Gerard Way: Serial Killer
My eyes cracked open, revealing my darkened bedroom. The only light that dare exist in my room was a miniscule sliver of sunlight peeking out through between the curtains. I rubbed my eyes, attempting to rid them of sleep. I had slept exquisitely last night, as I always do after I commit a murder. I yawned obnoxiously and checked the small electric alarm clock for the time, though I didn't nescessarily need to. Last night, I'd gotten home pretty damn late, so I was expecting the time to be somewhere around noon or later. But it wasn't. The vibrant red numbers of the clock told me it was exactly 8:11 in the morning. My brain told me the clock was exactly one minute off. I had an exceedingly outstanding wit for that kind of thing. At any given moment, I could tell you what the time was down to the second. I could tell you whether the sun was rising in Austria and when the sun would set in the afternoon. It was if there was a world clock and a calendar embedded in the recesses of my mind. I don't even remember why I had bought that clock in the first place, because whenever I need to get up, my brain sets off its own sort of alarm. Either that or I just stay up all night, crouched on my bed, thinking. Once I realized I didn't need the alarm clock and that it was a frustrating waste of time, I just picked it up and ripped the cord out of the wall socket and chucked it at the wall nearest me, obliterating it into multiple pieces. I just smiled and chuckled, wondering if normal people did stuff like that.
I sat directly up, stretching, and deciding to get up and get ready for the day. I placed my bare feet on the cold wood floor and walked to the door leading into the miniature hallway, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I passed. Recently, I had dyed my hair a fire-engine red. I had to often change my appearance and my location, so as not to be caught by the police for my gruesome crimes. I've been in the location I'm in now for about a month. I will move and change appearance after my next murder.
I shuffled into the kitchen of my shitty apartment and pulled out the coffee filters and grounds from the lazy Susan cabinet and placed a white, papery filter into the machine. I dumped three scoops of the coffee grounds into the filter and filled the glass pot up all the way with tap water and pressed the "ON" button. My inner clock reminded me it was 8:15, and that I'd better get ready for work.
I worked at a small cafè down the road. There were two reasons I had a job at a public facility. Reason Number One: I needed to sustain money for my living quarters and Reason Number Two: so I could scope out the locals to see who my next target might be. Of course, every time I moved and changed apperance, I made a new fake ID. The ID I am currently using states my name is "Winston Davis".
I finished getting ready by changing into a pair of black skinny jeans and a Smashing Pumpkins tee, applying a certain amount of eyeliner, rationing it, because I was running absurdly low. I never get this low on eyeliner without noticing. Hm. I will have to go out shopping later, which frustrated me even further. I punched the wall, narrowly missing the bathroom mirror, leaving a hole and possible knuckle-bruises. Communicating with others of my species just downright pissed me off. No wonder I'd rather kill than talk. When I finished, I went into the kitchen and poured myself an extremely large cup of coffee. I turned off the machine and sipped at the black liquid, savoring the taste. I set the ceramic mug on the scratched-up counter and slipped on my black Converse. I snatched my wallet from the buffet and flipped through it, counting ten dollars. That would be enough for this week's groceries. I hope.
It was 8:28. I had to be to work by 8:30. A brisk walk down the street only took a couple of minutes anyway. I inhaled my steamy mug of coffe, flew out my apartment door, closing it behind me, and raced down the steps to the front of the building. I walked casually into the main lobby, inspecting the people hanging around. There was a receptionist seated behind the counter, head propped up by her left hand, who looked like she hadn't gotten sleep in a fucking week, and an old man who looked like a bum sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs cross-legged, reading the newspaper. Huh. Usually more people at this time of day, but the lack of others soothed me. I pushed open the one-way glass doors and down the sidewalk northbound to the cafè. I arrived and checked in. I was the cashier, despite my hatred of others, but the position allowed me to get a better look at my possible next victims.
Buisness was fast that morning, people rushing to get their coffee and go to work. I saw a few regulars and a few new people, but nobody that I inspected that morning seemed murder-worthy.
Until this short, black-haired, tattooed man walked in. Buisness had slowed way down; only the tattoo man one other person besides the other employees and I remained in the shop. Wow, did he cause a spark inside me. I always could tell whoever my next kill would be, because, well, I just KNEW. This man, though, was different. The way he walked amused me, his smile igniting something deep inside. The way he flicked his hair out of his eyes made me, well, I'm not sure. If I have unidentifiable feelings for this man, then this must mean he's going to be a great target, I'm assuming. This could possibly be my best murder yet, if my senses are going haywire at the sight of this guy.
