Regret 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Tommy Wolfe, a killer in a small town in Amber, Oklahoma, has grown up in a butcher shop and is basically insane. Join him as he goes on killing sprees all over the small towm of Amber, quickly becoming the worst killer in the history of Oklahoma. Will he be stopped before his worst plan can come into action?

Submitted: May 25, 2010

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Submitted: May 25, 2010

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Regret
by Hunter Dollar (special thanks to Aaron Cox)
Chapter 1: Dreams
I see blood and carnage everywhere. Everyone pulls away of fear. I see possibilities. I am treated like a killer everywhere I go. Like a psychopath. Like a social outcast, which basically I am. No one talks to me. But they have that right. Actually, not talking to me benefits them all.
My name is Tommy Wolfe from Amber, Oklahoma. I am not good. I’m a killer. I have earned the name Tommy the Slayer around the back alleys. But at school I am the “weirdo.” No one has any ideas what I do after that last bell. No one knows my secret life on the streets. But it’s about to get out.
The last bell rang. It was now officially the beginning of summer break ’83. All my classmates ran out. Next year I would be a senior. That is, if I lived to see that day. I knew what I was getting involved in. Just not how bad up to my neck I’d get in it.
I was downright deranged at this point in my life. On this particular night, I went out and murdered some chickens, cats, and dogs. The taste of their flesh always was awesome. I took their corpses behind the barn and started a fire. I always carried a butcher’s knife with me at all times (growing up in a butcher’s shop did have its advantages) just in case any delicious morsels came my way.
I started the fire and put the corpses on the piece of tin above the fire. I waited around a few minutes until the animals’ bodies got hot, then I took the knife and ripped open the animals’ chests. I ate their livers, gizzards, and on this particular night, even testicles appealed to me. This was the first time I had ever ate dogs’ testicles. Let me tell you, roasted testicles do not taste good. I spat them out just about as fast as they went in.
After I had had my fill, I took the corpses and pitched them in the creek. Let them be dinner for some starved animal. I could care less. I wanted to go stab someone. It was a weird thought, but Go stab someone ran through my head quite often lately.
I ran into the house of the people whose animals I had just devoured. As I stepped inside, I noticed only one man. I snuck up behind him and put my butcher knife in his back. He groaned and then eventually quit breathing. I pulled the knife out of his back and wiped the blood off on his shirt.
Around five minutes later, I had the bathtub full of water. I took the man’s dead body and put it in the tub.
“Have a nice bath,” I said. I lit a cigarette and stepped out of the room. So with the man’s corpse soaking in the tub, I went out of the house. On the way out I grabbed the matches, lit one, and pitched it on the wood floor. I slowly started walking out across the front lawn. Within minutes, the wood house was aflame.
I turned and took a trail that led along a wooded creek. The trail sloped up and I could see the smoke in the moonlight. I took a drag of my cigarette. When it was burned to the filter, I stomped it out in the dirt.
I heard sirens. From the view of the house I had, I could see fire trucks approaching. As the firefighters stepped out of the truck, I made sure I was out of sight. In a few minutes, if he hadn’t roasted yet, they would find the man’s dead body in the tub. With a stab wound in his back. And then they’d have to fill out a murder enquiry and all that. But they’d never find me. I’d be hiding in my secret home—the butcher shop.
Chapter 2: The Butcher Shop
I went to my father’s old butcher shop and saw an unexpected surprise…my mother.
“Son,” she said, “Since your dad died, I have been having severe financial troubles. I need your help. I need the profits from the butcher shop to help me with my bills and all. My problems are growing, Tommy. I’m very sorry that I need to take any cash just now. Please forgive me in the future.”
She went towards the cash register. Without thinking, I grabbed a butcher knife out of the holder and repeatedly stabbed my mother in various areas. Blood was flying everywhere. On my clothes was blood and guts. Finally her wailing stopped. I checked her pulse and saw she was dead.
I took my mother’s body to the counter. Then I grabbed a butcher knife and chopped her up limb by limb. I put each body part in separate bags and then put each bag in the freezer. Soon I would cook her. And then I would sell her in convenient baggies to customers.
