My Favorite Holiday
I fucking LOVE Christmas.Mind you, it's not for the religious, birth of the messiah, mythology. I gave up believing that bullshit not too long after I started realizing how often my perverted father got drunk and beat up and /or raped my mother. Finding out that he had also raped and murdered the little boy across the way removed the last vestiges of hope and sympathy I ever had.
And as much as I love the glitter, blinking lights and other commercial trappings, I have no desire for communal events where I might share my loneliness with someone equally as empty. Nope. Co-dependents would have to find their shoulder, ear or crutch elsewhere.
The reason the holiday has such a warm spot in my heart is that I can go to a bar on Christmas eve (and other holidays) and know exactly what people are going to be there. First of all, you've got a reluctant and disinterested bartender who, in most instances, would much rather be somewhere, anywhere else. And then you have a large number of desperate loners. The ones who either have no family or whose relatives aren't worth visiting, like mine. No available friends or co-workers so they go to the one place they expect people of similar status to be. A night when any and all semblances of standards disappear. I guess you'd say it's the old "any port in a storm". A night of desperate people hooking up with other desperate people so that they won't feel lonely until they go back to solitude.
The third group out on that night are the predators. We know how easy it is to ply someone with enough alcohol to get her or him to go home and engage in meaningless sex as a substitute for companionship and intimacy. Easy pickings, if you'll pardon the expression. Some are more than willing to engage for a time just to escape another night of being alone. The more devious simply sit back and watch the rest of the players in this tragedy strut their time on stage knowing it's best NOT to interact with your future victim. Someone, probably the sober bartender might remember a description of some physical imperfection, voice or mannerism that could lead to my arrest.
It's easy to notice which men and women are too afraid, paranoid or moral to engage with anyone. These visitors participate vicariously while watching the other desperate people interact and pretend to be above joining the meat market. Most often, they try to engage the bartender so they don't seem anti-social. Ah, Christmas! You got to love it.
In case you haven't figured it out yet, I've obviously been finding victims for quite a few years. I still haven't figured out how to become interested in going through life with anyone else. I'm just happy with myself and my nightmares. I appreciate the opportunity on holidays like this to find a new victim and hope it lessens my pain a bit.
So I order a Virgin Mary and sit at one of the tables in a darker area of the bar and watch the circus, hoping nobody finds me worth engaging. The men and women that actually start acting as though this is a normal date are easy to dismiss. I don't need to deal with two victims. That just doubles the chances that something could go wrong and I'd end up wearing those marvelous metal bracelets on my way to somewhere unpleasant.
My job is to pretend I'm texting some imaginary friend and take note of which of the remainder are my kind of victim and waiting for them to leave ... unaccompanied, sad and inebriated enough to forget about safety.
It's usually after one or two refills that some of the lonelier drinkers decide that nothing exciting is going to happen and decide to return to their too small apartment to possibly be welcomed by their dog or cat. A chance for the alcohol to finally do it's job and decide a good cry might be the best present they can give themselves.
Like clockwork, as I finish nursing my fourth drink, I see an uncommonly plain young lad try to negotiate his way to the exit without falling over or bumping into anyone. He's rather petite and an easy victim sure to arouse any of the predators sitting back and watching, like me. I almost feel paternal and resist the urge to help him with his coat as he staggers by my table.
I head to the bar to pay my tab and leave a tip for the bartender. It's large enough so I'm not remembered as a cheapskate while being small enough not to make me stand out during any questioning once the body is found.
I pretend to stagger myself as I head out the door and the first thing I notice is that the young man already has someone following him. It figures.
The man keeps checking in front, back and to the sides to be sure there are no witnesses. As he turns, I lean over and pretend to hurl. He also looks like he's had his share but even so, I need to be cautious if I want to be the perpetrator. A moment later, he turns the corner and I scurry after to be sure I don't lose the cute guy that seems to have attracted both of our attention.
It's easy to stay back far enough so neither of them notice me following and I wait for the perfect moment to strike. I reach into my jacket pocket to feel the needle that I'll use in a couple minutes. It's already loaded with propofol that I get from an anesthesiologist across the hall who trades it to me for the oxycontin my stupid doctor prescribes. We have an agreement that she never asks me where I get the oxy and I never ask her about the propofol (hello! she works in a medical facility).
As I round the next corner, I see the only structure is a large apartment complex with a park with trees and a jogging path on one side and a parking garage on the other. Instead of stumbling diagonally like these two are trying to do, I dash directly across the street so I can scurry into the park and pass ahead of the victim and his would be stalker. I emerge just to the right of the doorway but still hidden. I love how the alcohol pretty much guarantees neither could put up much of a fight even if they wanted. This means that hunk will be mine to deal with as I see fit. He will have no say in what goes on tonight. I won't have to hear him scream or beg or simply cry if he turns around and figures out exactly what's going to happen.
The young man fumbles with his keys and the man behind him slows his pace so as NOT to get to the door until it nearly closed. Good choice and I do the same after he enters. It's hard to stifle my urge to laugh when thinking how a cartoon or bad movie might have a scene just like this. The tail being tailed. I'm happy to see he is getting into an elevator and the pervert turns a corner as if he lives on the ground floor. I take the opportunity to get most of the way up the stairs and can see the elevator. The two briefly flashes and it moves on to three. I can also see lobby guy push the up button and stare at the numbers to see at which floor the elevator stops. He's good. Even mostly drunk, he's got the system down pat. I quietly go to the third floor to put some distance between us and see that the elevator is stopped at the fifth floor.
I can hear it going by on the way down and immediately push the up button. I keep thinking I need to not get too excited about the upcoming rape and murder. I didn't last this long being careless or letting my emotions get the best of me. It is almost a type of foreplay to keep from teasing myself with the details.
The drunk is a bit shocked when the door opens and I smile and say good evening! He just smiles and doesn't even wonder why someone gets on an elevator on the third floor and goes up at this late hour. It gives me time to flick off the guard on the syringe and plunge it into his neck.
By the time the door opens on the fifth, he's out. I drop him across the doorway so it doesn't close and am able to just barely see the door that's closing slowly. I drag him into the hall and bind his hands and gag him. It takes a bit to drag him to the correct door and I have to catch my breath before I have my fun.
Don't let anyone ever kid you. Rape is an act of violence and control. It is a way to dominate an unwilling partner. It's a shame I'm wearing a mask because you can't see my beautiful smile. I prefer rape to the actual murder because murder is over so quickly. The horror of being raped lasts with you as long as you're alive. Trust me. I know from personal experience.
In this instance, it is going to last about sixty seconds before victim number whatever realizes I'm going to cut from ear to ear when I start to come.
As I pull out after, I make sure to keep the condom on so there is no DNA. Plus, thinking about what I just did will probably result in another orgasm. There are no flaws in my gloves so I move on to what I call the exchange of gifts. I take out my phone and get a couple of snapshots of the victim, dead, clothes half off and that look of horror. I constantly fight the urge to post them on the web. That will be their gift. Then I take out the business envelope with the lavender color and aroma. This is my gift.
"Dear resident of this apartment.
I'm sorry to leave the trash outside your apartment but had I not interceded, this is what might have happened to you last night.
You obviously didn't notice you were stalked from the bar to just outside your door. By two of us.
The dead pervert meant to do you great harm as his present to you. As a tribute to my father, I gave him his present first."
Merry fucking Christmas!!