tales of a pshycopath

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
your past always comes back to haunt you. in this chilling tale of revenge, emotions shall run high as actions of the past cause consequences in the present

Submitted: June 19, 2017

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Submitted: June 19, 2017

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November 13th, the date on the newspaper read. First page, headlines: “The End of the second set...?” It followed by: “Mrs. Renuka, aged 52, citizen of India, a resident of Riverdale, was found murdered at her residence under mysterious conditions yesterday at 8:35 pm. She was found lying on the floor with a rose on her chest up-straight facing her face and a small placard in her mouth with the words “THE END” printed on it. Cause of death uncertain yet. Looks like the pshyco has struck again. Will there be a third set? Will the pshyco strike again or is it the end?” As I read it, disbelief, rage and anger mounted my face. I flung the paper down and walked inside hastily, dressed up and started off to her residence. Police personnel, vehicles, an ambulance and a number of news reporters surrounded the place. I looked around, nothing was out of ordinary. Cameras flashing, reporters busy airing out all information they get to the public. I stood for some time, observed what the police was doing, what they were saying and started back to my place. After all, there was nothing I could there. She was dead. That was what I wanted too but she had to die in my hands. So, I walked slowly all the way back to my place, I could feel the presence of somebody following me. At junctures, at corners, after short distances I turn back but found nobody. Was anybody following me? “Was somebody following me? If yes, why? Did that somebody know that I was the one who killed her family?” thoughts filled my mind as I made way back to my place. As I reached my place, I took a moment, took a good look of the surroundings to convince myself that I wasn’t followed and went into one of the rooms opened a drawer and pulled out a pistol. It was a 1990 M9 pistol, semi automatic, 15 round magazine fed, recoil operated, double action pistol, chambered for the 9mm cartridge with a range of 50m or 55yd and a muzzle velocity of 375mps. It was the pistol I had used for my first kill. As I took it, I sunk into the depth of the big single sofa that was there behind me. It stood there for years by now. All I could do was sit there in confusion. My mind raced with thoughts. “Was it me who killed her? Well, the signature was the same. But then, how did I kill her? When did I kill her? , how was it that I didn’t know or remember anything about it?” I got up, paced up and down the room, the gun tilted upwards in my hand with the muzzle scratching my forehead. That’s when I realised. “Ya”, I thought,” what if somebody else had killed her?” “But who would kill her, who had such rage against her as much as I had, she was mine to kill.” After all, it all made sense, somebody was using my technique so that they could avenge their motives and frame me for such murders. Brilliant it was. But who and why? “Maybe it had something to do with that somebody who I felt was following me, but again, was somebody really following me?” She was my mother, at least my actual one. All was set to kill, all set to avenge my past, every move planned, every strike planned, years of patience and planning gone futile. My blood was boiling, how was I going to avenge my past now. I had to kill her, not somebody else. Frustrated, keeping the gun down, I threw blows in the air, one after the other. After all, pain only subsides when u actually kill it. As I keep pacing up and down the room, flashbacks of my past come to mind... The Husband Every person makes that one horrible mistake in his/her life where it changes everything. This particular Mr. Prasad had finally come to that phase where his mistake was going to put forward its impact in the form of me. Mr. Prasad was of the higher class of the society and was one of the well known members. He was an orphan. He had earned his position with great hard work and determination. He was well known for that. My mother on the other hand was one of those kids of the society’s innumerable rich members. She was born into a rich family. In other words, she was born with a golden spoon. It was love at first sight for them when they met at a party hosted by the former on the occasion of his 24th birthday. They flirted, they danced, they drank, they slept and finally after two years of dating, got married. Mr. Prasad was a prominent member of the society. He was a solicitor by profession. He was the to-go solicitor for any case. Year after year, case after case, he grew better and better and was finally the best. His reputation and his involvement in the society had made it difficult for me to find him alone. I followed him for days, for months keeping track of his movements, sketching up his routine for my reference. It was all a mind game before I could strike him. Finally after two and a half months of following and observing, I drew out a routine of his life which went as follows:

