Scratched Off

by Julie C. Gilbert

  Changing Carley’s diaper took longer than normal since Melissa had to keep an eye on Eddie, but as soon as she slipped the clean diaper into place, the wailing stopped. Peaceful silence prevailed, except for babblings from Eddie who systematically asked each of the stuffed animals their names. They visited regularly enough that Melissa had stocked the room with a variety of kid things.

  “That’s better. Sorry I made you wait, sweets. We had a table-hitting incident, then I got distracted by the dog.” Melissa wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to explain this to the infant.

  “Dinner’s ready!” called Josie.

  Melissa heard the faint cry through the door.

  “Perfect timing,” she commented, snapping the last button of Carley’s onesie in place. Picking up the baby, Melissa turned to look at Eddie and considered the wisdom of picking him up as well.

  How does Josie do this?

  Before she could reach a decision, the door swung open.

  “Did you hear me?” asked Josie.

  “Yes. I was deciding how much pain I wanted in my back,” Melissa said.

  “Want to see how it’s done?” Josie held out her arms for the baby. Once the baby was secure, Josie turned and knelt down. “Piggyback time, Eddie.”

  The words worked like magic, drawing Eddie over to his mother. He hopped onto her back, wrapping his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist. Josie held Carley away from her body until the boy was in place, then she adjusted the hold on her daughter and stood up.

  “That’s how it’s done,” she said.

  “Impressive.” Melissa truly meant it.

  Dinner was a messy but delicious undertaking. Garlic bread, chicken parmesan, and spaghetti slathered in tomato sauce made up the bulk of the meal, but Josie had also prepared an impressive green salad to round it out. Carley spent the time sleeping in a baby carrier since it wasn’t quite time for her next meal. Eddie picked at his food, getting more tomato sauce on his face than in his mouth.

  “Thanks, Josie. That was great,” said Melissa, once she’d eaten her fill. “I could definitely get used to this arrangement.”

  Home cooked meals weren’t part of Melissa’s vocabulary. Her job kept her too busy and too tired to deal with the thinking and planning necessary for home cooking. Bagged salads and frozen chicken provided the bulk of her sustenance, but she had no complaints. Still, it was nice to be spoiled once in a while.

  Josie nodded in acknowledgment, but her attention stayed on cleaning the worst of the sauce from her son’s face and hair.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Josh’s schedule,” she commented. “The days off are great, but the days on are crazy and stressful.”

  Melissa understood what her best friend and sister-in-law meant. She had never understood Josh’s fascination with a job that required 48-hour shifts. Medical school residency had been bad enough. She couldn’t imagine purposefully spending one’s career working such weird hours. His first year as a full-time firefighter, Melissa had wasted time worrying, but after that, she’d decided her worry had no bearing on her brother’s safety.

  The next two hours passed in a flurry of cleanup and wind down activities. Melissa tackled the mountain of dinner dishes while Josie scrubbed Eddie until he was sauce free. Then, Melissa read several stories to Eddie while Josie fed Carley and got her settled for the night. Finally, both children were slumbering, allowing the women to relax.

  They sat at the kitchen table with large mugs of hot tea and generous portions of leftover birthday cake. And said nothing for several blissful minutes. Their friendship had lasted long enough to allow for comfortable silence. The cake slices disappeared and the tea cooled to a drinkable point. Melissa could tell the kids had run her friend ragged today. She offered a sympathetic smile but didn’t have a lot of spare energy. Wondering where her energy went pulled her thoughts back to work. She loved her job, but seeing dozens of cancer patients every day was both physically and emotionally demanding.

  “How are things on the man hunt front?” asked Josie.

  Melissa snorted.

  “What front? Most of the males I see in a day are under ten, over fifty, or taken. Sometimes I think the good guys are just gone.”

  “Don’t discount the allure of an older man,” Josie said in her sage voice. “Just think. If you married a well-established surgeon you wouldn’t have to work.”

  “I don’t think I could leave my job,” said Melissa honestly. “And it’s a moot point anyway since my prospects are non-existent.”

  A gleam entered Josie’s eyes.

  “We could fix that.”

  Melissa groaned. She’d seen that look in Josie’s eyes before. She gripped her mug harder.

  “Correction,” said Josie. “We will fix it. Right now. Where’s your laptop?”

  “Why?” Melissa asked cautiously.

  “You’ll see.” Josie’s smile reminded Melissa of a cat left to guard baby birds.

  Within five minutes, Josie began setting Melissa up with a Matchmaker Miracles profile. After arguing in vain against the idea, Melissa tried to see what her friend was typing, but Josie snapped the laptop shut before she made it out of her chair. She went for her purse to grab her credit card to pay for the three-month subscription to communicate with her matches, but Josie was faster with her credit card information.

  “Think of it as an additional birthday gift,” Josie said.

  Melissa retreated to her chair and fiddled with her empty mug.

  “You’re making me nervous. Why can’t I see what you’re writing about me?”

  “Go make us more tea,” ordered Josie. “I should be done by the time it’s ready. Then, you can see the grand results.”

