Killer Inside

All for now guys. Everything's winding down and really stressful so probably no more today, but keep posting you opinions etc. Tell me it that's enough struggle

 

Well, there's more now. Enjoy. This was hard to write and I'm still not satisfied... But it'll do cuz I know you guys are impatient. More today probably too, cuz the rest is practically done.


Chapter 36

Eight people. That's how many I had killed.

I struggled to comprehend that.

Not enough, Damien reminded me. It's not enough. Until they understand, it's not enough.

Understand what though? Even I didn't know. All I wanted was to be happy. And Damien was making me happy. I killed people and it made Damien happy. And when he was happy, he didn't bother me. I was then left alone.

They need to understand why, Damien said.

Of course. To understand why we killed. It was because of Damien. But that was important, because everyone had a piece of him, I could see it. Everyone had that dark evil side. When Chris was hurt, or his friend was hurt, you could see it flash.

Or Lucky, when I first met her and didn't manage to steal my wallet. Yes, only brief snippets but still there. Everyone had it.

I needed to make sure they understand that. Anyone can become a killer, and at any time. One thing to push them over they edge. Not even that. Because I'd love to see how they categorized me.

I had no childhood issues. No traumatic events. They could argue that the car crash was traumatic but then I'd be trying to take revenge for Chris's sake, and not killing those closest to him.

I didn't fit any of the material for a serial killer. Damien had been inside me and I had brought him forward, created him to be the killer he was. I had thought that if I continued to listen, I would never be caught.

That's what I had thought before. But I knew now that wasn't true. Damien, my dark side, was using me. Using me to literally do the work of the Devil. But he wouldn't protect me. I had believed he was helping me kill, and make me kill better. But now I realized that he wasn't.

I was just a vessel. Damien was the driver. Using my knowledge and skills, he was using me to kill.

Starting to panic, my mind raced faster.

I didn't want to be used. I wanted to kill because I wanted, not because someone else wanted me to. I wanted to be in charge.

Part of me still didn't want to kill people, and my feelings were constantly battling with each other about what to do. When I did want to kill someone, Damien chose who, when and where. I didn't like that. I wanted to chose who, when and where.

I also wanted people to realize anyone could be a killer. You look at someone and say, "They couldn't kill." But do you really know that? I knew I didn't fit the profile as a serial killer.

Serial killers usually showed early signs, but those signs could also just be seen as a kid playing around. When looked at after the fact, it was almost obvious.

One sign I knew for certain led to serial killing was arson. Especially multiple times. Most serial killers started as arsonists or are arsonists. Fires give them the manipulative control and power they want. I wasn't an arsonist. The only time I used fire was to light birthday candles.

Torturing small animals was something one of my favorite serial killers did. It was also a large sign of a killer, because killers want to manipulate the lives of those they kill and small animals was usually a good start. Jeffrey Dahmer would bike around as a child collecting dead animals to dissect, and even killed his own puppy to dismember before putting its head on a spike.

I was a bit anti social but it was more of a trust issue than a case of being an extreme introvert.

I didn't abuse substances, I came from quite the opposite of a poor family, my parents weren't abusive, I wasn't into voyeurism and I wasn't shiftless. According to my mother, I didn't have a high intelligence, another sign. I begged to differ.

However, as much as I could remember, I didn't show any signs of being a killer. Another serial killer I liked was James Holmes, the "Batman Murderer." He was very similar to me in many ways.

A top student, like me, he had almost no crimes agains him up until his spree. A loner, he had few friends. He read comics about Batman and watch all the movies before executing his kills. He was slowly sucked out of the real world and more into a fantasy he made for himself. He wasn't rebelling against society but his controlling parents.

To the outside, he lived a perfectly normal world while he really lived in his own fantasy world. I did a similar thing. I lived in my fantasy world of killing people but to the outside, I was just a normal teenage girl.

That's what really bugged me. Psychopaths could be stopped at a much earlier age if everything was taken into account. When Holmes was younger, he would act out scenes from the movies and comics he liked, which is perfectly normal for a kid.

But the games he played could have been seen as playing for his kills. Acting them out before hand would let him find any mistakes there were in them, whether he realized it or not as a child.

Some killers are born the way they are. Others are made into the monsters they later become. I think I had a bit of both. Like Holmes, I grew up watching and reading about serial killers, something that really sparked my fascination for them.

As I learned more and more, the dark side of me really starts to show. It was always in me. And the combination of those caused me to start killing.

As much as I liked killing, part of me knew I couldn't keep this up forever. And all the innocent lives I was destroying? That wasn't fair. Yet, I knew I could never stop myself. Like a dog, once I had the taste of blood I could never forget it.

How was I suppose to stop?

 

Since I love you guys so much, I'll post another chapter. Enjoy!


Chapter 37

I heard talking and tried to bring myself back around.

Throbbing. Constant throbbing in my head. Pain pulsed through me, stinging my mind and body. I was out of breath, all my energy used to drive Addie's face into the ground.

I looked over at her, and cringed. It looked painful.

