SKA: Serial Killers Anonymous

by William Schlichter

  I would have to cause her one last pain. The medicine she was issued had specific doses, and too much at one time would finish her. But I couldn’t blast her all at once. I upped her dose and Sarah weakened.

  Was ending a terminal life early doing harm? Death in her case was too slow, and she was suffering more with each breath. It had to end quickly. I did not record her last dose on the chart knowing her doctor would spot how she was overdue for medicine when he did his morning rounds. Being a young man, and still hands on with his patients, he would personally give her the second dose. Older doctors would order a nurse to do it. With so much of the drug in her system it would shut down her heart.

  She would detect the cessation of her heart. I’m sure it hurt, but she said nothing, knowing it was about to be over. She coded. Nothing the doctor did would bring Sarah back.

  The mother demanded no more cutting on her baby, so no autopsy was performed. I’m not sure they would have caught the double dose. It would show up in her system as high, but hell, she had just been given her meds.

  I caused the end to her pain. It was good.

  XIV

  JACK SHIFTS IN his chair as if he were going to pounce on Jane, “You would have taken my granddaughter’s life.”

  “At the time, had there been no hope, I might have. It was staying by her side every day for weeks which drove you to kill. Had I been her nurse, you and she would have had your suffering ended. Jack, your healing process would have started, not your murdering spree,” Jane says.

  “I never took an innocent,” Jack says.

  Jesse notes how Jack morally separates himself from the rest of the repeat killers in the room. His targets in his mind were evil. The people in this room are evil. Most of the murderers stole the lives of innocents.

  “People are selfish. Their loved one is dead, hooked to a machine. They can’t speak, they can’t think, they can’t bake, they can’t unwrap Christmas presents, they can’t rebuild a fifty-nine Ford pick-up they’ve worked on for years. They can’t play with their grandchildren or great grandchildren and yet the family demands, sometimes with court orders, to keep them living. Why?”

  No one interrupts Jane’s rant.

  “So they feel good inside. I did all I could. Fuck you, Jack! That little girl was never coming out of her sleep and you needed to let her go. The EMTs did their fucking job a little too well. She did die in the accident. They brought her back. I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am, but these people need to pass on into the next life or be permanently at peace.”

  “What is waiting for you in the next life? If it is there, and you believe in it, how do you figure what you have done will let you pass through?” Jack demands.

  Jesse realizes the old man still has a relationship with God. None of the others do. Even Jane, who professes to deliver her victims into the next life, has no faith.

  “I have my convictions. What I did was right. The medical doctors who strung these people along to collect insurance money—they will go to hell, not me. I never chose anyone who wasn’t dead. They just weren’t allowed to pass on.”

  Even in the dim lights Jesse recognizes Jack’s growing contempt for Jane.

  “We leave our judgments at the door, Jack.” Jane restores her calm.

  “Is that a clubhouse rule?” Jack demands. “I don’t know if I can live with it.”

  “Well you’re here rather than out there killing. You and I remove society’s problems. Our quest is noble,” Jane says.

  “No. No. No!” Jack shoves his arthritic index finger at her in contempt. “If it was noble I wouldn’t desire quitting. I’d find some crack house and go out like John Wayne in The Shootist. But, instead, I seek forgiveness among a group of peers, people with sick, twisted hobbies.”

  Edgars stands. “Everyone calm down. We’re here to work together.”

  “Jack should release his anger even if it’s verbally hurtful. He needs the release to heal,” Jane says. “It’s all part of the process.”

  “None of us have any moral right to kill, even if you did your carnage to end suffering, Jack, to end society’s ills. Neither of you should. It’s not our place to judge and execute. If someone requests a tube to keep them alive then they have the choice, not you,” Al says.

  “This is why I’m not sure I can be a part of your group. I am not ready to relinquish the power I get,” The Plagiarist says.

  “I have a grander problem,” Al admits.

  “You still have a hostage,” Robert deduces.