  Not having a better idea, Melissa made a fresh round of green tea. She studied her friend while she waited. Josie had always been the bold, adventurous one. Her light brown hair matched her eye color perfectly. These days she often kept it restrained by a sloppy ponytail, but if left loose, the hair had a tendency to curl. Melissa knew her friend was self-conscious about her slightly hooked nose, but she thought it suited her.

  The second round of tea was made and consumed before Josie finally finished with a flourish.

  “There. If that doesn’t entice the menfolk to come calling, we can conclude they’re all dumber than posts,” said Josie.

  “Do I want to know?” Melissa wondered.

  Josie made a face at her and bobbed her head from side to side, clearly pleased with herself.

  “Girl, I made you look awesome.”

  “How many lies did you tell?”

  “Not a one.” Josie’s wide brown eyes shone with pure innocence. “Come see if you don’t believe me.”

  “Just read it to me,” said Melissa, bracing for the revelations to come.

  “I’ll just give you the highlights.” Josie closed the laptop, so she could get a better look at Melissa. “Aside from basic physical characteristics, I said you were a successful pediatrician who loves children, dogs, long walks, beaches, sunsets, good movies, and real connections.”

  “What’s a ‘real connection’?” asked Melissa.

  “No idea,” said Josie, “but it sure looked good on the profiles I skimmed before attempting yours.”

  Melissa stood up to put her mug in the sink.

  “Where are you going?” Josie demanded. “We’re getting to the good part.” She opened the laptop again, then rubbed her palms together in anticipation. “Let’s see your matches.”

  Chapter 6:

  Choosing Victims

  Ridley Creek State Park

  Delaware County, Pennsylvania

  Day 2: Morning.

  These entries aren’t really going to happen every day, but I don’t want to put dates on them just in case the police get ahold of them. I shouldn’t get caught, but no plan is perfect. I’m recording these thoughts so that if something goes wrong, somebody else can continue my great work.

  I’ve set them to g
o live if I fall out of contact for a week or sometime in the middle of next year. By then, my work should be finished in this part of the world. If it works out, I’ll move on to a new location and begin again. I know that’s ambitious, but I never settle for half-effort. Much as staying here is tempting, I have determined that a year is about as long as one should stay in a single place while taking out human trash.

  Guess that makes me a trash man.

  With a clean record and enough cash, one can establish themselves in a matter of weeks and be back in business soon after.

  I have chosen to move my plans forward quickly. It’s only been a couple of days since my first real strike against the evils of this world, but I need to direct the police attention away from the body. I’ve taken some measly pot shots in the past, but this was the first move in the grand game. I should have let the dogs finish him off. The impression left on society was great, but I won’t reveal too much right now. The media people have linked it to mischief night activities gone wrong. Fools. I have no regrets, but that is why I must do this second deed.

  Not every kill has to be a step toward the ultimate goal. The path may have to be paved with some innocent blood, but I try to do my best to make sure those who fall deserve their fate. Humans make this too easy. Loose women lead men astray and give good women a bad reputation. People cheat on their taxes, beat their kids, and covet their neighbor’s property.

  They lie. They steal. They play emotional games. They kill each other in their minds.

  Hypocrites. Cowards. Drunkards. Thieves.

  Stop pretending to like each other.

  Am I the only honest human being left?

  No, psycho67 is honest too, but he’s not good.

  I know of only one truly good person. I wish she could know of my crusade, but she’s too innocent to understand the darkness I face for her.

  Victims must be chosen carefully.

  There’s a thrill to the hunt itself, which I will discuss later, but everything comes back to that first choice of whom to target. Prostitutes are especially vulnerable, but the smart ones travel in packs, at least to the street corners they work. Street kids too can be safely disappeared without family making a fuss. Gang members are trickier because the vicious little beasts travel in armed groups. I once had to shoot three of the blighters because they demanded a toll for driving through their hood.

  I don’t count putting down vermin as part of my quest, though it is tempting. I keep reminding myself it’s not about the numbers, but it is in a way. I can’t honestly count those gang kids because I didn’t confirm the kills. It wouldn’t be fair.

  High end prostitutes—“escorts”—are protected more than most nighttime flesh traders. Still, they are convenient prey if you can spoof or steal a credit card number. There are hundreds of legal and illegal establishments in every corner of every nation. One need only find one with legal problems and choose from among their wares. Those businesses have a natural inclination to secrecy and discretion. They want to avoid police involvement almost as much as people in my profession.

  I could have chosen a second male target, but I went with female this time for variety’s sake. Men are more work. For one thing, their dead bodies are heavier. Most people expect killers to pick a type, meaning blonds or brunettes or cheerleader material or whatever. Maybe some do need to off a particular type of person to feel whole. I won’t judge too harshly, though I will say, it’s a tad foolish to give the police that sort of edge. The more variety one has in their victims, the less likely the police are to connect the cases.

  That’s the hope anyway. They may not link the new body to the other. Aside from choosing public lands in Pennsylvania for my dumping grounds, I have done things very differently this round. How much the woman suffers for the sins of the world depends on her luck. I don’t know her real name, and this time, I don’t care. There are times to dive deep into a person’s life, and times it doesn’t matter. This is a case of less knowledge being better.

