The Irish Ripper (Chapter 4)

There’s nothing quite like killing.  The ecstasy and the joy when all the planning comes to fruition.  For weeks afterward it plays repeatedly over in my mind.  Their screams turning into the most perfect of music to my ears.  Pleading for their lives as they realize things are about to get even worse; there can be no gain or pleasure without their pain. 

But then it gradually fades no matter how hard you try to keep it.  If only these were earlier times without the menace of CCTV, fingerprints and mobile phones; it would be all so much easier to quickly go on to the next kill.  Instead, the process must start all over again.   

A target has already been selected.   She is my type with a slim build with long, black flowing hair and barely over twenty.  It will be fun to corrupt her innocence.  Now it is just a matter of following her from work, understanding her day to day routine, checking out her residence and putting the tools in place.  Then will be waiting.  Waiting for the CCTV of my surveillance to be deleted in the supermarket and on the streets.  I do love privacy laws.  Only then is there a strike. 

There are many things that could yet go wrong.  Maybe she will sense being followed, perhaps her residence is inappropriate or there is more than one man in the house.  Often, the process must be restarted; a new target found.  The rules must be followed. 

The rules came from years of practice and they had proved to be invaluable.  They were hard-earned though, through extensive burglaries at first.  Amazingly, that’s where the thrill originally came from.  It wasn’t what was stolen but rather the fact of violating their space; exerting your control over them. 

The first was a neighbors’ house.  They were a troublesome household, albeit they had one beautiful gem.  Skinny with curly brown hair, her name was Alice, she had been an object of my affection for many years.  Every night I would touch myself while I thought of her.  That short school dress, she was seeking my attention.  Sometimes, she would unwittingly tease by going into a run.  I would follow her back and forth to school and any other opportunity that arose. 

Then one fine day and without any warning, her burly loutish father shouted at me from a distance to keep away from her.  Never before had I felt such rage as I stormed home.  Surely, I deserved so much more respect and that was when I swore vengeance.  He would pay for his intransigence, for not respecting me. 

Each night, I waited for an opportunity to reveal itself in bushes near the house.  It didn’t take many.  An open window when they were out and I was in.  But then there was confusion about what exactly to do, what would be a fitting punishment.  They had little to want so the place was trashed and the floor was defecated on.  But the true highpoint was repeatedly slamming the kitten against the wall till it moved no more.  It belonged to her and how she loved to cradle it. 

It was too close to home though.  Despite the lack of evidence people seemed to sense it was me.  As if they could feel the evil emanating from my direction.  The stares and finger-pointing, it was most regrettable.  The police never appeared at the door, at least.  In future, more thought would have to be put into such activities.  Hence, the formulation of the rules began. 

There were more than just a few rules required though.  Breaking and entering was a craft, that required study and time.  The internet and local library proved invaluable sources of knowledge but nothing compared to the first-hand experience.  So that’s what I set out to get.  There was a neighborhood full of bungalows a few miles away with easy entry and exit points, in case things did not go according to plan.    

It proved to be an invaluable training ground.  There was no lock that could not be unpicked or vulnerability that couldn’t be taken advantage of.  Increasingly drawn to female’s bedrooms, I would go through their underwear, sniffing them and taking whatever, I pleased.  Perhaps, not what you would imagine.  As a burglar, acquiring money or items of monetary value was never my objective. 

Gradually the confidence began to grow.  There was no longer a need to wait for houses to become unoccupied.  All that was required was the cover of darkness.  It magnified the excitement ten-fold.  Imagine how they felt the next morning knowing that I had been there right beside them; their terror and disgust. 

Of course, this was risky and eventually, something was going to go wrong.  It was a ten-year-old girl that almost led to my demise.  There I was looking at her pretty face when her eyes suddenly opened and she screamed.  For a split second, I froze but then I heard movement and a man’s voice in a nearby room and tried to exit the house as hastily as I could. 

But he caught up to me in the kitchen armed with what appeared to be a baseball bat in the shadows.  Then the burly man swung high hoping to hit my head but I ducked and plunged my knife into his mid-rift forcing him backward to the ground. 

Not waiting for a second longer I ran out the door and followed the planned emergency escape route to the sound of a woman shouting vigorously for help behind.  The heart only stopped racing when I was certain that I was out of danger. 

A few days later I read in the local paper that the man had died.  My wild stab had managed to sever a major artery.  There was no sense of remorse, quite the opposite.  It was only a pity that I had not stayed to watch the life force slowly fade from his eyes.  The paper also reported vigilantes were setting up groups to patrol the area.  A new playground would have to be found. 

After all that excitement though, burglaries would no longer be enough.  There were just too many women waiting for me in their beds untouched.  That was about to change. 

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