  “Is that true?” Jane asks, before Jesse proposes the same question.

  “I destroyed all other evidence except the den. I have been contemplating how to release her. If I kill her then I’ve learned nothing, but if I let her go then she might report what happened to her,” Al says.

  “Might? She fucking will!” Ed says.

  “How did you know, Robert, I still had a girl?” Al asks.

  “You and I are the same in our hunt. You couldn’t do what you do to the girls frequently unless you keep one around long-term. Your body count would rack up, and fast. Why build your den if you didn’t intend to keep a harem?”

  “I’ll remove her for you. I’ve not committed to your group or not to kill,” the Plagiarist says.

  “No.” Jane’s finality ends all chatter among the group. “You do her no harm.”

  “He should stop having his brand of sex with her,” says Kenneth. “He could choke her out accidently.”

  “Agreed. If you release her you’re closer to being cured than any of us,” says Jane. “I don’t know what to do with her, but you can never touch her again.”

  “Easy enough. It’s releasing her that remains a problem,” says Al.

  “Don’t touch her. We will consider how to handle her release,” Jane says.

  “Feed her. Make sure she is healthy,” Jesse adds. He knows this revaluation changes the game. He not only must find his sister’s murderer, but now he has a living woman to save.

  “Ed?”

  “You want him to divulge his dark secrets with Al’s revelation on the table?” Jack asks.

  Jane understands the chain of possible events. Al releases the girl, she turns him in. Al sells them out to reduce his own prison sentence. All her research goes to waste. She was too careful with the IP addresses, so she doubts they could be found through the chat rooms. If she doesn’t trust Al the others won’t. “It is why we are here. If we don’t continue then this meeting serves no purpose. We all consider how to release this girl without harming our healing process.”

  “I’ll share again, but most all my stories are the same,” Ed admits, almost wishing his tales had more glamor to them after hearing the others speak about what they did. How their cases are high profile in the media and how they enjoy snubbing the cops. His counterparts here have big name agencies fooled. He does, somewhat, but only the local yokels.

  “It doesn’t matter. Speaking about it is why we’re here. Even if you performed the same act, as you tell your story we learn about you and how to help you overcome your urges,” Jane presses.

  “My stories aren’t as glitzy as some of yours, I’m just a good ole boy, most of the time never meaning no harm.”

  “Your story doesn’t need a redneck theme song,” Edgars chides.

  “You do mean harm,” Jesse adds, “we all do.”

  “What I do doesn’t have to be flashed on a neon sign. I didn’t do what I did to be famous,” Robert says.

  “Edgars did, or he used what he did to enhance his fame,” Kenneth says.“You perpetuate a myth,” Jack says.

  “And you kill drug dealers,” Kenneth snaps.

  “Why?” Jane asks.

  “What do you mean why?” Kenneth doesn’t hide his confusion.

  “Why do you kill in the basement of the plantation house?” Jane asks.

  Kenneth ponders a moment. “Revenge for all the abuse. I hurt everyone in the town. I required them to experience the pain and fear I had—every
day going to school, even from my own sister.”

  “You achieved it. Even if you stop right now your fear will live on,” Jane says.

  “How do you figure?” Edgars playing catch up since he missed Kenneth’s first session story.

  “I’ll explain,” Jane says, “But, Kenneth, think about it.”

  Kenneth wets his lips. His nervousness leaves him parched as all eyes beam at him from the shadows. Now center stage his breakthrough will leave them hopeful for one of their own. Part of his cure will be to reveal the correct answer. The pressure mounts.

  “Okay. I wanted them to have the same fear I felt every day leaving the house. Um. Yeah. Okay,” he catches it. “They have fear every time their kids leave the house. They might be the next victim. Everything is random. No set dates or socioeconomic class of kids. Totally random. Even my choices are. When I hear about it and it’s been long enough to remind them, I remind them. Unless I’m caught, they will always have the fear of losing a child to the plantation house.”

