Chris Carter - I Am Death

‘So what gave it away, Robert? What made you understand what the clues meant?’

Hunter coughed and it made the spike ball inside his head stab at his brain again.

‘Your last nine-one-one call,’ he finally replied.

That answer seemed to surprise Sanders. ‘Really? How so?’

Hunter licked his cracked lips, trying to get some moisture from his face. ‘Cut me down and I’ll tell you.’

Sanders laughed as he walked around Hunter, disappearing behind him.

‘Well, I can’t do that, Robert. But let me see what I can do.’

All of a sudden, Hunter heard the sound of metal on metal. The chain shackling his wrists lost some of its tautness and his feet were finally able to touch the ground. Just. That allowed him to teeter on his toes and use his legs to support a small percentage of his weight, relieving some of the tension from his arms. It felt like heaven.

‘Better?’ Sanders asked.

Hunter said nothing.

‘So tell me, Robert, how did my last nine-one-one call help you figure it all out?’

Hunter breathed in slowly. ‘The victim’s name,’ he replied. ‘Alison.’

Sanders walked back around to face Hunter.

‘You mentioned it three times,’ Hunter said. ‘You made sure that the operator had that down. Why would you do that? It made no sense, because that would’ve been one of the first things we would’ve found out anyway, especially since you used her cellphone to make the call.’

Sanders remained silent, but the ghost of a smile began to play on his lips.

Hunter tiptoed a little to his left to better support his weight. ‘The fact that you were so insistent that the operator write her name down — something didn’t sound right about that. So I went back to the note you sent me and studied it again.’

Sanders waited.

‘“The clues are in the name,”’ Hunter said. ‘You wrote that.’

Sanders nodded. The ghost of a smile grew.

‘The clues were the names,’ Hunter said. ‘The victim’s names.’

Clap, clap, clap.

Sanders applauded Hunter. ‘Very good, Robert. I’m impressed.’

Hunter licked his lips again. ‘You also wrote that you were —’ he coughed one more time and had to endure the spike ball for several seconds — ‘rewriting history.’

The smile finally appeared.

‘So you searched through history, using the victims’ names as your guideline. All of them.’

Hunter’s silence was a resounding ‘yes’.

‘Let me guess,’ Sanders said. ‘What you found out made your head spin.’

Hunter swallowed and the saliva fought to get through his swollen throat. ‘What I found out made almost every clue in both notes come alive. Suddenly, everything began making sense. The puzzle began to sort itself out.’

‘I’m glad,’ Sanders said. ‘But no matter what you searched for, Robert, I know that whatever result you got wouldn’t have answered every question. A very important piece of that puzzle is still missing.’

‘Yes,’ Hunter admitted.

‘So the picture is still incomplete, Robert. You still have no idea who I really am, do you?’

Hunter and Sanders locked eyes as if in a battle. Hunter blinked first.

‘Your real name is Richard,’ he said. ‘Richard Temple.’

Sanders looked back at Hunter in bewildered surprise. It took him several seconds to overcome the shock of what he’d heard. As he did so, he laughed again, but this time it was a strange laugh that disturbed Hunter. It gurgled up from the depths of his body as if he had chewed it for a long time in his lungs before spitting it out. It was raucous with pain. Emotional pain. When he spoke again, his voice was coated with a macabre tone.

‘You’re wrong, Robert. My name isn’t Richard. My name is... ’

Sanders paused and moved his neck first left then right in an anxious manner.

‘Squirm.’

Six years had passed.

Squirm’s hope that the police would one day capture ‘The Monster’ for any of the heinous crimes he had committed over the years had died a long time ago. He would never be saved. ‘The Monster’ would never let him go.

Squirm was eighteen years old now. He was still scrawny, but almost as tall as ‘The Monster’. He’d expected to be dead by now, but it seemed that ‘The Monster’ enjoyed having him around.

Every year, on Squirm’s birthday, ‘The Monster’ sat with him in the kitchen and talked to him as if they were old friends. Squirm listened more than talked, but still, that was the only time ‘The Monster’ treated him like a human being.

Today was Squirm’s eighteenth birthday.

‘The Monster’ had woken him up early — 5:45 a.m. — like he had done every single day in the past six years, shackled him (by a single wrist only) to one of the metal rings in the kitchen and allowed Squirm to eat breakfast. Not from the floor. Not with his hands. But like a civilized person.

‘I have a question for you, Squirm,’ ‘The Monster’ had said as Squirm finished his piece of chocolate cake.

For the past five years, as a present to Squirm on his birthday ‘The Monster’ had brought him a single slice of chocolate cake. It had become a sort of ritual.

Without making eye contact, Squirm nodded shyly.

Squirm had grown up shrouded by interminable fear and completely stripped of all self-confidence. A comparison to a scared puppy wouldn’t have been far from the truth.

‘How would you like to possess a woman?’

Squirm paused and this time looked back at his long-term captor.

‘You are officially a man now. So I think it’s time you learn what it is to be a real man.’ ‘The Monster’ slapped his own chest twice. ‘How about I give you some time with the next piece of trash I bring in here, huh? You would like that, wouldn’t you?’

Squirm froze.

‘Actually,’ ‘The Monster’ continued carelessly, ‘thinking about it, we can do better than that. We can do much better than that. How about, after you’re done with the piece of trash, you get rid of her? And you know just what I mean when I say get rid of her, don’t you?’

The pause that followed was so heavy that Squirm thought it would put a hole through the earth.

‘I know you know what to do, Squirm. You’ve had plenty of classes over the years, haven’t you?’

For six years, ‘The Monster’ had made Squirm watch every single one of his murders. Thirty-three in total. And he had made Squirm memorize the name of every victim. Squirm would never forget their names. He would never forget their faces. He would never forget how they died.

‘You can hurt her as much as you like, Squirm. How does that sound, huh?’

Squirm broke eye contact again. He could feel his throat constricting.

‘I know you have a lot of anger inside you.’ ‘The Monster’ scratched his crotch. ‘Well, maybe it’s time you set that anger free, Squirm, and I say punish her with everything you have. Make her scream with fear, with pain, with suffering and I guarantee you’ll feel liberated... vindicated... cleansed... powerful. You will feel like God.’

Squirm’s heartbeat picked up speed.

‘And that is my present to you, Squirm. Tonight you’ll not only become a real man but you’ll become God.’ ‘The Monster’ let out a throaty laugh. ‘On this earth, there’s no feeling more powerful.’

Tonight?

His heart began thundering against his chest.

Tonight?

Faster still. Squirm felt like his heart might explode out of his body.

Tonight.

That one word terrified him.

He began feeling dizzy.

Tonight you’ll not only become a real man, but you’ll become God.