Crazy? Yes. Profitable? Possibly. No one would know that they were eating a new special on the menu—Barbeque Mommy Surprise. This was going to be interesting.
 ___________________________________________________________________________
The next day the customers started filing in. I put up the menu board and labeled my new special as “The MOTHER of All Surprises.” The surprise? It was my mother. People are going to think I’m crazy with “MOTHER” in all-caps. Don’t ask me why, but that actually got more people to buy it than I thought!
“What’s this?” One random customer asked. I answered by slamming the bag that contained my mother’s cooked body parts fresh from the oven, then grill. I slammed some of “Tommy’s Custom BBQ Sauce” down by the bag.
“Guaranteed to satisfy,” I said with a grin.
“I’ll take it,” the man said, apparently interested.
A few hours later another guy came in and inquired about my new special. I told him the same thing, but decided to let this guy try my mother’s torso. So I labeled the bag as Tenderloin and put it in front of him with a bottle of my custom BBQ Sauce by the bag. He sampled it first, grinned, and took the whole bag, slamming a handful of bills on the counter.
The next week came and went. My mother’s corpse was selling like crazy. I had to keep going to the freezer every day and keep thawing her out overnight.
But the week after that, everything that had happened all went to hell. I got a huge knock on the butcher shop door, and then a yell of “POLICE!” Once the door was successfully knocked off its hinges, the cops had me surrounded, pistols on all sides.
“Tommy Wolfe,” one officer said, “You are charged with murder and then cooking said victim.”
“How did you find out?” I asked.
“One of your customers, your praise God customers, found a wedding ring on a ‘fingerbone’ of their meat. The Lord is frowning on you this day. I am ordering you go to an institution for awhile, and then prison afterwards. We have also connected you with the murder of a man who was stabbed then put in a bathtub.”
I was whisked into the cop car, and then rushed to the mental institute.
Chapter 3: Escape
It was a nightmare in that place. All I had was a window to look out at the bleak city. Three pathetic meals a day. Artificial food every day. Never a snack to be seen. I couldn’t sleep on the sad little cot that they left for me. The place was a madhouse. So as the days went on, I planned my escape.
I went all through the wards after hours and found the supplies I would need to get out of this hell-hole. I had read somewhere that a C+ battery, some copper wire, a magnifying glass, and hot sauce would break metal off of a surface. So I got everything after about thirty days of searching and infiltrating the various supply closets, I had everything I needed hidden underneath a little space under my cot.
I set the materials up to the bars on the window, and set the magnifying glass and battery up accordingly. The sun would screw with the battery through the magnifying glass, and after a while, the battery acid would leak through the bars and break them.
It was a long process. It took a total of three years for the whole thing to work out. I went through all kinds of crap at that institution without incident because I knew that eventually I would be able to leave. I’d be able to leave all these other idiots behind and go do other things. I plan next was to train dogs to kill people that had cast me out in school. I’d use the telephone book to find their addresses and sic my newly trained murder dogs on them.
So finally, on that February day of 1986, I lifted up on the contaminated bars and they broke off. I nearly whooped with happiness. My revenge draweth nigh. And the pathetic guards couldn’t do a thing to stop me. I, Tommy Wolfe, felt invincible. Because after everything, I had succeeded in my plan to break out of this dump.
With night drawing closer and the guards soon to come check out my room, I had only one thing left to do. If they saw the bars on the window removed, they’d move me to a high security unit and my sentence would be extended. So I put the bars back up the best I could to make it look like nothing had ever happened, after washing the battery acid off in my sink. If they saw the battery acid, they’d inspect the bars. Then I’d be screwed.
So when 8:30 rolled around, the guards unlocked my door and walked in. They gave the room a quick once-over, nodded a few times, and told me I had managed to keep my room exceptionally clean. They said the next three years would go by flawlessly if I kept this up. What they didn’t realize was, I was out of there tonight.
So after they left my room and locked the door, I got up and took the bars off. I put the bars on the bed, slowly climbed out the window, and saw I was on a ledge below the windowsill on the second floor. I slowly made my way down the miniature ladder below the ledge…and I was free. After the three miserable years I had spent in that place, I was free. The smell, the griminess, all behind me.
