Google Images... Artist: Ian Joyner
[I've been posting two chapters at a time- but this is kind of long, plus I've added quite a bit... Improved it too I believe. I hope you enjoy- and remember, if you've been following both stories- send me some feedback on how to combine. I think I've figured it out now, but you probably have a better idea]
The Girl With No Name
It had been almost six months since the last murder... I prayed I was off the hook, but there was no way out for me now... I had not only become- I had become famous. I even had a name now given to me by the Boston press- they dubbed me, The Demon Butcher! If they only knew! The judge had been ruled an accident- lucky me. Six months and nothing... maybe the demons would leave me alone. I almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but I knew better. As long as I was alive, they would never leave me alone. I was now OF them... the old song again- "I am you and you are me... and we are all together..." It wouldn't stop playing in my head.
I stopped by the house on Mass Av to see Reggie and get a bag. He told me that the cops had been there showing pictures of people coming in and out of the building... one of them was me. They were investigating the murdered girl upstairs. Reg asked if I knew her and I told him I may have seen her going in or out- but, no I didn't even know her to say hi to. But why would the cops be taking pictures of people at an apartment building? It really didn't make sense. The only person I knew there was Reg... who else could live there? Surely they couldn't be taking pictures in anticipation of a murder that hadn't happened yet. This must be something bigger than a murdered girl. It wouldn't be over weed- everybody in Cambridge smoked... even many of the cops. It was the 70's. Unless you were bringing in bales or selling heroin, the cops pretty much left you alone. So clearly, it wasn't Reggie they were watching- we were both perplexed.
When I left Reggie's I ran into my friend Bugs who lived across the street. "Hey," he called out, to me as I was on my way down the steps, "guess what happened?"
"The cops came by with with pictures," I said, "about the chick that got killed."
"Yeah," he said, "and one was of you. You killing chicks now?"
"Yeah," I yelled back, "and it ain't just chicks- so watch your ass. Actually, I know all about it, Reggie told me. You know him- on the first floor?"
"Just to say hi to," said Bugs.
"Well, fuck this," I told him. "I ain't the cops go around accusing me of anything."
"What are you going to do?" He asked.
"I'm going to the police station and find out what the fuck is going on." I told him. "What else?"
"Are you shittin me?" said Bugs.
"I didn't kill anybody and I don't like the cops showing my picture around to my friends," I said. "This is bullshit!"
"Bad idea, but good luck," Bugs said. And I took off.
I went to the cop shop to raise some hell over the pictures... I knew most of the cops and they were basically a decent enough bunch of guys... and I wanted to know what the hell they knew. All the time in the back of my mind I was desperately searching for a way to end this madness. Truthfully, I would have loved to turn myself in, but couldn't... They wouldn't let me- they had plans and I was a part of them. Sgt. Joe Bellisimo was on the desk when I walked in. I knew him and he was a really good guy... we went to the same barber and he was related to some of the guys I play ball with. "Hey Joe," I yelled. "What the fuck is going on with the cops showing my picture to all my friends over some dead girl? I didn't kill anybody... you guys all know me. I'm no killer."
"Take it easy Eddie, take it easy." he was laughing. "It's just routine. They're showing pictures of everybody, that goes in or out... It's not just you."
"Well, my friend Reggie lives on the first floor, I go by to have a beer with him sometimes." I said angry enough to spit. "And I don't give a fuck about 'everybody', I care about me. What are people going to think, me being a suspect in a murder?"
"Yeah, we know. He told us," said Joe. "And who said you were a suspect? We're showing photos of people who visit the building."
"Well, I don't like being implicated. It makes me look bad," I told him. "Besides, do you go around showing pictures of guys that aren't suspects. I can see it now- 'Do you recognize this guy? He's not a suspect.' Give me a fucking break."
"I know, Eddie, I know," he said paternally. "It's not just you. They've got pictures of everybody that goes in or out... I told you that."
"What's going on in that place that you guys are taking pictures?" My curiosity was up.
"I can't tell you that," he said. "But it's really big and has nothing to do with a murdered girl. That's all I can tell you."
"Thanks Joe." I left feeling not too much better. At least I didn't seem to be a suspect- not that they'd tell me if I was- and that's all I really cared about at this particular time. I wasn't really even sure how I felt about that.
About a week later I was at Star market up in Porter Square shopping. She was in front of me in line and she was absolutely beautiful... The kind of beautiful you never forget. Not the cheap, Playboy kind of beautiful, but real beauty. She was blonde and poised, her hair that pale radiant color... she almost glowed, like she had a halo. She looked up at me as she picked up her bags and she smiled at me, her lips parting to show perfect teeth. She wore no makeup- it would be like painting over the Mona Lisa with fluorescent paint. Her eyes were the color of the Atlantic- that greenish, bluish, grey. Her smile was innocent and pure. She was as close to perfection as anything I had ever seen- either in a work of art, or real life. I tried with all my might to look away before they saw her. I wanted to run away as fast as I could, but I couldn't move. I stood there transfixed by her beauty. It was too late... they had seen her too.
They hated her for her beauty. They despised her innocence and purity. She would die and this was to be their masterpiece. How I hated them and I hated myself for being their instrument... even if it was unwillingly. I had never, on my own, had a thought of killing anyone- except in battle to save myself and my comrades. As I walked out of the market she was there, struggling with her groceries. Why in God's name couldn't she already be gone? I walked over and asked, "Would you like a lift? You look like you could use a hand."
"I'll be ok thanks," there was that smile again, so pure and unassuming. If she only knew.
"I'm not trying to hit on you, or anything," I said, "You just looked like you needed some help and my car is right there."
"I don't want to take you out of your way," she said.
"No problem, I don't have anything important to do... It'll be my good deed for the year," I said trying my best to smile sincerely. I felt terrible but the die was cast. One way or the other- she would die and she would die today.
I drove her to her home and watched until she was safely inside. She turned at the door, waved and smiled... it was the last time I ever saw that smile again.
I waited until dark and went about my gory duty. She lived on the second floor of a three decker in North Cambridge. Getting in was no problem. She was already asleep and I watched her as I stood silently in the shadows. She was so beautiful lying there in her cotton nightgown, perfect breasts straining against the thin fabric. Her body was as desirable as her face- both flawless, as if designed by the gods. I didn't want to spoil that beauty... it was the kind of face that poets wrote about... the kind that men fought and died for willingly. It was the face that could easily have launched the thousand ships that history told about. She murmured smiling sweetly- she was dreaming. I walked toward her tears streaming down my face...Oh, how I wanted to die right now... If it could only be me instead of her.
I don't remember walking slowly, silently forward- that's how it always happened... It was like being in a blackout. I was perfectly aware of what I was doing while it was going on- but afterwards, I remembered nothing... Like with Donna, Bobby and Jenn and the others. She awoke when I grabbed her, looking up at me as I began my gruesome business... her eyes full of terror, as if she knew what was about to happen. I withdrew the knife from its scabbard behind my back and showed it to her... then she knew for sure. Her eyes spoke forgiveness- her kindness and compassion shone through her pain. This enraged the demons even more... even though my eyes were filled with tears of shame and remorse- their rage became mine. I worked slowly and methodically, making certain she remained conscious... a witness to my shame and the cruelty of the demons.
The headlines read: Demon Butcher Strikes Again... I almost couldn't bear to read about it. They said it was the most gruesome murder in the city's history. I could feel hatred for the demons welling up in me, wanting to boil over. I was sick! Sick and sickened... the paper said that she had been disemboweled, hung with her own intestines while she was still conscious. The Night Gods danced with glee! I had to stop...or be stopped. I couldn't take it anymore.
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