Psychopath for Hire: A Novel of Extreme Horror

by Matt Shaw

  “Do you mind if we just talk?” I asked.

  I felt like a nervous teenager filled with angst. Confused and scared, caught in the headlights of an unsure life. She said she’d like that and so I climbed onto the bed and laid next to her.

  I cuddled in and started to cry.

  Jenna’s voice in my head asked if I wanted to talk about it. It went on to explain that it was good to get things off the chest - especially if they were troubling a conscience and it was fair to say certain things were troubling my mind. The most disturbing thought running through my mind was how I had ended up in this position; role-playing with the corpses of people I’d recently killed, such as Jenna lying next to me and Matty-Bob downstairs in the dining room - still hidden away by a table cloth. I never thought I’d end up doing the things I do.

  I imagined that Jenna whispered to me that I looked troubled and I told her that I was. Funny. Of all the role-playing scenarios I have acted out with my friends - I never once acted out something like this.

  “I’ve done bad things,” I told her.

  She told me that it didn’t necessarily mean I was a bad person but I was. Anyone looking in from the outside would say I was before even getting to know me. They’d all judge, they’d all condemn and I’d be alone again. That’s the nice thing about dead bodies; they never leave. At least, not until you want them to. Nor do they judge. Jenna’s voice continued in my head - she was trying to reassure me, trying to tell me that just because I thought something was bad - it didn’t necessarily mean it was.

  “I’ve killed people.”

  She didn’t look at it as though I had killed people. In fairness, I hadn’t used to. She looked at it as though I had helped people move on to a better place. The world is a cruel place. It’s a hard place to grow old in and sometimes people struggle. She told me I took away the pain people experienced - or could have experienced - and set them on a brighter path; gave them a seat next to God and their already deceased loved ones. She continued - stating I should be commended for what I do. It wasn’t her saying any of that though. It was me. All in my head. Trying to justify my actions in an effort to make myself feel better for them.

  “I won’t be forgiven,” I told her, “people like me aren’t ever forgiven. Only judged.”

  I didn’t usually feel down on an evening such as this. I usually felt good about what I did to the people who visited my home - although I’ve always felt as though it wasn’t necessarily the correct way to feel. Truth be told I’m not entirely sure why I feel the way I do now - the guilt running through me for all the people who’ve fallen at my hand. I looked at Jenna’s cold body and couldn’t help but blame her for the way I was feeling. In my head she begged me not to. She wanted me to like her. They all did. I couldn’t help myself though. All because I had looked into her eyes and witnessed a rare beauty. A rare sight which made me realise what I was doing - how I was living - was wrong.

  “What would my mum think if she could see me now?” it was a rhetorical question yet my evening’s guest still answered by stating that my mum would see a man grieving. But it’s not just a grieving man she’d look down upon. She’d also see a murderer. A sick individual. A twisted soul who liked to play with those he killed, creating make-believe worlds and scenarios that they could all live in. I know it’s not normal behaviour and yet I can’t help myself. It’s what makes me feel alive. It’s what makes me feel appreciated. Less lonely.

  I can’t help myself.

  Talk to me, Jenna said in the back of my mind.

  Her voice calm, caring.

  Sincere.

  “I’m sorry,” I told the dead body, “it’s just…ghosts of my past seem to be haunting me.”

  Jenna said that she understood. She asked me to talk about it. She told me it would make me feel better to say it out loud. And - even if it didn’t - it would help her understand what I was going through.

  I felt a little bit uncomfortable. This isn’t something I tend to do - talking to my dates. Not like this anyway. I looked at Jenna’s face. There was a kindness in her expression I hadn’t seen before in any of my dates. Maybe it would help to talk?

