A Certain Kind of Death
Seven
I never wanted to kill, I am not naturally evil. Such things I do, just to make myself more attractive to you, have I failed?
He hummed the rest of the song under his breath as he tied up the beefy limbs of the man he had just strangled. He was losing count, just like he had lost his remorse, his fear of doing things like this. Something in him had really died in order for something vile to take its place, but he wasn't really sorry. It was in those moments he felt an abnormal sense of peace, the hateful whispering his mind would buzz with when he wasn't delivering would become silent.
It was a smell that would draw him to the ones he had to kill. He would walk through the city, detecting different levels of it amongst the people, but there was always one that stunk more than the others, and his head would erupt in hissing demands. They never felt him coming. He'd trail his prey the rest of the day, or days, if it was necessary, until he got them alone. It never played out the same way either, which he found was actually his favorite part. Sometimes he'd have to use his more than capable bare hands, other times objects, or the environment itself, because guns seemed too impersonal. He was just a different type of artist now.
Gerard hitched the body over his shoulder with ease, his hearing indicating that there wasn't anyone around outside. Normally, he'd just leave the body, but this was a paid job, and it had been requested that he make it disappear. The smell hadn't been too strong on this one, either. He'd decided to stuff the guy in his own trunk and take the hour drive to the construction site Sammy's friends had once tried to dispose of him in.
He started the engine and pulled onto the deserted road, turning the dial on the radio until he found an eighties music station. His leather encased fingers drummed on the wheel as the car sped on freeways, enjoying the lights at night as he sang along to songs he knew, as if he didn't have a dead dude in the trunk. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, even when he finally reached his destination and dug a ditch with the sheer power of his hands, barely working up a film of sweat. It had been his easiest and most expensive job so far.
Later, he abandoned the car in Newark and took a bus back to Belleville. He left the station, wandering the streets with a cigarette, because he didn't want to go home just yet. His feet walked on, guided by his subconscious, until the streets became nicer, lined with grander, well-kept houses. He stopped outside the Calvert's Greek revival structure, at the start of the long pathway that led to the front door; the lights were all off, and he was sure they had all gone to sleep no later than ten.
"Just get out."
His insides squirmed when he remembered Steph's face as she said that to him. Pale, dripping with tears, her brown eyes red-rimmed and betrayed. She'd invited him in, not bearing any grudges, only to be scarred in yet another way. It hurt him to remember what he did; he'd felt paralyzed with it the second the fog in his head had lifted and he realized he'd completely given in to his base desires. Gerard shook it off as he crept around the side of the house to the back, where he looked under the flower pots until he found the spare key to the house.
He slipped in noiselessly, he knew all the spots that creaked so well he could have done it blindfolded. He made it to the top of the stairs where he stood perfectly still for a moment, listening hard for the deep breathing of people asleep and only moving once it was confirmed. All he wanted was to see her for a few moments. She would never have allowed it if she had been awake, having refused all his phone calls and attempts to visit for the past two weeks, which he understood. All his life respect for others, women especially,had been bred into him, and he'd behaved like an animal towards her. Even now, he was disrespecting her wishes as he crept into her room to peer at her sleeping face.
But the bed was empty.
The navy and white bedding was perfectly undisturbed, every pillow in place down to the monogrammed cushion his fingers trailed over. It was a weekday, no holiday he could think of, or trip she'd mentioned, and just plain not like her to be out of bed this late. Gerard was annoyed. It began to hiss in his ear.
You think my kind escapes me when I see them? The girl is just like you. Selfish, ambitious.... Perhaps she's grown bored of you, my child. Perhaps she's found another to take your place. Do not let that happen, remember she is mine, like you.
"Shut up," he whispered. "She's not like that at all. I hurt her, because of you. And you won't have her." It laughed, and laughed as Gerard ignored it. He paced her room, finding she'd lain the little frame containing his drawing flat on its face so she didn't have to look at it. He propped it back up. He touched her clothes, her trinkets, he turned her perfume bottles from their precise positions on the vanity table. He picked out the Jo Malone bottle labeled Orange Blossom, tracing her engraved initials on glass, and sprayed it on his wrists, then his neck. It was his favorite scent. "Where the hell are you?" he said under his breath, peering down from her window. He stood there several minutes, then lay in her bed to stare at the ceiling until he decided she wasn't showing up anytime soon.
He crept into her parents' room, where Preston snored lightly and June lay perfectly still, both deep sleepers. It was almost pitch black, but he could see their faces perfectly; tranquil, with the most subtle age lines. Completely unaware he stood at the foot of their bed, fantasizing about killing them. He could snap June's neck first and do the same to Preston in less than a minute. He could burn the house down to ash, he could fake a burglary, he could do a million things to them and get away with it, and then she'd have no one left but him. She'd run back into his arms and stay there, where she belonged. He could give her whatever she wanted now that he had the means.
But no, he quelled his selfish thoughts and removed himself from the house, making the lengthy walk back to his own. His mom would probably already be in bed, but Mikey would be awake for sure. Gerard slipped into their basement bedroom to find his brother half asleep on his side with Blade Runner playing on the tv. His nose picked up the alcohol running through Mikey's system.
"Mikey Way? Are you drunk?" he asked and got a loud burp in response. "Sheesh, a yes would have been acceptable, dude," Gerard said as he yanked off Mikey's trainers and hauled him under the covers without much effort. He removed his glasses and smoothed back his brother's blonde hair before kicking off his shoes and discarding his clothes in favor of pajamas.
"G?"
