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I stood up from the body, bloody combat knife in my hand. My own blood ran cold in my veins causing me to involuntarily shiver, or maybe it was the cold winter night’s air drifting through the window. Killing never gets easier. It’s best to just put the ethics of it out of your mind and move on, but recently that has become increasingly difficult. I began busying myself with cleaning up the body and covering my tracks. Mercifully, the murder was quick and silent; once the body was disposed of it would take a few days to a week before anyone would notice they were missing, and even longer before the police get involved. As long as I was careful, which I was, I wouldn’t be caught; the question was now if I could live with myself.
This normally isn’t a problem for me, but I promised myself I’d never do this again; that I would put this life behind me. Especially after I met my fiance. I quit doing this sort of thing mostly for her, but partially as a vain attempt to rid myself of the guilt driven nightmares. However, I went back to this for her… for us. We needed the money, and soon, to pay for her appendectomy, and this was, unfortunately, the only way I knew how to get it.
I looked over the living room of the spartan apartment, the bagged body of my victim at my feet. Everything seemed to be in order. No evidence of the silent struggle remained. The manky brown couch was once again upright and facing the ancient CRT television. I left a note written in my victim’s hand on the coffee table situated between them. Apparently they were visiting family in another state. Everything was perfect save the bag at my feet. I dragged the body to the open window, and heaved it out head first. The three story fall seemed unnaturally quick, and the whumph of it landing in the dumpster unnaturally loud. I stood there, stock still, for an hour long minute; my ears aching for any sound of alarm or interest. There was none. I closed the window, locked the door and calmly left the building.
The dumpster of course wouldn’t do, it would start to smell and the police would find it too quickly. I struggled with the heavy sack as I pulled it from the dumpster and into the trunk of its car, I got in and drove off.
It wasn’t long before I arrived at the lake. This was the first, and I hoped the last time, I would dispose of a body here. I drove up to the parking lot on the lake edge. The edge itself was a steep dirt face that dropped off about a foot away from the parking lot. I maneuvered the car right up to the edge of the lot, put it in neutral and got out. I circled around to the back of the vehicle and pushed it over the edge and into the lake. The momentum of the car was enough to carry it further into the lake until it was fully submerged.
That was it for the body, but I was not done yet. I pulled my combat knife, still bloodied from the job, from its sheath and hurled it into the lake as far as I could. The instrument of death plopped with an insignificant, and unceremonious splash into the water. At the time, it seemed the water cleansed the blade of blood, but it didn’t, not really anyway.
I dialed my client on the cheap, international cell phone that I used for all my ‘jobs’, and let out a long sigh.
“I am done. The trash is taken out. The official story is a visit to out of town family.”
“Okay. How do I pay you.” His small voice was made even smaller by the tinny cell phone speaker.
I explained to him the details of paying me in bitcoin, as my mind wandered to the realization that this would be… should be… the last time I explain how to pay for my services.
Weeks later I found myself once again at the lake where I had disposed of the body. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was there. The surface of the water was unnaturally still, and dead quiet. I felt the weight of every murder and crime I had successfully committed weighing me down, and rooting me where I stood. Whatever I was here for I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. A bubble floated up to the surface of the lake near the edge where I stood. It sat there for a second or two before popping. Another floated up, and then another, and then another. Soon the edge of the lake appeared to boil as the bubbles floated to the surface in ever greater numbers. Then came the bodies. The grey, bloated, and decaying masses floated through the seething lake by the hundreds. The stench of the rotting corpses was unbearable. I held back vomit as I tried to turn away. I couldn’t even do that. My eyes refused to move from the grotesque vision of decay and carnage. Decay and carnage that I caused. One of the bodies slowly flipped over revealing its pale bloated belly, and its unrecognizably twisted and discolored features. Between its eyes was my bloody combat knife. Its eyelids snapped open and its featureless white eyes stared accusingly at me. It drifted toward the lake edge, and grasped the shore. I tried once again to run, but the horrible weight was still upon me, I could not escape from this. The grotesque figure pulled itself slowly toward me. After the agonizing eternity it took to reach my feet it opened its mouth wide. Its whole body shuddered and jiggled as it unleashed a fit of deafening, wet coughs. Water spewed out all over my legs and feet, water that was soon followed by a torrential flood of sticky wet blood.
I awoke with a loud gasp, in cold sweat, and sat up. It was saturday morning, and I was back at our apartment. My fiance awoke from the sound of my gasp.
“What is it?” She asked. Her tired, soft voice, filled with concern, did much to ease my tension.
“N-nothing, Karah, go back to sleep.” I pretended that the nightmare didn’t bother me, but my tremulous voice gave me away.
“No, not this time. This is the third time this week. Something is bothering you, just tell me. Let me help.”
“It’s nothing. Karah; just a nightmare,” I snapped back. Karah’s face snapped into an expression of surprise and hurt. Her hurt cut through my tension born frustration, but I still couldn’t tell her who I was, and what I’d done. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been so tense lately with the wedding planning, and my job. Stay in bed, I’ll make you breakfast.”
