Advertisement
Please wait...

Journal of a Psychopath: Finding Adeline



Estimated reading time — 24 minutes

I am a retired Private Investigator turned Real Crime Blogger.  I have been receiving anonymous manuscripts in the mail detailing heinous acts of appalling psychopathy.

For reasons concerning my work and this situation, I don’t want to give you my true Identity.  You can refer to me as Mr. S.  I started in my early years as a detective.  As you know, I was highly effective at my job, and before long I started taking much higher paying jobs as a freelance Private Investigator.  Over the years, I have solved several high-profile cold murder cases.

Unfortunately, in a work-related attack, I was seriously injured and retired from my job as a Private Investigator 5 years ago.  Since then, I have started a well-known Real Crime blog and podcast.  

Recently, I started to receive handwritten manuscripts from an anonymous source in the mail detailing heinous acts of dark psychopathy.  No return address.  

Although it’s been some time since I received the second manuscript, today, I received a third manuscript.  As soon as I pulled the large brown envelope from my mailbox, I knew what it was.   On the outside of this third envelope, the following message was written:

“In order to achieve greatness, one must find their weaknesses, understand them, and destroy them”

Below is the third manuscript.  This manuscript was titled, “Finding Adeline.”  

If you have not yet read the first two manuscripts, you should read those first using the links below.

Be warned, I believe that what you are about to read is the Journal of a Psychopath.

Advertisements

*************

Finding Adeline

I had just finished my Junior year at the University.  I elected to take summer courses to avoid getting smothered by Sarah all summer, especially given her newest life choices.  When I’d gone home for Christmas break, Dean and Sarah sat me down to tell me the “exciting news.”

“You’re going to be a big brother!”  Sarah told me, while Dean supportively rubbed her shoulder.  

“Gross,” I thought to myself.  Why anyone would choose to have a crying pungent little crotch-goblin in their home was beyond me.  But honestly, a baby is what they wanted this whole time, not a transient teenager as I was when they adopted me.  A true family involves children that grew up knowing who Mom and Dad are, and Sarah wanted a true family.  Still, Sarah and Dean had done a lot for me in hopes to feel like a family.  I needed to keep giving them that satisfaction, at least until my rent check wasn’t coming from their bank account.

Sarah was staring at me intently, with a look in her eye that, for some reason, longed for my approval.  I put on my loving, grateful foster son expression that I had been practicing since high school.

“That’s great!”  I told Sarah, as I reached forward and softly grabbed her hand, “I’m really happy for you, for us, I can’t believe I’m going to have a little- brother?”

“Sister,” Sarah finished as she pushed a strand of brown hair from her eyes,  “We’re adopting a baby girl, she’ll be born in just under 6 months.”  A gentle smile worked its way across her face.  I tried my best to mirror her expression, but part of me wanted to stick a knife in her throat right then and there.  I pictured what her pretty face would look like with a gaping hole across her neck, curved gently to match her smile.

“Well, I better throw those steaks on the grill!”  Dean said, reminding me why I need to continue to be their devoted adopted son; sustenance and money.  Until I was able to bankroll myself, I needed their routing number on my side.

It wasn’t hard to convince Dean and Sarah that I needed to take summer classes.  Given that I was a double major in Finance and Business Management, I still had plenty of advanced classes needed for my graduation.  Summer semester wasn’t as necessary as I made it sound, but Dean and Sarah trusted me blindly, as fools do, and insisted they keep paying for my apartment.  The State continued to pay my tuition anyhow, practically begging foster kids to become anything besides felons.  

I only actually signed up for two classes, however, because I had something else I needed to accomplish in my summer semester.  By now, I was sure of my Psychopathic condition.  After all, when I stabbed Brian just to frame Jake, I felt no remorse.  Actually, I loved it.  When I killed Dustin with his own drugs, and two other kids I had never met died in the crossfire, I still felt nothing.  According to my observation of most “normal” people, I should feel remorse.  Students and members of the community who had nothing to do with those kids even showed sadness and remorse, holding a vigil for the dead druggies.  

But there was one thing, one nagging little annoyance in the back of my head that I needed to understand.  A little thought that left an unintelligible twinge somewhere deep inside as it crossed my dreams and thoughts.  That nag had to with Adeline, who was once my foster sister when I was 8 years old.  