I went down the road making sure the spotlights didn’t find me. I crept along the little dirt path, and then jumped the chain-link fence. I was finally away from there. I finally found the sign that said:
AMBER, OKLAHOMA
Population—566
Now that was back in my hometown, I could hitch and no one could stop me. I put my thumb out and waited. Finally a Chevy pulled up in front of me. The driver smiled at me.
“Where you headed?” He asked.
“Never you mind,” I said, and I stabbed him in the neck. He squealed for a few seconds, then died. I pitched his body out the window and positioned myself in the driver seat.
Chapter 4: Training
The day arrived when I was to start training the dogs. I can’t guarantee the outcome, because I have no idea how I’m going to train these dogs to hunt and kill people I don’t like. Someday I’ll probably be caught again and sent somewhere that will be far worse than the happy house.
I had found some abandoned pit bulls out in the woods, brought them back, and locked them up in a kennel. Every day I would hit them all with a huge club. First things first…they had to know I was in charge. I was the lead dog. I was the Alpha, the leader of the pack. I was in charge.
My grandfather had a book from his days in the K-9 unit about how to train dogs to take down criminals. I used the methods described in the book, but took them to a much more morbid scale.
I found some hiker on a mountain trail and killed him. The book said to use scent training. So I used the scent of human flesh and blood. Each day I would go to the hiker’s dead body (I had stored the corpse in a sack under a tree) and tear strips of flesh off, and use the scent training methods on the dogs. The trick was to get them used to human scent of flesh and blood…so that they would kill.
After about a month I thought I had pretty much everything down pat. The dogs now recognized people I wanted dead by pointing. All I did was point at someone, and they would instantly recognize to “Kill.” So very simple, so very effective. The people that I had on my hit list didn’t stand a chance. Poor souls. Poor unlucky souls. It was going to be almost too simple to kill them. And who would be blamed? Some wild dogs.
Chapter 5: Strike
The first on the list to die was a preacher who really made me mad. I felt sorry for him. Reverend Michael Ashton was about to really meet the Lord, so I hope he said his prayers.
I went back into the city limits of Amber with my newly trained dogs. I lit a cigarette and took a drag, pointing the dogs towards the First Baptist Church. The Bible-beaters were having services. Those services were about to really start up, praise the Lord and get-down hallelujah. Went the preacher stepped outside the door to throw away a rag, I pointed at him and whispered “Kill.” Before the doors completely closed, the Rev was being chased down.
I looked onward from the bushes. I heard screaming and then saw blood spatters on the glass door into the church. After a few more seconds, the dogs came streaking back out. My first victim, officially dead. My dogs were amazing. And the funny thing? No one inside that church tried to help the Reverend. What a love those Christians spread around!
You may be wondering why I wanted this preacher to take a trip up the Yellow Brick Road quite this early. It’s because one time I went to that church, and the darling Brother Ashton made a smart remark to me that “If I continue the road I’m on, filled with ungodliness and violence,” that I would most certainly find myself burning in the eternal flames of Hell. I had secretly confided in him that I had killed animals and eaten them, which led to his comment about me going to Hell.
So now, with the Reverend up there in Heaven singing his praises to God the Father Almighty, I grabbed the dogs and led them back to camp out in the woods, by the city limits of Amber.
Now, I have been called “sick” and “deranged” by quite a few people, but let me tell you right now I am neither sick nor deranged. I am simply trying to take some of humanity’s most pathetic creations out of the equation. And, with the method I was using with the dogs, there was no I could be caught. I am a criminal mastermind and I think this may be my true calling. Those three years in the insane asylum just proved it. I had quite a few more victims on my hit list, and one major kill I wanted to make was to completely wipe out that asylum, killing every pathetic “counselor” inside that was trying to “help me” by calling me sick and deranged.
The night after I killed the Reverend, I had my plan in place to go wipe out the mental institution, and all the counselors who dared insult me. I met a weapons dealer who specialized in bombs. So the day of the attack on the institution, I got all dressed up in ski masks and black clothes to go rob the bank. I shot the receptionist dead and took all the money I could out of the register. I escaped with just the right amount to pay the bomber.
