A Predator and a Psychopath

by Jay Kerk

  I downed a whiskey, and I dozed off for an hour afterward. The doorbell rang. I didn’t want to get up, but I did, waiting at the top of the stairs. It rang again.

  I went down, and it was the same courier. I was still sluggish but focused enough.

  “Hey, this one came in urgently for you.” I signed for it and he left.

  Same yellow envelope. I opened the folder and took out the letter:

  You didn’t listen. Now you’ll pay. You disrespectful worthless shit.

  I smiled as I read it, now was the time for my next move.

  I took Buddy out for a walk. I bought a new burner and pretended to make a long call on it. Once back in the house, I called Danny, certain that the stranger would be listening to our conversation.

  “Listen, Danny, another letter came and I got a bit scared, so I called the police and they told me to relocate somewhere safe. They’re going to stake out the house and apprehend him when he comes in. … Yeah, here in the neighborhood. I know someone who rents furnished apartments with no questions asked. … No, this is a done deal, don’t send anyone, the police have got it. This guy is so stupid that I’m sure they’ll get him. Listen, they told me to stay off the phone because this place is bugged.”

  I was sure he laughed, thinking he was smart.

  I packed a bag. I would feel bad if he hurt Buddy, but then I told myself that he wouldn’t come here. He would follow me.

  I left the house and walked causally down the street, crossed at the right place, paid the man, and took the keys to the apartment. Once inside, it occurred to me he might have placed a GPS tracker in my bag or shoes, so I cut through my bag’s zipper lining, and I found the device. Afterward, I cut open the heels of my shoes and found another tracker. Then removed all my clothes and put on a cotton shirt and a pair of shorts. I smiled.

  I’ve got you, motherfucker.

  I called George, my all-in-one man from the pub. I got worried that he might have left the job and I hadn’t known the pub news in some time, but when he picked up I was happy. I asked him to come to the building, but to approach from the back. I grabbed a few hundred dollars and went down the fire escape.

  As instructed, George brought me sunglasses, a baseball cap, and size eleven running shoes. We went around to the front side of the building, and I climbed in the car and asked him to go around back on foot and stake out the fire escape.

  We waited for an hour, burner phones in our hands, getting excited every time someone went up the stairs. Another hour passed and a courier went up the front stairs, that meant another folder.

  Why isn’t he attacking? I suddenly got anxious. I hadn’t planned for this. If he didn’t come, what would I do next? I had already provoked a dangerous person.

  “Another letter. Maybe he knows I left the apartment and wants me to go up and get it,” I said to George.

  The man exited building and went around the block. I thought of asking George to go up and get the letter.

  “Jason. The courier guy, was he wearing an orange tucked-in t-shirt and an orange cap?” George asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he came from around the block and now he’s climbing the fire escape. Is this our guy? Do you want me to stop him?” he asked.

  Shit, this was going down. “No. I mean, yes, he could be our guy, but leave him alone. Wait until he gets higher on the stairs, and threaten to call the police, but keep your distance.”

  “Okay.”

  Sneaky. So, he was dressed like a courier.

  A minute later I heard George, “Hey, dude! Hey! What are you doing up there? Thief! One two three four. Hey, people on the fourth floor, someone is breaking into your apartment! I’m calling the police.” He paused, then said to me over the phone, “It worked. He’s coming down.” He was panting.

  “That was very good. Well done. Well done.”

  “He’s down. Going your way, running now. I’ll circle around the building.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I see him now. He’s no longer running. He’s getting into a car.”

  “What do we do?” George was still panting. He reached to the car and got into the driver’s seat. “Let’s follow him.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I said to him and he nodded.

  The guy drove a small French car, the kind that were half the size of a regular car. It probably ran on electricity. We followed him for fifteen minutes, during which he drove to a ten-story parking garage where he exchanged cars.

