Page 71 of Babalon

I was half angry, which I punished myself for that night, and half relieved that someone finally said something to the authorities. I was beginning to think that people were not nearly as distraught with a serial killer roaming the streets as they had made out on the news. The longer I am alive, the more I notice just how ill-concerned society truly is. They turn blind eyes so they are not forced to deal with the consequences of our fall out. It’s sad, it’s people like them who have allowed others to harm the innocent, and though I don’t have the means to kill all of them, I wish I did.

Here I stand now, presenting my wrists to the jailer so he can secure them—knowing my ankles would be next, followed by a chain that connects both sets of cuffs. They are not taking any chances with me, which is smart on their behalf, but it would be ignorant of me to do anything when I am so close to my prize.

The way the chain scrapes along the tiled floor, announce my presence, like some sort of doomsday beacon.

I’ve seen the way the jurors look at me, along with the remaining family members of the affluent ones I have ripped apart. Their glances never bother me, I learned to get over the judgment a long time ago. I want them to see me though, to know that I’m the one who brought their families bloodline to a violent end.

If you asked me when was the first time I noticed the judgment, it was when I started kindergarten. The other little kids would ask me why my pants were still dirty or why I wore the same shirt a few days in a row. I didn’t know why other than it was all I had.

They would make faces at me, call me rude names, and instead of allowing my feelings to take hold, I just shut down. I knew that if I got in trouble at school then I would find out how angry my dad was when I got home. It only took one day to teach me the valuable lesson behind staying quiet and not getting in trouble at school. A boy shoved me forward and made me fall to my hands and knees at recess. When I got up, I punched him in the face, like I have watched my dad do to my mom.

When I got home that night, my dad took a belt to my behind. He beat me so much that welts and bruises covered almost every square inch of skin from the underside of the knees up to my lower back.

He told me I had to be a good boy in school or I would end up like this every time. That the only way to survive the world was to listen to people older than me and to behave, and that there was no room for violence.

Ironic.

Little did he know that he would lead me far, far away from that path as I got older.

Stepping over to my chair, I sit down onto it, remaining still as the jailer uncuffs my hands and feet then proceeds to attach them to the metal bar that was bolted to the table I now sit behind.

Anything for safety.

If there was anyone in this room that the Lord would want me to kill, it would be the judge. I’ve seen his name come across the news before, Walker, I think it is. He is easy to bribe from what has been discovered, but that’s not why I am here.

Stay focused, my son.

“Yes, my Lord,” I murmur.

This will be over before you know it, then you can get to work again. Remember what I told you, you complete your task, then you can find the person you seek.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Lucien, are you ready to proceed?” Judge Walker asks.

“Yes, your honor.”

It was going to be a long day, but I will manage, I am a man of immense patience after all. I have been working towards this moment for years, and the moment it all comes to a head, everything will be worth it.

“Very well, if the prosecution would proceed with the evidence,” Judge Walker instructs.

It took two more hearings before I received my sentencing, but they were sure to keep me in custody through the duration—there is no ‘time served’ in cases like this. I had no intention for the whole thing to drag across several months, but you can’t rush the American judicial system unfortunately.

I didn’t get to float around society and wait for things to fall apart around me. No, I was allowed to remain in a cell away from others with a bed, food, and warmth. Something that I haven’t been blessed with experiencing in a long time.

Burden on society, the tabloids said.

Put him six feet under. Stand him in front of a firing squad. Bring back the death penalty.

The pure hatred I could see in the faces of the families I crippled brought me an immense amount of pleasure and joy. Even as they grunted in frustration at the sentencing I was provided.

Needless to say, today is my last day in county, and I am being loaded onto a bus and shipped off. The drive will last about four hours which gives me time to sleep. While others may find transport unnerving, I doubt any one of them will attempt toget out of their seats, let alone bother me—not with constant supervision, complete with guns.

I prefer knives, but I know you don’t bring those to a gunfight, so I will keep myself in my seat.

Next stop, Darkwater Correctional Institute.

Chapter twenty-two

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