Using several bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, some nitromethane, some shock tube, and then some cannon fuse, we had the bomb all set. The weapons dealer had a bomber go in with the bomb, armed with a pistol to shoot the fuses if they failed. About five minutes after he went in, the building exploded. Everyone inside was killed, a later report said. There were no survivors. Even the bomber was killed in the explosion.
“The job is done,” the weapons dealer told me.
“Much appreciated,” I said, and handed him the entire sum of cash.
I watched the building burn until the cops and other authorities showed up, then I took my leave.
I was very pleased with myself at this point, and felt compelled to hit my next target…the students at school who had called me so many names and had completely made me an outcast. That was all three years ago, but they will still pay. They’ll all pay.
Chapter 6: Hate
The dogs won’t be able to handle this job, so I am doing something completely different. I am going into Amber High School with weapons, masquerading as a cleaning guy.
I went in the school and into the janitor’s closet. The janitor was putting a broom in the closet. I walked in and without a word, I put my knife to his throat. Right as he began to scream I slit his throat and down he went.
I took off his janitor suit and took a few cleaning supplies out of the closet. I put on his hat and glasses to make it look like I was him. The suit, however, was a perfect fit. It was awesome. So I went back out and found one student who was now a senior. Mike Henry was a senior who was three years below me that always used to call me names and contribute to my outcast status.
I walked up to Mike while he was digging around in his locker and slammed the locker into his head. I noticed he was basically bleeding from his head and a huge bruise was there. I took my boot and stepped on his head. I felt his skull break in a few places.
Things continued on like this, with me killing a few people I remember very quickly and quietly, and then putting their bodies in a supply closet by the library. It went on for a few hours, body after body. Finally, I had everyone that I wanted dead killed. It was all said and done in a matter of minutes. All the bodies stacked up, one by one.
I left the school with the satisfaction of knowing that everyone who had cast me out at school had paid the price. Now they were dead. They paid for their treachery with their pathetic, good-for-nothing lives.
Everyone that had hated me paid for it. I went back to the camp and lit a cigarette, with my pit bulls jumping all around me. I smoked a cigarette, then another. I went through about four cigarettes in that time span of about thirty minutes, just being happy that I had killed all the lowlifes who had ever had the nerve to do what they did to me.
A week went by. I listened to the radio and heard the reports of the institution being blown up and bodies being discovered in the school. And they never linked it back to me. What a great feeling.
Chapter 7: Hippies
When I awoke one morning at camp, I found a few people in the field strumming an acoustic guitar and smoking marijuana. I was angry. How had I been found?
“Hello,” I said.
“Hey,” one of the long-haired bearded guys said. He looked like what most people defined as “hippie.”
“What are doing on my campsite?” I asked, getting ready to run back inside to grab my gun and start shooting at them all.
“We’re looking for some good reefer,” the hippie said. “Oh, I’m Bobby, by the way,” he said. “Who’re you?”
I looked at him. I figured I’d lie about my name. Exposing myself as Tommy Wolfe could be dangerous. “I’m Red. Just came in from Tulsa. I’m here on a business trip for my comrades. We’re after some good reefer ourselves.”
Bobby seemed pleased. “Well, join us! We’ll find some reefer together!”
I looked at him, thinking that maybe being with these guys would get me somewhere else where I could change my name and pose as someone completely different. After I got where I wanted to go, I could kill the hippies and get on with my life.
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll join you.”
“All right!” He yelled. “Come on, boys!”
“Hang on,” I said, “I have to go get something.” I left the hippies by their hippie van for a few minutes and returned to my shed. I went inside and looked at he dogs that had served their purpose.
“Now,” I whispered to the dogs, “What to do with you?” I took my 9mm pistol out of my bag and put the silencer on it. Without a word, I shot each dog, then took them down by the creek and put the corpses in the water. Let Mother Nature handle the rest.
Mmmmm…Mother…Mommy Barbeque Surprise sounded really good right now.
I ignored that fleeting thought and took off back towards the hippies. I made sure I had my cigarettes, my machete, and my gun. With all of that in my jacket pockets, I was all set.
The weeks went by. We never left Amber. The idiot hippies just wanted “Some good reefer,” they never wanted to leave town, no matter how many times I tried to persuade them to try somewhere new.
