It’s now months later and I haven’t heard anything from the cops. I did a fair good job of the cleaning; I’m just hoping that nothing leads back to me while I figure out what is going on. A violent person is not what I am, but finding Mr. Hutchington’s corpse etched doubt into my heart. Hoping that it was a one-time thing I put it off and got on with my life. Guilt riddled me every day and it was beginning to cause strain on my heart.

My parents began to worry, but I constantly reassured them that I was fine. I started helping at a local homeless shelter in hopes to atone for the sin I had committed and in hopes of alleviating the guilt. For a while it helped, and my heart had gotten better. It seemed like I was back to my normal self.

I felt it again as I was at home watching a movie one Friday night. That odd sensation that I felt the night before I murdered Mr. Hutchington came again. After the movie I hooked up this small camera I bought online to my pajamas top and went to bed. I had no plan or idea what I was doing or what I was looking for. I just hope that I don’t kill anyone again.

The next morning I woke to the surprise of no blood staining my pajamas. Instead the knuckles on my hands were raw, red, and had dried blood on them from the broken skin. Horrified I rushed to the computer to view the footage. Part of me hoped that I just got up and pounded at a wall like a crazy person, but my guy told me that I had done something bad.

The camera footage gave the time of three in the morning when I saw myself rise out of bed. I found myself putting on some shoes and a light jacket before grabbing my keys and leaving. I found myself walking out the building and around the corner to the homeless shelter I volunteered at. Instead of going through the front door, I took the long alley path on the side of the shelter to the back. I know that’s where Gloria liked to sleep alone when she was too afraid to stay inside with the men. She was a nice Caucasian lady that had dark chocolate hair, hazel eyes, and the most beautiful smile. She was someone that recently became homeless due to a drug addiction she was currently fighting.

My stomach dropped as I came upon her sleeping ground and disturbed her sleep. I looked around to see if anyone else was there, and there wasn’t. I saw her awaken in surprise and say something, but I couldn’t hear her. For a few minutes we conversed when she started to strip bare. Her hands trembled with every item she took off until she was naked. A second later it looked like I was on top of her while she was struggling.

I turned away from the screen, but knew I needed to watch what happened next. She started shoving and fighting me to get off her. With enough strength she pushed me off her and tried to cover herself with her clothes as tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks. I assumed I must have been yelling at her because she kept flinching. Suddenly I was on her again. This time I wasn’t trying to rape her; I was just pounding away at her face with my fists.

It must have been about ten minutes since the pounding started, and it didn’t look like I was slowing down. Her face was unrecognizable as I continued to pound away at her contorted skull. The squishing sound of brain matter being pulverized played in my head as I watched myself kill yet another person. I stopped and left her there and came back home. I took off my coat and shoes and came to bed.

My brain must have temporarily shut down as I stared at the screen. I looked down at my hands and then bolted to the bathroom to clean them. My shift at the shelter was in a few hours, and I prayed that nothing would lead back to me. Tears streaked down my face as I scrubbed my hands until they burned. Why was I doing this? What was happening to me? Gloria was always nice to me and she didn’t do anything to provoke such a violent outcome. We would flirt here and there, but it was all harmless fun. Nothing serious. What was I going to do?

Previously: A Bad Heart: Part 2

Advertisements