Catherine

Chapter III

It was windy and cold outside the office building, but I took my time walking through the streets. Boston. It wasn't anything special in my opinion, but hey... it's home. Snow fell and gathered in piles of mushy ice. It muffled any and all outside noise, so I spent my walk home in silence with only the sound of my heart beating for company. It reminded me that I was alive and that others... weren't. I felt guilt knocking again. I closed my eyes and counted to three. The feelings were gone.

The building where I lived had a rather strange infestation of cats. They lived inside and outside of the rooms. I could sometimes swear that I heard cats in the walls. I held my tiny key that unlocked my door to my apartment. It was strangely old. Years of use had worn down the metal making it what the owners called 'rustic'. Regardless, it fit perfectly into the keyhole.

The door fell into the space due to the fact that the building slanted towards the east. It wasn't really that safe, but I didn't mind. It suited me just fine. It was as cool and modern as any apartment, and the kitchen was small but tidy considering I never used it. I had a tiny room for me to sleep in and another room. I called it the trophy room. Yes. It did hold actual trophies I had won from dancing competitions and color guard in high school, but it also held mementos from my true triumphs. I liked to think that they served as a warning.

I walked into the kitchen. It was a long time since I had done this. The kitchen made me incredibly agitated. There weren't many things I knew how to cook, but I found a box of pasta. I grabbed the only pot I had and filled it with water. As soon as it was filled I shut the water off and put it on the stove. I took the blood soaked handkerchief from my pocket and turned it in my palm. As if drawn by some force I left my dinner and walked to my room. Through my room I walked to a bookshelf. I pushed the bookshelf and a secret room was revealed. Posters of my victims layer on the walls. Pictures I took of them minutes before death. They held a hopeless look that made me smile.

On a shelf I dropped the blood soaked handkerchief next to a silver necktie and turned to the old mirror. The florescent light carved dark circles under my eyes. In a way I enjoyed making myself look as repulsive as possible.

I turned out of the room and went back into the kitchen to retrieve some scissors. I took the scissors and went into the bathroom which really shouldn't be called that because it didn't even have a bath. I held the silver scissors close to my waist-length hair and snipped. The sound of the blades connecting me put me on edge at first but as I kept cutting my hair, the sound's effect dulled. Soon I was surrounded by a halo of hair on the tile floor.

All of the sudden I realized what I done and grabbed a handful of hair in my hand. Tears formed and soon I was sobbing uncontrollably. I always did whatever I felt like at the time but the effect was almost always regrettable. Not guilt. Guilt wasn't something I felt very often or for very long. I liked to think I was in control of my emotions and that I was this cold and calculating person, but I wasn't. I just wasn't able to keep up that façade. I reasoned that the emotions were a nuisance and that they should be turned off. Those times when I took another's life made it worth my while because I was cleansing the world, and me, of these stupid nuisances.

I needed some air so I stepped out onto the balcony. It creaked terribly. I awaited the day when it would fall. Down below I could hear the train whistle as it passed. As I scanned the alleyway below, my eyes fell upon a person. A girl really.

I took the fire escape down to the street. The girl was dressed in funny clothing.  These clothes were extremely old and she looked pretty young. I frowned. I didn't really want to take her upstairs to help her, but she was just going to keep laying here if I didn't do something and not everyone's intentions can be as pure as mine. I tried to shake the girl awake. Nothing. I sighed and picked her up. I walked around to the front of the building. After all, there was absolutely no way I could carry up a ladder. Luckily nobody was in the lobby and the elevator was clear when I pressed the button to go up. I leaned her against the walls of the elevator.

Now that I had a good look at her she was really quite filthy. Mud and what seemed like charcoal stained her skin. Her hair was in knots. Her hands were balled into fists. Almost as if she was having a nightmare. Her eyes fluttered once or twice but remained closed. I looked at her and thought, 'what if she's a runaway? Will it look like I kidnapped her? No! That's ridiculous.... She looks about eighteen anyway. She's probably got an explanation.' The elevator chimed and I grabbed her still unconscious body and dragged it into the apartment.

I looked around, but decided the couch was the best option. This was going to be a long night