  “It behooves you to stop. If you never kill again, the less chance you will be caught, and the fear forever clouds the town. If you get caught the fear leaves them and you lose.”

  “You going to find the rest of us motivation to cease and desist?” Robert asks.

  “I don’t know,” Jane admits. “In Kenneth’s case, what he desired will live on in his community. More killing won’t change that fact.”

  “I understand what you mean by learning why we do what we do. The rest of us won’t have such simple motivation,” The Plagiarist says.

  “I don’t think my motivations were simple,” Kenneth says.

  “But the solution is, as long as you don’t kill again or admit to crimes,” Al reiterates.

  “I thought about burning the plantation house down as part of my healing.”

  “Let it stand,” Jack’s tone demands. “It reminds you of what you’re working for here. If you burn it, then people of your town will no longer fear the death of a child in the basement. It’s like an alcoholic who keeps a bottle of unopened liquor in the house.”

  “Two meetings and you’re willing to help someone.” Jesse should be grateful, and the fact his sister wasn’t murdered by Kenneth, he is. It means the others will keep returning to the meetings and he will track down her killer. Plus, if this group stays true to its self-imposed probation no others will suffer at their murderer’s hands.

  “We’ve placed Kenneth on the correct path. He will still need a buddy. He must resist future urges to kill. At some point a student will taunt him. Not directly, but something about how those murders were so long ago or there is no ghost. It was made up and the urge to prove them wrong will grow within him.”

  “Why are you not a psychiatrist, Jane?” Al asks.

  “Who says I’m not?” she offers.

  “You lost your nursing license. Does that exclude you from all future medical licenses?” asks Edgars.

  “A degree in a field doesn’t automatically assure you a license to practice, you do have to apply for it. Doesn’t mean I couldn’t earn such a degree. My knowledge base is no less valid than anyone who practices openly with a couch,” she says.

  “There would be regulations if she did attempt to openly practice and maintain her license. To help those like us, as she is doing under state regulation, means some of us would be caught,” The Plagiarist says.

  “We don’t want jailed. Some of us won’t be so quick to respond to therapy as Kenneth,” Ed says.

  “He’s not cured. It was a breakthrough. And breakthroughs happen when we least expect it,” Jane says. “What Kenneth faces now has changed from the irresistible impulse to an impulse he must resist.”

  “Then we help Kenneth stay on the straight and narrow as we continue. It was Ed’s turn to speak,” Robert says.

  “I do see the value in what we are doing. But like I said, my story is nearly the same.”

  “Tell us anyway,” Jane says.

  “Tell us, Ed.”

  XV

  I WAS OUTSIDE of Dallas.

  Some ‘choke-and-puke’ off the interstate.

  I could gas up, drop a deuce, eat my fill and scrub the nut sack all before the new place about three miles over on the interstate had a spot for me to park. You’d think we old timers wanted to help the place out, and we did. If it saw a decline in enough business, it might shut down. All us frequenters had a secret pact to not reveal it existed to newbies, which would end patronage. Besides, the new breed of truckers were beaners.

  The new place’s pumps would crowd, and the extra time would cost us road time. Less time on the road meant bigger paydays.

  The Staties focused more on the new station. Busted, or so they thought, more drugs and prostitutes over the new Gas and Go. Actually, they didn’t bust the prostitutes. They shook down the truck drivers for a few hundred in cash when they caught them soliciting. I’m sure a few bears got their knobs slobbered for free.

  I was on my way to my rig when Big Rauf was being bothered by a girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen in her Daisy Duke shorts and a tee tight under her tiny tits. She was too clean to be hooking.

  “Please, mister, I’ll do whatever you want. I just need a ride.”

  She had this catty tone. She was a fresh runaway, I’d bet my bonus. I knew she was fresh and clean and had no idea what anything meant to some of these guys.

  “Hey, little girl,” I had all my cash in a roll in my pocket so she saw it when I undid two Jacksons. “Just take these and take a bus somewhere. You don’t want nothing to do with Big Rauf. He’s got spots on his dick.”