  If I were ever in doubt, at that moment I became certain that this person was a criminal of high caliber. No one has the time or energy for switching cars unless they were playing for very high stakes. A burglar who wanted to steal your Blu-Ray player wasn’t going to worry about switching cars.

  I insisted that I continue alone from that point on. George protested, but I couldn’t let him risk this kind of danger, he yielded saying he would grab a taxi.

  I kept my distance while following my target, and recorded the plate numbers of both cars. I didn’t see his face, so I couldn’t match it with the person whom I had met after the SAA meeting.

  It wasn’t a long drive, but the last twenty minutes exhausted me. Now that I was alone, I panicked. If he was a psychopath, then he was also a paranoid person who would check his mirrors every few seconds. I kept asking myself if he had spotted me, but I couldn’t be certain. We reached a calm neighborhood that had low-rise buildings on one side and small suburban houses on the other. The birds were chirping, and a few children played on the sidewalk. Many people would say they’d like to live here. It looked like one of the nicer neighborhoods.

  He pulled into one of the houses on the street. I slowed down a little, then continued past without looking at him or the house. I looked closely at the next few houses, memorizing the house numbers.

  What should I do?

  I called George. “Hi. Thanks a lot, buddy. I owe you. I need your help to get this done.”

  “Sure”, he said.

  “Pass by a sporting goods store and buy me a taser. Not a regular one, a long-range one.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “Yes, just get the taser, meet you at the pub,” I said. “One more thing: Get me a crowbar.”

  I went to the pub and George came. I asked him to go to the apartment where we met to get the shoes and go my house, and then to call me when he is inside. I told him what to say exactly during the call, and I promised to send my location after I break in, but he was only allowed to send it to the cops if I didn’t check in with him every hour. He asked me why I wasn’t taking a gun instead of the taser, and I told him I only needed to attack from a range and I might kill the guy with the bullets.

  My plan was to get the guy out of his house for a while and then break in to see what he was hiding inside, careless of the ramifications of this illegal act.

  I drove back to the neighborhood. It felt odd to be there after the sun had set. The street was much quieter, and no birds singing and no children playing.

  A few minutes later, George called, and I hoped he remembered to put me on speaker.

  “We got him on the security camera at the apartment entrance,” George said. “The hidden one.”

  “We got the bastard.” I said. “That’s great. Meet me at Danny’s office. She has a friend in the police department who can run the video through facial recognition software.”

  “Give me forty-five minutes and I’ll be there,” he said. “I need to get something first.”

  We hung up.

  A few minutes later, I saw my person of interest leaving in his car, and I walked toward the house. I told myself I hadn’t thought this through, what if there was another person in the house? I could be shot on the spot.

  I looked for cameras. I suspected this guy was the type who had a security system installed. Surprisingly, there was no installed security on the outside of the house or the windows, either.

  Well, fuck me. A crazy and meticulous murde
rer would have kept his place like a fort. What if he wasn’t the guy?

  Only one way to find out.

  I decided to climb up the drain to the balcony and start with the bedrooms.

  CHAPTER 4:

  NEVER SAY NEVER

  I got the crowbar from the car, went around to the back of the house and climbed up the drain and jumped onto the balcony of the second floor. I planned to break the door down if it didn’t open. I had the taser in my pocket.

  What was I looking for? I knew I wanted to find something incriminating, but I didn’t know what. A gun? A body? A hostage?

  I had moved on him very quickly, I should have waited and planned it properly, or even better, come with backup.

  If this was the guy who had attacked my family, then I had to get my revenge. If not, then I would accept my punishment, and this would mean prison time. Only if I were caught.

  Standing on the balcony, so dark no one recognized me, I felt the cool breeze and drew in a deep breath. Phone on vibrate, I texted George: “Is he still there?”

  Immediately, he replied. “Yes. Waiting in his car. He punched the steering wheel a few times.”

  I replied: “Text me if he moves.”

