Black Sheep

The adrenaline fires every time I make a connection. I swing, and thrust over, and over until I’m swimming in what remains. The demonic voice screams, “Again, Again! He’s still moving!” I’m exhausted now, my arms are weak, but the crying I hear is drowning.

The officers arrive after my sister finally calls. “It’s her fault. She knew what would happen. She is my sister for Christ’s sake.” I tell myself.

I spent two years of my middle school days in court battles. I was found not guilty though, due to the evidence pointing out that my father had been abusing my sister for three years. The jury looked at me as a hero, but my sister would never know what she had unleashed.

After the years we spent moving from different cities, with different relatives. We finally settle in with my mother’s mom, my grandma. She lived in a quiet Midwest town, with promising schools, and a nice neighborhood. We became optimistic.

I’m sure you wonder why we didn’t go with our mother. Well the courts deemed her unfit. She had a pill addiction, and your basic alcoholism. A toxic combination.

We did see her from time to time. But seeing as I did relieve her of her husband, and I despised her for doing nothing to help her, I could tell she feared me. Without a doubt, I knew she should.

I was busy turning seventeen, and entering a new world of being a sophomore at a new school. My sister who was three years younger, was doing her best to adjust to junior high. I know her struggles were nothing compared to mine.

I was fifteen, and had tasted blood already. It was revenge or vengeance whatever you’d want to say, but I couldn’t forget that voice. Over, and over it told me what to do that night. My so-called father gave me life, and I took his. He wasn’t a good man, but that voice was haunting me.

I’d be stuck inside my head most days in my school. I believe that’s why lunch was so lonely, and disgusting. I notice a lot of kids would leave during lunch. Just to eat some real food I’m sure. I didn’t drive at this time, nor had friends with the much necessary items to do so either. So I decided to start packing my lunch, just so I could leave the campus to gather my thoughts without the noise.

A few times I’d run into the “cool” kids at their favorite burger joint, as I walked aimlessly. They’d yell at me or throw food waste in my direction. I could ignore them with ease, but deep down I was calculated.

I’d spent my nights away from school writing in my journal, and detailing my findings on dissecting small rodents, or stray animals.

After a few months, my sister grew accustomed to her school. She got friends, and ended up being somewhat normal. If that’s a thing. I let her bask in her sanity. Knowing I’m slowly slipping.

The threats, and hatred targeted my way were more constant than ever before. I guess my mother came from money, I would’ve never knew, had I not been sitting in stall, and heard someone say;

“Those Mossier kids are f*****g creepy, for being rich.”

Another kid replied, “Yeah, f*****g rich orphans, who has ever heard of that!”

“The one killed her father!” a voice said.

The room fell silent, I tried making sure I went unnoticed. I gasped knowing they wouldn’t let that statement go the same way. Ridicule was abound. I pissed all over myself that day, not from fear, from uncoordinated, and unwanted physical directives not given by my brain.

I planned to leave school at lunch that day anyhow. No one needed me at a pep rally.

“What the f**k is lacrosse?”

My stroll out the cafeteria doors into the free world was serene this time. Yes, I had urine covered pants on, but I was alone. This wasn’t lunch time. No other kids around, I left early due to certain circumstances, as were mentioned. I take in everything, from the birds, to the feel of the sun.

“Listen to me,” a distant voice says.

“Hello?” I say out-loud, “is there someone following me?” I panic. I start looking around. I’m barely a mile from the school, it could be other skippers or burnouts going to smoke by the football stands.

“Do as I say!” I hear the voice say.

“This isn’t funny!!” I yell.

As my voice echoes, I feel my heart racing, and my breath starts to shorten. “Calm down. Calm down!” I tell myself. “It was nothing. You heard nothing.” I say as I start to catch my breath. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t nothing. I had heard it before.

I race home without stopping, thankfully the door was unlocked. For being rich my grandmother wasn’t worried about things being stolen, or people barging in. Though I did scare her half to death. Due to it being 10:32 in the morning, and I was supposed to be at school. So I tell her the urination tragedy, and she let me stay home, and recoup.

I spend this free time remembering kids who wronged me, or teachers who treated me like s**t. I was the smartest kid in the school, I had a lot to offer, but no one treated me as such. I fall asleep angry.

“Get up, it’s time!” the voice is back. I jump up, no longer angry, or disoriented like before. I decide to talk to the voice.

Out loud I say, “Who are you?” I wait a few minutes. No reply, so I try it in my head. “Who are you?” I say internally.

“You,” the voice whispers. I hear exactly what it says, and I know I should be afraid, or questions it’s intentions, but I’m not.

In welcoming this new-found internal monologue, that swells my head, I find myself in the nurses office looking for excuses to be sent home. I want to speak to him. I want to know why he was there that night. Mostly because of his encouragement.

One day I was granted my “free day” again. I spend it speaking to myself. We spoke for hours, upon hours. I learned one thing through all of our talks that day. I must kill again.

The urge my sister, and father released, is what’s been haunting me. I have a blood lust that must be filled. I don’t know where to start though.

“Without getting caught, how can I take another life?” I say to myself.

The voice replies, “Don’t kill the innocent, kill the sinful.” The cadence is haunting, but angelic. So I devise a plan.

I searched until the bus arrived for school. Who would be my next victim, how will it be done? I wasn’t focused on school, or anything remotely government based academics. I had three possible options at this point. So all through lunch I try to decide which one, and how.

I start to collect weaponry that night after school let out, and I filled my journal with more details. I prepare: Machetes, daggers, Swiss army knives, steak knives, anything sharp. It was what I knew.

Of course my next victim at this point was chosen. He was another man who had abused his step daughter though. He was released last year after doing only ten years.

I find out two days later my sister is friends with the girl, or victim if you’d be so kind. She confided in my sister the information, not knowing I’d use it for an advantage. She said her step father didn’t live with them, (for obvious reasons) and her mother remarried. She was pretty sure he stayed in a motel outside the city. I was truly proud to see she had overcame what she went through. Now for my release.

I finish out the week of school, going over my details. I find out he lives at the Super 8, and frequents the bar next door. So I set my plans in stone for Saturday night, when I’m sure he will be plastered. I’m still young, and a sober grown man would be more difficult, and I dealt with a drunk already.

Saturday night finally rolls around. The voice is as loud as ever. My adrenaline pumps like acid through my veins. I’m ready for this, I need this, and he deserves it.

I wait for hours after I see him go in from my view outside the gas station. He finally comes out, and I see him sloppily head for the hotel. I head in his direction dressed like a shadow, weapon cache on hand. I creep up behind him as he pushes his card through the slot. The light turns green, physically, and mentally.

I force him through his door. He lands on his face, laughing. I think he felt like it was his fault for being wasted. So I turn him over, and as he sees my face, he reaches for my chest, as I attack. He makes as much sound as his body has left. He gasps out his screams. Since the six inches that is inside his body, pierced his lung. The voice inside is screaming, “Again and again!” As I feel his last bit of air exit. I leave my second victim, or should I say enemy at the foot of his bed on the floor.

I had planned this strategically, and it went as planned. I dressed in different clothes, and went to the same bar he exited. Oh I realize I’m underage, but a fake I.D., and great chest, will get you in anywhere.

You see, I rid the world of my evil father for doing what he did to me, and my sister. Lucky for her she found herself again. I never did, and still haven’t. She didn’t deal with him for as long as I did. Finding out she was his victim as well, was my breaking point. I was considered a hero. Now I trail these streets looking for my next victim, my next release, or should I say “hers?”

“Who? Me?” the voice replies from Jessica’s mouth.