Scratched Off

by Julie C. Gilbert

  He wished he could let her live. Driving her to a new city would have been easy. It would make him feel great to help her get a new start in life, but psycho67 had balked at the idea. He was the only one Andrew could trust if he wanted a second opinion on an idea. They weren’t exactly friends, but over the years, a mutual respect had grown between them.

  Psycho67 reminded Andrew that promises were useless and people lied. If Andrew let the woman live, she would talk. She likely didn’t know enough about his operation to endanger it, but she knew his face. He couldn’t risk it. Still, nothing said he needed to act this second, so he waited and watched.

  The blankets the woman had wrapped tight around her body like a cocoon rose and fell in concert with her slow, even breaths.

  When his legs started to burn, Andrew stood and unlocked the cell door. He wanted to deliver the morning meal before she woke up. He wasn’t afraid of her, but he preferred to be cautious rather than risk unnecessary confrontations. Despite his wishes, the woman snapped awake and sat up as he approached. As she struggled to free her arms from the blankets, she stared at him with a mixture of wariness, fear, and loathing.

  She said nothing. He liked that about her. The woman didn’t bombard him with a million pleas and questions. Instead, she studied him almost as intently as he watched her.

  Slowly setting the tray on the ground, Andrew backed out of the cell and locked it again. The lady’s eyes flitted from the tray back to Andrew then again to the tray. Once convinced he wouldn’t return, she fought the rest of the way free and lowered her body to the ground next to the food. Today’s breakfast included a bagel with some strawberry jelly and a paper cup of water.

  “Thank you.”

  The words were so soft, Andrew almost missed them. Even after he heard them, he didn’t know what to do with them. He grunted acknowledgment and patiently waited for the lady to finish her meal. Accustomed to his expectations, the woman consumed the entire bagel and drank the water. Next, she crushed the paper cup flat, piled everything onto the tray, and slid it under the two-inch gap at the bottom of the bars making up the cell door. Returning to the bench that doubled for her bed, the woman sat down and looked at Andrew, waiting for him to report the latest lottery verdict.

  “You won.” He didn’t tell her that the first ticket she’d chosen for today had lost, as did the six subsequent ones. He could barely explain it to himself.

  The woman shrugged.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re going to kill me today.”

  The lack of emotion surprised and intrigued Andrew.

  “How do you know that?” he wondered.

  “Your hands are dirty,” the woman pointed out.

  How could dirty hands betray his intentions? He stared down at the blackened fingertips.

  Andrew had scratched off almost ninety tickets this morning. Of those, nine had been winners. Upon realizing he needed to deal with the woman soon, Andrew changed the details of the running bet. One ticket a day was failing to satisfy him. So, instead of days, he made them worth hours. Nine winning tickets meant nine hours. Checking his watch, Andrew decided to start counting from now. Real time read 8:11 a.m., so he would kill her late this afternoon.

  “How do you want to die?” he asked, surprising them both.

  “In my sleep,” she answered.

  Andrew shook his head.

  “That’s not an option.” An idea struck him, causing him to stiffen. “But I suppose it could be. Would you like to play a game?”

  The woman’s stare turned curious.

  “Wait here.” Andrew rushed off before the ridiculousness of that statement could set in. Racing from the cell block, he made it to the side room off the operating room where Lurch had died. Finding a long roll of lottery tickets, he snatched up the whole thing then considered he didn’t need quite so many. After tearing off a few dozen tickets, he double checked that he had two coins in his pockets. Spotting a stack of notecards and a black marker, Andrew picked up these items as well.

  Returning to Cell 3, Andrew tossed the marker and three notecards into the cell along with a dime and half the lottery tickets.

  “Write the ways you want to die on the notecards, one per card,” he instructed.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” Andrew returned. For some reason, he felt compelled to explain. “I’m a student of death and life. I want to see and experience as many forms of death as I can. So far, I’ve only killed with a knife and a gun, but you can still choose those ways to die if you wish.”

  A sense of triumph went through him when the woman retrieved the marker and the cards from the hard ground.

  “I’m not interested in the weird or painful methods. I want to know the best way to kill somebody. You help me with my research, and I promise to ultimately choose a relatively painless death for you.”

  “What are the rules?” asked the woman.

  “You won nine times in the tickets I used this morning, so we could potentially go nine rounds. I don’t think we’ll need that many. First, we create a list of how to kill people on the notecards. Then, you choose a ticket and scratch it off, and I will do the same. If we both lose, nothing happens. If you win, you can eliminate one of the methods I’ve written down. If I win, I can eliminate one of the methods you’ve written down. We’ll go back and forth until there’s only one method left.”

  Within a minute, the woman generated a list of three preferred methods to die. She wrote these on individual notecards: overdose of sleeping pills, gun, and blunt force object. When he had her answers, Andrew created more cards for some methods he’d considered: strangulation, drowning, burning, falling, animal attack, poison, electrocution, broken neck. He wasn’t sure he could carry out each type of murder, but the game would be a good brainstorming activity.