  “I guess it started with my mum,” I told her. I felt nervous. This was the first time I’d spoken out loud what I had been through; what lead me to this confused moment in my life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BEFORE

  Painful Goodbyes

  I

  I woke up with a pain in my neck from the weird sleeping angle forced upon my tired body by dozing off in the arm-chair next to my mum’s bed, just as I had done so the previous four or five nights. I could have gone to my own bed, it’s only in the next room, but I chose to stay here by her side. She was looking worse now. Worse than she had for a while. Can’t remember the last time she looked good. Even in my memories of her she had the same yellow hue to her skin as she does now.

  Watching me at school, doing various shows or at different end of term presentations - she’d be sitting there, front row and centre, with the yellow tone to her skin and the expensive wig on her head. Smile on her face.

  Standing in the kitchen slaving over a cooker, preparing dinner for us. Yellow hue. She’d turn to me and smile, ask me to come over and stir something whilst she prepared the vegetables.

  Go back further to when I was around five or six years old; mum was by my bed with a book in her hand. Tom Thumb. One of my favourite stories when I was growing up. She’d be reading it to me. The yellow of her skin illuminating the room.

  I looked at her in her own bed. Not even her proper bed but one that was lent to us by the hospital when they sent her home to die. I wiped a tear from my eye as I looked upon her. I hate the fact my memories of her have been tainted by her current ailing look. It doesn’t seem fair and I can’t help but wonder whether my old memories will be given back to me - untouched - when she has gone. I hope so. I don’t want to remember her how she is now. I want to remember her how she was. That brave, beautiful woman; the one who raised me to the best of her abilities after her husband, and my so-called father, disappeared.

  She slowly opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw me - as she did every time she woke from one of her ever-increasing sleeps.

  “Have you been there all night?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Scared I’m going to run off?” a slight laugh. She doesn’t even sound like my mum anymore. She sounds like a stranger. A weakness in her voice that I’m not used to hearing. I do not like it. Despite how she sounded, I was still grateful to hear her speak. Speak normally at least. Half the time she spoke to me, especially these past few days, she hasn’t really made much sense; the medications taking their toll. She’d tell of these weird and wonderful things she’d seen around the room. The way she spoke - it sounded as though she were in some kind of puppet film with friendly puppets bouncing around the room singing at her, begging for her to join in. It was nice to hear she wasn’t in pain but at the same time it was depressing. The more she spoke of hallucinations, the more I knew she was no longer the woman I used to know. The more I realised we were heading for the end that I both longed for and dreaded.

  “I saw my mum and dad,” she said.

  I smiled at her, “Did you?”

  She nodded slowly as though even that were painful for her. I reached down to the floor, where I’d previously placed a glass of water, and lifted it up. I carefully held it to her mouth and tipped it slowly towards her, allowing her to take a sip. I moved the cup away and put it back on the floor.

  “What did they say?” I asked.

  “They asked me to go with them.”

  I didn’t know what to say to her. I wanted her to go with them because it would mean her pain would be over but, at the same time, I felt conflicted because I didn’t want her to leave me. She was all I had. She was my world. I’d spent so much time looking after her, making sure she was okay, that I didn’t know what else to do. I’d left my job for her. My partner had left
me because of her. That sounded harsh but it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. It was a new relationship, fairly new anyway, and I couldn’t give her the time she needed. Not when I had my mum at home needing me. Mum had spent so long looking after me, it was only fair I did the same for her in her hour of need.

  Her ‘hour’ of need. Funny. Her ‘hour’ was now in its sixth long month, not that I cared. I was grateful for every day we had together.

  I took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t have the words for her but that didn’t mean I couldn’t show I was here for her. She smiled at my touch and then winced in pain. I hated seeing her like this. I’d do anything to take away the pain for her.

  I released her hand, got up, and walked to her make-up table situated at the far side of the room. Her make-up had long since been disposed of and replaced with various medications. I grabbed the pain-relief and walked back with it to the chair I’d been sitting on.

