Seth Adams - Are You Afraid of the Dark?

‘My initial plan was to do them together. Let the mom watch me kill her son, then kill her. The husband said he wanted her to suffer, but he didn’t specify how. I thought that was as good a way as any. Sometimes emotional pain is greater than physical.

‘Remember that, Reggie,’ the killer said.

Reggie did just that, adding it to the litany of other things the killer had already told him:

Always mind the details.

Some things live. Some things die.

‘But I didn’t see any sense in making the kid wait that long,’ the killer continued. ‘He’d woken up at the ringing of the phone, took stock of the situation, and was crying. He’d also peed himself, and I thought that was enough so I shot him in the face.’

The offhand manner in which the killer relayed the story at first bothered Reggie. At the mention of the kid in the story getting shot in the face, Reggie thought of the gun in the holster under Ivan’s jacket. He thought of holding that gun only a short while ago, squeezing the trigger, watching the bottles get whisked away. The power he’d felt with its weight in his hands.

But picturing one of those bullets punching into the face of a boy like himself was another thing altogether. And then the faceless boy in this mental movie was replaced by his dad, sprawled in the parking lot of the church.

Shifting uneasily against the tree house wall, Reggie looked out the window, then looked to the ladder again. But he didn’t move, and listened as the killer continued.

Ivan likewise shifted against the wall he sat against, a hand to his bandage. A barely audible moan escaped as he shuffled for a more comfortable position. But otherwise there was no hint of pain – either physical, or the greater sort he’d just mentioned as he’d confessed to killing a child.

‘It was just after midnight when I shot him.

‘She came home at around five in the morning. She saw her son tied to the chair, but she didn’t see me. She ran over to him and cupped his head to her, crying, shaking him, telling him to wake up.

‘I walked out of the hall and hit her over the head.

‘I tied her to another chair. Took a seat on the living room recliner, turned on the television, waited for her to wake up. I watched three episodes of a Twilight Zone marathon before she woke.

‘She was gagged so her scream at seeing her dead son again was muffled and not that loud at all. I held a finger to my mouth for her to quiet down. That didn’t work. So I pulled out my switchblade and that got her attention.

‘I turned the recliner so I was facing her.

‘I told her who sent me, though I’m sure she knew.

‘I told her what was going to happen to her, and she grew quiet and resigned. She got control of her breathing and hung her head like she was tired. I watched her for a time, letting her gather herself.

‘When finally she looked up at me, she used her eyes to indicate the gag. I understood she wanted to say something, didn’t think she’d be any trouble, and so I took the gag off.

‘“When did you kill him?” she asked.

‘“Just after midnight,” I told her.

‘“Did he suffer?” she asked.

‘“No,” I told her.

‘“Would you wait and kill me after midnight?” she said. “Kill me the same time you killed him?”

‘I thought about it, thought her request was interesting, had never heard anything quite like it before. People had begged, people had prayed, told me the things they could do for me. The money they could get me. The women they could get me. Cars, houses, drugs. I’d been offered everything. Heard every conceivable plea.

‘But no one had ever requested what time I would kill them.

‘I was intrigued, so I agreed.

‘We watched the marathon together, episode after episode. All the classics were played, and I remembered why I liked the show so much as a kid.

‘I got her a glass of water when she asked.

‘I followed her to the restroom when she said she had to urinate.

‘And when she asked if she could sit on the sofa with her son, I said yes, and watched her untie him, pick him up, and carry him over to the couch. She held him in her lap as the clock slowly ticked away the time. Morning to afternoon to evening, slowly, so slowly, the longest day I’ve ever lived.

‘Until, at five minutes to midnight, she spoke again.

‘“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.

‘I was briefly disappointed. I’d heard this many times before. The appeal to my humanity. That I could choose to be better. That I didn’t have to kill the person I was sent to kill. So often, this tactic quickly led back to begging.

‘“No,” I said. “I didn’t. But I did.”

‘She nodded, and that was it. No pleading. No anger. No cursing.

‘I was pleased and gave her a little smile.

‘When the clock ticked midnight I walked over and put the gun to her head.

‘“Thank you for waiting,” she said. And I told her she was welcome.

‘Then I pulled the trigger and it was done.’

***

‘Why do you regret that one?’ Reggie asked. ‘Of all the people you’ve killed, why do you wish you’d never killed her and her son?’

Ivan didn’t answer immediately. He cocked his head a bit like a scholar considering a great question.

‘I think it was because she was polite,’ the killer said.

‘Because she was polite?’ Reggie asked, surprised. He didn’t know what answer he’d expected, but ‘she was polite’ wasn’t it.

‘She didn’t fight me,’ the killer said, nodding. ‘She didn’t curse me. She didn’t demean herself by begging. It was as if she knew it was merely my job, something I had to do.

‘Killing for some people is fun,’ the killer said. ‘They take pleasure out of hurting others. It’s amusing when they kill someone and the target shits or pisses their pants. They get off on it. I knew this one guy who used to collect things from his targets. Little objects they’d owned – a knick-knack, a photo, a piece of jewellery. Sometimes a body part: a swatch of skin or a finger.’

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