June 19, 2008

Before you judge me for the events that unfold, I never wanted to hurt anyone. All my life I was someone who had a routine, who was neat, that was, until I met…you. It was about age 24 when my anger first took over. I was being mugged. My mother always told me to be careful in Toronto at night, but this was the first time I was ever in the grasp of danger. I don’t know what took over, but when I was being mugged my instincts kicked in and before I knew it, I was next to a dead man. 

It was hard cleaning up my first…mess. It felt like something out of a true crime show my grandfather always had playing on the TV in the family summer home. Ah, the familiarity of childhood, being in Boston during summer with my grandfather, William. How the scenes of my childhood greatly contrasted the blood and the coldness of the alley—the one I had first killed in. After that night, I would eventually get the hang of killing and cleaning my messes. That first night though, the first time I ever let the anger take control, was euphoric.

As I was finally done cleaning the mess I had made after my first homicide, I stopped into a tavern not expecting to meet anyone. I wouldn’t know it then, but I would meet my best friend, and my partner in crime, Paul. It took a long time for me to open up about my dark tendencies. It was definitely a process, but eventually Paul learned. I don’t know how, but it’s like he always knew. Eventually, Paul was with me all the time when I let myself loose and let the anger take control. He never wanted to seem to help me. He just would sit and watch, and he would never be there for the killings, even though I swear he was; it was like he would just disappear when the anger took over.

I was working my normal day-job at the harbor when I met you, Sage. I know you probably don’t think about the day we met as much as I do, but it is always on my mind. On the day we met, my mind spiraled somewhere it hasn’t been since before I started my carnage. 

***

I turn to look at Sage, the pale brunette who changed everything for me and speak. “I want to change. I really do, you could have helped me Sage but in the end you have denied this side of me. Not the way Paul does.” I turn my face to look in the corner where Paul is seated. Sage turns her head to look where my gaze lingers.

Sage finally speaks for the first time since she woke up tied up on my boat. “You’re sick, Grayson. Untie me and we can help you…together.”

I watch as Paul shakes his head in the corner. Her opinion no longer matters to him, and it shouldn’t matter to me, either. I can’t bring myself to do this, not to her. I have done it before to plenty of others; she will not be the one to stop me now. 

I open my mouth and the words pour out: “I could have stopped killing, I really could have, you could have helped me.” I turn to see any look on her face, but all I see is displeasure, perhaps even disgust.

Something in me takes control and I slowly unbind the knots of rope that hold her hands in place on the metal pipes of my boat. I look into her eyes for a single sign that she would stop this madness, accept who I am, and we could be happy. Although, before I can speak, begging her to see my point of view, she strikes me in the face hard enough that my head hits the side of my boat. I turn to look for any sign of Paul to help me, but he is gone from his corner, in fact, gone from my boat somehow. 

Something takes over me in his absence, this familiar feeling of anger and of hate. I try to reason with Sage to get her to stop this foolish attack on me but she has nothing in her eyes except for hatred in its purest form, and if that’s the way my love wants to be, I shall only return it.

Her fists clobber on me and I try to shield my face with my hands. I pick up a bucket that I usually use to hold mop water and I raise it. All of my feelings are manifested in a repeated swinging of the bucket over and over. When I look at Sage’s eyes I feel scared. For the first time in my life I am scared of my own actions. When the emotions in me finally subside, I throw down the red-stained bucket and look down to see the bashed-in head of Sage.

I look up and see Paul again, the anger takes over me again, the sight of the man who left the serious situation. He could have saved Sage’s life if he had helped me give her more time to come to terms with the man I am. 

I speak with an angry and warning tone. “Paul get out of here, this is the one time I didn’t need or want you to disappear. We could have saved her!”

Paul only looks at me as if peering into my soul, knowing that deep down, me and him, we’re the same when it comes to our lust for violence. My hatred for him at this moment can no longer take it and I swing at him. I feel a sharp pain in my fist, but it’s not the type of pain you get from hitting a person. I look up and see my fist up against the wall of my boat. I am finally awake to the dark truth in me: there is no Paul and there never was. I turn and look at the mess that I’ve made, that Paul has made. No, I must not think like that anymore, I am Paul and Paul is me.