10 AM- Out of the house 10:25 AM-Reach office (single or with wife/employee) 5:00 PM-Start back home (single or with employee) 5:40 PM-Reach home 7:00 PM-Leave for club (single) NA-Leave from club (single) Now, I had to analyse. I had only one chance and that revolved around the club. I had to get him single and that was only possible in the evenings during the club session. His office session included people around him at all times and hence I couldn’t take the risk, so it was eliminated. So I sat down to think. How do I get him single? My only chance was the washroom or the drive to or from the club. His prominence was my problem. It restricted my alternatives. The washroom however was too risky. A club of high profile members and me attempting a murder in a washroom, it was going to be death wish. Hence, I stuck to the drive to and from the club. Now I had two alternatives in front of me. Which drive should I use, the one to the club or the one from the club. I fixed myself to the drive from the club. It offered me two advantages: 1) It would lay suspicion on the members of the club. 2) I could attend one of those high class parties. So, I studied his club movements with scrutiny. For weeks, I waited outside the club to observe his timings. He used to generally be out by 9 but during any events, it would go onto midnight. I sat down, my mind at work. “9 o’clock, not possible, people awake, no isolated roads, no way to get to him” I think. “Midnight, maybe, isolated roads, satisfied, but where, when and how, maybe possible, maybe not.” My mind keeps thinking. I immediately hurry into the drawing room, open up a drawer, pull out a drawing, open it up completely. There it laid, the whole city in a 30 sq.inch peice of paper. Spotting the society and the club, I made my finger all around the area searching for routes, searching for areas, Charles Avenue, Kings Street, burnsburry highway, Victoria memorial. Burnsburry highway it was. It was a 700 km highway connecting Charleston with Southern Hamilton passing through riverdale. It carried very less amount of traffic and was one of the most isolated roads in the stretch. A perfect place to strike. No help, no chance of survival. The spot was fixed. Next was the when and how? I decided to go with the how as fixing the when first would become a limiting factor for me as I would have to devise how within that when. I walk up to the refrigerator, open it, take a bottle, have some water, put it back in and close the refrigerator. I walk in circles all around the room thinking. I come up with a plan finally. The 19th of September, the charity ball, that was where I was going to strike. It was a yearly event that was held at the club for charity purposes where all the members would join together for various activities and finally end the night providing these donations. All collections from such events were donated to various welfare programs. So, the club’s building was surrounded by a 15 feet wall covering it entirely from the outside with the entry guarded by 2 guards. Entry inside was allowed only on presentation of membership. Now, that was something I didn’t have with me for easy access. So, I only had the hard way left. The club was surrounded by a city road on the front side, forest area on its left and back which extended onto the right side too and a road on the right which led through the forest area. Since the entry was guarded, I had to climb my way into the club over the compound wall. I was going to climb in a tux. That was something I never thought I would. 19th September, the calendars read. 7:00, the clock ticks. I adjust my bow tie, stand for a minute there in front of the mirror and admire that piece of beauty that god created in the form of me. I was looking my best, my first in a tux. Black polished shoes, white socks supporting a three piece black tux with an inner white shirt, there I stood. I reach out for my cellular device that lay there on the table, click a selfie of that piece of beauty that I stood in and pocket it. I adjust my hair for the last time, take my watch and i’m ready. “So much for Mr. Prasad.” I think as I laugh for a short while. I pick up the rope and anchor that I shopped for recently. Those were for me to climb up the wall. I walk down the road, a 4km stretch before I would reach the club. It was going to take me an hour. Listening to music through my JBL earphones while chewing a bubble gum, I make way through the dark, one step after another. Miss, my 4th time at it. I was trying to get the anchor fixed to the other side of the wall so that I could climb my way up. This was much difficult then I made it out to be. I had