get frustrated, but no one ever helped me the way I’m helping you. The both of you.
As my assistants, my two doppelgangers by design, being me will help you learn.
You’ll learn to know what you’re looking for.
More importantly, you’ll understand what it looks like.
The fight is hard to find if you let yourself get desperate. I’ve been desperate. I’ve used so much, tried everything really, to fill in the gaps. I’ve turned to chatrooms. I’ve recorded myself doing everything you could possibly do to get a reaction from others online.
It doesn’t fill in what’s missing.
The fact that you’re a master looking for a pet.
The fact that your pet needs to want to be yours.
She thought she could steal mine. She thought that by doing that, she’d find escape.
&
nbsp; That nothing’s going to happen. He’s mine.
Yours is somewhere else. He’s waiting for your help. Doing his best to express himself. . .and yet, he can’t do it all by himself. We need someone else.
We need our other half.
A better half.
Master and pet—it all makes sense, doesn’t it?
So learn from me.
Be me and soon you’ll find a pet of your own.
You both are in training too. It’s not just him.
You two are masters in training. I picked you for a reason. We like what we like. Just so happens that we all seem to like those that can put up a real fight.
I couldn’t agree more, really. There’s beauty in unraveling a mystery.
Be me and you’ll understand how such simple words as “I love you” can mean a whole world, changing meaning with each declaration
Understand? I knew you would.
Oh, her?
She’ll be just fine.
Be mine and one day he’ll be yours.
1.
I don’t want it to get out so how about we make the next few for a special audience? You know who you are: Everyone that’s signed up for the forum, bought the subscription, and buy up the limited edition panties and “murder weapons.” I’ve got a need to speak, and you all are the ones listening. Be warned. Be ready. I’m talking to you, and you know who. For a brief moment, pretend to be him, my pet.
It’s how you’ll enjoy this confessional piece.
Why is it so hard to understand that you’re mine? First you’re perfect, and then you let the blemishes show. You’re everything to me and then you do something like this. I’ve said that I’m not angry, but who would believe it? I mean, really? Who treats me as second, if even for one brief moment? If the audience can tell that I’m lying, it’s obviously true. What the audience assumes is bound to be true. On the surface, this is all for show.
My pet, you push back when all I want to do is push you towards perfection.
My Pet Serial Killer Page 24