Adeline raised questions in my life, questions that required answers.  I’ve watched people suffer, I’ve even been the one to cause their suffering, and never once did I care to empathize with anyone.  Anyone, that is, with the exception of Adeline.  

Although most of my childhood memories aren’t much more than a blur of the past, my few months with Addy I remember quite well.  At the time, she was just 6 years old, 2 years younger than myself.  I had been at my new hell of a foster home only a couple of weeks before she arrived.

Darrin, the bastard who was our foster host, was unusually sober and well dressed when the social worker parked in front of the house.  Darrin opened the door to reveal a very pretty blue-eyed girl with long silvery-blonde hair.  She wore a purple dress that matched the oversized bow tangled with her blonde curls.  

Darrin stayed home with the foster kids while his wife worked long hours at multiple restaurants.  He put on a facade of a warm foster dad to the outside world, but truthfully he was just a lazy alcoholic yelling at us kids, whipping us boys with a belt anytime we frustrated him.  Addy, however, received special treatment.

The other boys would get jealous when we were forced to do daily chores, in the fear of getting the belt if we didn’t finish them to Darrin’s liking.  Meanwhile, Addy sat on the chair with him as he drank cheap whiskey and watched TV.  While the 4 of us boys were crammed into one small bedroom, Addy had her room to herself.  

Those boys hated her for it, calling her names whenever Darrin was out of earshot.  But I could see that Addy wasn’t enjoying her special attention, she seemed more scared of Darrin than any of us boys.  Every day her smile was further away, and her stunning blue eyes grew dimmer every day.

Almost daily, Darrin would take Adeline into her room to “play”, which was far more than he did for the rest of us.  He’d even lock the door to keep the rest of us out.  I couldn’t help to notice, though, that Addy never wanted to play, she wanted anything but that.  

One time, he forgot to lock the door, so I opened the door a crack to see what sort of games they were playing.  Darrin was on top of her, in her bed kissing her neck.  Although Darrin never saw me there, Addy did.  Her tear-filled blue eyes stared at me, begging for help, for someone to make it stop.  That was the only time I’ve ever wanted to help someone for the sake of helping.

I went downstairs and found the first fragile thing in sight, an ugly vase, and knocked it off from its shelf.  The shatter of the vase was enough to draw Darrin out of Addy’s room in a drunken rage, belt in hand, ready to punish.  The lashings were painful, but felt well worth it.  

That night, Darrin fell asleep on the couch while the TV was still playing some sitcom.  Per usual, he had passed out with a nearly empty bottle in his hand.  He often passed out drunk hours before his wife got home from a long day of work, which gave me plenty of time to snoop.  I already knew exactly where he kept his revolver, not that it was well hidden.  He kept it in the top drawer of his dresser, next to his socks and loose change.

Using a stool to reach the top drawer, and a dishrag to hold the gun, I retrieved the revolver and put the stool away.  I had never used a gun before, but I’d watched enough TV to know that I needed to pull the hammer back until It clicked, and pull the trigger.  It wasn’t easy, but using both hands I managed to pull the hammer back while keeping the rag between my fingers and the metal.  

Darrin was snoring with his mouth wide open, making it easy.  I stood next to him on the couch and gently placed the barrel into his mouth, facing upwards toward the brain.  I made sure to have the gun upside down, picturing how someone would hold a gun if they were to shoot themselves in the head.  After the gun was in place, I pulled the trigger. 

To my horror, the trigger didn’t budge.  I pulled harder but still, the trigger didn’t move.  It looked so easy in the movies, but nothing could have prepared me for how hard it was to actually shoot a gun.  Horror turned into panic as Darrin stirred and his eyes opened.  His eyes met mine, and I thought for sure that I was doomed.  In a last-ditch effort, I pulled hard on the trigger with both hands.

Movies also severely underplay the deafening boom that is a gunshot.  The bang from the gun was so loud and sudden that It seemed to encompass the entire world.  I was so startled that I fell to the floor, the gun clattered to the ground beside me.  My heart pounded so hard in my chest that It physically hurt, and the ringing in my ears made it feel as if I had angry earplugs trying to force my ears apart.  