I no longer see the illusions of my mind and I must come to terms with reality, that the person I thought was the one, is dead next to me. That the person who I thought was my best friend was some sick work of my imagination. I understand now what Sage meant when she called me sick. I slowly work to clean the reminiscence of my crime, I sadly toss her off my boat. Even though she wasn’t the one, I still cared, at least, I think I cared. After the body is in the depths of the water and I am back on land, I see quick flashing memories, ones I don’t remember that of someone named Paul. I was never Grayson was I? I wonder if I was ever Paul. Is he the original? Or, am I the first in a long line of people who have hurt others, slowly poisoning all the happiness around them?

I start to feel pain in my head from all this thinking, all this truth being presented to me. I feel my control on my own self slip. I grab onto whatever handlebar I can find on the dock. I will not let this cycle continue. I will not let my mind, my other selves, find another place to restart, but it’s too late for me. I close my eyes and accept the void that my story has become.

June 18, 2013

I scroll on my phone sitting in my home. It’s nice and calm here in Boston. I remember my childhood, growing up around these parts. It was never easy, but my parents worked hard to give me the good life I had always wanted. 

I turn on the television and flip to my favorite true crime show. Today they are running the ads for this five-year anniversary special of some brutal killer from someplace in Canada. I watch the advertisement and see flashes of what will be in the episode. I see the body. My head starts to hurt with a throbbing pain as I see the imagery before me, some girl had her head smashed in by some crazy man on his boat. The imagery seems all so familiar to me but I haven’t the slightest clue why. I mean, I’ve never even heard of this case before. I get flashes of me in a cafe, I’ve never been in with a brunette girl with the palest skin I have ever seen, but the thing is I don’t know her.

I shuffle through my cabinet and take some Tylenol for whatever headache this is; hopefully it will stop whatever things I’m seeing as well. I get a ding from my phone and look down. It’s my best friend, Grayson, texting to make sure the plans for tomorrow are still on. Tomorrow, I am meeting with a girl I’ve been talking to for a few weeks for a coffee, but honestly, I need my friend there as a wingman.

June 19, 2013

I watch from my chair as a girl slowly enters a cafe, looking around the place for the man who would resemble the man on her phone screen. She finally spots me, alone at a table near the corner of the restaurant, and walks over, putting on an inviting smile. I look up from my seat and study her. Perhaps I have found the one. I haven’t had much luck in my life, but perhaps the exception can be her.

The girl puts out her hand and says, enthusiastically, “Nice to meet you! I’m Nora, and can I just say, it has been so nice talking to you online. It’s so hard meeting people nowadays!”

I smile at her enthusiasm, even in such a dark world she can be happy. I can’t tell her yet, but sometimes the anger controls me. Trying not to be rude, I finally respond: “My name is William. I hope you don’t mind—I brought my best friend with me. Sometimes I kind of need a wingman.” 

I point to where Grayson is seated at the next table over. My senses go on alert when her gaze falls on the chair and her eyes widen, looking at me like a deer seeing a wolf on the hunt at night. What is it she has to say about my friend?

I speak again, trying to break whatever unease she appears to have about my friend. “I hope we get to know each other great, I must say I think you might be the one.” I smile at her in this small cafe. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve been here before, maybe not this exact place, but something feels off in my mind. Could this be what they call deja vu? I’m not quite sure. 

Quickly, Nora gets up and makes an excuse to leave, telling that something is off, something is wrong about me. I let her leave the cafe and then I slowly got up from my seat. I will not let her, the one, get away. I rise from my seat and look at Grayson for help, but he isn’t there, and before I know it my instincts kick in. I run through the streets after her, shrouded in the darkness of night. The hunt is on…again.

I don’t know what this force is taking me over, I really don’t. I swear, all I know is that when I do these things, I’m not in control. My mind seems to be a host for some form of evil on nights like this, on nights where my darkness takes the wheel.