Once dressed I took out the trash hoping the garbage pick up would be today, and hoped that I could act like I have not killed multiple people in front of my parents. But I still had plenty of time before they came so I decided to go and see if the other parts of Roger had been found.

As I exited the apartment, my first thought was to see if there was a blood trail from the bloody bag I carried in last night. There were no blood stains to the visible eye the closer I got to the area where I had murdered Roger. There was yellow police tape cutting off the area of the crime scene, and it seems like the police and anyone else that had been there were now gone. With no doubt in my mind I knew that someone must have found the rest of his body.

I made sure to completely avoid the area in case anyone around could place me at the scene of the crime last night. Just as that though occurred, my stomach inched its way up to my heart as the thought of where the murder weapons were. In a scurry, I ran as fast as I could back to my apartment, and looked at the footage again. I had left the weapons used at the crime scene.

Panic surged through me as I contemplated on whether I should make a run, or if I should turn myself in along with all of my recordings. Surely it would just take them only a day or so to come back with a print. My brain was traveling at the speed of light in hopes of coming up with a plan, but it was all interrupted at the sound of the door buzzer going off. My parents were here.

Immediately I buzzed them in, and did a quick once over of the apartment. My anxiety increased at the sound of them rapping at my door. With a deep breath, I exhaled before opening the door.

“How’s my baby boy doing?” questioned my mother as soon as I opened the door.

With a fake smile, I replied, “I’m doing good mom. How are you?”

“Good, good except for this hip of mine. Arthritis is a pain in the ass these days.”

“Cheryl!” exclaimed my father.

“I know, I know, but he’s old enough to hear us curse now.”

I escorted my parents to the living room’s couch, and offered some refreshments. They each accepted a glass of water as I took the recliner across from them. They seemed to be smiling and in good spirits, so I decided not to mention the things that have been going on with me.

“So son, tell me what you’ve been up to? How’s the old heart doing?”

“I’ve been good dad. Just taking it one day at a time. I’ve been volunteering at the shelter around the way for some time now, and have gone running a bit. Nothing too strenuous.”

“That’s good. Have you gone back to the doctor yet?” asked my mother.

“My next appointment is on the thirteenth of next month.”

“Great, have you met anyone you like yet?” inquired my father.

With a groan I replied, “Not yet Dad.”

“Howard!” exclaimed Cheryl.

“What? The boy hasn’t experience much, it’s time for him to get a move on. Right, Blake?” he asked me.

“All in due time Dad. I want to make sure that my body doesn’t reject the heart first.”

“Sounds good,” he replied.

“I have a question for you all.”

“Sure, Blake. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to know if you all knew who’s heart I have.”

My concerned parents faced one another as if they were communicating telepathically. My mother looked down as my father cleared his throat.

“What brought this on, son?”

“I was just wondering who the person was since I have been experiencing some things that aren’t typically normal of me.”

“Like what?” asked Cheryl.

“Just trouble sleeping, and memory issues. That’s about it. I plan on discussing it with the doctor when I see him. I, well, I guess I also want to know if I’m capable of developing some of the person’s personality.”

“From their organ? I don’t think that’s possible son,” mentioned Howard.

“I’ve read some stuff online about how it may be possible. I read somewhere that six percent of heart transplant patients experience change, especially in personality. I just want to know more about the person who saved me.”

“Go ahead and tell him Howard.”

“Well, son, we had looked into who your organ donor was a bit before we had them put you under for the new heart. The man whose heart is in your chest belongs to a Richard Pullman. From what I can recall, he was a police officer over in Chicago. That’s all that we can say.”

After conversing a while with my parents the anxiety had all but left me; however, I’d still find myself looking towards the door waiting for the cops to barge in. That didn’t happen, and before I knew it my parents were giving me kisses before walking out the door. Not soon after was I sitting in front of my computer typing away.

The google search I did on the name of the police officer my parents gave me produced a number of alarming articles. There was one discussing some of the things he’d done during his time as an officer. Misplacement of drug evidence, corruption, murder, and violence were all in the articles. The pictures of him and his family falsely identified him as a regular tax paying citizen that loved his family and his job.

However, the truth was that he was a sadistic evil bastard that killed his wife, children, partner, and himself after the he was caught in the act of destroying vital evidence in a murder that was later known as him as the primary suspect. The individual that was originally the suspect, had been found gagged and murdered in his cell only moments before the call came in about Pullman and his family.

I had no idea what to do with this knowledge. As overwhelming as it was, the truth is that I have the heart of a murdering bastard. My parents may have known, but it wasn’t enough to stop them from saving their only son. I couldn’t blame them, only the person Richard turned out to be. If it wasn’t for his heart, the multiple homicides I had committed wouldn’t have occurred.

So what do I do? Do I put together all of the information and recordings gathered, and proceed with turning myself in? Do I keep it a secret until I can get things under control? All I know is that I’m running out of time, and have to act fast. I couldn’t begin to wrap my mind around how all of this is accumulating from a bad heart.

 

Previously: A Bad Heart: Part 5