I hurried to my feet to see Darrin, sitting on the couch with his head hanging back limply.  The top of his skull was burst open as if I had just shot a watermelon.  A splatter of blood had painted the wall and ceiling behind him with chunks of skull and brain matter adding texture.  

As I watched blood pour from his mouth and down his white undershirt, I was shocked to notice that behind the couch stood Addy.  A splash of red disturbed her blonde hair, but she stood motionless. I met the gaze of her stunning blue eyes, which looked as if they wanted to cry but didn’t have enough energy.  She didn’t look scared, nor relieved, instead her face had an expression of painful understanding.  Even at her young age, she knew what had happened.  I lifted my finger to my lips as if to silently say, “shhh,” to which she gave a single nod.

I heard the creak of a door upstairs, followed by nervous footsteps, which quickly brought me back to reality.  I placed the gun in Darrin’s hand and quietly ran into the bathroom nearest the garage door, so I could pretend like I had been there the whole time and was too scared to leave.  One of the older boys called 911 while I was still in the bathroom, cleaning a couple of speckled blood spatters off my face.  

It didn’t take long for police, and subsequently, the foster child caseworkers, to show up.  I overheard one of the officers speaking to the social worker while I was gathering my few possessions.  The officer used the word suicide.  As far as I know, that’s as far as that investigation went.  

The last time I saw Addy, she was being ushered into a different case worker’s car than I was.  Although we didn’t speak a word, we made eye contact that said it all.  It was a look of mutual understanding, I’m pretty certain that she knew what I did.  She also had a look of relief, knowing that her nightmare was over.   

Although those events took place more than a decade previous, they still played through my mind frequently, followed by the deep twinge of something that I didn’t understand.  I didn’t like that twinge, I needed it to be squashed. 

After making the decision to find my answers, I found a kid who was a major in computer networking and desperate for social interaction.  While I prefer to avoid unnecessary social interaction, Brendan craved it, desperately hoping for the approval of our dim witted peers.  Unfortunately for him, he had absolutely no idea how to interact with people.  His awkward posture and random, unrelated comments put most people off to wanting to befriend him.  

Despite his annoying awkwardness, Brendan had something that I needed from him.  His skills and knowledge with computers and the internet were unmatched by anyone I had ever met.  So I gave Brendan the social interaction that he so craved, and pretended to be his friend.  Brendan ate up any friendship I offered him, and in return, was willing to do almost anything to keep it.  When I asked him to help me track down my former foster sister, he jumped at the opportunity to help his one and only “friend”.  

I gave him all of the information I had on her, which honestly wasn’t much.  I knew her name was Adeline, the county and city of where we lived when at Darrin’s house, and that her last name might be Lake.

It was about a week later when he called me.  “Hey Rich, how are you doing?  Dude, I have a new neighbor and she’s so freaking hot.  She waved at me, I think I’ll send her an email introducing myself.  Anyways, do you want to go to the arcade or something?”

I groaned inside at hearing his voice, no wonder he scared everyone away. 

“Slow down bud, did she give you her email address?”  I asked.  I’d become his social interaction coach.  

“No, I got it from her socials,” Brendan said as if that wasn’t the opposite of correct social interaction.  I had watched people for long enough to understand the accepted way of doing things.

“Okay you can’t do that, that will creep her out.”

“Well then why does she have her email address available if she doesn’t want people to email her?”

“Brendan I’m not sure how to answer that question, but just trust me on this.”

“Alright,” Brendan said with a disappointed sigh, “So anyways, the arcade?  Then I can tell you about Adeline.”

“Wait, you found her?” I asked, wondering why he didn’t start with that shocking information.

“Yup.” 

“I’m on my way.”

After 30 minutes of letting Brendan explain to me, in grueling technicalities that I didn’t understand, how he did it, he finally told me about Addy.  She had continued to bounce around foster homes, finding trouble everywhere she went and racking up quite a juvenile record.  Drugs, paraphernalia, trespassing, truancy, etc.  She had dropped out of High School at 16 and by the looks of it, ran off and lived on her own at that point, probably on the streets.  