to throw the rope tied to the anchor over the wall with such force that with its momentum, it cracked the concrete and stood still for me to climb up the wall. Yes, an upward pump of joy. Finally, after those initial 4 to 5 hits, it gave way and gave me my way. I climbed up to the top and took a moment to just peek and check out the other side of the wall. There was nobody. I climbed over, jumped to the ground, immediately ran over and took cover at the nearest plantation. I wondered “was I spotted by anybody?” I took a peek over and let out a sigh of relief. Everybody was busy in their own world. Everybody was drunk and dancing. I laughed, got up and adjusted my coat and bow tie. Putting the buttons of my coat, I made my way into the club. There he stood with a glass of wine. He had confidence in him. I could know it from the way he stood, the way he held that glass of wine, the way he spoke; he simply just had that swag. I approached the table, picked up my glass of wine and stood amongst the crowd having one sip after the other with my eyes fixed on him and his movements. “The culture up in Europe is wonderful. One should never miss a chance of visiting such a place. Its culture is rooted in the art, architecture, music, literature and philosophy of the European cultural region. It’s just a wonderful sight and feel one should experience.” He said as he smiled with one hand holding his wine glass and the other in his pocket. I found my subject, I found my way. “Excuse me, need a refill” he said as he raised his glass signalling his company and made way to the bar. “Europe is great but Venice is better.” I said as I walked up beside him at the bar. He gave a stare. “Karthik” I introduced myself. “European culture is great, it’s actually wonderful but Venice, well, that’s awesome. You walk through the city; you’ll forget yourself, that’s the greatness it brings. You’ll be so busy admiring the art, the wealth, the architecture that you will find yourself in peace.” “Wow, well I haven’t got a chance to go to Venice yet but with all that i’ve heard of it and from what you say, it sure sounds fascinating. Got to take the first chance I get.” He said as I smiled back. “Oh yeah! Prasad” he introduced himself as we shook hands for the first and last time ever. “Yup, I know you, I’ve heard of you a lot actually. You are an inspiration for us. Your dedication, your will, the way you came up with sheer hard work and determination, it’s just inspiring. It actually feels great to meet you in person” I say. He smiles and offers a refill. I kindly reject. “I don’t have more than one per night” I say. He laughs for a while and shows me the chair signalling me to sit down. We sat there at the bar having one glass after another, him wine and me some club soda, talking about all the different places in the world and their history. As the night passed by, we talked of different topics, we shared rounds, we shared a few light jokes and finally we were done for the night. We make our way out to the parking lot. There we stood before his Merc. That piece of beauty. I wanted to kiss it. Lovely, it was. It was a black Merc CLS550 which sported a 4.7L V8 biturbo engine with horsepower of 402 and acceleration from 0-60 in 4.9 sec. We bid goodbye and parted ways. I quickly chose a BMW that stood there, approximately 4 cars from there and approaching it, I started to act as if I had lost my keys. I waited for him to notice and started to search all my pockets and on the ground. “Hey, everything alright?” he questioned. “Seem to have misplaced my keys somewhere. You carry on; I’ll just have a check inside before I leave.” “Come on man, i’ll give you a ride home. You can come back tomorrow and have a look, sweet ride by the way.” I obliged and made my way to the passenger seat while smiling at my success. I was just one step away. “Wear your seat belt” I cautioned him. He was in no mood to listen. He was drunk. I wore mine and sat in the front passenger seat beside the driver. As we drove through the streets under that full moon, we observed calmness engulfing us. The night still, the surroundings silent, people resting at their house with not a single soul out just like a curfew. As we entered onto the burnsburry highway, he picked up on speed, 80kmph the speedometer read. As we drifted off on the isolated road, I was laughing to the core on the inside at this person’s fate. He was about to die in a few moments and he had no fucking idea of it. “Have u ever wondered that u have made a terrible mistake in life?” I asked. “What?” surprised by the sudden question, he replied. “Have u ever wondered that u have made a terrible mistake in life?” I repeated. No came his answer. Pulling out a pair of gloves from my pocket, I started wearing them. “What are those for?” he questioned. “Well, when I kill u, I shouldn’t be found right.” I replied with much calmness. “What?” he replied completely stunned. My head