Reaching Heaven

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 2 (v.1) - Chapter 2

Submitted: November 15, 2011

Reads: 31

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Submitted: November 15, 2011




Chapter 2


The man sat down. He was thinking about the girl he murdered. He was thinking about how he didn’t actually murder her, he just left her to die. He was thinking about how beautiful she was, and how her brown hair hung on her shoulders. He was thinking about the tattoo on her leg. The tattoo of a dove. He thought about the police finding her. If they found her body, they would see the dove on her skin. He thought about what her name might be, no reports of missing people had been on the news or in the paper. He thought about her family, if they missed her, if they noticed she was gone. He looked down at the coffee table. The letter addressed to Mr. Ryan Huntsman was still on the table. He didn’t want to open it, it was only a bill.

Ryan got into his Mercedes. He put a kitchen knife into the glove pocket and sat in the leather seat and placed his hands on the steering wheel. He gripped the wheel and bit his lip. His hands loosened, and slid down onto his lap. He sighed. Then, he pulled his seat belt on and reversed out of his driveway. Ryan’s brows lowered, his eyes squinted as he looked out the back window. When he finally got out of the drive, he rode off down the road. He was heading for the forest where the girl’s body was dumped. He needed to hide the evidence.

An hour had passed. Ryan was waiting in the hard shoulder on the motorway. He needed to wait for the road to clear before turning into the forest. He didn’t want to get spotted. Eventually, the motorway had quieted down, and he moved towards the gather of trees. He drove through the forest, the trees green and the area was dark, he had to turn on his headlights to see. The forest started getting lighter, and there were fewer trees. The man turned off his headlights and carried on carefully driving along the uneven earth. He saw the ruins of the hut in the distance. The trees around it had burnt, and the branches were like charcoal. As he drove past, the rusting, metal stove was still in place; it was covered in rubble and burnt wood. The hut was now just a pile of debris on the floor. The police would never be able to find evidence in that. Ryan carried on driving. He finally came to the lake and parked his silver car beside the dock. He got out of the car and left the door open. He lifted his leg up to take off his pumps; he wobbled and rested his arm on the car door to steady himself. When he had taken both of his shoes off, he placed them on the seat of the car. His pumps were an off white. They were dirty from the years, and had holes in the side. They were tattered but they were Ryan’s favorite shoes.

He walked over to the edge of the lake, treading carefully incase of sharp rocks or glass. His toes were touching the water and he gritted his teeth at the coldness of the water. He slowly moved forward, till he was ankle deep. He breathed in, the water was too cold. He walked ahead a bit more, and then he was knee deep. He clenched his fists and scrunched his toes. He waded through, the water lapped at his stomach. Then he plunged his self down into the water, it splashed up his face and got into his eyes.  He stood up and wiped his face with his sodden hands. His body shivered but the sun was shining on his back, and warmed his body. He crouched down and kicked his feet off the bottom of the lake. He lifted his arm above his head and back down into the water. As he swam forward he could feel plants wrapping around his feet and fish brushing past his legs. He stopped and treaded the water. He turned his head to see how far he had swum. He could still see the dock in the distance; he was almost in the middle of the lake. He wasn’t sure where the girl’s body was. He didn’t know if it would have drifted to the middle, or sunk to the bottom. Ryan took a deep breath and put his head under water. All he could see was brown mist. He tried to touch the bottom of the lake but he ran out of air and pushed himself to the top of the water. He gasped for air then took another breath. He dived down, and swam deeper. He kicked his legs to try and get to the bottom faster. He moved his hands around in front of him, feeling for an old potato sack. He swam to the surface and looked around. He knew that he didn’t throw her body this far into the water. He needed to swim closer to the dock. He pushed his body forward and swam towards it. When he came closer, he swam under water and searched for the sack. After a good ten minutes of searching, he found the sack with the body inside. He pulled it up and dragged it by the side of him as he swam. He threw it up onto the dock and then hauled himself onto it too. He lay on the dock, he was out of breath and his heart was racing. He covered his stinging eyes with his face, the grimy water made them itchy and red. His skin was throbbing from the harsh cold. He sat up and stretched his arms upwards, and then he stretched them towards his feet. He then stood up and carried the sack closer to his car.  He gently lay the sack down on the grass and untied the knot. He took the girls body out of the bag, and placed her on the ground. He stroked her cheek and stroked her wet hair. She was very cold and her skin looked blue. Her body was giving off a horrible smell – her flesh had begun to rot, and her skin was raw. He got up and leaned into the car through the open door. Ryan pulled the handle on the glove pocket hatch and grabbed the kitchen knife. He then bent down next to the girl’s feet. He put his hand around her ankle and twisted it slightly. He rubbed his thumb along her dove tattoo. He stroked the bird’s wing, and he stroked the twig in its beak. There was a sunset behind the bird, and made the dove a silhouette. He put the knife on an angle, and pressed it into her skin. It was like cutting through overcooked beef, her skin was tough. He hacked at her leg, trying to tenderize it. Then he dug he knife in deeper until he could feel hard bone. He cut through the flesh and slowly worked the knife to the top of the surface. He picked up the chunk of flesh with his fingers. Despite the fact that there was muscle hanging off the piece of skin, Ryan thought that the dove he had just cut out was very pretty. The colour of the dove had faded slightly, which meant the girl must have got it at least a few years ago, at a very young age, maybe thirteen or fourteen.