“But it looks like she has a job,” Brendan said, apparently sensing my disappointment.  “She works at some bar called, “Bare Essentials,” weird name for a bar if you ask me, but it’s only 45 minutes away. 

“So she works at a Strip Club?”  I asked, picking up on what Brendan was missing.

“Oh- is that- oh.” Said Brendan as the weird name dawned on him.  “Well, she’s 18 at least…”

“Doesn’t help, Brendan.”

“Sorry,” Brendan said before putting his head down in awkward silence.

“Well, do you have the address?  I’m going to head over.”

“Oh yeah, just let me get my jacket,”  Brendan said, excitedly.  

“I need to do this one myself,” I told Brendan, reeling at the idea of spending 45 minutes in a car with him 

Brendan was disappointed, but understanding.  After insisting that he’d call me tomorrow, I headed to the address Brendan had given me.  I explored my thoughts on the long drive.  Why had I felt disappointed at Addy’s troubling record of drugs?  It didn’t impact me or my life, so why did it annoy me that she was working at a trashy strip club?  The thought of her crawling around for dollars from middle-aged men, giving them power over her, angered me. 

The address took me into a dirty, slummy part of the city.  The “Bare Essentials,” sign illuminated in from dark with flickering, dirty pink neon lights.  The dim street lights exposed the old brick building, fully covered in peeling pink paint with showgirl silhouettes painted in black.  Connected by the same parking lot stood a small, dark red strip motel built with discolored bricks that had been crumbling away for years.  A dirty shopping cart lay on its side, adjacent to the motel, filled with garbage and junk.

I walked through the front door, taking in the musk of stale cigarettes.  It was mostly dark inside, except for the stage which was brightly lit.  There were maybe 15-20 people in the building, spread out across the bar in various red or black upholstered seats.  All of the patrons appeared to be by themselves, not a single table had more than one person. 

I walked to a chair in the corner, a dark area where I could sit as incognito as possible while having ample opportunity for observation.  Most of the men I passed by were middle-aged with a large gut, and I even noticed a few wedding rings.  I imagine these guys tell their wives that they are working late, so they can come to hide in the dark strip club and interact with the pretty young ladies.  Perhaps, they pretend that they are young again, imagining themselves as the young buck that could score attractive young women.

“What can I get for you, Honey?”  I looked up to see a woman wearing short black shorts and a black bra, holding a small black notepad.  Although she looked to be around 30, her voice sounded as if she’d been smoking for 40 years.  

“I’ll take a sprite, minimal ice, please.  Thank you, ma’am,” I told her with a smile, holding out a 5 dollar bill.  She rolled her eyes, but snatched the bill from my hand and walked away.  

About 30 minutes went by, with various dancers taking the stage before working their way to the floor to give lap dances for suckers who would pay for a closer experience. 

Finally, a new dancer took the stage.  The club music was replaced by a much more elegant song, a refined instrumental that spoke of beauty and sadness.  The music increased in volume as the lights dimmed showing only the silhouette of the new dancer.  She held onto the pole with both hands, her legs spread in either direction perfectly perpendicular to her torso.  The dancer seemingly floated around the pole in eloquent defiance to the very idea of physics.

The dancer repositioned with unmatched grace, wrapping her legs around the bar and releasing her hands.  Her torso extended away from the bar at a perfect 90 degrees, with her hands spread away, still floating around the bar.  The lights increased, showing more detail.  Her face and body matched the beauty and elegance of her dancing.  Her silvery-blonde hair fell behind her head as if suspended by a broken fragment of time.

Her hands once again held the pole and she slid down the ground in one slow, smooth motion.  She looked up, opening her eyes for the first time, revealing her stunning blue eyes.  Our eyes met and she stared into mine for a lingering moment.  This was her, the once little girl watched me paint the walls with Darrin’s blood.  The dancer was without a doubt, Adeline.

She finished her routine with the same precision and grace of which she had started.  Afterwards, She walked off the stage without an acknowledgment of the small applause that was not worthy of such skill in the first place.  Our eyes met again as she started walking toward me without breaking her stare.  Despite the several years since we had last seen each other, we shared an unspoken recognition.

A hand reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her off her path and to the corner.  The person who had grabbed her was a tall, muscular man wearing a tidy black suit.  His dark hair was slicked to the side in near perfect strands.  The man looked professional, in a boastful sort of way you see with politicians and businessmen.  