  They both lost on the first two tickets they selected. Andrew won on round three. He removed burning from the list of possibilities because he didn’t think it right for her. The lady won round four and took animal attack out of play. Round five was a tie because they both won $2.00 on their chosen tickets. Andrew decided that meant they should choose two methods to give immunity to for two rounds. He protected strangulation and she protected sleeping pills. The game continued back and forth, slowly knocking out poison, electrocution, drowning, and blunt force object. They went well over nine rounds, but Andrew was enjoying the game too much to stop. Finally, only sleeping pills and strangulation remained.

  They were down to three tickets. He had one and she had two. Andrew’s ticket won and the lady’s lost. She ran fingers nervously through her remaining hair and cradled her head with dismay. Feeling generous, he let her try again with the final ticket, but that too lost. Although tempted to grant her wish to die by sleeping pills, he suddenly wanted to feel the pulse of life in her.

  “How will you do it?” The woman’s question came out soft and resigned.

  “I’ll wear gloves,” Andrew whispered. He didn’t want to meet her eyes, so he looked at his blackened fingers.

  “Don’t,” said the woman. She swallowed hard. Tears pooled in her eyes and her jaw clenched with bitterness and anger. She leaned forward. “You do this yourself. No wire, no weapons.” Some of the tears slipped out. “You earn this with your bare hands.”

  As he watched her quietly weep, Andrew thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful. This woman didn’t deserve to die, but Fate had dictated otherwise. He would honor this last request. Maybe stealing her life could lend more meaning to his quest. It would be hard work. It would be a sacrifice in the name of knowledge. Society had thrown this woman away, but in death, she would gain new life. He would immortalize her in his accounts. Once released, her soul could join his and lend him the strength to carry out his mission.

  Chapter 14:

  Pulse of Life

  The Killer’s Lair

  Undisclosed Location

  Day 3: Early evening.

  I killed a woman today, and I think I regret it.
These sacrifice kills are harder on the mind than you can imagine, but I must learn. Psycho67 says it’s good that this still hurts. It proves my humanity’s intact. To accept the mandate to stomp out evil, one must understand life. Today, I felt the pulse of life beat strongly against my fingers, and felt nails scratch the flesh on my forearms as I worked.

  I gave the police a whole body this time. It’s risky, but worthwhile. Her fingers had a part of me in them, so I had to be careful with the cleanup. It was a good fight. Strangling somebody is hard work. They don’t go quietly into the night. Smothering might be easier, but that would also be less satisfying.

  Eyes hold the window into the soul. There’s a brief moment the second before death when the eyes light up with realization. It’s as if universal truths flood the mind in that instant. I wish I could experience that and come back to record my observations, but it’s too risky.

  Nothing about this kill is as I originally planned. I took her in a day early because the opportunity presented itself. I kept her alive longer than expected because she was lucky in every drawing for more than a week. My original choice of death for her was burning, but we ended up playing a game that eliminated that as an option. I won the game, but in the end only strangulation and sleeping pills remained. I knew what I had to choose.

  Had she won, it would have been sleeping pills, a highly unsatisfactory manner of murder. It’s like feeding a rat poison. There’s no honor, no struggle, and no hardship involved. The victim doesn’t even know why they must die. I may never test this method unless I must perform another merciful killing.

  My next major kill must be a righteous one. I’ve done some research and found some fools who might fit the bill. They’re college students accused of attacking a woman in a drunken rage, but they were never charged because she refused to pursue the matter. I believe some threats from one of the young men’s fathers might have something to do with the woman’s sudden change of heart. I can pursue the father or the young men, but probably not both. Since the father has younger sons to care for, I will let him have a second chance at turning out useful members of society. I prefer to take action against the most guilty anyway.

  I’m still working through details, but I believe I have a plan. It might have to wait for fairer weather though. I’m told that’s normal. Killing people is harder in the dead of winter. To keep my skills sharp, I may find some smaller targets, but the next big statement will come in spring if I go with the method of killing I want to. For now, I’m keeping that secret to myself, but it will be spectacular if it works as I imagine it should.

  I don’t always claim the little kills. Let the cops believe a couple of gang kids took each other out. Those kinds of people don’t even deserve the recognition of a major statement.

  Drawing out three victims will take a lot of coordination and planning. I will need to subdue them quickly as I cannot risk involving another person. I asked psycho67 if he would join me, but he says his personal plans are consuming much of his concentration. He sent a gift in his stead.

  Supplies will have to be ordered well in advance. I believe shadowsales.com has a program tracking certain kinds of sales. They may even sell this information to the authorities or other interested parties. I like the site, but if they cause me trouble, I’ll have to take action. I can write a program to counter their tracker, but I’m not convinced the effort is necessary. As long as I’m cautious and don’t order everything online, it should be fine.

  I should return to my account of today. My initial plan for the South Street Lady was to leave her body in Nockamixon State Park, but she deserved better than that, so I took her home to Philadelphia.