  “Here you go,” I pressed down on the child-proof lid and gave it a twist until I was able to pop it off. I tipped the bottle into my hand, spilling two pills. I put the bottle on the floor and sat on the bed, next to mum. I lifted her slightly before reaching down for the glass of water. With the glass in my hand, I slipped the two pills into mum’s mouth and let her sip at the glass. She swallowed hard - a move which seemed to be painful for her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as I lowered her back onto her pillow.

  She closed her eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder how many more times she’d be able to do that; open her eyes and close them again. She looks terrible. Are we getting close to the day where she’ll close her eyes and never open them again? I looked away from her as I sat back down on my chair. I didn’t want her to see my eyes. More to the point, I didn’t want her to see the tears in them.

  “Did you want me to bring the television up here?” I asked her, still avoiding eye-contact as best as I could.

  “I don’t want to be trouble,” she told me. She said the same every time I offered to do something for her; she didn’t want to be any trouble. She failed to understand - or believe me when I said it - that nothing was too much trouble. She didn’t need the television anyway. Especially these past couple of days; she spent most of them asleep. Her naps seemingly getting longer each time. Funny. I’d have thought she would have wanted to spend more time awake. After all - it probably won’t be much longer before she’s in the eternal sleep. I shook the thought from my mind. Don’t want to think about that. It might be for the best but - even so - I don’t want to acknowledge what’s coming. I’m not ready to. Not yet.

  “Might be able to catch up on your favourite soaps?” I pressed forward with the idea of fetching the television. The more I thought about it, the more I realised the set was more for my benefit than hers. Something to take my mind off from watching her slowly wither away into nothing. Something to distract me from her slow, painful death. Something to break the unbearable silence filling the room as she quietly napped the final hours away.

  I looked at her as I waited for an answer but it never came. Her eyes were closed; asleep again. I carefully took hold of her frail hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Don’t leave me mum, please don’t leave me. I’m not ready for you to go yet.

  A single tear rolled down my cheek.

  Can’t cry yet. She might wake up. I need her to know I’m going to be okay. I need her to leave me with her mind at peace. I’ll cry for her when she’s gone.

  II

  PRESENT DAY

  I was kneeling on the floor. I don’t even remember getting off the bed - so lost in thought. Jenna was on the mattress where I had left her. I had hold of her hand. Almost the same position I had been in when I said my final goodbye to my mum; me on my knees next to her bed, her lying there motionless, her hand in mine, tears rolling down my cheek just as they do now.

  Jenna said she was sorry for my loss; a quiet voice only in my head. I thanked her and let go of her hand before wiping my cheeks.

  The night sky was considerably lighter. I’d spent so much time thinking about the past, dwelling on that which has gone by, my night had slipped away. A disappointing end to what had started off as a good date. It shouldn’t have gone like this. It never usually did. Usually it ended with a…a more satisfying climax.

  Jenna apologised to me and told me she’d make it up to me if I gave her the chance. She said she didn’t mean for me to talk about what had happened to my mum all night but she was glad that I had because I obviously needed to get it off my chest. It probably was good to get it off my chest in fairness but - regardless - Jenna didn’t have anything to apologise for. It wasn’t her fault my mind got caught up in the past.

  “It’s not you, it’s me.” I regretted saying it before it had even escaped my mouth yet I didn’t stop myself. At first I thought it was her fault - the sight of her soul disappearing - but soon after…I realised my mood was nothing to do with Jenna’s lost soul but everything to do with my mothers. Not just her death (my loss) but also what she’d be thinking of me now if she could see me. Would she be happy about the path I’ve chosen? Sometimes I feel as though what I do is good, for the best, but…I don’t know…Thinking about how my mum would view it…I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter how you paint it as a picture - I’ve killed people. With the exception of one who’d stepped over my threshold - all had perished.

  Jenna told me it would be better tonight if I gave her a chance but I wasn’t feeling it. Maybe this little hobby of mine had run its course? Maybe I was better off just disposing of the bodies after I had set the souls free?

  “Thank you for listening to me last night,” I said to Jenna, “but I’m afraid I’m busy this evening.”

