Page 25 of Psycho Killers

He sighs heavily, a strange calmness settling over his features. "I need you to get rid of a car for me. And I need it done like fucking yesterday."

"Talk to me, Ash. Tell me what's going on," I urge, sensing he's withholding something significant.

"I killed a girl about an hour ago," he blurts out.

My jaw drops. Time seems to stop. His confession is delivered with an unnerving calmness, even a hint of a fucking smile. I, on the other hand, am fucking reeling, trying to process the enormity of his statement.

"Fuck, Ash," I whisper, finally looking down at the vibrant city below, unsure how to react. "Where? Why? What the hell, Ash?" I run a hand through my hair, taking the longest, deepest drag of my joint.

"It was the nurse from my room. I felt this overwhelming rage, a need to unleash it," he explains, pausing. "If I'd taken it out on Cali, something terrible would have fucking happened. I didn't want to hurt her. But the nurse... I couldn't stop myself." He hangs his head, giving me a moment to absorb his words.

"Jesus, Ash," I breathe. I'm fucking speechless.

"She offered me a ride home. We ended up at a park," his eyes glazed over as he continues. "I… I fucked her, and then I stabbed her... and then fucked her a little more until she fucking died. Then I set her on fire and watched her burn." He speaks of it as if it were an ordinary event.

I stare at him as he looks away, a chilling smile twisting his lips. But when his gaze meets mine again, the worry and shame return to his eyes, confirming his regret. His concern for Calista is evident, understandable, yet overshadowed by the horrifying act he committed.

A cold dread seeps into my bones, heavier than the night air. The city lights blur, shimmering like a distorted reflection of the horror he just confessed. My mind, usually quick and sharp, feels sluggish, struggling to process the sheer brutality of his actions. He fucking killed someone. Not just killed, but… the details were fucking sickening, the casualness of his recounting even more so.

“Where’s the car?” I finally manage, my voice a rough rasp.

The joint feels like ash in my mouth; the taste bitter and metallic. He points towards the parking garage up a block, across the street.

“Black sedan. License plate… I’ll text it to you.” He pulls out his phone, his fingers surprisingly steady.

I watch him, a storm brewing inside me. Anger, fear, revulsion—they fight within me, a chaotic symphony of emotions. This isn’t just about getting rid of a car or taking out another pedophile; this is about an innocent life, a horrifically extinguished life. And Ash, my friend, is responsible and seemingly proud of his actions.

“Ash,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “you understand this isn’t just about getting rid of a car, right? This is... this is fuckingmurder.”

He nods, his gaze fixed on the flickering screen of his phone. The calmness is gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness that chills me to the core. He types the license plate number; his movements mechanical, almost robotic.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice barely audible above the city’s hum. “I couldn't help it.”

The text message arrives—a bold, cold string of alphanumeric characters. I shove my phone back into my pocket, the chill of the night suddenly biting deeper. The city lights, once a comforting distraction, now feel like mocking eyes, witnesses to the unspeakable. Ash stands beside me, a statue carved from guilt and something else—something colder, harder. A detachment that terrifies me more than his confession.

"We need to move," I say, my voice tight.

The casualness of his actions, the almost clinical description of the murder… it's a disconnect I can't fucking comprehend. It's like he's describing a particularly unpleasant chore, not the brutal end of a human life.

He doesn't respond, just continues to stare at the city, his face devoid of expression. I take a step towards him, the joint forgotten in my hand. The smell of burning weed is suddenly nauseating.

"Ash," I say again, my voice harsher this time, "look at me."

He slowly turns, his eyes meeting mine. There's a flicker of something in their depths—fear? Regret? Or is it something else entirely? Something that makes my blood run cold. It's a look that suggests a complete severing from reality, a descent into a darkness I'm not sure I can pull him back from.

"We're going to get rid of the car," I say, my voice firm, trying to project an authority I don't feel. "Then we're going to fucking forget this shit ever happened. You understand that, right?"

He nods, a slow, almost imperceptible movement. But the emptiness in his eyes remains, a vast, echoing void. The calmness is gone, replaced by something far more unsettling: a chilling vacancy. The thought of him facing justice and the consequences of his actions, doesn't seem to register. He's already somewhere else, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind.

We walk in silence towards the parking garage, the city a silent, indifferent observer to our grim procession. The night air feels heavy, thick with the unspoken, the unfathomable.

I know, with a certainty that chills me to the bone, that getting rid of the car is only the beginning. The real horror, the true reckoning, is yet to come. And I have no idea how to face it, how to navigate the treacherous path ahead, with a friend who has become a stranger—a killer who seems utterly devoid of remorse. The weight of his actions, and the responsibility that now falls upon me, threaten to crush me. The city lights blur again, this time not from horror, but from the sheer, overwhelming exhaustion of facing the impossible.

By the timewe get back to the apartment, I notice Cali's light is now off, unlike it was when we left. Just like the entire ride to Everett to drop the car at a buddy's chop shop, we walk up the stairs in silence, not knowing what to say to each other.

I didn't have an issue with them killing the ones who fucking deserved it—the sickos out there who ruin people's lives, but Ash crossed a line when he killed an innocent, and honestly, I don't know if things will ever be the same between us after this.

Expecting everyone to be asleep, my heart leaps to the floor as I open the door and practically collide with Calista, standing with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, wearing one of Ash's favorite shirts.

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