It had been some time since my final contract. They had found the body a couple days later, but found no evidence to go on. Just another cold case, one of many. I told Karah that I borrowed the money from a friend and I applied to a variety of desk work, and data entry positions. I was lucky enough to find one that didn’t ask too many questions, and I put my old life behind me.
Unfortunately, it was not that simple. While I maintained the appearance of normalcy, a skill I carefully cultivated over the years, my life had become a never ending nightmare of guilt and fear. I couldn’t escape from who I was. Everyday I had to lie. Lie to myself, lie to my boss, and lie to my fiance. With the lies came the fear that I would be discovered, and lose the normalcy I had worked to maintain. And even the few hours of sleep I managed nightly were fraught with nightmarish visions. Yet, I held on, if not for myself, then for Karah.
The kitchen in our apartment was small but serviceable. I went to work, putting together a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, reveling in the ordered simplicity of the work. I gave myself to the monotony of cracking, and scrambling, letting my mind go blissfully blank.
I was suddenly gripped by the feeling of being watched, and as I glanced around I caught the slight movement of some hanging pots. There was no one to be seen. I stood stock still staring around, looking for something, anything, that could explain the gentle swing of the pots. Then a quiet whisper drifted into my ears like the wind.
“You can’t hide it forever.”
I snapped around, spatula raised in a threatening gesture, knocking over the egg filled frying pan with a clatter.
Karah’s voice issued from upstairs, “Nel? Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine, I just dropped the frying pan,” I shouted back.
I stooped to clean up the mess of hot egg on the floor. This was going to be a long day.
My job was boring, but quite frankly that was welcome in my case. I lived my life up to this point through a seemingly endless series of close calls and sleepless nights, the boring monotony of data entry was exactly what I needed. I didn’t even have to think for myself, I merely copy typed the information I was given. The information in question was a database of employees in the tech support division of the company. The data included name, birth date, and pay.
I was halfway through the stack of pages when the names started to look familiar, and the dates were strangely recent. Not a single one was more than a decade or two old. My fingers froze. They hovered over the keyboard as I stared unblinkingly at the information on the pages. They were my victims. The column headings had changed: birth date became death date, name and pay read the same, but the pay amount changed to precisely the amount I was paid to kill them.
I tore my eyes away from the paper, and back to the computer screen in front of me. The entire screen was black save for blindingly luminescent white text:
WE HAD FAMILIES, NELSON.
The message stayed on the screen for a few agonizing seconds and shifted to read:
YOU CAN’T ESCAPE WHO YOU ARE.
Then:
SHE DESERVES TO KNOW.
I tried to tear my eyes away from the messages, but I knew I needed to see them.
BUT YOU DON’T DESERVE HER. DO YOU?
I hit the power off button on the screen with such force I had to catch the screen before I knocked it over. I got up from my desk and practically ran for the bathroom.
I splashed cold water on my face and reveled in the normalcy of the sensation. I knew these hallucinations were coming from my sleep deprived brain, but I couldn’t deny their truth. I am a murderer, and I always will be. No water can wash that away, but I can at least own up to my mistakes and try to make things right.
I returned to my desk to stare into the void of the powerless screen. I wasn’t going to get any more work done today. I didn’t care if they fired me, I needed to go home.
It was a miracle that I arrived home safely. I spent the drive back in a zombie like state of barely conscious calm. Karah would not be home from her job for a few hours. I had the time to make preparations.
The pen hovered over the blank paper waiting for me to pour my thoughts and emotions through it and onto the permanent record. This was it, my chance to turn back, what was written here could not be unwritten. I steeled myself for the heart rending task ahead, and penned my confession:
Karah, I’m sorry. I’ve lied to you. Everything I have told you about myself, where I went to school, my old job, it was all a lie. The truth, however unbelievable as it may be, is that I am a murderer.
For almost twenty years before I proposed to you I operated on the darknet as a contract killer. I promised myself that if I proposed to you, and you said yes, that I’d stop, and I did, but then we needed the money, and it was all I knew how to do. I’m sorry. Enclosed is a list of my victims, where I hid the bodies, and how much I was paid for each. Do with that information what you will. I don’t expect you to protect me.
Before I go I want you to know that not everything was a lie. Nelson Bradshaw is my real name, I really did quit and get that data entry job, and I love you. You changed me for the better, and for that I am forever grateful. You must understand now why I must leave. Please don’t look for me. I’d like to just disappear. I need to try and make things right, and this is the only way I know how to do it.
Goodbye,
Nel
I left the note on the kitchen table. She’d be sure to see it when she came home. All that was left for me now was to atone for what I have done.