  Jenna didn’t look disappointed. She looked dead. Even in my head her voice had gone quiet. She was nothing more to me than a dead body. The illusion of what I had had after I took her life away all but slipped away. Now she was nothing but something I had to dispose of. A mess to be cleaned. I leaned down to where she lay upon the bedsheets and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  “Thank you for listening,” I repeated.

  I lifted her from the bed and walked her back through to the bathroom, down the landing. I carefully placed her in the tub and took a step back, wiping a small bead of sweat from my forehead. Never mind having a sweaty forehead - my head is pounding. I’m not sure whether it’s down to a lack of sleep or whether it’s because my emotions are running high. A shame I didn’t keep some of mum’s medication.

  A shiver ran down my spine as I sensed mother’s disappointment in me; the fact I craved her medication. She never believed in pills or anything like them. She only took them at the end because she was too weak to argue with me. Other than that - she’d put up with whatever pain she was in saying she’d much rather her own body dealt with it. Even when the cancer was at its worst, stubborn bitch still refused to swallow the tablets down. Can’t say I blame her though. I remember them as if I were popping them from their packets only yesterday - damned things looked like torpedoes.

  Jenna whispered again that mum was fine with me. She was fine with the path I had chosen for myself, since her passing, and she was fine with the fact I craved her meds. Clever girl, is Jenna, she’ll say anything to stop what’s coming. A further whisper to suggest we could try our date night again tonight. She really is a clever girl.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  To the side of the bath, just underneath the sink, was a leather bag which housed the tools needed for what was to come. I reached for it and dropped to my knees in order to open it up via its silver zipper. A glance inside and the contents stared back up at me; bloodied tools used to cut up previous bookings.

  Her sweet voice in my head again begging me not to do this.

  “We had a deal.”

  I imagined her telling me that she was scared. She knew she didn’t need her body now that she was free but she didn’t like the idea of it being cut up. A strange theory they’ll b
e punished in their next life - should they come back - if they do not receive a proper burial. They always get nervous at this stage of our relationship. I try to reassure them that everything will be okay but still their voices chirp away in my head, pleading with me to just bury them somewhere. They didn’t care where, they just wanted to be buried.

  “I can’t do that. You know I can’t. I have to do it this way.”

  I have to cut them into small pieces. The smaller the better. It’s easier to get rid of them that way. You leave them bigger and - well - disposal becomes an issue; you need to dig bigger holes, more obvious the ground has recently been disturbed, heavier and more awkward to lug around…Definitely, the smaller the better.

  Jenna told me she’d be the best fuck I’d ever have. I imagined there to be a desperation in her tone but - still - I have to confess, I’m curious as to whether there was any truth in her bold, bold statement.

  I looked her body up and down and licked my lips. She does have a nice body. Trimmed pubic hair leading a narrow path to her pretty pussy. Can almost taste it now. I tried to dismiss the sexual thought from my mind. I can’t do it. I can’t. I need to get rid of her - or at least start the process.

  I heard her voice in my head again. Seductive tone. She was teasing me - telling me she knew how much I wanted to be inside of her. What the hell was going on in my head? One minute I’m feeling good about setting a soul free, in the next I’m feeling guilty - wondering what my mother would be thinking and now I’m kneeling here with a raging hard-on.

  You can’t resist me.

  Her damned voice, “Imagine my wet lips wrapped around your shaft, squeezing every last drop of semen from your cock,” she teased. I wondered which lips she was referring to. Both have the potential to be good.

  Shut up, woman.

  I can resist.

  I have work to do.

  I reached into the leather bag and pulled out a saw. I reached into the tub where Jenna’s body laid and put the blade against her neck. Won’t take much sawing, considering how deep I went with the knife when I cut her throat. I hesitated as I found my eyes drifting back to her pussy. I could feel a throbbing from beneath my trousers still - my cock screaming for attention.