Hush Now

Ch.2-Rapist

I was heartbroken for years. I barely ever went to school at that point. Even when I went, they made fun of me. Called me psycho. Beat me and harassed me. Every. Single. Time. I. Went. I had to take it for the rest of my sophomore year. But when I turned 16 and went to my junior year, well, I was done. It was my birthday. I went to school simply to avoid being home with that asshole of a father. I remember a group of guys came up to me while I was grabbing books. They shut my locker from behind me. I turned around to see them. There was probably four or five. I was angry. So angry. They had no idea what was going on in my own life. I clenched my hand into a fist. They said I wouldn't do it. I guess that in the end-nobody knew what I would do. I punched one, hard in the face. My fist hurt but I felt worse inside. He fell to the ground. I got on top of him and began to punch him again. And again. And again. He was bleeding. His friends left him. I felt someone pull me off.  It was the principal. I was dragged into the office. I was expelled from that school. Happy birthday to me. I saw it as a way to get away from the assholes at school. They all thought it was over. It was only the beginning of the violence. 

(|)(|)(|)

It was two weeks ago. Nobody was looking for him. Good. He didn't deserve to be recognized. He didn't deserve a funeral. He deserved...what he got. I thought of it almost as...karma being too slow. So I did its job. I had felt uncontrollable. Whenever I went out, I would wonder what a certain person would look like scared, then terrified, then crying, then hyperventilating, then being bruised, then...maybe being cut, or perhaps cut open, and finally, staying still, lifeless...dead. I imagined the scene over and over. It felt so amazing. That power. Power over life and death. Deciding what the final words they would hear, deciding what they would see last, who they would see last, and the most euphoric part-how they would die. I thought I would be able to control it. I lied to myself. One day, as I walked home at night, I passed a girl. I thought these thoughts, and I had to try so, so, hard not to lure her in. That was the first time I truly began to figure it out. I wanted it. I needed it. I was alone again one night. Staring at the place I killed my father. I turned quickly as I heard my phone ring. My uncle. I remembered what Leah had said. I was only twelve and she went out to a restaurant with our uncle to catch up. She came home crying.

"Why are you crying Leah? Who hurt you? Was it dad? Please talk to me!"

"I have to tell you something. You can't tell anyone. Ever. I'm serious. No matter what happens, this can NEVER-and I mean never-come out."

"Of course. I'd do anything for you."

"Uncle James..."

"What? What did he do?"

Leah was choking on her words. I knew something horrible had happened. I was terrified of what she would say.

"He...he touched me."

"What do you mean? He...raped...you? Leah-"

She put her finger to my lips. I was disgusted. Ashamed. Mortified. 

"Y-yes. You can't say anything. Please. He'll hurt me."

I wanted to kill him. But I would never want to be the cause of Leah's pain. I cared too much for her. So I said nothing.

Deep down, I knew it would be him. He would be number two. I answered the phone and walked over to my notebook. I began to write on the first line.

1-Christopher Anderson

2-James Anderson

Gotta keep score, right? I laughed as I heard my uncle's deep, raspy voice say "Hello?" I answered. I didn't want to have to clean up my mess this time. He wanted to talk. About Leah. I didn't want to talk much. But I didn't worry about the conversation. Dead men can't talk. I asked for his address. I told him I would be there in two hours. It only took one to get there. But I wasn't getting ready for him and his stupid fucking conversation about Leah. I was getting ready to gather my things and choose an outfit to change into afterwards. Nobody likes to get messy, right? Blood stains aren't attractive.

I wondered what to do for him. But then I came up with it.

I'm sure he enjoyed hurting Leah. He was sick. So sick. Probably made his whole body tingle. Made him feel...electric. Ha. I knew how to show him electric. I ran to my garage and grabbed a couple of short holiday lights. 

"Hurry, Leah!" I said, laughing.

"I'm trying, okay!" She laughed as she tried to hang the lights up. She screamed all of sudden, dropping the lights to the ground. I ran to her side.

"Leah, what's wrong?"

"The lights must have an open wire or something. It shocked me."

I cut the wires in random places. I gathered a change of clothes and some trash bags. I headed out. When I arrived, he smiled and let me inside. Mistake. I walked in briskly, and locked the door behind me. We talked about Leah over dinner. He spoke like he didn't hurt her. Like it never happened. It killed me. It would kill him too. He eventually became curious about me digging in my bag and asked. I was untangling my lights. Time to celebrate a new holiday. But he wouldn't know that until a couple of minutes later. I stayed silent. I pulled out my lights and he questioningly looked at me. I stayed silent and abruptly stood up, making the chair I was sitting in make a loud screeching sound as it pushed back against the wooden floor. I walked over, with my lights, and pulled his shirt off. He tried to stand up but I forced him back down and tangled one of the lights around his neck, leaving only enough to plug them in. I put another string around his torso and legs. He tried desperately to untangle himself, but to no avail. I plugged in the set around his legs and watched him scream in pain. I plugged in the next set around his torso. And then around his neck. He was crying and shaking. He deserved this. He deserved all the suffering. This was for Leah. I watched him for about three minutes. As I saw he was reaching his final moments, I walked closer to him. I leaned over and whispered into his ear.

"Hush now."

He shook more than ever before. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. He was dead. He suffered for so long. Good...no actually...perfect. Yes, perfect. I wanted this to be seen. I grabbed a sharpie I placed in my bag. I wrote the word RAPIST across his forehead. Lastly, I placed a garbage bag over his head. I left, with a huge smile on my face. 

Who's next?