  A city never truly sleeps, but in the wee hours of the morning, roughly between three and four, one can usually work in peace. I found a nice bench on the University of Pennsylvania’s campus near South Street. I moved her to the van soon after the kill so that if she stiffened, I could at least place her on a bench. I think she would like that. A bright blue and red scarf and matching knit hat completed the image. A thick winter coat will protect her on this last night in the City of Brotherly Love.

  I thanked her for helping me get better and placed a notecard with her. This one said: Discarded by Society. Maybe that will give them something to think about. I helped her. I ended her suffering, which is more than I can say for the hundreds of people who walked by her every day. When guilt would reach an unbearable height, they’d give her a dollar to appease their consciences then slip into a coffee shop and drop eight more on a donut and a hot beverage.

  It’s sickening.

  Maybe the whole city should go.

  No, that can’t be right. I’m not above using innocents to advance my cause, but surely, an entire city holds people worth preserving for the future. Bombs are too random. They lack control and precision.

  Psycho67 won’t be happy when he hears I left the South Street Lady at home in the city instead of the intended park. He’s always talking against taking unnecessary risks, but it’s my risk to take. He can’t speak until he carries out his own plans. He keeps saying grand plans take time, but I’m starting to think he’s all talk and no action. That would be disappointing. If true, I might have to end our relationship. I enjoy talking to him. He’s so much like me. It’s like he believes in me more than I do sometimes.

  Some risks are worth taking to honor the fallen.

  I laid the woman out on the bench as best I could. She looked peaceful. No more worries. No more strife or hunger or discomfort, only rest. Although I feel more drawn to punish evildoers, there’s a sense of accomplishment in helping someone find peace. It feels right.

  It won’t take long for them to find her. This time of year in a state park, it could take days to find a body, unless I’d placed her in the middle of a cross-country skiing trail or by one of the Ranger stations. Here, she will be taken care of quickly. I should have left a camera nearby to watch over her, but I’ll have to remember that for the future. The campus is pretty well wired. I could tap into their system if necessary, but I’ll give it a few hours more before I take that step. They had a malfunction this morning, but it only lasted as long as I needed it to.

  Three and a half minutes. That’s how long it took to properly strangle the South Street Lady. I’m glad I wore gloves because I had to do it twice. I’d always thought that such a thing took seconds. I was mistaken. My first attempt was a simple approach from the front. That’s how I got the scratches, and when I watched the light of life fade away. But as I went to prepare the body, I felt her pulse. I’d only knocked her out. My second attempt was far more intimate. I looped my left arm around her neck and drew her back into my chest, curling my right arm up as a brace to increase the pressure.

  She woke up briefly, but her clawing hands could find little purchase on my pants. The lack of oxygen made her lethargic. Then, she stopped moving. I held the embrace for an extra minute beyond the point where she ceased struggling. To pass the time, I counted. I sensed the moment her soul left her body. It was a beautiful moment, like setting a captive creature free. The mortal matter she left behind required some cleanup, but that’s to be expected.

  I couldn’t decide what to do with the fingers. It seemed wrong to cut them off and let the dogs have them. I ended up clipping the nails short and scraping underneath the area I couldn’t clip. Then, I soaked her hands in bleach just in case I missed something. Those nails may never have received such care in life. That’s sad.

  I did not find any shoes that adequately fit her, so I put her in a few pairs of warm wool socks. I should have fled as soon as I left her body, but I had too much raw energy coursing through me, so I spent some time driving through the city streets. There are enough night deliveries to make a white van disappear into the background, even late at night. I took the precaution of obscuring part of the license plate with mud.

  On my travels, I drove past the FBI building on Arch Street. It made me think of the agent, which made me think of
Mel. I haven’t kept up with either of them in a few weeks. I should check in with them. Calling the agent during that interview had been foolish. I’d done my homework on him, so I knew he had a sister. In fact, I think she might be involved in the investigation somehow. One of my facial recognition programs believes it saw her at one of the state parks. I can’t be sure. The program’s got some flaws and the picture resolution was terrible. I’d posted a bounty on a Dark Web site dedicated to candid pictures of crime scenes, but the few who answered the call were amateurs.

  It doesn’t matter. I’m not considering making good on the threat. That was just to rattle the agent. The news coverage indicates that was accomplished, but those people do a lot in the editing room. I can’t trust them as a source. On the other hand, I look forward to seeing what they do with my South Street Lady. Had she died in her natural habitat, city workers would have collected her like another piece of trash. The police would have written a standard report, and the city would churn to life around her unhindered. Hopefully, I’ve made her more than a footnote.

  I wish I could do more, but I need to stay out of Philadelphia for a few weeks. It’s not safe to be predictable.

  I need to do something radical.

  Chapter 15:

  A Regular Sight

  University of Pennsylvania

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Curious college students held up cell phones, trying to snap pictures of the crime scene. A line of policemen attempted to hold them back. The students’ presence bothered Sam, but he tried not to show it. This was probably the most excitement experienced on the campus this decade. He knew if the roles were reversed, he’d be doing much the same, but even in the years since his college days, the cell phones had taken over the world.