Heartless Read online

Heartless

  A.WELCH

  Copyright © 2012 A. WELCH

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1522749934

  ISBN-13: 9781522749936

  1

  Raven stretched out on the seat, waiting under a light. The park was the most obvious place he could find, as he didn’t feel like hiding. The police were looking for him after the incident with his father.

  He got a pen and some paper from his backpack, and took a deep breath of the cold night air. This was what his life had come to. How pathetic. He scrawled a note, his hand shaking.

  “I’m sorry that it had to end this way, but I can’t take it anymore. I have reached the lowest point in my life, and I see no way out of it but through death. Nothing is left but darkness, and I cannot fight it. My father has taken away my sense of purpose through vicious beatings, and no one believes me when I say he’s a monster. If I live, I’ll become the same as him. It is a cycle of unbearable abuse, and it ends here.”

  He signed the note. Putting it aside, he flicked open his pocket knife. It had served him well, and he would use it for one last purpose. He raised it to his neck and waited for the courage to come so he could finally end it all.

  As a little kid, he crouched in the corner as he waited for his father to come home, promising himself that this time he would fight back, this time he would take a stand... but he never did. The kill or be killed instinct grew, but he didn’t think he was strong enough to kill. He was helpless to the brutal violence. Unlike normal children, he had never believed in the monsters in his closet or under his bed. The real monster was his father, and now he was becoming the same.

  He felt like a ghost. An invisible wall separated him from the rest of humanity, stopping him from forming any connections. It was hard to imagine being able to live without a constant urge to kill. Destruction was the only thing that made him feel alive. The urge ate away at his very soul, or what was left of it. The beast would never be satisfied until everyone who had ever wronged him was dead.

  Friends were disposable, family wasn’t valuable. He had no feelings of love or guilt, and his integrity didn’t exist. Decisions were made based on how things would affect him, rather than morals or emotions. Other peoples’ feelings didn’t matter because he would never be them.

  Life was so wonderfully pointless. He wondered why he was still alive, after all the times he had almost died. He sighed, and put the pocket knife down. Death would eventually come, but there was no need to rush it by suicide. This is what his life had become; even suicide wasn’t worth it. Every cry for help was like shouting into a void.

  He put the knife and note back into his pocket. Wherever he went, he was a burden, but he didn’t care enough to want to change that. Having the world be a better place without him was no incentive, because when he died the world could burn for all he cared. If he couldn’t be happy, then no one else should have the privilege.

  Light burned his tired eyes, throwing him back into the present. A police van drove through the yellow grass and stopped right next to him. If he had considered running before, the possibility had completely left his mind now.

  The two officers got out and stood in front of him. They weren’t angry like he expected.

  ‘What’s going on?’ the older officer said. He had a kind voice, but his stance was confident, his arms folded as he stared at him. The other officer had a similar stance, but he let his partner do the talking.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Raven shrugged.

  ‘You walked away from home in the middle of the night. Do you want to explain why?’

  ‘Honestly, I’ve had enough of my father’s... abuse. He beats me, then covers it up and says I’m clumsy and always getting into accidents.’

  The officer raised an eyebrow.

  ‘No-one believes be. This time, I couldn’t handle it. I usually just let him hit me, and the bruises fade within a couple of days, but this time I fought back. That’s how he got hurt. I’d bet you anything he’d tell you I’m a liar.’

  The officer nodded. There was genuine sympathy in his eyes.

  Sympathy felt foreign, something not to be accepted because if others were anything like him, kindness was a way to manipulate people. Some people were fascinated by serial killers, wondering how their minds worked. However, to him, it was no mystery- if anyone was pushed far enough, they would kill. Normal people intrigued him. To go about your day whilst caring about others, not faking emotions, and without a burning hunger to kill buzzing in your chest was the strangest thing of all. Killers were simple, but normal people were a puzzle.

  ‘Alright, get in,’ the officer said.

  He obeyed, getting into the back of the van, realising it would be unwise to ignore orders from someone with cuffs and a gun.

  The car wasn’t how he had imagined it. The whole back was made of white plastic. The officer locked the door, and the air conditioning booted up, blowing through the sides. A small window in the front looked onto the police officers, but he couldn’t see where they were going. There were no seatbelts, so he had to keep his feet against some sort of footrest to stay in place. It was like being inside a refrigerator.

  Names of people he used to know from school, dropouts, were scratched into the sides of the van. One of them had been arrested for a violent assault, another for breaking and entering. He felt like a criminal, but he wasn’t one... yet.

  The door opened, and he peered past the officer to see he was back in front of his home.

  Before the officer let him get out, he stopped him. ‘You know, it’s quite difficult when you have a parent that behaves this way. We’ll be there for you if you need us, alright?’ he said.

  Raven nodded, and he stepped out of the van.

  His father welcomed him with open arms, and Raven froze as he hugged him. The smile on his father’s face was unnerving, and he got the urge to run away, police chase be damned.

  ‘Go inside,’ the officer said, recognising his expression, ‘and I don’t want to see you out here again tonight.’