The glimmer in Addy’s blue eyes faded into a dull disappointment, as the suited man handed her off to a fat middle-aged man with a greedy smile slimed across his face.  Fatty then handed slick-hair cash before grabbing Addy around the back, his hand already working his way to the side of Addy’s breast, and guiding her out a side door.

I sat in my car staring at the motel.  Undoubtedly, that is where fatty had taken her.  Probably a married, sexually frustrated man leaving his depressing life behind for the night to indulge himself in an erotic experience that only money could bring him.  Finally, I watched fatty leave room 6, still tucking in his shirt around his protruding belly.

After he drove off, I put my hood over my head and helped myself into the room.  The door wasn’t closed all of the way, so I simply walked in.  She jumped when I walked in, clearly startled, and quickly slipped something into the bedside drawer.

“Jesus Christ, can’t you knock?” She said before turning around.  Our eyes met once again and she froze where she was.  

“Hey,” she said calmly.

“Hey Addy,” I replied, “Been a while.”  

“You could say that, Rich,” she said while sliding a loose white tee shirt over her bra.  “So what brought you here?” She said sitting back down, “A weird coincidence running into you like this.”  I could sense a bit of embarrassment over the circumstances of our reunion.

I pulled the chair over from the dingy brown table in the corner and took a seat.  “Well, it wasn’t a coincidence,” I said, “I came here to find you.”  

“How’d you know where to find me?” She asked, looking perplexed as she pulled a hairbrush from her bag.  

“I know a computer nerd,” I said matter of factly.  

“Well, that’s kind of weird,” she said handing me the comb, “but I’ve always hoped we’d meet again.  So what happened to Rich after-“ she paused for a moment, carefully considering how to finish her sentence, “After we parted ways?”  She sat down in front of me and motioned for me to comb the back of her hair.  I’d never brushed anyone’s hair before, but it seemed like a straightforward task so I started gently running the brush through her hair from top to bottom.

Advertisements

“Well, I bounced around to several homes, hated everybody, but a childless couple adopted me in Highschool,” I told her, continuing to make long careful strokes with the brush.  “I’m at the university now.  And where did Addy go?”

“Oh, just a bunch of shitty places, Juvvy too, I finally just left when I was 16.”  She flinched as the brush caught a knot in her hair.  “I was on the streets for a while before Alexander found me.  He gave me a job, and a roof.”  

“That slick-haired guy out there?”

“Yeah,” she let out a big sigh, “That’s him.  He owns the club and this motel”  

“So he’s been pimping you out since you were a minor?”  I asked, trying not to sound too straightforward, but how else do you say it?  

“Oh you’re one to judge,” she said standing up and facing me, “Shot anyone in the face recently?”

“So you do remember?”  I said quietly, phrased more as a statement than a question.  

“How could I forget?”  She said, slightly exasperated, “Getting Molested every day and then seeing that man’s head explode kind of leaves a mark ya know.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her, “I had no idea you were there.”  I had apologized many times in my life, but for the first time, I think I actually meant it.  

Addy took a deep breath.  “Well,” she said, “It’s fair to say you did the world a favor.”  She took the hairbrush from my hand and sat back down on the bed and looked down at the brush.  “Unfortunately, there’s a lot more Darrins in this world.” 

“So why enable them?”  I asked, “Why let someone like Alexander rule your life?  

“What else am I good for?  There’s only one thing people want from me.”

“Who cares what other people want.  Do what you want.  You can be a dancer without doing it for Horny old men you know.  I can tell you love dancing, it was written all over your face, and you’re incredible at it.”

“It’s my only escape she said,” she said softly, but unable to hide a slight smile while she fiddled with the brush in her hands.

“Well then, leave this place behind you,” I said sitting forward, “Drop the drugs, drop the people controlling you, and move on.”

As soon as I said drugs, I seemed to have hit a nerve.  She looked up, seeming both embarrassed and agitated.

“Look asshole, you don’t understand,” she said, throwing her hands in the air,  “Lucky Rich kills someone and moves on like it never fuckin happened, then gets adopted by privileged parents and sent off to college while I had to run away and live on the streets!  Why do you give a shit what happens to me anyway?”