When I asked what their big plan was, the reply I got was “Man, we’re gonna go to the Marine Corps! We’re gonna join up with them Marines and go surfin’ and such!”
A few days later, the hippies found some “Orange Recluse” reefer and smoked it until it was all gone. So then they decided it was time that they really wanted to pursue their dream to “surf the USSR” with the Marines.
Chapter 8: Toxic Campout
The hippies made the mistake of telling me that they wanted to go camping before they headed to the nearest recruiting office.
“Listen man,” Bobby said to me, “You’ve been such a big help for us, finding us that reefer and all. Listen pal, we want you to come on a campout with us before we go right ahead and join up with them Marines, now.”
I thought it over, and then decided that the campout could be where I would slaughter the hippies. I would wipe them out and then go back to my old campsite. I began planning for the bloody homicide that was about to transpire.
Yes…this was going to be very fun. My plan was in place.
As I started up the grill, the hippies lit up their reefer. I was just fine with cigarettes. While they smoked their reefer, I lit up a cigarette and took a drag. I was now trying a brand new kind that I bought at a gas station a few days earlier, under the guise of Thomas Wilfe. I slightly altered my driver’s license and put an i where the o should be on my name. The receptionist looked at my license, nodded, and handed it back, giving me my smokes along with it.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I stood there at the grill, with my Marlboro Light lit, and flipped the burgers. When the hippies were so high they could barely stand, or tell what I was doing at the grill for that matter, I took some rat poison that I had brought with me and poured it onto their burgers. I prepared my own burger, minus the poison, and put it on my plate.
When it was time to move on to the drinks, I poured myself some beer and in the hippies’ cups I poured motor oil. They were so high the moment I said “Cheers” they’d drink right up. They always did.
So I sat their rat-poison burgers in front of them, and their motor oil in a cup beside their plate. They all looked at me and said “Thanks.” I stomped my cig into the ground and raised my glass.
“Cheers,” I said, and they all raised their cups and drank them empty. All the motor oil was now in their stomachs, just about to kill ‘em all. I looked at them and raised my glass again. “You guys were cool for the time I hung out with you. But you’re all hindering me from doing what I do best. And what I do best is killing. You guys are now my newest victims. Enjoy your trip to the afterlife. So here’s to you, my soon-to-be-dead friends. Peace,” I added, doing the peace sign with my hand.
At first they all looked kind of dumbstruck. I took my eyes off them and finished the rest of my booze. When I lowered my glass and set it down, they were all dead. It was their own faults. They should have not crossed my path. Soon, maybe people will learn that it’s best to stay away from Tommy Wolfe.
I drank a whole bottle of Jack Daniels and smoked another four cigarettes before I decided to end my little campout. On the way out of the campsite, I went to Bobby’s dead body and reached into his backpack. I pulled out all the reefer out of his bag. I would smoke it soon. I would have me a reefer day. And on that happy note, I got in their VW hippies van and took off back to the campsite I called home.
When I arrived back, I immediately regretted killing the dogs. I originally thought that I would be following the hippies further off. Now that I knew that wasn’t the case, I wished that I had thought things through a bit more carefully.
But it’s all right. My new plan is to just stay in Amber. But with the cops on the lookout for me, especially with the hippies dead, I would hide out here for a while.
Chapter 9: Four Years Later
Four years went by with me in hiding. I spent the rest of the ‘80’s in hiding. I failed to track down more dogs like I wanted to, but I did manage to kill some old retired veteran and steal four guns, a sword, a backpack to load it all in, and also a magical box with a tag that said Life Savings on it. The life savings box did contain a decent life savings, with around $2,000 in it. My guess was originally there had been more, but he probably had to scrape a bit off the top in difficult financial times.
On the way back from his house with all this stuff in the backpack, I saw some old lady driving a ’76 Firebird. Nice car. I stepped beside the car while she was at a stop sign and, praise his almighty Name, the door was unlocked. I opened the door and stabbed the old lady in the neck, and pitched her out the door. I drove the Firebird to my new hideout, a run-down warehouse in the outskirts of Amber.
I had free electricity here in the warehouse. And TV service, absolutely free. 1990 had also brought a new advantage—after being searched for by the cops for three years, they assumed I was dead on the radio and quit the search. Now I was on my own. Such a nice feeling…they had more important things to deal with than some washed-up criminal from ’83.