  When he went inside, Raven glanced out the window and saw the officers talking to his father. He got the feeling that his father was convincing them that he was insane. From what his father said to everyone else, he was a delusional, lying sociopath. His father played the suffering hero in the performance of his life, and Raven was the cruel, merciless villain.

  His father made his grand entrance back inside, slamming the door open and making the windows shake. ‘Soon you’ll be exposed for your lies,’ he said, clenching his teeth.

  ‘I told them the truth. You treat me like shit.’

  ‘If you don’t like it, leave,’ he shouted, spittle flicking onto his son’s face.

  ‘I want to, but I can’t,’ Raven said. His father already knew he had nowhere to go.

  ‘Why don’t you think about other people? You’re so cruel with your lies. You have no right to say I’m abusive.’

  Raven opened his mouth, about to disagree, but he figured it’d be useless. Stomping into his room, he slammed the door, almost breaking it off the hinges.

  ‘You keep this up, I’ll call the police again!’ his father said, shaking the handle of the locked door. “I do everything for you, yet this is how you repay me?’

  ‘Piss off!’ Raven yelled.

  His father kicked the door open, and burst inside. As his father beat him, Raven’s vision went dull and his body went numb. He was vaguely aware of fighting back, and the blood on his knuckles confirmed it. Next thing he knew, his father was on the ground, crying and howling in pain.

  Raven’s eyes widened as he realised what he had done. Running outside, he heard the door lock behind him. He checked if the police were still out the front, but no one was there, so he sat down ag
ainst the fence.

  It was going to be a long, cold night. If the police were called again, his father would say he was defending himself, making up a story about how his son was a monster like he always did. The psychologist he saw once a fortnight would be on his father’s side, diagnosing him with whatever mental illness seemed feasible so no one would believe anything he said. It was all a part of his father’s game.

  Everything ached, and his eyes felt like they were on fire, but he could ignore it because he was used to the beatings, this would only be one of many to come.

  2

  It was two weeks after Raven’s sixteenth birthday, which, as usual, had been awful, with his red-faced father throwing out half of his presents after a fight. His guilty conscience made him buy gifts, but his rage compelled him to destroy them. Their mutual hatred only grew worse as time went on, and Raven made sure that his father’s birthdays were ruined too, by leaving town each time so his father would spend it alone.

  Almost every night, when his father went to bed, he went for a walk through the darkness. He had learned the timetable of the town. First, at around 10 the stray animals came out, then at 11 thugs trespassed into schools and wandered through yards, then at 1 the police patrolled the streets, and at 2 the drunks stumbled out of bars and loitered in alleyways. Sometimes he sneaked into people’s yards to watch them go about their business, but he wasn’t the usual peeping tom. It wasn’t just to watch women undress, as that didn’t bring him pleasure, it was to observe the peaceful moments of life; a parent tucking their child into bed, or lovers giving each other a peck on the cheek before they turned out the light. Tonight was no different from usual.

  A quick check of his phone told him that it was almost 1 AM. Pulling his hood up to hide his face, he scanned the road for other night wanderers. The streets were deserted. The only thing that disturbed his peace was the police sirens blaring in the distance. He stuck to the shadows, knowing that if the police saw him they’d take down his name and his plan would be ruined.

  A dog appeared. He scanned the road once more for any onlookers, then followed it down a one-way street. The wheezing and whimpering told him that it was old and injured. Every night, he had looked for just the right animal to use for his... project. Most of the dogs were too feral to approach or were labeled as somebody’s pet, but this one was different. It didn’t growl like most dogs when he came near it.

  ‘Here, boy,’ he said, and whistled.

  It looked back, its weary eyes staring at him, then turned its sparsely furred head and went about its night.

  With the flick of a knife, several satisfying crunches, and a pained howl, the dog was still. He crushed it with his boot to make sure it was dead, breaking its neck, then shattered its legs for the hell of it.

  Voices arose in the distance. He knew he had to leave quickly, but he couldn’t help but admire his work. The tortured animal lay there, broken. Just like him.

  Bringing himself back to reality, he stuffed the corpse into a plastic garbage bag he had kept rolled up in his pocket. The dog felt warm as he held it, like a newborn baby. Well... one that was in pieces.

  3

  His father went on a trip, leaving Raven alone for two days. It was frustrating to have to wait so long to start a dissection, but it wasn’t worth the risk to do it when his father was around. At least for those two days he wouldn’t have any additional scars and bruises to add to his body.

  Going into the garage, he found the dog in an old fridge down the back, covered in a plastic wrap and several bags. The acrid smell of sewage, dirt, and blood hit him like a freight train. He gagged, hunching over, then composed himself. It would be suspicious for another dog to disappear in the same week, so this one would have to do, even if it smelled like death. The old fridge buzzed, the light flickering, and he wished he had gotten the opportunity to take out the carcass earlier.