straight, my eyes straight, I looked out of the windshield into the darkness. I had had enough. Slick, the knife, I pierced through his neck. He lost control, we went off-road off the side railing which tossed us upside down into the fields beside. The air bag and the seat belt, their combined effort saved me. I kicked the door, opened it and stood for a minute under that moonlit sky with a smirk on my face. Slowly, regaining my calmness, I turned and made my way to my recently made friend, laughing. There he lay, dead, half of his body on the bonnet while the lower half was resting over the steering. After all, I had told him to keep his seat belt. I pulled him down onto the ground, pulled the knife out of his neck and sat beside him. Taking a moment, I wiped off the dirt on my face with the help of my right hand and sat there holding the knife in my left hand. Patting his cheek, I told my dear dead friend “You made two mistakes, my dear.” I pierced the knife into his stomach and twisting it with anger, I told him, “Number 1, u married the wrong woman, she is why I actually had to kill u, i’m sorry about that, but u see, there was nothing I could do.” I pulled the knife out, took a moment, pierced it right back into the stomach. Twisting it I told him, “Number 2, but this one’s on you, I did tell u to keep ur seat belt!!” and had a hearty laugh. It was time for my signature. An upright rose on his chest towards his face while a placard in his mouth with the words “The Beginning”. Finally, it was done, successful. “I owe u an explanation, don’t I?” I questioned him. Well, there was no reply from him, only silence, so I presumed he did want an answer. So I continued to explain to him... “I grew up just like you, darkness all around, no support, nobody to depend on. Starving for food, I roamed through streets begging for food. Slowly, got into various day jobs, worked all my way up the ladder to live somewhat comfortably only to know that my mother was still alive and living a lavish life while I was rejected by her and left on the streets. Why should I face the suffering for her sins? I just want to give back what she gave me. By killing you, I crush her support system. The same way I lived. Well, where it all sums up to you is your wife was my mother.” As I finished, I pulled out the knife, I got up, got my bag and walked off into the stillness of the night without the slightest glance back nor the slightest of tensions of getting caught with the knife in my hand still under those gloves coated with blood. I walked and walked and walked. It was a common thing that all surrounding areas were going to be checked once the body was found. Hence, I couldn’t afford to throw away the gloves and knife anywhere nearby. I needed a place which was ideally distant both from my place as well as the murder. This part, I had planned it all out. Finally, I turned left off the highway and went dense into the area. I reached the church where I took a left and continued walking straight until I reached the lake. I kept the bag aside, walked straight into the lake, cleaned myself thoroughly and came out. Keeping the knife aside, I took off my gloves and my clothes. I stood there naked. I went back into the lake, had a quick clean and came out. I took out my clothes from the bag and also a wire. Keeping the gloves, knife and those clothes inside the bag, I tied the bag to a big rock and threw it into the lake. Finally, I had erased all evidences that could lead to me. I wore some fresh clothes and started back. I walked until I reached my place, my humble abode. I walked right into the washroom, had a quick bath and settled down on my bed in a towel. Water dripping from my hair, my muscles protruding, my face calm as always, my hands resting, my legs taking a break from the walk, I take a moment and reach out to the first aid box. After all, I was no super-human; I would have suffered minor injuries from the crash. So, attending those injuries, I fell asleep, sounder than ever. A part of my mission was complete. A part for which I had waited 12 years to start. The Child 1 month later... White coat over a blue jumpsuit with a stethoscope hanging over my neck, a surgical mask covering my nose and mouth, I walk through the corridors to reach room 112. I stand outside and look through the glass. A boy, very much recognisable to me, lying there on the bed in sound sleep with a tensed mother, my mother, who sunk into the deep hollow of the sofa that stood there. This was the detailing my eyes had provided. There I was, inches away. One side of the glass I stood, the other side, two. Soon it would be just one. After all, equality is what we are taught. My fist tightened, my expression fierce but hidden under the surgical mask, a smirk on my lips, I had every intention of finishing my mission there itself. But no, I wanted her to break down, break down completely. That was only when I was going to be