Psychopath for Hire: A Novel of Extreme Horror

by Matt Shaw

  “Undressed?”

  “Need you naked, I said. Makes it easier when I go to cut…” I stopped what I was saying.

  He hesitated a moment longer and stepped into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him.

  I called through, “Just give me a shout when you’re ready,” I said.

  He didn’t answer. I walked down the stairs and back towards the kitchen. Can’t very well continue without my knife…

  Martin Andrews

  II

  I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. I’d like to say I had a million things racing through my mind as my final moment continued to get nearer but I didn’t. Only one single thought. My wife. Lucy. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with me.

  “Please leave this place. Just go home. Please.”

  I wonder if all along she (I) knew I had only started looking into Nathan Cole’s life because I was looking for a way out. All this time I had wanted to die but never had the courage to go through with it myself. Only did what I had in the coffee shop in order to open the door to Nathan’s world for myself. I could never have done such an act if I were at home by myself in the knowledge that no one would come and save me. It’s weird how the brain works, some of us are happy to die and yet too afraid to pull the plug ourselves. When I listened to Miller’s story about this man who supposedly helped those who wanted to die - I thought I was going to arrest the man… Citizen’s arrest, I guess. I wonder though - when I first heard the story - was my mind really interested in trying to arrest him and put a stop to him or was it always dead set on using the services he offered?

  “Please go home. It’s not your time.”

  I stripped my clothes off and stood in front of the bedroom mirror I saw hanging on the wall. First mirror I had stared into without a crack in it for a while now. An old man looking back. A tired old man. Lucy says it isn’t my time yet but it is. I’m tired. I’ve had enough. I have no reasons left to live. The more I think about it - I lost them all the moment Arthur killed her. And speaking of Arthur, he was standing behind me in the mirror’s unkind reflection. A smirk on his face. Lucy’s wrong. It is my time.

  Before leaving the bedroom I reached into my trouser pocket and pulled out my wallet. I flipped it out and withdrew the baby scan photograph. With it safely in hand, I walked through to the bathroom. Felt a little self-conscious being naked but I guess it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. I called out to him that I was ready and - before I knew it - he was standing in the bathroom with me. He too was in a state of undress.

  “Where did you want me?” I asked.

  He pointed to the bathtub. The overhead shower was already running. Warm water pouring into the tub and running down the plughole. I stepped in. Couldn’t shake the feeling that the water was washing away all of my sins as it hit my body. I turned around and Cole stepped into the tub next to me.

  He smiled at me.

  Nathan Cole

  III

  His eyes went wide as I plunged the knife into his stomach. It tore through his flesh easily and the blade disappeared into his gut. I could only imagine the damage it was doing to his insides as it went hilt deep. He gasped and dropped to his knees as I pulled the blade out. With no words I stuck it back into his chest. Must have pierced his heart. Eyes so wide I thought they were going to pop right out of his head. He fell back into the corner of the tub as I withdrew the knife again. As the blade came out of his body it was accompanied by a steady stream of red. He was gasping now. His eyes went from me to the soaking baby picture in his hand. I helped him move it closer to his eyes to help him focus upon it and then I stuck the knife in for a third time, and then a fourth… A fifth. The baby picture dropped to the floor of the tub and was soon painted red and his head dropped forward. He gasped again. A longer gasp this time and then he exhaled. A long drawn out breath. His last.

  I sat back at the opposite end of the bathtub, embarrassed by my own erection which had come about by the very act of setting him free. A reaction that was not uncommon despite not always being entirely appropriate.

  “Good night, sweet Prince.”

  I looked up to the ceiling. I liked to imagine the recently freed souls up there, looking down at the harsh reality they had left behind. I liked to imagine them smiling at me. Thanking me for setting them free from all of this crap. Whether I imagined it accurately I’ll never know until my time comes but - until then - it is how I will picture it. He’s with mother now as she shows him where to go and then - when they’re there - he’ll be with his family. He’ll be at peace.

  I felt a sense of accomplishment for setting souls free. It was something to be proud of. Yet at the same time I also felt a little pang of jealousy shoot through me as though I’d been stabbed by a knife of emotion. They get to see my mother. They get to talk to her and yet I do not. I still have to wait here and carry on with my role. Carry on helping those who seek it. I can but only hope they put a good word in for me. Let her know that I love her and that I’ll see her as soon as I can without risking my soul to an eternity in Hell.

  I looked back to the body. Only now that I am seeing him dead do I realise what I should do with him. Can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner when it is so painfully obvious.

  I climbed from the bath and reached for a towel hanging on the back of the door.

  It’s going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  T H E E N D

  A letter From Hell #1

  I

  It was 8am in the morning and the station was already a hive of activity with officers milling around; some finishing their shift and others just beginning. The front doors opened and a well dressed lady promptly left having dropped a letter in to the front desk as per her punter’s request. She was thankful that no one asked any questions. Ever since her run in with the police when she worked the street she had been nervous of them and the last thing she wanted was any unwanted attention from them.