He arrived at the counter approximately 19 seconds after I'd sighted him. His lips parted and he spoke, "I'll have, uh, a plain black coffee, please."
The way he talked was delightful. His voice was perfect in every aspect. I can't wait to tear him open and listen to him scream. I wonder if his cry for help is as wonderful as his normal voice.
"That'll be $1.75, sir," I smiled politely, hoping to enchant him into thinking I wasn't fantasizing about forcing a knife into his eye socket. He retrieved his wallet and set the dollar bill and exact change into my outstretched palm. I put the money in the register and went to go grab his coffee. I was walking back to the register, but when I was exactly a 9.2 inches away from the counter, I tripped on what seemed like air, sending me falling forward and the coffee splashing onto the customer. He gasped and jumped back, unable to avoid the spray of hot beverage. I grabbed a towel from a countertop and begrudgingly walked around to where the spill was, resenting everything that had caused me to fucking trip.
"Oh my, I'm so-- so sorry..." I apologized, feeling empathy for the man. I began to mop up the spill with the towel.
"It's okay, dude, accidents happen," he smiled. I looked up and sheepishly grinned back, a new, uncomfortable emotion taking over. I gazed into his eyes, which were leaking nothing but honesty. I couldn't wait to see them glazed with fear. I handed him the towel so he could dry himself.
"I'll, uh, get you a new coffee... " I said, standing up.
"Nah, it's okay, uh.... what's your name?" He asked, standing up too, causing me to get all weird with that strange new emotion again.
I swallowed hard, nervous. What the hell was happening to me? "Winston," I stated, pointing to the little shiny nametag clipped to my work vest.
"Oh," he chuckled, then held out his hand, silently offering me to shake it, "Hi, Winston, I'm Frank Iero."
I took his hand and shook it. Wow, I can't remember the last time I touched a live human being in a friendly way. At least I knew his name. I hope Frank and I's relationship of knowing each other goes no further than shaking hands and saying "Hi", because being connected to someone makes it harder to kill them. I know that from experience, after I killed my little brother, Mikey. Oh, damn, was that hard, sneaking into his room in the wee hours of night to slit his throat. But it was a quick and simple kill. My 3rd.
I walked back behind the counter and grabbed him a brand new cup of coffee and walking briksly back. He was in the midst of drying his shirt off when he noticed I was standing in front of him, holding out the cup of coffee at arm's length.
He smiled. "You didn't have to get me another coffee, you know.."
"Yeah, but your last one is soaked up in the fibers of a towel at the moment," I pointed out, arousing an amused chuckle from his throat. Oh, how I want to cut it open..
"Ha, yeah.." He mused, then continued, "You know, you should come have a cup of coffee with me."
"Uh- right now?" I asked, terrified, eyes shifting back and forth nervously. God damn it, what is this boy doing to me?
"Yeah, uh, if you want..." he said, lowering his head and sticking his hands in his pockets. A sign of embarrassment.
I looked around, assessing the speed of buisness. The cafè seemed empty except for us two. I guess I had time to sit and learn more about my next target.
"Yeah, I will, just wait 12 seconds," I told him and went back behind the counter and grabbing an untouched espresso and walked back, which to Frank's surprise, took exactly twelve seconds.
"Dude, how did you calculate the exact time it would take to get from here to there and back so quickly?" He asked, pulling out a chair at a small, two-person table near the front glass wall facing the street and settling into it.
I sat down in the only other chair at the table. "I'm, uh, good with numbers...?" I had thought that everybody had an internal timer/clock/calendar.... does this mean he doesn't? Interesting.
He giggled the most feminine giggle a man could utter and sipped his coffee. "I can hardly count to ten."
I chuckled. Wait, just actually, genuinely chuckled at somebody else's joke. I believe that this is going to be fun, getting to know him. Oh, no... I can't get to know him.. it would ruin me. Frank seems like such a nice person, though. I felt the burning need to smash something. "So, where do you work?" I asked. Oh god, Gerard, don't screw this up...
"Oh, uh, that little record store downtown. It's called Culture Clash Records."
I nodded, pretending I knew what he was talking about. I have only been here for a month and I hardly step outside unless it's to go to work or at night. I really need to learn my daytime surroundings.
Speaking of learning, I could learn a lot about the ways of a normal human being from Frank. Who cares if getting to know him would make it harder to kill him; I could pick up a few useful bits of info about living normally from him. I would have to make friends with him fastlike, because I have already murdered someone in this area.
The next month or so is going to be a delicate dance between maintaining a friendship and plotting to kill Frank. And I can't wait to get started.