content. My fist loosens; I reach out to the door, open it and go inside. As I go in, my mother rises, coming hastily towards me she breaks down, “Will he be fine? Will my boy be fine? This is his third time within a month.” But this was not enough for me. I wanted more. I needed more. At least, for all those years that I had suffered. I was right there in front of her, I was also her boy, but no, it was like I was nobody to her. That was the irony of my life, a mother not being able to recognise her own child. “Ya, nothing to worry about, it’s just his father’s death that’s affected him. With time, everything will be okay. Now, please let me have a look while you wait outside.” “Ya sure, I’ll be right outside if anything is required” she said as she wiped off a tear. She walked out of the room closing the door behind her and settled on one of the chairs at the end of the corridor. She had no idea that her beloved world, which was already part gone was going to come down crashing in the next few minutes. I walked up to the glass, had a look at her for a moment and closed the curtain. Slowly, I turn around, make my way to the bed side and pat that poor little boy. After all, he was 19 and God was ending his life already in the form of me. He woke up to my pat. I removed my mask and smiled at him. The oxygen mask covering his face, he smiled weakly. “Don’t you worry, you’ll be completely fine. In moments, i’ll be sending you off to a land where there will be no misery.” He continued to smile. Slowly, I pulled the lever to slant the bed to make him sit up. I continued to slowly remove the oxygen mask and ask him, “What is your biggest desire in life?” “To travel all around the world like my father used to.” He weakly said. I laugh at him on the inside. “Well, i’m sorry that i’m about to make that impossible for you.” “What!!” As he looks at me in a puzzled manner, without giving him time for a reaction, I swiftly took out the wire I brought along and strangled him with him. Actually, I could have chosen a much easier way of killing him. There were numerous alternatives but I had to see his expressions, his bloody fucking expressions which I couldn’t while killing his dear father. He fiddled in his bed trying to get out of my hold. But his weak body couldn’t overcome my strength. As he lay there, trying to get rid of my hold, every breath lowering his countdown to death, I on the other side stood enjoying it, loving his expressions, expressions of pain. All this while, there she sat, just outside the door, while her son, her “boy” was dying and she didn’t know a thing. Finally, he breathes his last and I let go. Swiftly, I arranged everything, the bed sheet, pulled back the lever and put back the oxygen mask. Now, it was time for my signature. Both hands on the chest, a rose in the middle positioned upright facing his, open mouth, but this time a placard with the words “THE MIDDLE” written on them. I arrange myself properly, walk to the door, take a moment and open it. My mother came running towards me asking “how is he? Is he going to be okay?” “Everything is fine; you may go inside and have a look.” She opens the door and walks inside. Adjusting my collar I walk towards the left at the end of the corridor which was the way to the emergency exit and stop right at the corner. I was waiting for it. There it came, finally. She blast opens the door. There we stood, face to face, me at the corner, she right outside room 112. Only 300 meters separated us. Our eyes met. Everything conveyed through eyes. The world had become silent to us. It was then that she realised that it was me. We were meeting after 6 years. There was no need for explanations, all was understood, emotions, feelings, frustration, anger. I needed her to see me. Only then would she break down completely knowing she was so near to the killer of her dear family and that she could not do anything, so near to her own son who came back to haunt her, so near that she would wish she never had given birth to me. I wanted her or maybe I needed her to, for self content, blame herself for their deaths. The security alarm was loud, really loud; the entire hospital was on its toes, people running all over. Amongst them, amongst those hundreds of people, there I was blasting my way to the emergency exit. Within minutes the entire building would be surrounded. So I had to be as quick as possible. I finally get to the exit; make my way down the stairs to freedom. Panting from the run, I open the door to the outside only to find two guards standing there with two AK-47s. “Damn, how could I be so silly?” I think. After all, the emergency exits and the back end exits are the ones that were going to be guarded first if anything would happen. “Hey, hands up, hands in the air” they say. Still in my white coat and mask, my hands on the back of my head, I kneel down. They move closer. 