I thought she would have asked about it sooner, but maybe she doesn’t want to think back to that time in her life. Maybe she was afraid to ask.
Maybe she’s been biding her time to toss that out there, and I just dropped the grenade in her lap.
Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Noelle stares back at me as she works through how to answer. With her curious mind, she must be dying to know why I killed him. As far as the world is concerned, Steven was my first victim.
At least, he was my first victim as the Serial Killer Santa. The first life I ever took was claimed as myself, as Cole, as someone seeking retribution.
“I-I-How did you know he was my boyfriend?”
I think back to the first time I saw Noelle. She wasn’t blonde, at thetime, she was a stunning brunette with hair past her shoulders and a nose ring that sparkled under the street lamp she stood under.
“Stop it, Steven, you’re hurting me.”
I’ve been sitting in my car contemplating my life choices–as one does on a casual Saturday night–when the sound of helpless desperation breaks my train of thought.
I’ve been in the same dead end job for years, no hope of moving up to something better. And to be honest, I don’t really like working in a morgue anyway. So why would I want to advance if I don’t like the field of work I’m in?
This whole train of thought led to a spiral about my decisions in life and if I should be at a different point in life by now. I’m not married. I don’t have kids. I do own my house, but even that is nothing to be proud of since I haven’t put forth the effort to make it a home.
I need something to motivate me, to inspire change in my life. And as much as I know I should just get off my ass and do it–whateveritis–I don’t have a direction.
What do I really want out of this life?
Why do we put such a pressure on people to figure out who they want to be at eighteen and send them off to college to pursue a career they may not even end up liking?
Well, maybe this is my sign.
“I’m not hurting you, Noelle. Stop being so dramatic.”
Peering through the windshield of my car toward the voices carrying across the parking lot, I spot a man twice the size of the girl he’s with brutally twisting her wrist in his firm grip. She’s clearly in pain, clearly trying to break free, but this jackass won’t let go.
I’m about to leap out of my car to knock some manners into this guy when the young woman slaps him across the face. The shock is enough for him to release her wrist giving her the chance to back away.
Firing her next round of ammunition, she says, “Stay back or I’m goingto the cops and telling them you violated your restraining order.” She’s got balls, in a good way. It doesn’t matter that he’s twice her size, it doesn’t matter that she’s probably terrified he won’t heed her warning, she’s still defending herself.
“Come on, Noelle,” the dick tries to placate her with a charming voice, as if he wasn’t just assaulting her. He’s a fox, he acts innocent by smiling and saying all the right things, but he’s ready to claim his next meal as soon as she drops her guard.
“I mean it, Steven. Don’t touch me again. I’m done with your abuse.”
“Abuse is a strong word.”Gaslighting prick.
“Tell that to the wrist you broke last year.” The girl stands her ground. “Come near me again and I won’t hesitate to hand your ass over.”
This Steven guy watches with malice in his eyes as the girl walks away. I know one thing for certain about people like him: they never stop. He may go after her again. And if he doesn’t go after this girl, it’ll be another he tries to shackle to him for sick enjoyment.
I’ve killed before, it was out of necessity but still, I could do it again. The world would be a better place without someone like him in it.
I watch the guy get in his car and slam his fists into the steering wheel in a violent fashion that seals his fate. That behavior alone tells me all I need to know about him.
But I can’t just kill recklessly. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my day job, it’s to never act on impulse, everything has to be carefully planned. So instead of following Steven when he drives away, I look up his license plate number to get all the information I can on him.
Modern technology can be a beautiful thing, you have access to everything, these days. Including a restraining order filed by a nineteen year old girl against one Steven Boesh for a pattern of abusive behavior. She supplied medical documents as proof of his abuse for the broken wrist she mentioned earlier.
I don’t think anyone would mourn his demise.
A plan starts to take shape, with the details at my disposal and a newfound purpose in life, I find myself with a new hobby.
I take great satisfaction in whispering into Steven’s ear, “This is what abusive assholes like you deserve.” Knife to his throat, standing behind him, I hold all the power. “I just want you to know that your inability to treat women with respect is the reason you’re going to die.” And then I draw the sharp edge of the knife across his throat and savor the sounds of desperation he makes as his soul departs for hell, where evil people like him belong.