  Just as he had been asked, the officer who took the letter in temporarily left the desk to run it through to Patterson; the man the envelope was made out to.

  “Sir, a lady just dropped this in for you. Said to say it was urgent and private.”

  The officer walked into Patterson’s room clutching the envelope in his hand. Patterson didn’t even look up from his desk where he was busy jotting notes down into a large file of various paperwork.

  “Put it on the desk,” he said.

  Patterson had had a long night. There was so much paperwork to go through and so much that he needed to catch up on that he just didn’t have a clue as to where to start with it. All he knew was that it wasn’t going anywhere and that he didn’t have time to stop and open post.

  The officer didn’t need telling twice. He set it to the side of the desk and made a hasty retreat. Patterson sat back and rubbed his sore eyes. Only so many hours you could sit staring at paperwork before you start to go blind. He stretched and casually glanced down to the envelope. A quick look to begin with followed by a prompt double take as though something about the handwriting on the front of it awoke some old memory. He put his pen down and picked it up before promptly ripping into it. Once open, he withdrew the handwritten piece of A4 paper which had been neatly folded to fit into the DL envelope and tossed the torn envelope to the floor. His eyes flitted back and forth across the message that had been addressed to him.

  Patterson,

  My apologies that it has taken so long to write this letter to you. I’m sure you are aware I have been to Hell and am yet to find my way back although I believe I now have a way out of it. By the time you read this letter I will be at peace; aided by a man named Nathan Cole. This man is the reason for my letter…

  A man - who I later discovered is wanted for questioning by yourselves - approached me having found my card in the possessions of people I once tried to help (and failed). He was unaware of my situation regards to the job and requested a meeting which I agreed to. Do not ask me why. Perha
ps out of curiosity? His name was Tim Miller. I have had no further communications with Mr. Miller since our initial meeting where he told me about the actions of Mr. Cole.

  Mr. Cole has been running a support group for people who have attempted - or discussed a need - to take their own lives. As I believe it, he tries everything in his power to help these lost souls. However, the ones who are determined to die are offered a way out. In exchange for a letter detailing their permission - and desire - for Mr. Cole to kill them - they are put out of their misery.

  I am not sure how long this man has been operating this scheme but I am sure you will find no trace of any of the bodies and - if you do - you will be unable to pin them on him.

  If all has gone to plan you should receive this letter on the morning after my private appointment with Mr. Cole and I am sure that - if you move quickly - you will be able to find him in possession of my own dead body. Along with my own letter of permission, and the letters from the supposed other victims - you should be able to charge him and put him away for many years.

  I know you will not understand why I took this path and I hope that you are never in a position to know the pain I am in and the reasons I took darker paths towards the end of my career. From one colleague to another, I’d like to thank you for the times you tried to support me after Lucy’s passing and, furthermore, I’d like to apologise for hitting you when you finally did let me go. Rest assured I have nothing but the utmost respect for you and I wish you nothing but the best.

  Now go and get this son of a bitch - the address is at the bottom of the page.

  Your friend,

  Martin.

  Patterson lowered the letter for a moment. He looked back at the handwritten words - his brain selecting certain parts of what was noted within the scrawled content. He realised there was no time to worry about whether his old colleague - even friend - was still alive. He knew he had to take the letter for how it was intended and that was not to help a friend but to stop a criminal. Without another wasted second he jumped up and ran from his office and through the next room too. One of his colleagues called out, asking if everything was okay but he was ignored.

  “Jones!” he shouted as he hurried towards the front desk which faced the building’s main doors. Jones was the guy on the desk who had the job of handling the walk-ins from the busy streets beyond the doors. “Jones?”

  “Sir?”

  “This letter - when did you say it arrived?” he asked. You could tell Patterson was used to sitting at a desk now. His office wasn’t far from here and yet he was already out of breath.

  “A couple of minutes before I brought it to you.”

  “And who brought it in?”

  “Some lady. Didn’t give me her name. Is there a problem?”

  Patterson turned and ran back to the room next to his office. A rectangular room lined with desks and computers. Some people sitting there tapping away on various reports, others flicking through the morning papers.

  “I need some bodies!” Patterson yelled from the doorway.

  “Who do you want?” one of the more senior officers asked.

  “Bring everyone!” Patterson yelled as he made his way back down the corridor towards the exit which lead to the car park.

  II

  A dozen police cars - some marked and some unmarked - pulled up outside of the given home address of Nathan Cole. As some of the cars screeched to a halt, some of the doors had already been opened with officers ready to jump out so they could rush the house.

  The first car on the scene belonged to Patterson. Before all the cars had even arrived, he was already at the front door banging on it. Two officers either side of him for back-up.

  “Nathan Cole, it’s the police! Open up!”