5...4...3... my mind is counting, either I strike or its game over for me. 2...1... uppercut to his floating ribs as he bends down to cuff me. As he recovers, I take cover from the other. Giving this one no time, I pull out the wire in my coat, strangle him keeping him as cover for me, I move towards the other. The gun in his hand drops to the ground. I push him towards the other while I strangle him. The other fires a round of bullets in attempt to kill me only ending up shooting his partner who stood as cover for me. No more bullets!!! Game time. I push my cover aside and face him. One down. One more to go. We stand, no guns, no knifes, nothing, it was going to be just like a brawl. He takes the first move, a jab. A jab, I slip; a left hand punch to my stomach, I fall down on one knee with one hand on the ground, I feel the pain. I get back up while he comes towards me. Two forward steps and an uppercut, I use both hands interlocked to block the up-swinging hand towards my chin and jump back. From then on, punch for punch, we laid upon each other. Finally, I got my chance, a hook by him. I bob, swing my punch to his stomach with full force, he falls down to his knees. I give him a taste of my knee. He falls down to the ground unconscious. I snap his head and take a moment of relief and run through the door outside. There was no stopping me now. Once I was out of the hospital premises, removing the coat and mask I blend into the population. The Police I was called a pshycopath by then. It was the result of my past three murders before Mr. Prasad and the boy. My past murders or more preferably called-The Lorkshire Murders. The day after I killed Mr. Prasad: I was back in the headlines. “Pschyo strikes again...” “Murder on Burnsburry highway...” “Indian citizens targeted again...” “Original/imposter?” “Is history repeating?”................ Some of the dailies read. All news channels were busy in coverage of the stabbed body, the body of Mr. Prasad. The police were busy answering the media. They called me a criminal, they called me a pshycopath, they called me a cold blooded murderer. They gave statements that they would catch me as soon as possible, that all possible leads were being examined and that they had certain suspects in mind. “But what leads do they have.” I laugh as I watch the news. Well, after all, that was the standard investigative reply that any police personnel would provide and everyone knew that. Searches around the place were done, nothing was found. No murder weapon, no traces, nothing. They had no fucking idea on how they were going to trace me and I was just loving it. They kept on searching and I kept on enjoying seeing them wander in the dark. The day after I killed the child: The dailies read: “Strike No. 2 or Strike No. 5?” “Yet another one” “Is she next?” Predictions had started by then, people started predicting my next murder. That was actually fun to watch. The police as always clueless were still wandering in the dark. All they could find of me was my movements captured in the CCTV of the hospital which however, was not of much use to them as I was covered with the coat and surgical mask. Hence, they only got a description of my body physique. But what use was it going to be. One month had passed since the death of Mr.Prasad, now another 2 months. Still clueless they remain to-date. .................................................................................................................................................................. Before I understand anything, the glass breaks, a bullet graces my right upper arm and blasts into the wall in front of me. I hold my hand in pain and fall down to the ground quickly. Sniper...sniper...sniper...sniper...sniper...I keep on repeating. One wrong move and I would perish, right into thin air. I dash towards the door, flung it open, run down the stairs and immediately lay down on the floor to avoid being within the scope of the sniper. I was calculating, how I was standing, which side I got injured, from which side the bullet was fired. I had to calculate all possibilities and come to a conclusion as to the location of the sniper. I finally dash open the front door and stepped out. “Click” went a trigger behind me. I was inches away from the muzzle of a revolver. I raise my hands and stand without a movement, everything against me was planned and there was nothing I could do. That’s when I realised, the sniper had not missed, he made me run for my life so that I could get caught by his men who stood right outside my door waiting for me to step out. “I think it’s been 6 years, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind. I recognised the voice; it was a voice from my past, a very dear one indeed. I slowly turned around only to have the shock of my life. There she stood all grown up. There she stood with a knife in her hand. There she stood...Sruthi, my past. TO BE CONTINUED...


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