After he threw her corpse back into the river, Ryan didn’t know what to do with the inked skin. He fondled it in his hands. Some of the skin was flaking off into his palm, but the blood was dried out, her heart had stopped and the blood was flowing around her body anymore. Ryan thought about whether he had killed her or not. He sat in his car and played with the muscle and fat he cut off. Would he bin it? Or should he hide it somewhere else? He wasn’t sure what to do but he knew that if the police found the girls body, they were bound to try and find the missing tattoo. Then he thought about identifying her. If they find her sometime soon then they will know who it is, even if her tattoo is missing. He lurched himself out of the car and ran back into the water, he fished around for her body in the sack and hauled her out of the water. He stroked her face again, and fiddled with her hair. He touched each freckle and mole on her arm, and he ran his fingers along the hem of her top. Her clothes. They would see her clothes. He stripped the girl down, he took off her pink top with the rose pattern and he took off her shorts. He untied the laces on her trainers and took them off her feet. He scrunched up her clothed and chucked them into the Mercedes. He picked up the kitchen knife again and dug out all of her freckles, moles and scars. He made a pile of dead flesh next to the car tire. He then cut off the top half of all her fingers, toes and thumbs. He pushed the knife down hard and the blade crunched through the bone. Then, he chopped off her hair, and sliced through the skin that the hair was growing out of. He wanted to make sure that the police couldn’t find DNA. He took off his shirt, and wrapped up the hair, fingers, thumbs, toes, moles, freckles and the dove tattoo. Then Ryan got into his car and drove home listening to eighties rock anthems.




I was sat in the back seat of the Mercedes. Ryan rolled his window down and the bitter wind blew into my face. My hair blew behind my shoulders and my eyes squinted. Ryan was driving fast down the motorway. The parts of my body that were wrapped inside the shirt made the car smell like a butchers - Raw meat. Every time Ryan sniffed; he gagged at the smell that filled his nostrils. I liked my dove tattoo. I got it on my thirteenth birthday. A friend of my brothers did it for cheap because he had a tattooing kit. I was proud of the dove that nested in my skin. I liked how all the girls gawped at my leg in amazement when we did PE at school. I thought the novelty would ware off after a few days, but it spread around the school like butter, lots of people who I didn’t even know came up to me and asked if it was true or if it was just a rumour. I then got nicknamed ‘dove girl’.

I rested my head on the window, the glass vibrated in my ear. I was staring outside, watching all the trees whiz past. I didn’t know what Ryan was going to do next; I don’t even think he knew. 

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