  He banged on the door with the side of his fist again before he turned to the officer to his right. He gave him a nod and backed up. The officer took the hint and took a few steps back. He hesitated a moment - almost as though he was preparing himself - and then charged towards the door, kicking it as hard as he could. On the second kick, the lock cracked away allowing the door to swing open where it banged hard against the inside wall.

  The officers filed in one by one with Patterson leading the way - calling out to any potential people inside the house. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered there was no one else in the house though. It was empty and had been from much, much earlier in the morning.

  III

  Nathan Cole

  A New Life

  I was sitting in my car. On the passenger seat next to me was the box of letters I had taken from my house before my impromptu exit. The only souvenir I had had the time to take. I was staring ahead at the sea, watching as the cars in front of me started to drive onto the ferry that would take me on the first part of my journey to a new, unplanned life. I knew this day would come. It was only ever a matter of time. I should never have let Tim leave the house. I should have killed him as he originally wanted. By being nice - giving people the second chance they had the right to choose - I had ended my own life. At least I know not to make that mistake again when I do get myself back on my feet. Don’t plan my evenings around their wants but rather my own. Time to look out for number one.

  I wiped a tear from my eye. I wasn’t weeping because my secret was out there and I was having to run. I was weeping because of the memories I had left behind in the big, old house. My mother. I felt closest to her in her bedroom and now I’d never get to set foot in that room again I worried I’d never feel her close to me. The police will search the property and they won’t find anything but Mr. Andrews. I was foolish for what I did to him after I set him free. Had I let him go the way of the others - there wouldn’t have been any trace of him in the house. I had the letters, sure, but that didn’t prove anything. Circumstantial. I’m sure a good lawyer could have worked it. Perhaps labeled them as some kind of fictional correspondence from people? Not sure. Guess I’ll never know.

  I glanced to my left again (the passenger seat) and picked up the top letter; from Martin Andrews. I re-read it:

  Mr. Cole,

  It may seem ungrateful of me - what I have done - but you must understand I didn’t have a choice. I am thankful that you put me out of my misery, I really am. I am with my wife now, and my baby in, I imagine - some eternal bliss. But I wouldn’t have got here had I not been able to put some things right in my life. I have done a lot of wrong. I have made mistakes. Done and seen things I regret. What you do is wrong. It doesn’t matter how you paint it out; you are a murderer. You’re sick. You deserve a life behind bars and me putting you there - as my final act - is surely a way of redeeming my soul. I hope it is enough anyway. It may appear selfish to you but if it gives me a shot of seeing my family again - well - I had to take it.

  Kind Regards,

  Martin

  I was right not to have trusted him. I’m not sure why I’d had the sudden feeling of distrust after I had disposed of his body. I’m not sure what drove me to open his letter but I’m glad I had. As soon as I had opened it I knew I only had a matter of minutes to get out of the house before his old friends arrived to arrest me. As I drove away, I heard the sirens blaring in the distance. My heart was beating so fast I didn’t think I was going to get away. Clearly he didn’t think I’d read the letter. Clearly he’d hoped I wouldn’t anyway. Probably had a right laugh when he wrote it out and sealed it in the envelope. Probably looking down now cursing that I cheated and opened the letter. Kind of makes me want to open the rest of the letters I have here. Kind of makes me wonder what everyone else had written. Were any of the letters what they were supposed to be? Were any of them handwritten notes giving consent for me to take their lives or had more than one person tried to stitch me up?

  Just goes to show - you try and help people and they throw it back in your face. They’re only ever out for themselves. Well two can play at that game.

  The car in front of me moved onto the boat. I scrunched the letter up and tossed it
onto the backseat of my own car before selecting first gear and moving forward too. As my first wheel hit the boarding ramp leading to the boat I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d end up. Couldn’t help but wonder how my story would end. Couldn’t help but wonder whether mother was still looking down at me.

  I love you, mother.

  Epilogue

  I was sitting on my bed. A tear rolled down my cheek and dripped onto the front page of the paper. The paper led with the story of my old friend, my old pal, Detective Martin Andrews. It read that his body had been found buried in the back garden of one Nathan Cole, dressed in a nice suit. The paper didn’t give many more details other than to say it was murder and that Nathan Cole was wanted in connection with a number of missing people. The news that my greatest living piece of art was dead made me feel sick to my stomach. Without him walking around and breathing I knew it was only a matter of time before people forgot about the things he was connected with. More importantly it was only a matter of time before they forgot about me. My work - my art gallery - would be for nothing, the sentence I serve would be nothing. I would be a nothing. The great Arthur J. Hopkins would cease to exist by any name other than a prison issued number that people out in the real world do not even know about. Out there - in the real world that I longed for - I would vanish from history. I would be forgotten. My works would be forgotten.

  There’d be no more Art.

  I threw the paper across the cell and screamed.

  T H E E N D

  FROM THE SAME AUTHOR:

  Extreme

  Sick Bastards

  SickER Bastards

  Psychopath For Hire