So I planned to use this to my advantage and continue my killing spree unnoticed. I was a piece of Amber criminal history, and was going to continue making that history, too.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter 10: Niome
I had made my home in the warehouse. The neighborhood around me figured out who I was, and most knew how dangerous I was. It made me feel like laughing, people always looked at me and ran. Mothers would notice me in the streets, yank their kids away, and yell “Look—him!”
So with all this negativity around me, I was at ease. I finally had a decent place to live with free electricity, I had an excellent car (the Firebird) and I had all the weapons and money I would need for quite a while. I also still had the reefer from the hippies.
It was a warm Tuesday in the summer of 1990. No one was around my warehouse. I finally remembered the reefer and walked to my old bag. I pulled out the reefer and lit it up. As I took the first drag and felt the immediate lightheadedness, I heard a knock on the front door.
“Who’s there?” I yelled, extinguishing the reefer and grabbing my 9mm out of the bag. I walked to the door, pistol locked and loaded, and opened it.
Standing there was the most beautiful chick I had ever seen. I stared at her, probably open-mouthed, wondering if she had been sent by someone to spy on me.
“How can I help you?” I asked, holding the pistol behind me.
“I know you have a gun behind your back. I’m not here to report you or spy on you or screw with you in any way. I’m here to request your services.” She explained.
“My services, huh?” I asked cautiously. It sounded to me like she was in heat.
“I hear you’re very good at…certain things. And I have been wanting this specific certain thing done for a very long time,” she said. Like I said, it sounded like she was in heat.
“Well fine then. Whatever floats your boat, honey bunches,” I said. I undid my belt, and prepared to…
What are you doing?” She yelled. “Not those kind of services! Pull your pants up!”
I pulled my pants back up and buckled my belt. “Then what do you want?” I yelled in return.
“Are you serious? You really thought that I wanted to…do…with you?” She was almost breathless.
“Well,” I said angrily, “maybe you should learn to word your requests a little better. What do you want?”
“I wanted your hitman services. I heard you’re an excellent hitman, and I want someone killed,” she explained.
“Well, I can do that. What’s the name?” I asked.
She seemed to relax. “My name is Niome Byrd. And your name?”
“I meant the name of the target, but it’s nice to know your name just the same. You’re beautiful and seem honest, so I’ll tell you my name. My name is Tommy Wolfe. It’s nice to meet you, Niome.”
She smiled at me and handed me a picture. “The person I want you to go after is named Richard Harding. He won’t leave my current boyfriend and I alone.”
“Well,” I said, “I can do that. What’s your current boyfriend’s name?”
“I won’t tell you that. Just please get rid of Richard. For me,” she said, and she winked at me. I really liked her, and I wanted to get with her. I had to figure out who her current boyfriend was, so he could “tragically” leave the world.
“Oh…I really need to use the bathroom. Where is it?” She asked.
“Rusted door on the back wall,” I said, pointing. She dropped her purse and ran to the bathroom.
I took this opportunity to go through her purse. I picked it up and started digging through. There was money, lipstick, mirror, etc. Then, right I was about to give up, I found a folded-up piece of paper. I grabbed it, unfolded it, and saw it was a love letter from her current boyfriend.
Hey babe,
I love you so much. I just thought I’d write you, since I rarely get to talk anymore. I’m so sorry. I have to work all this week. But I will get together with you soon. How about this weekend? Just me and you. We can take a whole weekend off together, somewhere that Richard will leave us alone. If you ever want to drop by my workplace and see me, I work at Norm’s Diner on Main Street in Amber. Hope to see you, maybe on my lunch break we could eat together? I love you and I’ll see you soon.
Jimmy
So his name was Jimmy. He worked at Norm’s Diner. I was going to have a lunch date with him. I had a plan in place. I quickly folded the note back up and put it in Niome’s purse.
“I’m back. So, you really think you can do this?” She asked.
“Trust me,” I said, “I think I can do double that.”
The address she gave me to wipe out Richard was at Steiner Street just off Amber. I knocked on the door, and when he opened it, I barged right in.
“So,” I said, “You’re Richard?”
“Yes,” h


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