  I got scared, and my hands were shaking a bit. After a few tries, I wedged the crowbar in and the door cracked open; you could hear the air hiss. I slid the door open and gladly no alarms went off.

  I searched the room quickly—under the bed, the closets, the bathroom… I acted like a madman grasping for air. I paused and decided to follow a method for covering all areas, thorough in each part and avoid coming back to searched areas, then to think of uncovering hidden places. I checked my phone’s clock to keep tabs on the time. Ten minutes passed and I finished searching the upper floor, nothing in either of the two bedrooms.

  Disappointment filled me. So far, the guy was not a killer.

  I carefully went down the stairs, a few made a creaking sound, but I couldn’t do anything about that. I watched for cameras, the small ones that might be used to spy on nannies. The house was ordinary, very much like any place in the area, neat and well-kept. I walked slowly into the kitchen, bathroom, and then the living room.

  Nothing! No guns, no memorabilia, no hostages.

  What the fuck am I looking for? Take a moment to think. Cover every room. Where is the laundry room, where is the garage?

  While moving into the kitchen, I saw two locks on the basement door, and one lock was hooked with a small chain. This was it. Jackpot. Why put two locks on the door unless he was hiding something major downstairs? I lost interest in what else might be on this floor and focused on getting into the basement.

  Mathew could have been down there, cold sweat formed on my forehead. His… his body could be down there. Another innocent child could be down… Focus.

  The door didn’t budge despite my forceful kicks. It was made of solid wood, and when I knocked on it, I knew it was reinforced. “Anyone inside? Hello? Can you hear me?” I put my ear very close for few seconds, but I heard nothing.

  I kicked again, and again, until my leg hurt. The locks would not break like this, I need a tool or something to break them.

  I searched below the sink and found a small hammer, went back to the basement door, and knocked the locks off, one after the other. The door still didn’t open. There was still a deadbolt lock. I jimmied the door with the crowbar, and it unlocked. I took a deep breath.

  I opened the door gradually and took one step inside. I saw a camera on the low ceiling and a motion detector on the floor—it was too late to avoid them. The camera was only few inches away from my face. I raised my hand and flipped it the middle finger. I was sure that he had gotten a notification and would soon come back home. I just hoped that he’d missed the notification.

  I was scared. This guy wasn’t normal. He really could be a psychopath, a killer. I went down the stairs. I took my phone out and sent George the location. He replied that the guy hadn’t moved.

  The basement was lit by a dim light, and I didn’t find a switch with which to turn on anything else. There were two large desks with six large computer screens and two computers. There were only a couple of chairs, and in the corner lay a trashed gamer seat, like the ones used in arcades for racing games.

  I took photos of the setup, and then noticed another camera in the corner. I went back to the desk and got a piece of paper from the drawer, in which there were more than eight phones. I wrote on it: u sick bastard. I got u mother fucker. I went to the camera and flashed the paper, flipping him the finger again.

  There was nothing else in that room. The yellow walls with red stripes were ugly and looked like clumsy work. I didn’t think there would be a passage from the basement to anywhere else, but I had to check. Looking closely at the paint, I saw what looked like closet doors. This could be the passage. I wondered if someone was inside, Mathew might be inside.

  I couldn’t help but imagine that I would rescue him, and we would flee this place together.

  I sprung the doors open. There was something electronic inside on one side, a plastic box topped with a few bottles sitting upside down on their caps. On the other side, there was a fridge. I opened it before thinking. Afterward, I thought it could have been a trap. There were hundreds of small urine-collection cups, wrapped in pieces of cloth. I opened one of them and smelled it.

  Fuck. Yugh, semen.

  My phone vibrated. I took it out and my heart raced. George was panting again.

  “Where have you been?” George demanded. “I called you. You scared the shit out of me. He moved a couple of minutes ago, and he wasn’t happy.”

  “Okay, how long ago?” I asked, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder.