It was an especially chilly evening on the lake shore. It had to be here, of course, it wouldn’t be right otherwise. As I approached the lake, my heart beat faster and my breathing turned ragged. I was afraid, but I needed this, I deserved this. I waded into the lake, slowly at first but with growing confidence. I picked up the pace and soon I was swimming until I reached the center of the lake. I dived down as far as I could, and fought the urge to surface.
My lungs burned for the air that I denied them. I began to feel panic gripping me, telling me to swim back up, to breathe, but dealing with panic was part of who I was. I held on for as long as I could, then reflexively inhaled. The corners of my vision darkened until I saw, and felt no more.
Black. Everything around me was black. I felt completely dry, and heard the unnerving sound of complete silence. I was in complete void.
A blurry shape appeared out of nowhere. While I tried to bring it to focus it spoke.
“Congratulations, Nelson, yet another body added to the pile. I suppose you’re proud of yourself.” His bitter words struck my ears, and filtered to my groggy brain.
“What?” I managed to reply, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth.
“You’re dead, in case you hadn’t noticed, you killed yourself. Adding yet another murder to your long, illustrious list.”
The blurry shape came into focus. It was my last victim.
“I don’t suppose you remember me? Which one was I? Number 14 I believe?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Want? How can I want anything I’m dead, and so are you. I hope it is everything you dreamed of.”
“I’m dead?”
“Yup. As a doornail or so the saying goes. Seems like drowning yourself worked. Congratulations.” Number 14’s voice dripped with the false cheer of sarcasm.
“Then I’ve done it. I have paid the debt I owed to you, and all my victims.”
The specter in front of me burst into an uproarious laughing fit.
“Oh. Is that what this was about? Payment? Sorry, that’s not how this works,” he managed to say through his laughter
“This is my punishment then?”
His laughter died down.
“If you prefer to think of it like that. Truth be told this,” He gestured around the black void, “is the nothing which you will shortly become. That's it, and the rest is silence, as they say.” Number 14 sized me up with a thoughtful expression “It's kind of a shame, you almost made it.”
“Made it?”
“To the eternal reward, everlasting peace, the afterlife, nirvana, whatever you want to call it.”
“How was I close to any of that? I was a murderer, and a liar.”
“You stopped. You slowly built up a normal life, became a productive member of society. You could have changed your life, made a real positive difference, but you didn’t. You threw all of that away, and for what? Some abstract sense of debt, or honor?” Number 14’s words began to run together as his frustration and fury grew. “Instead of making a real difference in the world you chose to add yet another body to the pile. And what has that really done? For you, for me, for my family, for Karah? WHAT!?”
The realization came as a deep pit formed in my stomach. My voice came out tiny, almost inaudible
“Nothing”
“You are absolutely right! Give the man a cigar!” He snarled back in bitter sarcasm.
“So this really is it then, there are no second chances. I died how I lived. Leaving a trail of dead bodies and broken families.”
“Correct.”
I stood there staring at Number 14 in stunned silence. Soon the silence became unbearable.
“I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry Kenneth,” I said barely above a whisper.
Kenneth frowned for a moment, cocked his head, then cracked a small smile. “There may be hope for you yet Nelson. Do you hear something?”
At first I didn’t, but then I did. A soft rhythmic beeping. A heart monitor.
“Looks like you get your second chance. Use it well.”
I slowly opened my heavy eyelids, and looked around to find myself alone in a hospital room. The relief of still being alive, of getting a second chance, hit my groggy mind with the speed and force of a train made of molasses. I didn’t have much time to enjoy that before the fear came on like a hydraulic press. What about Karah? Did she call the police? Was I going to spend my second chance in jail?
The nurse came in to check on me, and was very pleased to find that I was awake. An evening rower had seen me dive, not resurface. So he dived down himself and pulled me up onto his boat. I had apparently been dead for almost a full minute, and was completely unconscious for the following day. I spent the next few days at the hospital in recovery. It turned out that Karah had not called the police, and I was still free from suspicion. I was told that, when they called her as my emergency contact, she came immediately and practically spent the entire night wordlessly sobbing at my bed side. I hoped this meant she still loved me.
Upon being released from the hospital I caught a cab straight home. I burst through the door, calling for Karah. There was no answer.
A white envelope sitting on the kitchen table caught my eye. Written in Karah’s handwriting on the front was my name. With my hands shaking, I ripped the envelope apart, and there was a clatter as its contents fell to the ground. I looked down to see a folded hand written note, and under that note lay a diamond ring.
It has been a few months since Karah left me. I try not to let it bother me too much, but it's hard. Regardless, I think I needed the clean break. My old life was filled with pain and terror, and whether or not I would like to admit it she was a part of that old life of guilt and lies.
I never officially confessed to my crimes, I don’t see how putting myself at the mercy of the law would be doing anyone any favors. Does that make my new life just as much a lie as my old one? Perhaps, but it’s a cleaner lie. The killing has stopped, that is all that matters. I have moved on, and I, in my own small way, strive to make everything better.
Website and all contents thereof property of Maren Wasser
Contact me - (email coming soon)