I have always tried to be a good person.
I'm the one in the car in front of you who keeps letting people in, and who slows down for pedestrians to cross. I'm the one that may not have change for the homeless guy on the corner, but will offer him my sandwiches, or get him a cup of tea. I'm the one who randomly pays for the car behind me on the toll.
I hold open doors for people. I always remember to say please and thank you. And I never jump a queue.
I am polite and trustworthy.
Well, trustworthy to point....
You see, I was brought up by two grounded human beings who knew wrong from right. They taught me patience. They taught me how to look at both sides of an argument and draw my own conclusions. They explained how opinions are individual and subjective. How society can influence the sheep to react, regardless of the consequences, and that research and understanding will arm you with all of facts and point out where the sheep are going wrong. They taught me that the pen is mightier than the sword.
I was a very intelligent child. But unlike many others of high intelligence who rebel through their teenage years, I excelled. I studied hard, I socialised as much as my friends, I had long term relationships.
But I never truly loved. There was no one who 'took my breath away', or broke my heart. I found it easy to play the game, though. To show the affection that my partners craved. To say those three words with feeling and intention. Like holding open a door for a stranger, saying 'I love you' made people feel special.
Love is neither here or there. It is unimportant. You can trust me, but I will never trust you. You can love me, but I will never love you back. You can give me your world, and I will take it.
My parents knew there was something missing from me when I was seventeen. The family dog died. Rufus was a harmless Scottie Dog who had been with us since my fourth birthday. My parents were devastated with his sudden demise. I shrugged, and suggested we get a replacement. My father shouted at me, my mother called me heartless. But I had been raised as a good person, and my suggestion was made only with their feelings in mind. They would miss his company. My father would miss taking him for a walk. My mother would miss his lap cuddles in the evening. I did not, and still do not, understand their need for a 'mourning period'. Surely if you lose something, it should be replaced?
I take great pride in my appearance. I have seen how the well dressed get further in life. Being stylish will open many doors for you, both socially and professionally. So I have my hair cut once every two weeks by the same barber. I have manicures once a month at the same beauty salon. My suits are Saville Row, my ties Burberry. Barker shoes adorn my feet. I have never been to a discount retailer, and I never plan to. Quality will never be overshadowed by price.
I passed the Bar at twenty six. Criminal law really was the best profession for someone like me. It is best to be factual and not emotionally compromised when defending a murderer. I make more money than I can spend, and have fought the case for many unscrupulous people who are never afraid to tell me that they dislike me enormously. But they trust me. And they are honest to me. And I like that. I will find the loop hole that will exonerate them, but I insist that they tell me the truth. If I think they are lying to me, I will not help them.
It's the stories. I want to know how they killed them. I want to know what they did with the bodies. I want to know why they did it. And when I get home at the end of the day, I sit naked in an old Chesterfield armchair, with a glass of Jameson's in my right hand. I close my eyes, and I imagine that it was me who took the knife to Mrs Howard's neck, held it against her skin, and gently increased the pressure until I felt the skin give, and the knife sink in. I imagine the blood, first a small dot of red, prominent against her alabaster skin, and then more, until it flows gently from her neck, along the shaft of the knife, and eventually over my own skin. I feel it's warmth, and it soothes me. And when I pull the blade free, the blood flows stronger, the heart pumping it out of the body as if it no longer has need for it. I imagine her expression of horror and fear. The realisation that her life will end before she can finish everything that she had planned to do.
Sometimes, in my fantasies, they plead for their lives. They beg me. Try to bribe me. But I relentless. Just like the murderers that I defend.
They are like me. Which is perhaps why they dislike me so much. They see in me the darkest parts of themselves. That darkest part that enjoys the kill. The part that dreams up new ways of killing. The part that societies 'sheep' abhor.
My obsession is growing. It has done so for many years. Now, I sit and imagine what it would be like to take the life of people I know. Of people who have wronged me. The traffic warden who tickets my car. The client who does not pay his bills on time. The bank manager who thinks he is better than me. These are the stuff of fantasies. And I know that soon, I will cross the line and commit the crimes that I work so diligently to defend.
It will happen.
It is a matter of time.
I am coming.
