Jenny had been bad. She had been immoral. Her salvation could only come through her punishment. God punished people. Do as God does…
I knew what I had to do. What I’d done to Billy Spurlock was more than just a simple punishment; it was a cleansing. I had sent him into the afterlife not a proud young man, but a clean young man. Through my effort, removing a tongue that spoke evil, eyes that watched evil, and ears that heard evil, I sent him to the Gods renewed. Tainted flesh left behind.
I pushed Jenny’s head to the ground, pulled the knife from her belly, and moved it toward her face. Her skin was soft. The knife cut through it like butter. After several minutes, I looked at the Uncle Henry. It was covered with blood, just as it had been the day I cleansed Billy.
I climbed from Jenny’s still body and wiped the blood onto the front of my shirt—my dad was no longer around to beat me—and folded the blade into the handle. I pulled up my shorts and dropped the knife into my front pocket. Standing above Jenny, I examined her.
New life ran through me, energizing me. I had just been given another glimpse into what life as a member of the God race would be like. I stared at what once was living and now was dead, all determined by my actions. Like God dropping someone from a heart attack, I had chosen when Jenny would leave this world and enter the next.
I gazed upon Jenny’s mostly nude body and my penis suddenly came to life, rising to the occasion, becoming a tent pole for my shorts. Just as it had happened with Angie. I dropped my shorts, grabbed my penis, and began stroking, staring at the dead girl lying between my feet. Out of nowhere the story of Onan flashed through my mind. He had been commanded to blow his load inside his dead brother’s wife, giving her a child. But instead, he decided to pull out and “spilled his seed on the ground.” He disobeyed God’s order and God struck him down. I stroked harder, faster, and was soon overcome by the moment. My legs almost buckled as I sprayed my seed on her. And on the ground. After catching my breath, I looked skyward. “Go ahead. Strike me down.”
I stood there, Jenny lying dead, covered in my semen, and dared the Gods to do something about it. But I knew They wouldn’t. Because I was getting stronger. Strong like Them. Becoming one of Them.
I pulled up my shorts and crawled from the hole. I looked around and saw no one. I jogged back to the car. I took several deep breaths and told myself to relax. I wouldn’t be a very good driver if I didn’t. When I climbed into the car, I was careful not to get blood on the seats. Didn’t want to listen to Carla’s bitching. I scanned the road in either direction, saw no other vehicles, and headed back to town.
I drove straight home, filled up the kitchen sink with a mix of bleach and water, and stripped. I dropped my clothes into the mix and let them soak while I showered. After putting on clean clothes, I returned to the sink, drained and cleaned it thoroughly, and stuffed the clothes into a plastic bag. I carried the bag outside to the trash can.
Time to inspect the Subaru. The seats were okay. Blood from my hands coated the steering wheel and some drops had hit the floor mat, but that was easily cleaned.
Afterward, I headed to the local greenhouse. A great big rose bush in the front yard would sure look good. And it would be a nice surprise for Carla, too. She was always telling me we needed to do something to beautify the yard.
The Punisher
I’m so sick and tired of people trying to tell me how evil I am. I’m the one strapped down to the fucking confinement chair while they stand over me, weapon in hand, evil oozing from their glare, dripping from their every pore. Each of them, individually and as a population, is Satan. Fuel in the fires of hell. They are the ones who give evil reason to thrive. Their actions strengthen the legion of the damned.
Evil is real. And it is stronger now than ever before. Because the governor’s Criminal Zoo breeds it. Encourages it. Nurtures it. Turns it back onto the world. If mankind ever had a chance at redemption, that chance died the day the Zoo opened its doors. Right along with society’s soul. Civilization—yeah, that’s a fucking joke. Nothing civil about it. Man is far crueler than any animal. Far more brutal than any beast. Animals kill for food, to protect their offspring, their mates. Man kills for fun. But he takes it beyond just the act of killing. Man adds in pain and suffering so the killing is more enjoyable. Those who come here, come to hurt me, I know they’d kill me if they had the chance. My suffering is not enough. They want me to suffer. And then die.
They can’t kill me, however, because the Zoo protects me. Yeah, I like that. Protects me. Because if they kill me, the Zoo can’t sell any more tickets to see me. For I’m the star. A main attraction in the most horrifying show on Earth. Step right up, see the Three Monkeys Killer right before your very eyes!
But I know something they don’t want me to know. I know I frighten them. I scare them. I give them nightmares. That’s why they call me the monster. That’s why they tie me down, cut on me, try to keep me in my place.
Because of my awareness of a God race, they punish me. Because I know of my full potential, my ability to one day join this race of Gods, they hurt me, dehumanize me. They, the sick fucks who visit me, the L2s who come in with their broken record stories of sorrow, want to believe I’m the cause of evil in the world. But I’m not the cause. I’m the cure.
God said it best. “I am.” Well, now I’m saying it. I am the punisher. I am the cleanser. I am the righter of wrongs. I am the one who removes soiled flesh and its accompanying sin. I am the one who takes dirty souls and sends them into the afterlife clean, pure, and new. I am.
