Soulless

Two | The Making of Monsters

Lunden Evergreen

I removed the earplugs from my ears as my red lipstick stained his cheek as I traced against his face. The man before me was an abuser who'd just gotten out after fifteen years.

Not even two hours later, radio chatter comes in with a report from his ex-wife. Someone had broken into their home and smashed everything. She'd started a new life and family; he'd found them.

I handled it only because I knew Layla personally. She was my tutor growing up, and I learned of her story through my Mom and the news. But I learned of his sentence shortage and his release date.

Today, September 5th, had been that day, one that Layla had been dreading and fearful of. She had two children, a husband, and even a cat, who thankfully weren't home. But the camera caught him; he'd been hiding since.

I was the lucky one to find the bastard. Now he was left in a side alley bullet to the brain and a heart in red lipstick, shade, crimson. I did that to each of my victims, so the patterns of the crimes made sense.

I wasn't killing just for sport; I was killing the bad guys. I didn't presume myself as the hero, just maybe the martyr. Because I knew I could go down for this, but I was doing it to protect others.

I was sick of the justice system failing women, children, and even some men. I wanted to fix what I could and help who I could. Maybe they mark me as a serial killer, but I mark myself as a fixer.

I slip away into the night and crawl back to campus, where it's serene with silence. On a Wednesday morning at the crisp of dawn, the campus is tranquil. Not a person in sight or a noise in sound besides the crickets who chirp softly.

I slip back into the residence halls and make my way to my dorm. The lock clicks, and I step inside, stripping down into more comfortable clothes. I didn't have class til 10 am. I let sleep consume my body as every inch of it relaxes.

The sound of my alarm jilts me. It couldn't already be nine fifteen. It felt like my head just hit the pillow, and now, five hours later, I had to be up. I yawn into my hand with a look of despair.

I couldn't believe that it was already time to leave. Pulling myself out of bed was a chore in itself, and walking to the bathroom seemed like a force, but here I was doing it.

After rinsing my teeth, my eyes catch another in the mirror. A girl smiles and waves as my face stays the same, and I look back down to the sink to spit. I grab my caddy and return to my room to continue getting ready for class.

I was nervous for today for some unknown reason. During my first week of classes my first year, I didn't sleep. My stomach would churn when I attempted to, and then I'd throw up. Nerves weren't something I was accustomed to; I never got them until academics.

This is not to say I wasn't a good student—I was obnoxiously good. But change was never something that sat well with me. This year was different. I slept and knew people on campus. I felt at ease and home, even.

Today's class excited me: The Making of Monsters. It was the one class I actually got to choose from the branches rather than a full requirement.

As I walked with my backpack strapped to my back, I looked around cautiously, making sure no coffee was to be seen. I was still frustrated by that stranger yesterday, he just irked me in ways. Not even an apology after being an absolute ass.