Inside the Serial Killer's Mind--Part 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Kevin Harrington's girlfriend has just broken up with him and now he has gone mad...dangerously mad. Kevin surprises himself as he discovers his inner demon that causes him to torture and kill. This is Part 3 of the fictional series.

Submitted: October 10, 2009

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Submitted: October 10, 2009

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Again, another long drive of trying to obey the speed limit, though my heart was beating out of my chest. It was a blast doing what I had done. Yet, I knew that if anyone had heard Ally’s cries of pain, someone would call the police and they would discover a gruesome scene in that basement. In my mind, I came up with a plan…

I returned to Rachel’s. She was asleep. It had been a good three hours. I woke her.

“What is going on?” Rachel asked, rubbing her eyes.

“I found a place to stay,” I lied. “I know I have borrowed money from you before, but I have paid you back. I have a huge favor to ask.”

“Anything, if I have it to give. I trust you, Kevin.”

“Two thousand?” I asked sheepishly. “I talked to an old friend from New York City. I need to get plane tickets and I want to give him something up front for letting me stay with him.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Rachel replied. “It will have to wait until morning though.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Surely, by morning Ally would be suspected missing or found dead. That’s the risk I had to take though. So I had another idea.

“Wanna go out tonight, Rachel? Maybe get a hotel suite? Just kind of a change of pace, you know. My treat, since I am moving away!” We hadn’t fucked in over two years, and my adrenaline was pumping so hard from the events of that night. I think she saw the excitement in my eyes.

“Really? Do you even have any money?” Rachel responded, noticeably surprised.

“I have a few hundred in my account. I worked up until Ally kicked me out and got me put in a psych ward.”

“Well, let’s go!” Rachel exclaimed, hopping up out of bed.

We fucked three times that night. Apparently, Rachel had a better sex drive when she was single. It was the best sex I had ever had!

The fingers rubbing on her clit that night, unbeknownst to her, belonged to the hands of a murderer. She expressed she hadn’t been fucked in six months. We fucked so hard she bled by the end of the night.

The next morning, we fucked one more time before she went to the bank. That one was short-lived due to the pain of her raw, bleeding crotch. I had packed up all my necessary belongings, she handed me the money, and dropped me off at the airport. What she didn’t know is that I wasn't planning on flying from there, or even going to New York City for that matter.

If Rachel found out about Ally, surely she would tell authorities she dropped me off at that airport. Security cameras would show where I went in the airport, andI would then be traced to my ticket. I wasn't going to let that happen. So I planned on turning things around on everyone who would be looking for me.

I called for a cab from a pay phone. I had a cell phone, but my plans were to not use it anymore. Cell phone towers would show all my calls if my records were traced. I asked for a ride to the edge of town, where I requested the cab driver's assistance in getting my bags out of the trunk. There, I took out my pocketknife and slit his throat. I took all of his money, about one hundred-fifty dollars, dumped him on the side of the road, and took off with his car.

Harsh, I know. I needed to get out of town, though. And quick. I did not have the money to pay for any services to get to the next city that had a large airport, which was an hour away back in St. Louis. I made it without incident, however.

I bought tickets at the airport for a flight to Las Vegas. That would be my new home. On the plane, I got some much-needed rest. I slept the whole way. When I arrived and got all my bags, I hesitated. Where do I go? Do I waste my time and money on ahotel room? I didn’t think about this part.

If I was to rent an apartment, I could easily be traced. I needed to get myself a different name before I did anything further. I walked out of the airport and, drained, sat down on a bench. I wrote down a list of things to do.

--Choose a different name

--Change appearance (facial hair, shave head?)

--Cancel cell phone

--Get an apartment

--Get a car

I decided there was no way I could get a job or change my address through the postal service without being traced. It would be tough to rent an apartment also. I had to pick a name to illegally go by. I would from that day on, go by Mark Smith. I didn’t want to choose an uncommon name to draw attention to myself.

That day, I found a public restroom and shaved my head. I was starting to show a thin beard. I hadn’t shaven in a few days. Over several days, I would shower at truck stops, shave my beard into a goatee, get rid of anything in my wallet identifying myself as Kevin Harrington, and I developed a tan due to walking everywhere. I even intentionally cut myself on my right brow with my knife to develop a new scar. I was starting to look a lot different.

I also made my way to my cell phone provider and cancelled my cell phone account. They threatened me with a deactivation fee, but I didn't care. I made my way to another cell phone provider and got a prepaid cell phone.

I got a cheap motel room for the night and, at that point I could really start being in the public without having to worry about anything. So, I decided to head out on the town that evening. Vegas is beautiful. If you have never made it, before you die, take a trip there. It is something to be experienced. I had never been to Las Vegas until I made that emergency trip.

I went into a club. I went to the bar, found a bar stool, got a beer, and sat back, leaning against the bar to relax...enjoying a little freedom. I had just started watching people grind each other on the dance floor when a girl's voice pierced through the music, getting my attention.

