The Murders Of Amsterdam

Chapter 3

4th April 2015

.............

What a peaceful night it is.

Empty streets lighted with street lights circling the darkness in patches. A calm steady air creating a misty, not known environment.

Nights like this are perfect. Perfect in every aspect, specially giving peace.

Night has always been the only time of the day when I felt like myself. When I never had to worry about my surroundings. Nights overall, are just perfect.

As I walk down the streets of my neighborhood I can't help but think of many things. Even when I tried to stop thinking about it my mind didn't listen and kept up with its riverine of thoughts.

I remembered my first kill suddenly and how confused I had been. My first kill was Arther Sentinel. My father. I had enough reasons to kill him. I had always wanted to see him bleed since I was about 8 or 9 years old. When I was sixteen I finally picked up the kitchen knife and plunged it deep in his face and throat.

Then on that same day I killed Martha Sentinel, my mother. She came in the living room after hearing his scream and I stabbed her about 20 times, just wanting her to give up already.

But....after I calmed down and looked at the dead bodies bathing in their own blood, I felt disgust. Disgust against them. But mainly against....myself.

I remember shaking uncontrollably and the knife falling out of my hands and landing on the floor, clinking in the empty space. I remember falling to my knees beside them, getting their blood on my clothes. I kept murmuring "what have I done?" And "I'm sorry" mainly saying the later phrase.

But what I failed to understand was that who I was sorry about. Whom did I want forgiveness from? From my parents? Or myself?

After that the neighbor, Mrs. Ross, rushed in and found me beside my dead parents, covered in their blood and crying my eyes out. She was a good person I remember. She always asked me for lunch or dinner whenever she saw me. She just somehow knew that I was starving.

Mrs. Ross called the police and I fed them a lie about how I was out that evening and all. She surprisingly supported me and even convinced the police to not interrogate me too much for the sake of my mental health.

Mrs. Ross. I always found her....quite interesting...or rather intruiging. It was as if she knew something. I always found her mysterious. She was a 47 year old lady, living alone next door after the death of her husband. He was found on the side walk of De Wallan, hit and squashed thoroughly by a car. It is said that blood was all over the place and his ribs stuck in his heart. It was a disgusting sight. At first it was suspected to be a murder case. Many were suspected and interogated including Mrs. Ross. But was not further suspected as it was proved that she had been cooking dinner in her house at that time. Since none of the suspected seemed to be involved it was declared a hit and run case. The only thing found about the car was that it was a black Toyota Carolla with no number plate.

But the case has always stuck unsettling to me. Maybe it was the fact that
Mrs. Ross had a black Toyota Corolla whose number plate was replaced due to damage after a few weeks of
Mr. Ross's death. Or maybe the fact that the car has a slight dent in front of it. But then again....it all maybe just a coincidence...afterall she was home that time.

I lived with Mrs. Ross for 2 years before moving out. During my stay there she was very welcoming and motherly towards me. She was a mother to me more than my own mother could ever be. Taking care of me, my needs, talking to me when she felt I need it....she did everything a mother should. But during this time....I couldn't help but feel like...she knew something deep and ugly about me but still accepted me. That knife I used was never found as well as none of my tracks.

The most sweet yet unsettling thing about Mrs. Ross was her charming smile which she seemed to always wear. It was the way the growing wrinkles around her eyes crooked whenever she smiled.....as if she saw right through me and reassured me.

Maybe I found her unsettling for another reason. A few weeks into living in her house, one day I went down to the kitchen to get water as usual. She was in there cutting vegetables for whatever she was cooking. "Heyyyyyy there, wanna taste some?" She asked. I saw she was cooking some kind of beef stew. Her cooking was amazing. "Yeah sure" I said. Then she went to get a bowl to give me some of the stew. That's when I noticed the knife....it looked oddly similar to the knife that night....only it didn't have blood on it.

Mrs. Ross had ways been a mystery to me. But I'm glad she came into my life.