  The authorities can’t say I have a type. They’ll assume she’s a target of opportunity.

  Dumping sites should be varied, but hoarding bodies isn’t recommended.

  I may be overly cautious right now, but eventually, I’d like to try collecting more than one victim at a time. That will add a layer of complication to the kidnapping phase. I suppose I could mix in a few quick incidents, but the more one does, the more opportunities there are for random mistakes. Quick incidents are far less satisfying than letting the victim know why he or she has to die this way.

  Maybe later, I’ll record some thoughts about physical, mental, and other basic requirements for being a trash man. Not everybody can do it. In short, you need time, money, strength, will, and intelligence. The role is so misunderstood. I’m cleansing mankind. Society should thank me, but I have no expectations. It’s a thankless role, and I accept that.

  For now, I want to focus on choosing victims. I’ve covered the basic, easy-access types of people. Those who truly deserve to die are usually harder targets. They have families that will make a fuss if they’re out of touch for too long. This is where one needs to be very selective, weighing the moral rightness of their removal vs. the increased risks of getting caught.

  On the whole, women tend to be easier to control. They’re more timid by nature. So in terms of a complete operation, they tend to be more convenient. By “compete operation,” I mean kidnap, kill, and dump. There are always plenty of exceptions. People who give too much trouble tend to get themselves removed quicker.

  Celebrities aren’t worth the bother. Even minor ones have people who watch them constantly.

  Rich people are harder because their families tend to have more connections, so the police often feel obligated to investigate harder.

  Poor people tend to be more suspicious, but they have triggers they’ll respond to.

  Young people are more likely to respond to promises and simple schemes. They’re so full of themselves that they can’t imagine anyone plotting against them.

  Middle class people make up the bulk of society. Here is where the most satisfying targets can be found. They’re not rich enough to generate true public interest. A few family members will care, and ambitious news reporters will throw together a touching missing persons case, but that’s about it. A week later—if they’re lucky enough to stay news that long—something else will steal the attention. They’re not even poor enough to upset the bleeding heart types.

  Illegal immigrants are easy targets, but they tend to be small fish in the pond of people who need to go. As a group, they take care of their families. I respect that.

  Race shouldn’t matter, but it does. Economics and family dynamics just matter more. Broken families and single parent homes make it easier to find victims.

  Old people that must be removed are best taken out wherever one finds them. They move slowly, and they have a hard time following directions because they can’t hear you. That makes them unpredictable. Sometimes they’re just too stubborn to take orders. Besides, if they made it that far in life, they’re likely not long for the world. Nature is as likely to do the job as the trash man.

  Children are tempting because they’re easy to move. Unless they’re neglected though, they are more difficult to isolate. In general, a trash man doesn’t need to target children unless he wishes to divert attention from something else. They’re also dangerous because society’s wired to protect them. I don’t know why. They’re just as selfish and rotten inside as everybody else. The fact that their ways of acting out the evil in their minds is small shouldn’t matter. In that case, a 24-hour kidnap-murder scenario is probably best. Straight murder won’t drain police resources like a kidnap and murder.

  Culling is a very important step. Some people help with this by going off to do some isolated activity far from civilization. Establishing control quickly becomes key in that case because, like it or not, you need the victim’s cooperation if you want to stick to a plan tha
t involves moving them.

  Place of contact must also be considered. Public places are better for shock value, but the risk factors are incredibly high. It’s difficult to control that many pairs of eyes. There will always be somebody who remembers something. Unless one can afford to change cars for every attack, public places should be avoided. If one is willing to take public transportation to a parking lot and hijack their victim, then a parking lot becomes a suitable location.

  Office parking lots, especially parking garages, are ideal. These tend to have pathetic security cameras. A few of my own inventions could neutralize those measures, though it’s usually not necessary. You’d be surprised by the number of security cameras that aren’t actually hooked up to anything. The only reason they exist is to give people the illusion of safety.

  Home invasions are an interesting but high-risk option that attracts amateurs and thrillseekers. Certain places have a higher percentage of the population who owns guns. When considering a home invasion, wear a vest, rent a uniform, bring a gun, and buy a fake law enforcement badge of some kind. Most people respond well to cops. I’ve never actually tried it, but I’m eager to test the theory. Rural homes are obviously more isolated, so there’s less chance of being spotted coming or going. The most deserving targets own big beautiful houses in crowded neighborhoods. They own flashy cars too, for the express purpose of being envied.

  It’s better to break into a rich guy’s garage and wait for him to show up than enter the house at night. The more you know about a person’s movements and whereabouts, the easier it is to do your job. This would be my method of choice if I couldn’t get a victim to come to me. So far though, both victims have been very accommodating.

  Once a victim is selected, the fun part begins.

  Devising a trap is one of the most satisfying aspects of the job. If a trash man uses the same method every time, he’s begging to be caught. I know there’s comfort in familiarity, but routines turn into patterns cops can recognize and predict. Besides, victims are unique entities. Like I said, sometimes, they have to be innocents to keep the police busy. Those unfortunates deserve the respect of a plan.