They want to label me. Serial killer. They can’t grasp the concept of who I really am. What I really am. What I am becoming. So I sit in this fucking hell today, tomorrow, next week, next month, waiting for them to come and hurt me. Waiting for them to try to break me. But they won’t break me. They can’t break me. Because one day I will be a God. And when that happens, I will visit iniquity on them all.
A Glass of Tea with the Sheriff
Carla was asleep when the dark green sedan pulled into the driveway. I must admit I was kind of surprised—about the visit, not about Carla sleeping. Surprised, but not completely unprepared.
I was tending my rose bush, clipping off wilting leaves, watering it, and making sure it would always be a befitting monument to a fun-loving spirit who was once called Jenny.
A man of average height, slightly heavy, climbed from his car and pulled off his sunglasses. “A hot one today, isn’t it?” he asked as he approached.
“Sure is.” I nodded.
The man’s face was deeply tanned and a bit wrinkled from many years in the Texas sun. He was clean-shaven, and he wore his black-and-gray-speckled hair short and proper. He sported a light-colored pair of slacks, white button-up shirt, and a bolo tie with a tiny rattlesnake head encased in the clear acrylic center. I’d seen the bolo ties for sale here and there throughout my life and I’d always wanted one. I never would have worn it; I just thought the snake head was cool. But not cool enough to pay thirty to fifty bucks, depending on the store.
The man’s sleeves were rolled up, like he was a real working-class man. But I knew better. When you lived your whole life in Clemensville, you knew who everybody was, especially Sheriff Melvin Murphy. It was, after all, his third term in office.
“Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a few minutes to spare, would you?” Sheriff Murphy asked as he folded his sunglasses and stuck them in his left breast pocket. From his right pocket he pulled out a pair of round spectacles and slid them on his face.
“I suppose I could spare a few minutes.” I wiped sweat from my brow with a gloved hand. “Let’s get out of the sun. How about a glass of iced tea?”
“That’d be great, thank you. By the way, I’m Melvin Murphy.” He held out his right hand.
“Yeah, I know who you are.” I pulled off my gardening gloves and dropped them to the ground. I wiped my sweaty hands on my T-shirt and
accepted his handshake. “I’m Samuel. Samuel Bradbury.” His grip was firm, almost uncomfortable. I released my hand; he held a second longer and then did the same. I led him into the house.
“Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the couch. I moved to the kitchen and poured two glasses of tea. Sheriff Murphy accepted one with a smile and a nod. I hadn’t necessarily planned on having a glass of tea with the sheriff today, but I suppose now was as good a time as any to get this talk over with. I knew he was coming eventually. Because I’m smarter than him. I’ll always be a step ahead.
“I’m visiting all the residences in the area and was wondering if maybe you had seen this girl recently.” The sheriff pulled a picture from his shirt pocket and held it out. “Her name’s Jennifer Nelson. She goes by Jenny.”
I took the picture from the sheriff. His spectacles couldn’t hide the focus of his eyes—my exposed forearms. I looked at the girl. She was as beautiful in print as she was in real life. “I sure have.”
The sheriff took a sip of his tea, lowered his glass, and leaned forward like he was excited by my news. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Just yesterday.”
“Really? That’s weird.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s when she disappeared.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Her parents said she never made it home from school. As you can imagine, they’re worried clean out of their minds right now.”
“I’ll bet.” I nodded.
“She goes to school just a block down the street. You live between her school and her house.”
“Yeah, I know. She told me.”
“So you’ve talked to her, then?” The sheriff’s eyes opened a little wider.
“Sure. She usually walks by when I’m working in the yard. Must be just getting out of school, because it’s usually in the mid-afternoon. She says hi to me all the time.”
“Did you talk to her yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“No kidding?” He pulled his spectacles off. “What’d you talk about?”
“I was pulling weeds when she walked by. We didn’t talk more than a few seconds. She said she was in a hurry. She had to meet someone.”
“She tell you that?” He used the front of his shirt to clean his glasses.
“Yeah.”
“She say who?”
“Nope—just that she was supposed to meet someone.”
“A boy someone or a girl someone?”
“Don’t know for sure. But I’m figuring it was a boy.”
“Why?”
“Because she was acting all excited.”
“Excited? In what way?” He replaced his glasses.
“You know, that look you get when something exciting is about to happen with someone special. You could see it in her eyes, on her face.”
“You’re pretty perceptive, it sounds like.”
“Yeah, I kind of have a gift. I usually know what people are feeling even before they tell me.”
“What else did you notice?”
“Nothing, really. Like I said, we only spoke briefly.”
“You have a wife? A girlfriend? Anyone else living here?”
“I have a Carla. She’s a wife. By definition only.”
“She see the girl?”
“No, she was at work.”
“She here now?” Sheriff Murphy looked around the living room.
“Yeah, she’s sleeping.”
The sheriff glanced at his watch. “Really?”
“Yeah, she usually works the graveyard. But yesterday she had to pull a double. So she’s catching up today.”
“So she worked yesterday during the day?”
“Yeah, I just said that.”
“And then she worked the night shift?”
“That’s why they call it a double shift.”
“Long day.”
