9. Santa
Chapter 9
Santa
O kay, the first step is to admit you have a problem, and I can do that. I can admit I have a fucking problem, I think, as I wipe off my bloody hands, after disposing of the body of the man who touched Chrissy at the strip club. My problem is I seem to have lost my damn mind. While I’ve never suffered from something as silly as remorse before, and thoroughly enjoyed cutting off his hands before slitting his throat, I know I shouldn’t have. I’m allowing my irrational part to take over more and more, and I blame her . She’s the cause of my reckless actions in the last couple of days. I’m usually so careful and methodical about my stalking and my kills. I never just murder anyone randomly, and without a prior plan in place to dispose of them.
I watch as the lifeless body of ‘Jerry’, who swore up and down that he was really sorry he touched my Chrissy, disappears under all the dirt I shoveled on top of him, in the wooded area I dragged him to, after pretending to be his scheduled pickup driver. Humans really have no self-preservation, taking others at their word, without even checking. A quick glance at his phone would have prevented him from getting in my car and ending up where he did, but the loser couldn’t even be bothered. My intentions were just to cut off his hands, and teach him a lesson about not touching what doesn’t belong to him, but then my mind kept supplying the image of him laughing up at Chrissy’s furious face. Before I knew it, I had not only cut off his hands, but slit his throat from ear to ear and then ripped open his abdomen, allowing all of his guts to spill out. He died calling for my mercy, something I have always lacked.
Now, I’m standing in the woods, covered in sweat, blood, and dirt, thoroughly annoyed with myself, and realizing that the chances of me kidnapping Chrissy tonight are slim. Fuck, I’m a mess. I reach down and grab the hands I cut off of Jerry, that are wrapped in his shirt, and trudge through the thick crop of Evergreen trees, back toward where I left my vehicle. I’m going to have to do a deep clean inside of it to ensure that none of that asshole’s DNA is left behind. I look down at the bloody bundle in my hands. Why the fuck did I even keep these? I don’t usually do mementos of my kills, I’m not deranged.
Maybe I should gift them to Chrissy as a peace offering between us? I, of course, couldn’t let her know they were from me, but maybe they would bring her some satisfaction, that there was one less grabby asshole wandering around that she would have to deal with. Would she look at them with admiration for my hard work, or with disgust? The logical part of me is yelling inside of my thick skull that no one gifts women bloody hands, but the psychotic part of me is telling that one to shut the fuck up.
Ugh, I’ll figure out what to do with them later. Firstly I need to head home and clean all this shit off me, and make sure I have my alibi of where I was nicely wrapped up tight. My dad is going to have to play along, unless he wants another one of his sons to end up on the news. Tonight has been a bit too messy, and I’m less than satisfied with the outcome. I place the bundled hands down on the passenger floorboard with an aggravated sigh, and look at the time on the dashboard as I start up my Mustang. Chrissy’s long gone from the club now, and probably back behind the walls of her home where the beast is protecting her. There’s no way for me to grab her from there tonight. Jesus, between the morgue, Joey from the toilet stall, and now this Jerry cunt, I’ve wasted my whole night, and I’m no closer to getting to her.
I need a plan, and in order to do that, I need more information on her. I know where she works and her financial situation, but I need eyes on her at all times. The diner she works at should be closed for the next few hours. If I can get home, get cleaned up, and over there, I can install some cameras, so I can watch her while she’s there. Then maybe, while she and her roommate are out, I can dose the hellhound and slip into her house, and install cameras there, too. Yeah, that will work; that’s more than reasonable, and will be productive.
I head home with a plan firmly in place on what to do about my pretty prize, even though the shouting in my brain is getting louder that I’m losing myself to this unstable need for this woman. It’s a good thing I’m able to ignore anything that doesn’t suit my needs.