Her outburst took me by surprise, but I calmly reached for her hand before telling her the truth I’d never told anyone before, a truth I was only barely honest with myself about.  

“Addy, I have one memory of my actual mother, just one,” I looked up into her blue, watery eyes.  “All I remember is her eyes, she had amazing blue eyes, and every time I see you I remember her.”  I paused to take a deep breath.  “You’re the only person in my life I’ve ever cared about, the only one who has ever made me feel anything besides hatred.  That’s why I killed Darrin, I saw what he was doing to you.”

She pulled her hand away, and for a second she looked scared.  Her face relaxed as she realized the truth of what had happened that day so long ago. 

She reached for my face with both hands, and before I even realized what was happening she pushed her lips into mine.  

I felt something turn in my chest, sort of like the feeling of falling but combined with an emotion I didn’t understand.  I honestly didn’t know what to do in those short but lasting seconds that we kissed, but I do know that I kissed her back.

The door of the motel opened, snapping me back to reality.  Adeline jumped at the startling entrance and pulled away from me.  

“Who the fuck is this?”  Said our intruder, who I quickly realized was Alexander, the slick-haired pimp who seemed to think of himself as an international drug lord as opposed to the owner of a strip club on the fringe of the city.

“Alex!” She said, failing to not sound surprised.  “I was just catching up with an old friend.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bitch,” Alexander said before he pushed her hard.  Addy fell hard into the nightstand beside the bed.  “Doing business behind my back, huh?” 

I stood up and moved between Addy and Alex, but he grabbed me and slammed me hard into the small table.  I fought to free myself, but Alex was much bigger and stronger than I, so he easily pushed my head back down and put me in an armbar from which I could not maneuver out from.  

“If you want a piece of any of my girls, you go through me.”  He ripped me from the table and threw me out the door where I fell backward onto the pavement.  The door slammed shut, and I heard the lock click into place.  What Alex didn’t know is that while he was pushing me into the table, I took the small brass key which was now in my hand.

I stood up, absolutely enraged.  I felt angry all of the time, and I frequently experienced rage, but never in my life had I felt as angry as I did right now.  My hands shook with rage at the man who had just leveraged so much power over me, and even more over Addy.  Nobody could be allowed to have that power over me, I always win.  

I walked across the parking lot to my car and popped the trunk.  I looked for anything that could be used as a weapon, but all I had was a small tire Iron and some nitrile disposable gloves I use when I change the oil.  I put on two pairs of gloves and reached for the Tire Iron.  Before I picked up the Iron, The shopping cart in the corner caught my eye.  

I jogged across the parking lot and kicked around through the trash, where I found an old, rusty but sturdy 2-foot long crowbar.  That was perfect.  I picked it up and hurried back to room 6.

I could still hear Alex through the closed door.  “After everything I’ve done for you,” an audible slap was followed by a painstaking gasp from Addy, “You decide to undercut me right underneath my nose?  Stupid Bitch!”  Another strike was heard, but that one was definitely a closed fist.  I quietly put the key inside the lock and turned it. 

As soon as the door was unlocked I ran into the room filled with every bit of rage I’d ever felt in my entire life.  Addy was sprawled on the bed with her shirt pulled over her head and her bra pushed up to her neck, and Alexander was halfway through pulling his slacks down.  

“I told YOU to LEAVE!” Alex said, trying to pull his pants back up.  While his hands were down, I swung the crowbar as hard as I could and connected right into his Adam’s apple.

Alex fell backward, unable to catch his fall with his legs still stuck in his pants.

“Rich!”  Addy said, scrambling to get up, “Why did you do that?” She asked. 

“Because he can’t scream if his larynx is crushed,”  I told her, pulling the crowbar up.  A gurgling gasp came from Alex who struggled to breathe.  I swung the crowbar down hard onto his face.  His jaw cracked and the curved end of the crowbar punctured through his cheek so that I could see it inside his open mouth.  I ripped the crowbar upward, which tore through his cheek leaving a large gap in the side of his face in which you could see his back teeth and protruding jaw bone.  