“I know, huh. I told her the same thing.”
“So yesterday you were by yourself? All day and into the night?”
“Yeah,” I said, never turning my gaze away.
“Must have been lonely. Any neighbors out doing yard work or washing their car or anything at the time you talked to Jenny?”
“Don’t know. I was busy with my own yard.”
“I see. So anyway, Sam, you wouldn’t—”
“Samuel,” I interjected. “If my father had wanted me called ‘Sam,’ he wouldn’t have put the ‘u-e-l’ on the end.”
“Yes, of course… So anyway, Samuel, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about her disappearance, would you?”
“Nope.”
“That’s too bad.” He stared at my arms again. “You got some pretty good scratches there.”
“I sure do.”
“You mind me asking what happened?”
“Not at all.”
The sheriff stared at me, seemed to be willing the words out of my mouth. I said nothing. After a long moment, he shrugged. “So what happened?”
“I got pretty scratched up while planting the rose bush in the front yard. The one I was working on when you showed up. I’ve never planted one before. Thorns were a lot sharper than I’d imagined. Damn thing got me good, didn’t it?”
“Sure did. How about that scratch by your eye?”
“Same thing. The bush.”
“Really? Sounds like that bush really gave you a whooping.”
“I know. I wasn’t paying attention and bent down to trim some leaves from the bottom, and I leaned right into one of the branches. Lucky it didn’t put my eye out.”
“No kidding.”
“It’s awfully pretty, though. Wouldn’t you say?”
“The bush?”
“Yeah, the bush.”
“It certainly is. Mrs. Murphy’s been on me to do some beautifications to our front yard. But I hear rose bushes require a little more attention than other plants to thrive. What’s the secret?”
“Got me.” I shrugged. “I just trim it and water it.”
“Really? Nothing special, huh? Maybe I just heard wrong. So where’d you get it?”
“Down at Martin’s greenhouse.”
“When was that?” The sheriff’s brow lifted.
“Yesterday.”
“Same day as the conversation with Jenny?”
“Yeah.”
“You had a busy day.”
I didn’t respond.
“About what time was it that you got the bush?”
“Must have been shortly after I saw Jenny. I was putting some water to the lawn and that’s when I got the idea. I wanted to surprise Carla with it, so I had to get it into the ground before she got her break between shifts.”
“And what time was that?”
“That I planted the rose bush? Or that she got a break?”
“Both,” the sheriff said, and then he took a small sip of his tea.
“I’d say around four o’clock on the first, and not until real late on the second.”
“That’s interesting.”
“What, that Carla got off real late?”
“No, that Jenny disappeared right about that same time.”
“Boy, I sure hope you find her. She seems like a nice kid.”
“From what I’m told, she’s a terrific kid. A parent’s dream. Anything else you can tell me?”
“Nope. Now you know as much as I know.”
The sheriff watched me for several seconds. “Well then, I better be getting a move on.” He rose from the couch. “More people to see, more questions to ask. I’ll take this to the sink,” he said, grasping the glass of tea. Before I could respond, he moved to the kitchen and dumped the tea down the sink drain. “My goodness, Samuel—your sink shines prettie
r than the diamond in my wife’s wedding ring. Not a spot on it. Do I smell the faint hint of bleach?”
“I help with the house chores so Carla doesn’t have to do all the work.”
“Yeah, my wife’s always on me about chores, too.” He turned from the sink and walked toward the front door. “You don’t mind if I stop in now and again just to keep you updated on things, do you?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Murphy opened the door; I followed him out. He pulled the spectacles from his face, placed them in his right pocket, and from his left dug out the sunglasses. He slid them on and climbed into his car, looking in the direction of the rose bush. “She’s a leaner.”
“Huh?”
“Your rose bush…she’s leaning a bit to the left.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, my first attempt.”
“So, your wife like it?” Sheriff Murphy asked.
“She said it was crooked.”
The sheriff nodded. He grabbed a card off the dashboard and held it out. “Feel free to give me a call down at the station if you should remember anything else that might be important, okay?”
“I certainly will,” I said, reaching for the card.
He didn’t move, his eyes hiding behind the sunglasses.
“Do you need something else, Sheriff?” I held his stare.
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve taken up too much of your time already. You have a good day, Sam.”
“Samuel.”
“Yeah, of course.” He nodded and drove away.
I shoved the card into my pocket. Why the hell couldn’t anyone ever get my name right? I could only attribute it to laziness. Oh well—more important things to worry about. I wasn’t going to have anyone poking fun at my rose bush because it wasn’t straight. I grabbed my gloves and went for the shovel.
One Of Them Epileptics
Carla once brought up the subject of having a child. I thought she was teasing. I laughed and told her we would actually need to have sex to produce a kid. She didn’t laugh at my joke. After realizing she was serious, I put the kibosh on that right away. I told her the world was not kid-friendly and if we had one we would just be putting another innocent soul in harm’s way. I also told her that a kid would take a lot of time and money that we didn’t have. And finally, I pointed out that she couldn’t even take care of a dog. How was she going to take care of a kid? I believe it was that last argument that silenced her.
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