  The twiggy bastard glared daggers at me. He did want the little twat, but his company was cracking down on picking up hitchhikers. Some guys who thought they would never get caught were recently fired.

  She grabbed at the twenties. I held tight long enough. “Take the bus back home. Whatever made you leave is a much better life than jumping from truck stop to truck stop.” I released the bills.

  “Thanks, mister.”

  “Fuck you, man, I ain’t got no spots. She had such a tight ass.” Big Rauf never took his eyes off the bottom of her cheeks falling out of her shorty shorts.

  She might have been worth being fired.

  “She’s a young one. Maybe she doesn’t have to ruin her life yet,” I said.

  Big Rauf stormed off in a huff.

  Now what I did didn’t mean nothing. No moral compass shit. Nor did I care she was fifteen. I just liked the idea of ruining Big Rauf’s night. Don’t think for a minute I was having a lapse toward goodness. Not me, fuckers.

  I was halfway into my cab when a catty tone screeched in my ear, “Hey mister, maybe I don’t want a bus ticket.”

  Glancing down, I half expected her to have a knife. But she didn’t. Next, I made sure there were no witnesses.

  “How about just a ride to the next truck stop? The next bus doesn’t leave until four AM and I got to get out of here.”

  I’d met plenty of runaways during my time on the road, and she just didn’t behave like a troubled one. If I had to bet. she was punishing mom or maybe dad for not letting her drive or go to a party. Something simple. Something spoiled brats would do. She wanted far enough down the road to prove she’d run away and they would never see her again if they didn’t give in to her wishes.

  I glanced around again to make sure no one saw her. “Get in.”

  She climbed into the truck, over my seat, to the passenger side. “Slump down until we leave the parking lot, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Big Rauf.”

  She complied.

  Stupid girl. The parking lot was empty.

  Once out of the lot she asked, “What did you call him Big Rauf? He’s not fat.”

  “We’ve been encountering each other for years at truck stops. One night some lot lizard told everyone in the diner he had the tiniest cock she’d ever put in her mouth.” I didn’t excuse my language. Language would be the least worst thing
this girl would hear if this was the life she was choosing. “We called him as a joke or a pun or whatever it is when you label something the opposite of being true. We all call him Big Rauf.”

  “That’s harsh. I guess she would know,” she giggled. “Does he have spots on his dick?”

  “I don’t know. I just said that to make you go home.”

  Somber, she even lost her catty tone, “I can’t go back there.”

  I didn’t care.

  She perked back up. “Where are we heading?”

  “You said the next truck stop.”

  “I know, but you already paid me. I could do things and you could take me out of state.”

  “How about you do things and I drop you off at the state line so I ain’t transporting no minor across it?”

  “What the fuck! You’d fuck my little eighteen-year-old pussy, but you won’t take me to Nevada?”

  “Who says I’m going to Nevada? And your pussy isn’t anywhere near eighteen. You barely have tits.”

  She groped herself in protest, but even her small hands didn’t find a handful. “Well, I’m going to Vegas to be in a show. I sing damn good. There are always entertainment jobs in Vegas.” She squeezed both her apple-sized breasts teasingly. “They’re perky for eighteen.”

  “You’ll need an ID that says you’re eighteen or no job. You’re right, there are entertainment jobs for those girls willing to work a pole.”

  “I’ll be on stage as a singer.”

  I kept to myself how that wasn’t going to happen, how she was barely going to get a few more counties down the line.

  She was a talker. Constant words fell out of her mouth about nothing.

  I found a secluded spot I liked. It was on the service road that used to be the major highway until the interstate came through. No one would be on it this late at night, and truckers pulled over all the time to catch a midnight cat nap.

  “I guess…I have to pay for my ride now?” Her catty tone reverted to a five-year-old who wanted you to play tea party with her. “Is it going to hurt?”