Sometimes we go back in time to think about what we have done. And we come across many regrets that we can have. Throughout our lives, there are always things that we are very far from being proud of having done. A sweet stolen during childhood, a lie told to our mom, money “borrowed on long term” in the wallet of our father, read through our sister’s diary, the horrible girl taken back home after too much drinking… So many things that we can feel regret and remorse.
It’s perhaps for this reason I’m writing those lines. Because I guess that’s what I must feel. Except that this is not the case. No shame either. It’s possible to say that my life has something very trivial.
My name’s Richard Dwight and I just celebrated my forty-sixth birthday. I’m the youngest of five children. The oldest is named Edward. Then there were Magdalene and Madeline, separated by only two minutes. Nelson is older than me by about ten months. I wasn’t expected, in fact. My mother got pregnant by accident.
I grew up in a small town north of Boston. It’s not worth giving you the name of the town because nobody knows it anyway. My parents moved there after my birth. Apparently, they chose this place to protect me and my brothers and sisters from the torments of the city. The house was at the edge of town. The nearest neighbor was a mile away. No danger of being disturbed at night by the music of neighbors! The house was very small. It was an old farmhouse, but there were no more animals or farm equipment for a long time. I don’t think my mother could survive this.
She missed the city very much, even if she had made the ultimate “sacrifice” to raise her children in a stable and peaceful environment. She became more and more depressed because of the isolation. She refused to let my sisters go out so they wouldn’t become sluts like all the city girls. By cons, my brothers and I could do absolutely everything we wanted. My father was never at home. He was only working to fulfill our needs. Edward was hired in the same factory when he was sixteen. My mother was heartbroken for some reason I’ve never understood. Perhaps the facts of seeing him grow and become an adult… He was still under the same roof as us, but he went to work with my father every morning. For whatever reason, my mother acted as if he was dead. She still had to doubt that it’ll happen someday.
Things have finally changed too drastically when my sister Madeline was caught in the barn behind the house. I’m the one who saw everything, except that I didn’t want to betray her. But my mother followed me… My father was in such a rage. Magdalene took her defense by telling my parents that Madeline was covering her. What a lie! Overnight, my sisters have left home, carrying all their belongings. My parents began to act as if they no longer existed. Their names couldn’t be pronounced at home. I never understood why my parents had reacted this way. It was at this time that my father began to give me corrections as soon as I mentioned one of my sisters’ names. And every time, my mother was crying as my father was beating me. She has never interposed. Then suddenly women had no value for me. They have some use, but very minimal. It’s therefore possible to say that I treat women this way because of my father. He has never done anything to prove me wrong, either.
Ah yes! I forgot to mention something. I’m currently in death row for the murders of several women. I methodically filled a diary at the time. Since I just lost count, but I think it’s possible to say that the total number is around more or less one hundred fifty alleged victims, according to the police. Do I feel remorse for what I did? No, not at all. These women were worthless in the eyes of people. All women of easy virtue, you know?
I remember the first one… It was a simple accident. I didn’t want to kill her, but I couldn’t do otherwise. I refused that she laughs at me and tells gossips about me. We were more or less close at that time. She came to join me, hiding in the barn late at night. We drank a lot before we kiss. Then on day, she refused to go all the way with me. She refused for too long and I was annoyed. She had come join me as usual to tell me she was leaving. I just wanted to celebrate her departure! But she did not. I only gave her a correction for her to understand that it was impossible to say no. That’s it! She fell and broke her neck. It wasn’t my fault. Except that I had to hide her body under the floorboards of the barn. As she told everyone she was leaving, nobody suspected anything.
Her body’s still there, I think. Unless the police are already there.
It’s possible to say that I officially started my career as a serial killer at the age of twenty years old. At that time, I continued my studies in New York and I was working part time as a dishwasher in a small restaurant. It wasn’t a very big check, but it covered most of my meager spending. I wasn’t very good with girls. So I put a little money aside to pay me a nice companion for one or two hours. I did that at least once a month. And one day, everything changed. The prostitute began to laugh at me naked in front of her. I’m far from having the physique of an athlete. The problem was there. It made me angry and I mercilessly strangled her with her own scarlet scarf.
From that day, I admit having killed a prostitute per month until my fortieth birthday. The last one, I mistakenly left her for dead. This is how the police were able to trace me. I didn’t resist my arrest. I’m aware of my actions and I take responsibility for everything I did. I was just disappointed to have made such a silly mistake.
Then, I had my trial like a big boy and subsequently sentenced to death. I didn’t want a lawyer. And I didn’t call my sentence. And I finally got to see my sisters! They’re still so pretty and nice as I remember. They came to see me often as they could. Now it’s no longer possible. I’ll be execute in just a few hours. It doesn’t scare me. I wanted them to hold my hand, but nobody has accepted my request. Even though I made a full confession in addition of providing the diary that I wrote from the beginning.
What is remorse?
© Copyright 2017 JeCy. All rights reserved.
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