“JESUS RICH!”  Addy exclaimed, putting her hands up to her mouth.  “He gets mad sometimes, but it was going to be fine.  You didn’t need to do THAT!”  

“Yes, I did,”  I said, as Alex gurgled below struggling to get air in and out of his lungs.  “Don’t you ever get sick of people having power over you?  Don’t you feel the rage!  Feel it!  Feel the rage and show him who has the power!”  I extended the crowbar to Addy, who took it timidly.  

“Go on, while he’s still conscious.  Let him feel it!”  I told her excitedly, reveling in the excitement of Alex’s pain and imminent death.  “You have the power now.”

Addy looked down at Alexander, seeming perplexed.  Her brows then creased, and I watched her eyes embrace the hatred for the scum on the floor.  She raised the crowbar while Alex looked up at her.  His eyes were filled with pitiful terror as, for the first time, he lay helpless to her power.  She slammed the crowbar down onto the scum’s head.  There was a thud as the bar smacked him in the forehead as his eyes pleaded for mercy, unable to scream. 

“There you go!  Now use the pointed part!”  I encouraged

Advertisements

She let out a grunt of rage as she crashed the bar into his head again, and was rewarded with the crack of his skull breaking.  

“Yes!  Do it again!”

Adding to my thrill, she swung the crowbar again, and again, and again, disfiguring his face and knocking pieces of his skull away.  With each strike his bones cracked and easily gave way to the rage behind that crowbar.

Finally, after 10 or so swings, she stopped.  The crowbar clambered to the floor as she took heavy breaths.  I admired her beauty for a moment, with speckled blood over her skin and silvery blonde hair, before crouching down to see our handiwork.  

His mouth was open, with jaw fragments and teeth hanging loosely in the gaping hole that was once his cheek.  That was my doing, but his head, the best part, that was all Addy.  His skull just above his forehead was completely caved in, deformed like a dent in a car.  Blood protruded freely from the interrupted folds in his protruding brain.

“Nice job Addy,” I said with a chuckle, “looks like you get the last laugh.  Winning is wonderful, isn’t it?”  

I looked back to see Addy’s smile, but instead lost mine.  I turned just in time to see her push the plunger of the syringe that was already in her arm.  She took a deep, relieving breath and fell backward onto the bed.  

I stood up and looked down upon her, my exuberant thrill replaced with disappointment.  I looked around the dreary room and the beautiful mess we made, then back to Addy who lay on the bed, so high she barely seemed conscious. 

That’s when the reality of the situation struck me, and I cursed myself for being so sloppy.  Sure, I enjoyed it, loved it actually, and sure, I’d killed multiple people before, but those were planned and calculated.  This?  This situation was a catastrophic mess.

I sat down on the chair from earlier, to ponder what had caused this mess?  The answer was simple.  There was one thing that separated me from the worthless fools around me.  I act out of self-preservation and personal betterment, while everyone else acted out of the one thing I was usually void of; emotion.  

I had never acted with so much emotion before.  It was normal for me to feel anger, I constantly felt contempt for most everyone around, and even rage from time to time, but I kept all of that second hand.  I control the rage and let it out only when it was the proper time.  That moment being the only exception to my usual behavior, thanks to the one person in my entire life that had ever made me feel anything else.  That helpless girl with the stunning blue eyes and silvery blonde hair.  The girl who couldn’t handle doing what is necessary for herself, and instead escaped in the mind-numbing fluid from that syringe.

I sat, disappointed in Addy, but more disappointed in myself for succumbing to the foolishness of the common person.  I knew not to trust anyone but myself, but I had put so much trust in Adeline.  What did I think would happen?  She’d be able to handle a Murder the way I do?  Of course she would panic after, she was not gifted in the way I am.  To no fault of her own, she was burdened with pitiful empathy.  

The mess was salvageable though, and it was time to clean it up and take care of my mistake.  I stood up with a plan and clear mind, ready to act.

“Addy,” I said, but she barely stirred, “Addy,” I said again, giving her a firm shake, “Are there cameras at this motel?

“No,” she mumbled

“What about the club?”

“No cameras, Just in case the police come.”  She said softly.

That made sense, putting cameras around would just be recording proof of the crimes being committed.  If the police ever came looking into Alex’s operation, there’d be no visual evidence for them to collect. 