I stood, balancing on the sink as I looked at my face. Carefully, I poked my nose. Definitely broken. There was a gash across the bridge, but that was fine. It didn't hurt too bad.

What hurt was my head. Massaging it, I tried to rinse the matted blood from it. I washed my face before looking for my knife.

It had skidded under the sink. Picking it up, I tucked it in my pocket. I'd need that later.

Taking stock of my injuries, it wasn't too bad except for the broken nose and probably a concussion. My hand ached from the nail scratches and pressure points, but wasn't too bad.

"Mommy, Mommy!" A voice called out nearby, causing me to snap around.

I massaged my hand, trying to soften it.

"No, the bathroom's closed," a soft voice said.

Nevertheless, the door was unsteadily pushed open to reveal a young boy about 4 years old. His eyes widened at the sight of me.

I looked at him startled. My blood started to race.

He didn't realize what was wrong. I heard his mother scream and knew I needed to get out. I ran forward, kicking the boy aside. His mother stood right outside. As I passed her, I drew my knife and plunged it into her, forgetting the pain in my hand.

It throbbed and my while arm felt weak. I barely managed to pull it out. Switching hands, I let the body fall and kept running.

People stared at me, still partially covered in blood. Sprinting, I reached the front of the mall. I dodged through people and out the front. Guards' feet pounded the floor behind me.

I sprinted faster, as fast as I could. My hand painfully throbbed and my grip weakened, almost dropping the knife. I put it into my left hand and kept running.

I knew there was one place to hide. The druggy's hangout was nearby, around the corner and down an alley. The guards didn't go there, no one did if they could help it.

I quickly turned the corner down a narrow alley and slide under the fence on my right. Continuing that way, I stuck the knife in my mouth to hold it. By squeezing through some garbage cans, I came to a metal door.

It led to an empty building. I opened it and walked through to the door down the hall on my right. It opened up to a larger area outside again where a young man stood.

Red hair and freckles, he was about 18 or 19. He quickly swung a gun around at me. I put my hands up.

He didn't say anything. I wasn't part of the gang, but if I had a code word, he'd let me in. I had to speak first though.

"Silver Stripe," I spoke.

"18-74-2?" He questioned back. Second test.

"9-76-11-03-66-58."

He let out a sigh and lowered his gun. "What's wrong?"

"Needed to trade some stuff, under the radar," I said. "And I need some things."

"C'mon in. Glad to do business with a Silver Stripe."

He gestured toward the door behind him and I walked past, muttering my thanks.

Silver Stripe was a small gang from LA. I was familiar with them, and an old friend of mine was a member. I was an honorary member, and knew their code by heart in case of emergencies like this.

Here, I could trade anything from dirt to nukes if I had the cash and time to do so. But weapons were real easy to come by in the gang's Black Markets.

The door led me down a stair case into the depths of the city were the gang, Fritzing Fury, had its base. They use old sewer pipes to travel between cities and had dug out the surrounding areas to make it a offer base.

I had been here before, and knew where I wanted to be. Fritzing Fury was a pretty popular gang, and one the police didn't dare mess with.

Down the stairs, two armed men checked me over, taking a little too much time. I heard them laugh as I left, but I didn't care. I had business.

I took the path on the right that went to the bar. In the corner, there was an old man sitting at a table. An empty chair was across from him.

I sat down, about a dozen people around me in the bar. The place was small, and dingy. It smelled really bad too.

Finally, I got up and approached the old man. I sat across from him and took my necklace off. On it, along with my charms, was another charms. The Silver Stripe's mark. I took it off and slid it across the table.

It was a silver claw with a diamond studded on the tip. The old man bit the diamond and handed it back.

"What you looking for, lass?" He asked in an accented voice.

"I need two knives, to kill. Bandages, med pack, and something to stop the pain. Probably broken fingers," I said quickly.

"How big you need the knives?"

"Good couple of inches. Enough to kill quickly and easily but still enjoy it."

He nodded and stood. Walking off, I waited for him to come back. I passed the time by watching the people in the bar.

Old and young, there were a few younger than me here. I watched a young boy, maybe 8, learn to fight. He was wrestling someone twice his side and getting his ass handed to him. But he learned quick enough and gave the other kid a run for his money.

A bang caused me to jump and I turned to see the old man was back. He had dropped two sheathed knives on the table. Picking them up, I quickly inspected their blades.

Good condition, they'd do. Maybe 6 inches in length, a light blue tint in color.

He handed over the medical supplies too. I gingerly took them. Lastly, he handed over a piece of paper with a name.

"That's who you'll pay."

"I'll need a room."

"It's included. One hour stand, yours til morn," he explained and sat back down.

"Which one?" I asked.

"The one over there," he gestured with his head. I followed his gaze to see an older man with his back to me sitting alone.

I sighed and walked over. Looking at the name, it read: Talso.

Sitting across from the man, I dumped my things on the table and passed the paper to him.

His head was hanging low over his drink and didn't move as he read the paper. Shaking his shaggy hair out of his face, he looked up at me.

I gasped. It was my father.