Dax’s Blog Post
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I told my omega I would. As Calliope told you, I’m Dax. What she failed to mention is that my father was charged and convicted for my crimes. He’s dead now, so I can tell you all of it.
When I was a child, I was strange. I didn’t see the point in trying to pretend to be normal. It was the eighties, lots of kids acted differently. I was one of them. Now they would have diagnosed me with an unspecified personality disorder. Back then, they said I was a strange child and moved on. That wasn’t completely inaccurate. I never really had any emotions, never really felt anything but curiosity.
People think there are a few main signs that are supposed to predict a serial killer. We all know those. I didn’t wet the bed, didn’t hurt animals. But I did set fires. It started small, a pile of papers in the living room. As I watched the flames dance, smoke curling into the air, I actually felt for the first time in my short life. Excitement, happiness even, or as close to happiness as I had experienced at that point. My heart pounded, all I wanted to do was watch as the flames ate away at the papers. My mother swept in, pulling me away. I still remember the frazzled way my mother looked as she was putting it out while her mates shooed me out of the room. Her beta came and lectured me about how that wasn’t acceptable behavior.
From there it escalated. At thirteen I burned down the shed. That was when my parents really knew something was wrong. That was how they phrased it. I can still hear the disappointment in my father’s tone when he said it. I started hiding my fires after that. One a week. Everything changed when I turned fifteen.
My knot came in the night of my birthday. I was set for designation testing the next day. Everyone suspected I was an alpha. I was bigger than all of my fathers. Stronger too. So, my knot wasn’t much of a surprise. I was restless, needing to watch something burn. Sneaking out was easy for me, I was almost out of the house when my mother caught me. The fan moved just right, and her scent hit me. All I knew for sure was her scent made me sick to my stomach and made me desperate to eradicate the source of it.
The next thing I knew my fathers were pulling me off her. They forced me to go to therapy. Not that it lasted long, I nearly slit the therapist’s throat. She got lucky too, getting rescued by her staff. I never went back after that.
But I did learn to hide. I learned to adopt “normal” human behavior. I got good enough that I lulled the entire pack into a false sense of security. I waited until they had left for the day and my birth father was in Congress—it was the perfect opportunity.
When my mother was alone, I snuck up behind her and slit her throat. The rush of taking her life filled me with a sense of satisfaction. Listening to the gurgling as she bled out gave me a reason to live. Her phone began ringing as soon as she started to bleed. I let all the calls go to voicemail. Running into the nest, I dug into the drawers until I found their gun. I smiled, seeing it was loaded when I checked. I hid behind the front door, waiting until each of them made it home to put a bullet in their skulls.
Calliope is telling me she needs me, so I need to go.