I searched around the room, looking for anything that could have my fingerprints on them.  The chair, the key, the doorknob, and the hairbrush were the only things I had touched with ungloved hands.  I stepped around the scum’s body, careful to not touch the blood and leave a footprint.  From the room, I collected a dingy white washcloth, a grocery bag, and some Lysol.

After gently applying a conservative amount of Lysol to the cloth, I carefully wiped down each item, to ensure I left no evidence suggesting that I was ever here.  I carefully checked Alex’s pockets for anything that might have been recording.  I found nothing that would cause me problems, but I did find a knife.  Now that the evidence was cleared, there was just one last thing to take care of.

I gently lifted Addy’s legs so that she lay completely on the center of the bed.  I checked the open drawer next to her, which had one more syringe in it, already filled with fluid.  Must have been some sort of narcotic.  

“Rich?”  Addy said, stirring.

“I’m right here,” I told her gently 

Her eyes opened, and once again I was staring into her stunning blue eyes.  “We killed him.” She said, perhaps coming out of her daze and regaining some form of composure.  

“You must have had a bad dream,” I told her, sticking the needle into the vein she had used earlier, “Go back to sleep, Addy.  I’ll see you in the morning.”  I pushed the plunger down, and her eyes closed again.

It was time.

I lifted her arm furthest from me.  I hesitated to do it, a huge part of me didn’t want to, but I had found the one emotional weakness in my life and I needed to remove it.  I knew what had to be done

I pushed the knife into her wrist and moved the blade up toward her elbow, separating the skin and allowing the dark liquid to flow free.  I gently placed her wrist down by her side, before doing the same with her right wrist.  I then placed the knife in her hand and neatly laid her arm down by her side.

I checked to make sure there was nobody in the parking lot, before turning to take one last look at her.

“I’m sorry, Adeline,”  I whispered, knowing that would be the last time I ever meant it.  I forced myself to turn away, leaving my weakness behind.

I removed the pieces of blood-speckled clothing before getting in my car, and placed them in a grocery sack, and wore only my undergarments and a rain jacket that I kept in my car.  That drive home felt like years, but it was an opportunity for reflection and rebirth.  

I bleached the articles of clothing I had worn that night and disposed of them.  Unlike my previous kills, this wasn’t a sensational news story.  The death of a wealthy high-school athlete and young college students breaks hearts, but the deaths of orphaned sex workers and pimps mean nothing to society.  Even the empathy of the common man has its limits.

I sought out Addy to find answers, and I believed that I found them, to a degree.  Although I don’t understand the things I felt in those moments when I was with her, I had rendered them irrelevant.  That last piece of emotional weakness bled out alongside Adeline.  Despite the pain it caused me to do so, I was free. 

*************

Those chilling words marked the end of the 3rd Manuscript.  This story was not easy to find, as there wasn’t any notable news coverage of the event.  As much as I hate to admit it, Rich is almost correct when he states that it seems as though nobody cares when someone like a sex-worker or drug addict dies.  Addicts, homeless, and those involved in the crime that exists within the fringes of society are found dead or go missing every day, but are usually ignored.  

However,  I knew that such a disturbing crime would undoubtedly leave an impression with any officer involved.  I have many contacts in law enforcement, so I made some phone calls.  I have unfortunately verified the validity of this manuscript.  Adeline Lake and Alexander Aslanyan were found dead in a hotel room in what was ruled a gruesome murder suicide.  

The thing that chills me to my bones is that the details in the story are correct, but this information was never made available to the general public.  That means that whoever wrote this and sent it to me, was either there at the scene, or involved in Law Enforcement.

That means that Rich is very much a true serial killer, still living amongst us, a free man having never paid for his crimes.  Or, as I must consider, I have made a few enemies in my time, and someone may be trying to make a fool of me.

Nonetheless, I have made some contact with officials suggesting that these cases ought to be re-opened, but I have been met with heavy skepticism and resistance.  It appears that it’s on me to investigate.

The one question that keeps bugging me is, why are these manuscripts being sent to me?  What do you think?

Mr. S 

Credit : R. M. Staniforth

Reddit

Please wait...

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.

Scroll to Top