"Yes?"
"You smell nice."
He hummed the rest of the song under his breath as he tied up the beefy limbs of the man he had just strangled. He was losing count, just like he had lost his remorse, his fear of doing things like this. Something in him had really died in order for something vile to take its place, but he wasn't really sorry. It was in those moments he felt an abnormal sense of peace, the hateful whispering his mind would buzz with when he wasn't delivering would become silent.
It was a smell that would draw him to the ones he had to kill. He would walk through the city, detecting different levels of it amongst the people, but there was always one that stunk more than the others, and his head would erupt in hissing demands. They never felt him coming. He'd trail his prey the rest of the day, or days, if it was necessary, until he got them alone. It never played out the same way either, which he found was actually his favorite part. Sometimes he'd have to use his more than capable bare hands, other times objects, or the environment itself, because guns seemed too impersonal. He was just a different type of artist now.
Gerard hitched the body over his shoulder with ease, his hearing indicating that there wasn't anyone around outside. Normally, he'd just leave the body, but this was a paid job, and it had been requested that he make it disappear. The smell hadn't been too strong on this one, either. He'd decided to stuff the guy in his own trunk and take the hour drive to the construction site Sammy's friends had once tried to dispose of him in.
He started the engine and pulled onto the deserted road, turning the dial on the radio until he found an eighties music station. His leather encased fingers drummed on the wheel as the car sped on freeways, enjoying the lights at night as he sang along to songs he knew, as if he didn't have a dead dude in the trunk. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, even when he finally reached his destination and dug a ditch with the sheer power of his hands, barely working up a film of sweat. It had been his easiest and most expensive job so far.
Later, he abandoned the car in Newark and took a bus back to Belleville. He left the station, wandering the streets with a cigarette, because he didn't want to go home just yet. His feet walked on, guided by his subconscious, until the streets became nicer, lined with grander, well-kept houses. He stopped outside the Calvert's Greek revival structure, at the start of the long pathway that led to the front door; the lights were all off, and he was sure they had all gone to sleep no later than ten.
"Just get out."
His insides squirmed when he remembered Steph's face as she said that to him. Pale, dripping with tears, her brown eyes red-rimmed and betrayed. She'd invited him in, not bearing any grudges, only to be scarred in yet another way. It hurt him to remember what he did; he'd felt paralyzed with it the second the fog in his head had lifted and he realized he'd completely given in to his base desires. Gerard shook it off as he crept around the side of the house to the back, where he looked under the flower pots until he found the spare key to the house.
He slipped in noiselessly, he knew all the spots that creaked so well he could have done it blindfolded. He made it to the top of the stairs where he stood perfectly still for a moment, listening hard for the deep breathing of people asleep and only moving once it was confirmed. All he wanted was to see her for a few moments. She would never have allowed it if she had been awake, having refused all his phone calls and attempts to visit for the past two weeks, which he understood. All his life respect for others, women especially,had been bred into him, and he'd behaved like an animal towards her. Even now, he was disrespecting her wishes as he crept into her room to peer at her sleeping face.
But the bed was empty.
The navy and white bedding was perfectly undisturbed, every pillow in place down to the monogrammed cushion his fingers trailed over. It was a weekday, no holiday he could think of, or trip she'd mentioned, and just plain not like her to be out of bed this late. Gerard was annoyed. It began to hiss in his ear.
You think my kind escapes me when I see them? The girl is just like you. Selfish, ambitious.... Perhaps she's grown bored of you, my child. Perhaps she's found another to take your place. Do not let that happen, remember she is mine, like you.
"Shut up," he whispered. "She's not like that at all. I hurt her, because of you. And you won't have her." It laughed, and laughed as Gerard ignored it. He paced her room, finding she'd lain the little frame containing his drawing flat on its face so she didn't have to look at it. He propped it back up. He touched her clothes, her trinkets, he turned her perfume bottles from their precise positions on the vanity table. He picked out the Jo Malone bottle labeled Orange Blossom, tracing her engraved initials on glass, and sprayed it on his wrists, then his neck. It was his favorite scent. "Where the hell are you?" he said under his breath, peering down from her window. He stood there several minutes, then lay in her bed to stare at the ceiling until he decided she wasn't showing up anytime soon.
He crept into her parents' room, where Preston snored lightly and June lay perfectly still, both deep sleepers. It was almost pitch black, but he could see their faces perfectly; tranquil, with the most subtle age lines. Completely unaware he stood at the foot of their bed, fantasizing about killing them. He could snap June's neck first and do the same to Preston in less than a minute. He could burn the house down to ash, he could fake a burglary, he could do a million things to them and get away with it, and then she'd have no one left but him. She'd run back into his arms and stay there, where she belonged. He could give her whatever she wanted now that he had the means.
But no, he quelled his selfish thoughts and removed himself from the house, making the lengthy walk back to his own. His mom would probably already be in bed, but Mikey would be awake for sure. Gerard slipped into their basement bedroom to find his brother half asleep on his side with Blade Runner playing on the tv. His nose picked up the alcohol running through Mikey's system.
"Mikey Way? Are you drunk?" he asked and got a loud burp in response. "Sheesh, a yes would have been acceptable, dude," Gerard said as he yanked off Mikey's trainers and hauled him under the covers without much effort. He removed his glasses and smoothed back his brother's blonde hair before kicking off his shoes and discarding his clothes in favor of pajamas.
"G?"
"Yes?"
"You smell nice."
@Maila Yasmin
It's been a while, but thank you! :)
10/21/17