I can�t escape the memories. I am damned forever to replay each and every murder. I was there. I�m always there. I don�t want to watch, but I am an unwilling voyeur in his sick games. I watch and remain silent. Watch and do nothing. Watch and feel bitter jealousy that it is not me who is dying.
�Run!� I cry, my voice sounding surprisingly strong even to my own ears. But still that fucking idiot kid can�t hear me.
The dance towards death has begun, with the Killer once again taking the lead. The bushwhacker moves a bit too slowly, going for his gun, mace, or whatever he can wrap shaking, sweat-slicked fingers around. The Killer lashes out but not with his shiv. He always saves that for later. Instead, he reaches out and grabs the offending hand, jerking backwards until it snaps. The hunter now become the hunted howls in pain, but our Killer doesn�t care. If anything, it spurs him on.
He releases the �whacker�s hand, allowing the man to stumble away. Brilliant green eyes tip up to uncaring silver, and the Killer sees the fire is dimming within the man.
�Just let him go,� I whimper. Somehow this murder is different. I can�t place my fingers on it, but it�s darker. �Send him back. Let him be a lesson.�
�Nothing can be learned!� he screams, startling the �whacker and myself in one fell swoop.
His lightening quick speed has him in motion before either of his victims can react. He grabs the �whacker�s uninjured arm and spins the man around, forcing him up off his feet. He slams the man against the wall, leaning into him with his full weight. With his free hand, the Killer laces his fingers through the man�s hair, jerking upwards, baring his neck.
My heart momentarily skips a beat, and for once, I find myself wishing I had shined eyes. From my vantage point, I can�t fully see what is going on. This has taken a strange turn, and I cannot for the life of me figure out what has been planned. He�s breathing heavily as he stares down at his victim; he exhales noisily through his nose, and I see the other man shudder.
I watch with detached indifference as the Killer lowers his head to the �whacker�s neck. I briefly wonder if he�s . . . smelling the man. But a moment after his head lowers I hear the scream of pain even as he begins thrashing about. It hits me then. The Killer has bitten the man, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of exposed neck.
He pulls away, retrieving the shiv that he had momentarily sheathed. �What�s your name?�
�Fuck. You,� the bushwhacker spits.
The Killer slams the man�s head against the wall, and I hear something crunch. Probably his nose. The blood will be flowing freely now, but that is only the beginning. �Tell me your fucking name!�
�What�s it matter?� the �whacker retorts. His recently broken nose distorts his speech, but he is still understandable. �You�re going to kill me, so just fucking do it.�
�Yes,� the Killer agrees. �I am going to kill you. But first I want to know your name.�
�Why?� the �whacker demands, flinching as he feels his Killer press his shiv against the underside of his chin.
He pushes up slightly, sending the promise of more pain to come. �You can make it easy on yourself. Just tell me your fuckin� name, and I promise I�ll kill you quickly.�
The �whacker realizes that he has one thing left that he can control, and while he doesn�t want to die a painful death, he doesn�t want to give this killer what he wants. �Do what you have to do.�
The beast drives the shiv up into the man�s chin, effectively pinning tongue to the roof of his mouth. The �whacker�s eyes bug out, and unvoiced screams gurgle in his throat. The Killer pulls the shiv out and wipes it clean on the man�s pants.
�They recruited me when I was just a kid,� the Killer says lazily, watching the blood leaving the �whacker�s body. Whenever he thinks the man is fading out on him, ready to pass out from pain or blood loss, the Killer slams him against the wall again. �When I ratted, they sent me to prison. Do you know what they do to boys in that shithole?�
The �whacker, of course, couldn�t respond. His eyes were rolling wildly in his head, and if he was capable, he�d beg right here and now for the Killer to get this over with, just as I had predicted. But he couldn�t. His tongue had been skewered. The beast had rendered him speechless.
�They came for me, night after night. Not that you can ever tell the difference between day and night down there. Daytime doesn�t exist in that hellhole. Night after fucking night they used me as their sex toy until finally I had enough. I started working out, built myself up. Started killing other inmates to get a name for myself. But that didn�t stop the attacks. They could gang up on me, because I couldn�t see them coming.�
He pauses, tilting his head slightly to see if the �whacker is catching all this. He nods to himself, satisfied that the man is indeed listening. Or at least he appears to be. Who knows how conscious he really is. For his sake, I pray that he is out cold.
He runs his thumbs over the whacker�s face, and I watch as the young man squeezes his eyes shut and shudders against the feather-light touch. He drags his shiv across his cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
�That�s why I got the eyes, but you guessed that, I�m sure. Got some goddamn dope-fiend does a shine job on my eyes without the benefit of anesthesia. You can�t even begin to imagine how bad it hurt, but I can show you. I had to kill a few people as payment, but all in all, I�d say it was worth it.�
Without further warning the shiv slices through the �whacker�s left eye. All sanity has fled this young man as pain becomes his only existence. He has forgotten that anything else could possibly exist in the face of such terrible pain.
�STOP IT!� I scream. I have seen enough, witnessed enough. I can�t take anymore. I can no longer stand by and watch this senseless torture. Let the Killer, let that Beast do what he must to me. Let him condemn me forever to blackness. Let him lock me away, depriving me of everything needed to remain sane. I can�t stand by and bear silent witness any longer. I am guilty for the others, guilty for this young bounty hunter as well, but I will stand up now while I still can.
His jaw sets and his lips thin dangerously. A vein on his forehead starts throbbing. In one quick move, he slices the young man�s neck from ear to ear before dropping him to the ground.
No matter what, I know he can�t kill me.
If he kills me, he kills himself. It�s as simple as that, which is why he has kept me alive for all these years. Killing me would mean killing himself. I am the Killer�s lost humanity. I am Simon.
Go Home