Born A Murderer

Chapter 1

"Get out! Leave my house you killer!"

Sweat, heavy breathing and a racing heart have successfully taken over the radio alarm's job. I know it's not morning yet when I wake up calm and relaxed. As a matter of fact; getting up to pee at midnight is the worst. I never want to fall back to sleep after that short trip to the toilet because I know what's coming next. A few hours of sleep followed by a horrid nightmare that always wakes me up just in time to shower then go to school.

See, most boys my age have a parent or two who care enough to make sure they're up and ready for school. A family that can't afford to have a useless member of society attached to their name. A judgemental neighbour used as motivation to encourage good grades and excellence. And in many cases, I hear, siblings that annoy you enough to want to succeed and leave home soon rather than later.

I have nightmares and four taxi drivers as motivation to acquire a high school diploma and make something of myself. The 'Let's Go!' staff have been playing the role of parent in my life ever since I ran away from my foster home at the age of six. Unfortunately for me, their shift start at 06:30am and I need to be up and out of whichever car I used for the night when they arrive. My favourite car to sleep in is Andy's but I mostly end up falling asleep in Brad's cigarette smelling taxi because he mostly finishes his shift earlier than the others. Brad's in his fifties and about to be a pensioner. He has no reason to put in long hours for extra cash. This job to him is a legacy he wants to keep alive in honour of a friend who started it over thirty years ago.

Josh is Brad's only son. A high school drop-out who enjoys sharing conspiracy theories he clearly made up to his passengers and mostly me. I let him believe I'm interested soley to keep myself fed. Truth be told; only an idiot living under a rock would believe Barack and Mandela are long distant cousins. Josh is an over-thinker who smokes way more than his father so his taxi is never an option. Lucky for me, he goes to check on one of his three children every night before returning the car, so I've never been stuck with taxi number NUR 631 as my only resting option.

Collin walks in just in time for breakfast. He brought me a peanut butter sandwich and an apple. I don't need to be at school till 08:00 but I always leave the garage at 07:00. Eagle's High is just around the corner from here. I break my fast while walking to a house I recently found out should've been my home. I should've been raised in that cosy looking bungalow with a green roof and a tree house. Arthur would've been my best friend since his house is directly across my rightful home. Instead, he's like my enemy at school. Arthur and I have never had a physical or verbal altercation, but he's contributed to my tainted image. When you're a good-looking popular athlete in high school, your actions have the power to make things stick. In this case, all Arthur had to do to make me permanently unpopular, was laugh at a comment made about me. It wasn't a ha-ha-ha out loud kind of laugh. It was a smile accompanied by his shoulders bouncing up and down for a few seconds. Generally, he seems like a nice guy who's never in trouble, but I have him on a revenge list.

***

My mother grew up here. I muse watching the grey bungalow from the quiet road. I never met her but had she lived, we would've spent hours sitting in that veranda. The only thing I will not do to get my share of memories in this house is kill. I already have a record of one murder and I'm not adding to it. Ever. That leaves me with a host of other options and they are enough to help me take back what's rightfully mine.

***

I make it to class a minute before the teacher walks in as always. I've got Mr. Ron's routine to the tee. Just like many adults, he's bought into the lie that routine reduces stress without considering that someone may use it to predict your behaviour and reaction to situations. Follow you home, study your life then fully exploit your weaknesses. In Mr. Ron's case, I am that someone. Ron's house was even easy to break into and I enjoyed the old photo albums he keeps neatly stacked on a corner table in the foyer. I think I can make out who's who in the pictures. The files I stole from the hospital's archive room had details of my mother and father only. But thanks to the phenomenon that is social media, I tracked down my mother's sister through her children's facebook pages.

"Timothy Canes!" Mr. Ron's voice snaps me back to the now and I shout "present!" in response to the roll call. I find it disturbing that my spirit responds quickly to hearing "Timothy Canes" even though my mind and heart know those are the names of a friend I lost to an unknown sickness at age 6. He was nine years of age but was my best friend. My only friend at the time. His death forced the hospital to find me a home over night and that's how I ended up with the Akels. Taking me in was an obligatory act for a favour they owed the hospital manager so it's no surprise they didn't catch that I wasn't nine years old and that my real name is Leroy Smith.