  “Only a few minutes. Sorry, I lost him, he moved with his lights off, and I couldn’t find him.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t want you to follow him. I want to capture him. I sent you the location. Don’t come, and don’t call the cops. Wait for me to check in after twenty minutes. No, make it thirty minutes.” I hung up.

  I panicked a bit. Semen, hundreds of cups of semen. Shit, the cameras.

  I moved a chair under the camera, waived the crowbar at it, and then pointed at the fridge and electronic container. I mumbled, “I’ll fuck that up.” I thought maybe there was no sound and he couldn’t hear, so I ran to the closet and started hurling the cups on the floor. I tried to topple the fridge, but it didn’t work, so I left the door open.

  I went back to the camera and knocked it down, raced up the stairs, and knocked down the camera there. I was relieved that he had no eyes on me now. I hid down behind the stairs, and waited. I thought I breathed heavily. I tried to calm myself down.

  I looked at the phone clock, and tried to calm down. I had the taser in one hand and the crowbar in the other. The firing distance was fifteen feet. I thought I could hide in the corner and wait for him to come down, but the room was between thirty and thirty-five feet across from one corner to another; if I shot at him from too far away, I could miss my chance. I only had one cartridge with me; the other was in the car.

  I could throw the crowbar to create a diversion and then shoot him. The five minutes passed. I could hide in the house, and once he went down the stairs, I could jump him. Why jump him? Shoot him! I stood to go up, but then I thought he could have parked down the street and come by foot, and I wouldn’t have heard the car. He could be hiding upstairs and waiting to attack me.

  I crouched in the corner and waited. I heard footsteps upstairs. I was right—he’d parked down the street so the car’s engine wouldn’t announce his arrival. I opened the phone and sent all the photos to George. I typed: “He is here. Wait for me to check in twenty minutes from now.”

  Suddenly the lights, which were already dim, died. I guessed he was on the top of the stairs. My heart beating strongly, I breathed through my nose. The lightbulb in the fridge was the only one lit in the room. It shed a cone of yellow light across the floor. I couldn’t move from the
corner without stepping into it and being exposed. I didn’t hear him come down, but he might have.

  I rested on my knees, the taser pointing forward.

  “Come out, you worthless shit. I’ll kill you.”

  His voice was deep; he reminded me of Batman or Bane, I couldn’t be sure. The voice came from the stairs.

  “You’ll pay,” he said. The voice was now in the room.

  There was a scratching noise on the floor. He could be holding a bat. What if he had a gun? He would kill me.

  “Where is my son, you motherfucker?” I said, regretting it immediately. “I called the cops. I sent them what you have in the closet before I smashed it.”

  I heard sudden footsteps racing toward me, but I couldn’t see. I fired the taser. So much for planning.

  I hit him in the head, he jolted and hit the floor. I was so relieved, but had to kick him few times on the head to knock him out, he was capable of overturning the situation once he had the slightest chance. Once he was out, I took the phone out and texted George that all had gone well, and he should call me every thirty minutes for updates.

  He was very heavy, muscular. I didn’t have anything to tie him up with. I’d expected things to go otherwise, to find evidence of his murders and then call the cops. I should have planned better.

  I removed the laces of my shoes and tied his hands, but it felt like that wasn’t enough, so I took his shoelaces and tied his calves to the chair where I seated him.

  CHAPTER 5:

  DEBT

  I lit a cigarette. They were wrinkled, and a few were broken in the pack. Still, it was a moment of triumph. I wanted to enjoy it as much as I could before he woke up. He wouldn’t be out for longer than five minutes, and I’d spent some time tying him up—not that securely, come to think of it.

  He woke up, and I made a point not to say anything to see what is the first thing that he would say.

  “It is not me,” he said. “You have the wrong guy. I’m a gamer, man. Come on. Cut me loose and leave. I won’t bother you anymore.”

  I exhaled and smoke filled the room, I sat in the second chair and rested. What he just said made me more inclined to believe he was the one.