“Wow, you look like you've been through hell and back!” she said to me in a raised voice over the pop music, with a perfect smile. A gorgeous blond with a perfect body, holding a margarita, stood staring at me at eye-level, though I was sitting down on a raised bar stool.

“Really? What makes you say that?” I asked, smiling back and sitting up straight.

“The bags under your eyes, looking like your in deep thought.” She hesitated. “And a very bad sunburn on your shoulders.”

She rubbed my right shoulder with her soft hands. I had on a sleeveless shirt. For a moment, I imagined those soft hands stroking my cock.

“Well, I just moved here so I am kind of worn out from it. Just finished the move, so I can relax now, I guess.”

She introduced herself as Tami. And I gave her my newly adopted name, Mark.

“So, you have a job here then?” Tami asked.

“I work for myself,” I lied. “I sell items online for profit. I make enough money doing it that I don’t have to work for anyone else.”

She seemed impressed. We talked about that for a bit. I bought her a couple more margaritas. She asked where I lived. I said I was staying in a motel room until I found a suitable place. She decided to literally invite herself back to my room. I explained to her that I had sold my car for extra money to move and I had yet to buy one, so she offered me a ride.

What a whore, I thought to myself. But I liked it. With all this stress, I needed to get fucked again. We made it back to my room and she insisted on using a condom. As she was searching through her purse for one, several one hundred dollar bills fell out. I immediately focused in on them as she put them back and found the condom.

We fucked twice and she finally passed out drunk and worn out. All I could think of was those hundred-dollar bills. I searched through her purse and counted all her money. Just over fifteen hundred dollars! What is this girl doing with all this money? I asked myself. Her keychain caught my eye. It had a piece on it that had the name of a local strip club. She also had a work ID with her picture, proving her employment. She was a stripper.

Damn. No wonder she is so good in bed, I thought to myself.

I took the money and woke Tami up, telling her I needed to bring her home.

“What?” she said groggily. “Why can’t I just stay here? I’ll fuck you again in the morning if you want.”

“You have to go. And you’re drunk, so I'll drive you home with your car.”

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole!” she accused, as she started putting her clothes on. “I never randomly fuck guys, so you should consider yourself lucky!”

“That’s a lie,” I muttered.

“What the fuck did you just say, you jerk?”

“Never mind.”

Tami reared her right hand back and slapped me so hard I got dizzy and nearly fell. Before I knew what I was doing, I punched her square in her nose. She fell back on the bed.

I was changing. I had never even hurt a woman until I killed Ally. And now a girl slaps me and I break her nose.

Blood almost immediately started dripping from her nose. She dabbed at her nose with her hand and discovered the blood. “What the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Mark?”

She was being way too loud.

“Shut up!” I jumped on top of her and put my hand to her mouth. “Shut up! I do not want anyone to hear you. I said I am taking you home. Now grab your things and get to your car, NOW!”

Even with no visible weapon,Tami knew I was serious. I instructed her to grab herself a wet washcloth for her nose. Lucky for me, the motel wasn’t busy as we walked out. It was about 11:00 in the evening.

We got in the car, a new black Dodge Stratus Coupe, with me in the driver’s seat. “Why can’t I just drive myself or call a cab, Mark? Why is this necessary? You better not hurt me anymore!”

I just kept silent. As I was driving through the city, she kept trying to give me directions, but I refused them and took my own route…to the outskirts of town.

As soon as I found a spot where there was no noticeable civilization, I pulled the car to a stop on the shoulder.

“Get out of the car,” I ordered, speaking for the first time since we got in the car.

“Why?!” she said, freaking out, nose still bleeding. “You’re crazy! Just please take me home.”

I pulled out my knife. “I'm taking your car, now get out.”

“What the fuck is going on? I have never had anything like this happen to me!” Tami started bawling.

Get out of the fucking car!” I ordered.

Finally she scrambled out of the car, taking off down the shoulder of the desert road. I turned off the ignition, took the keys, and took off after her.

She heard me chasing her and looked back. “What are you doing, Mark? I thought I could go!” She couldn’t run very fast in those mid-level high heels.

I quickly caught up to her and jammed the knife in her back. I stabbed her in her back, her stomach, her chest, and the end of her shrill cries for help in the middle of nowhere, was when I stuck the knife straight into her throat. As I pulled the long blade out, I could see in the moonlight a long stream of blood spurting out onto my bare arm.

I dragged Tami by her hair deep into the desert and hid her behind some shrubbery.

I got back to the car and inspected myself in the dome light of the car. I had blood all over my green shirt, so I took it off, drove back into the city. I drove Tami's car back to the club I met her at and abandoned it, leaving her purse with twenty dollars, making things seem less suspicious.

I walked back to my motel room where I changed my clothes and threw the bloody ones in one of their dumpsters. I spent the night in my motel room, waking up at six in the morning. I packed up, checked out, and walked to the highway.

I would hitchhike to my next destination, hopefully avoiding police along the way.

…TO BE CONTINUED…


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