Page 4 of The Silent Night Stalker
First, a test to make sure she feels no pain. I poke the tip of the knife into her chest and cut a little. When she doesn’t react, I know she can’t feel anything. Good. She doesn’t need any more suffering. The last thing I want is to torment her. I’m nothim. I willneverbe him.
“You are loved, my dear Emma. Maybe not by your father or other men, but you are by me.”
I want to kiss her, but I can’t afford to leave any trace of myself.
Confident she’ll be fine, I continue to cut into her chest, carving out a large section of skin in the shape of a heart. I want to show those who find her that she matters to someone.
Emma doesn’t flinch at all, but tears spill down her face. “Hmaloeph amothsa.”
“Shh, it’s all going to be over soon. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
Once the skin is cut, I drop it into a plastic baggie and zip it closed.
It’s almost done now. I cup her face with my clean, gloved hand, then I slowly drag the edge of my knife deep into her jugular. Now, I wait. There’s blood everywhere, and the room fills up with the familiar metallic smell as the heart pumps it out of her.
Emma tries to move, and her eyes roll into her head again as she gurgles her dying breath, drowning in her own blood. I’m confident she doesn’t feel a thing.
As she quickly bleeds out, her eyes finally meet mine. There’s clarity there, along with gratitude and love. She’s happy she can move on to heaven with her mom. I see it now. She sees it too. Right then, I know I did the right thing.
And for the first time, I experience pure joy.
Chapter 2
Constantine
“Asweapproachtheholidays here in the Windy City, the Chicago PD would like to remind you to stay on guard, keep your doors locked at home and in your car, and never walk alone at night.
It’s been five years since the murders began on Christmas Eve. The serial killer known as the Silent Night Stalker has yet to be caught by authorities. Only one victim is selected each year during the holidays, although the police suspect there are more victims.
It all began with Emma St. James, a thirty-year-old woman, who was coerced in her home, where she was drugged and murdered. When the killer finished with her, he cut out a heart-shaped piece of skin from her chest, which left the community reeling and in shock.
I frown at the moniker. I hate it. ‘The Silent Night Stalker.’ It’s ridiculous and annoying. They make me sound like a monster, and that makes me angry. Theydon’tunderstand. They don’tseewhat I do. Even worse, I hate it when they call me a serial killer. Screw them. They’re just close-minded.
At the same time, I feel powerful. The police have yet to identify who I am, and as much as I want the world to see the good I’m doing, I need to be very careful. I won’t be able to continue to help people if I’m locked away in prison.
Dang it, though. I’m not a murderer. That’s not what I’m doing at all. When they call me these things, I’m urged to call the police and tell them I’m not evil. I’m not a serial killer. I’m not…him. Never him.Hewas the evil one.Hewas the cruel one. I help people. But sometimes, as I watch the news, doubt creeps in.AmI like him? Do they see something I don’t? No, I can’t think like that. I can’t let others confuse me.
The stress soon washes away, and I smile when I remind myself of the date. It makes my stomach do somersaults with pleasant excitement. In a few short days, I’ll pick out my person who is desperate for help. I can’t wait. I’m eager to ease someone into their transition from life to death. They’ll go to heaven and live for eternity in happiness. It’s their choice, not mine. They call tome. They seekmeout without even realizing it. I empathize with them because I was just like them once. It doesn’t matter if it’s legal. The law doesn’t give them the help that they need. So, I’m their angel of deliverance.
Despite my frustration that the media doesn’t get me, my ego is boosted by the acknowledgment of my work on the news program. Still, I need to remember to stay humble.
Christmas is supposed to be filled with joy, family, and friends. But for so many of us, it’s filled with pain. So much pain. For the most part, my anxiety is easy to live with throughout the year, but the holidays bring about days that can be suffocating and lonely. I see it. It’s a reflection of myself in them.
When I first helped Emma move on toward a better world, it put me at ease. For the first time in years, I didn’t have to bury myself and hide away until the panic passed.
Sometimes, I wish there had been people like me when I’d been hurting. There was a timeIwanted to die, and there was no one to deliver me. Instead, I’ve taken on this very important role. And in those moments before death, they realize their suffering and pain are almost over. They will finally be free. They’re grateful to me that I give them what they can’t do themselves, what they’re afraid to do. As I watch their eyes blink out for the last time, I see it. I see their relief that the end is near. That they’ll finally be free.
My attention is drawn back to the television hanging on the wall in the corner behind the counter at the liquor store where I work. The woman reporter with a blonde bob and too much Botox feigns sadness and concern, but you can tell she doesn’t care. None of them do. Not really. It’s so frustrating.
“The police have had a difficult time finding the Stalker, who only appears once a year. He kills men and women alike. Old and young. There seems to be no pattern to the murders other than it happens on Christmas Eve, and the hearts carved into their chests.”
The heart carving is my gift to them. To show they are loved and not alone. I smile at that. Yeah, I can’t wait until next week.
“Hel-lo!”
The annoyed voice forces my attention away from the news. I turn to face an older man of about sixty with thinning gray hair and a ruddy complexion from too much drinking.
“I’ve been tryin’ to get your attention.”
