find me in his corner. Change was brewing. It was time to remove my costume and for once take my true form.
As my brain continued to reel, I decided that disapproving of his actions wasn’t enough. I needed to do something. Action was necessary, but not some rinky-dink feat, something really needed to be done. Like a beacon in the sky pleading for justice, I would take up the call. Unfortunately for Brent, he would not like the end result.
As I placed my phone back on the nightstand, I knew what had to be done. With a perfect idea ingrained in my head, an idea so dastardly, no goody-two shoe, Catholic boy would ever dream of acting upon it, I knew my world as well as Brent’s was about to forever change.
Chapter Six
P lanning to commit murder is not like deciding to super-size your meal at the drive-thru or purchasing gum at the checkout counter. It’s not random. It’s as permanent as blocking a former friend on Facebook.
It’s impossible to rationalize why murder is the best available option. You can’t create a pros and cons list, tally the totals then decide; murder it is. The act is instinctual. Deeply rooted in the pits of one’s being is the innate ability to take another’s life. Like any plant, this corrupt seedling growing in the darkness must be nurtured if it hopes to thrive. Most of these seedlings die early, as though they were plants starved of water thanks to a prolonged family vacation. Many are distracted by the frivolous chores of everyday life. A once promising killer can become sidetracked by having to take out a second mortgage or driving the kids to soccer practice.
Growing up an only child in suburbia, my road to depredation was far from obvious to others. My criminal behavior started at an early age, but when my father realized I was capable of stealing toys from my kindergarten classmates , his belt helped illuminate the error of my ways.
Similar to many other sociopaths, the thrill of creeping in the woods to pursue elusive prey excited me as well. Stalking an unsuspecting beast then delivering a fatal blow helped nourish my ever-growing darkness. Despite my yearning to hunt, I was by no means a sadist. My goal was never to prolong suffering, it was merely the pleasure of an impulsive kill that drove my desire for more.
Let’s be honest, these actions are not uncommon. Many people like to hunt, and tons of little munchkins jack toys. For me, these early habits had a purpose, but they didn’t strengthen the internal darkness which allowed me to kill my former bestie, Brent Crane. Rather, it was a run-in with an arrogant prick in middle school that shed light on what I was capable of becoming.
†
My seventh grade class was comprised of about twenty-five students. I knew the habits and routines of all of them. It was common knowledge that Todd Miller stayed with his grandmother every Saturday night because Todd’s mother spent her evenings trolling the bars in search of the boy’s new father to be. Sadly for Todd, his mother wasn’t much of a looker. Tisa Barnes and Amanda Evans sat together on the same bench every recess, giggling and whispering about cute boys, butch haircuts, the latest fashion trends, and God knows what else. No doubt, these two had turned into Facebook-stalking, Twittering floozies. Colton Mooney had the best scarf collection of anyone in the school, and regardless of which side of the fence he ended up on, I knew the kid had turned into one stylish hombre.
Like Colton, I knew I was different. To most, I appeared the typical schoolboy. I had friends, was active in Bible study, was a member of the junior high basketball team, and I even had a wonderful girlfriend named Anna. But, even with all that, I felt out of place. At the time, I thought my feelings were caused by the raging hormones rather than my twisted demon that was rattling his cage, demanding to be let out.
In early January, a transfer
As my brain continued to reel, I decided that disapproving of his actions wasn’t enough. I needed to do something. Action was necessary, but not some rinky-dink feat, something really needed to be done. Like a beacon in the sky pleading for justice, I would take up the call. Unfortunately for Brent, he would not like the end result.
As I placed my phone back on the nightstand, I knew what had to be done. With a perfect idea ingrained in my head, an idea so dastardly, no goody-two shoe, Catholic boy would ever dream of acting upon it, I knew my world as well as Brent’s was about to forever change.
Chapter Six
P lanning to commit murder is not like deciding to super-size your meal at the drive-thru or purchasing gum at the checkout counter. It’s not random. It’s as permanent as blocking a former friend on Facebook.
It’s impossible to rationalize why murder is the best available option. You can’t create a pros and cons list, tally the totals then decide; murder it is. The act is instinctual. Deeply rooted in the pits of one’s being is the innate ability to take another’s life. Like any plant, this corrupt seedling growing in the darkness must be nurtured if it hopes to thrive. Most of these seedlings die early, as though they were plants starved of water thanks to a prolonged family vacation. Many are distracted by the frivolous chores of everyday life. A once promising killer can become sidetracked by having to take out a second mortgage or driving the kids to soccer practice.
Growing up an only child in suburbia, my road to depredation was far from obvious to others. My criminal behavior started at an early age, but when my father realized I was capable of stealing toys from my kindergarten classmates , his belt helped illuminate the error of my ways.
Similar to many other sociopaths, the thrill of creeping in the woods to pursue elusive prey excited me as well. Stalking an unsuspecting beast then delivering a fatal blow helped nourish my ever-growing darkness. Despite my yearning to hunt, I was by no means a sadist. My goal was never to prolong suffering, it was merely the pleasure of an impulsive kill that drove my desire for more.
Let’s be honest, these actions are not uncommon. Many people like to hunt, and tons of little munchkins jack toys. For me, these early habits had a purpose, but they didn’t strengthen the internal darkness which allowed me to kill my former bestie, Brent Crane. Rather, it was a run-in with an arrogant prick in middle school that shed light on what I was capable of becoming.
†
My seventh grade class was comprised of about twenty-five students. I knew the habits and routines of all of them. It was common knowledge that Todd Miller stayed with his grandmother every Saturday night because Todd’s mother spent her evenings trolling the bars in search of the boy’s new father to be. Sadly for Todd, his mother wasn’t much of a looker. Tisa Barnes and Amanda Evans sat together on the same bench every recess, giggling and whispering about cute boys, butch haircuts, the latest fashion trends, and God knows what else. No doubt, these two had turned into Facebook-stalking, Twittering floozies. Colton Mooney had the best scarf collection of anyone in the school, and regardless of which side of the fence he ended up on, I knew the kid had turned into one stylish hombre.
Like Colton, I knew I was different. To most, I appeared the typical schoolboy. I had friends, was active in Bible study, was a member of the junior high basketball team, and I even had a wonderful girlfriend named Anna. But, even with all that, I felt out of place. At the time, I thought my feelings were caused by the raging hormones rather than my twisted demon that was rattling his cage, demanding to be let out.
In early January, a transfer
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