  He carried it out, the corpse feeling almost human-like as it rested on his shoulder, and put it on a table under the tree in the middle of the yard. Its leaves covered what he was doing, in case the neighbours got curious.

  The dog’s judging eyes wouldn’t stare anymore. He cut off its head, then placed it in a large jar. He filled it with a combination of ethanol and water. With a twist, he popped the lid on, then put it on the table.

  It would be a good addition to the assortment of animal parts he kept in jars on his shelf in his room. His father never went in there, so he had no idea about his little museum. However, just in case, he draped a towel over the shelf during the night, so if his father came in while he was sleeping he wouldn’t see the collection. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing those body parts. They were trophies. The thought of putting a human head in a jar like that had passed through his mind several times, but he knew that it wouldn’t be easy to find a jar large enough. Killing an animal was simple and quick, but a human would require months of planning if he didn’t want to be caught.

  He pulled himself back to reality, realising he was holding a tarp. He spread it over the table, then shoved the dog on top of it. ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we,’ he muttered. Slapping his gloves on, he gave an empty smile.

  He put a wooded board on top of the tarp, and got out his dissection kit. It comprised of a handsaw, a hobby knife set with ten different scalpels, gloves, disinfectant, a hammer and nails, and other miscellaneous supplies.

  He pulled out the handsaw and sawed off the limbs. Each part went into a plastic bag, which was stored beside the garage for later use. He knew of a few people that he watched at night that deserved a good scare from him leaving the dismembered limbs on their front porches.

  Laughing at the thought, he hammered several nails down to hold the stomach open. The flesh was decomposing and cold and looked nothing like the soft pale pink skin the dog had when it died.

  The liver, heart, and lungs made it out alright, but the other innards broke apart, making them useless. He slid them across the board so he could throw them out later.

  It was odd how the sickest of things gave him the most pleasure. Donating money to the poor didn’t give him a flicker of emotion, but dismembering an animal gave him peace.

  He worked on the heart first, ripping into it like a piece of steak. The inside was dark purple with splotches of blue, and dried blood pooled at the centre.

  When he was younger, he never thought he’d be literally ripping open another creature’s heart, but there he was. It was just one more thing to add to the list of reasons why he was different. It was right up there with beating a school bully senseless, putting him in hospital, and screaming a colourful array of blasphemy and swear words at Mass. Part of him hoped that he would never feel normal, because then he would have to confront all of the seemingly immoral things he had done.

  According to the priest, Hell was created for people like him. They didn’t let him back into the church after that. He wasn’t too worried; at least he got to sleep in on Sundays and go for a walk on the beach while his father was still at the service. If the priest was right, then he was damned, but he sure didn’t feel like it. Unlike other people, Mass didn’t bring him inner peace. It only made things worse, because it reminded him of the virtuous, happy person he should have been.

  Thoughts like this continued to invade his mind. Sliding the heart aside, he sighed. No matter what he did, he couldn’t win, so he figured he shouldn’t try.

  The dog’s lungs looked like pinkish shells as he opened it, the flesh surprisingly thick. Tiny veins ran along the skin, and the opened windpipe attached to them looked like the crinkled top of a plastic bottle. These were the very lungs that filtered air for the wheezing dog he could see so vividly in his mind. It was like looking at a relic from the past.

  Other people thought killing was wrong, but to him, it felt so right. It gave him more pleasure than sleeping in on a peaceful Sunday morning, or eating his favourite meal, or even the most passionate of kisses. But being better than that wasn’t
hard, because when he kissed the first girl he went out with, he felt nothing but her cold lips on his. They were lifeless, like kissing a corpse. No attraction tingled inside of him towards anyone, and he was naive to think that she would be an exception. They broke up not long after that. She cried for a week, he lingered over the thought for an hour and then moved on. It was strange how attached some people could get.

  He remembered the lighter he had stolen from his father, nestled under several layers of clothes in his bedroom. He made a mental note to use it some time. There was no point keeping it if he didn’t use it. Fire fascinated him, and he enjoyed the crackling sound as things burned. It didn’t matter what it was, whether it was a doll or a tree, it calmed him down when he watched it go up in wondrous, bright flames. The images of his father burning in front of the church flashed through his mind. He let it linger, but knew the man deserved much, much worse.

  While these thoughts danced through his mind, he finished his work, putting the remains in a garbage bag and throwing it into the neighbour’s bin. He wasn’t one for funerals. Death was death; it wasn’t worth celebrating.

  As he cleaned his tools and sharpened his scalpels, he felt oddly calm, almost satisfied.

  Almost...

  4

  Raven’s eighteenth birthday had just passed, but nothing much had changed since he was a child. The grating feeling got stronger, urging him to kill something larger than a dog. With his impulses, it was either kill himself, or kill someone else. He knew which one he wanted to do; he just needed an excuse.

  5

  The librarian told Raven to be quiet, and he realised he was tapping on the table. Stopping, he put down the book he was reading: ‘A History of Forensics’. To his surprise, the library had a whole section on forensics and murderers. Had he not been the way he was, he would have found it concerning.