My Daddy the Serial Killer

Chapter 13- Once a Place for Frolic, Now a Place for the Perfect Murder

My eyes were feeding upon the tiny glass bottles, the skinny syringes that lay in a uniform line, the shiny rolls of plastic, and tonight's main attraction: the padded Velcro knife case that held the glistening, sinful instruments safely rolled up inside. 

My heartbeat picked up speed as I lifted the rolled up case in my hands. I unrolled it on the floor and the knifes revealed themselves. They came in all sizes and shapes. If it's this hard getting started, I wonder how the execution would be.

If I'm going to kill this sick son-of-a-bitch I have to do this perfectly. I quickly pulled a pair of rubber gloves and slipped them on before touching anything else. 

I ran my hand through the row of blades and stopped at one in particular. It was a long knife, about the size of my lower arm, it was a little wide, and it had a very sharp point. 

Classy, old fashioned, but most of all, perfect.

I put back the knife and rolled up the case.

I looked back into the trunk.

Ok, I need a syringe and a bottle of the sedatives. Make that two, just in case. I put them right by the knifes.

Now I need... What? Shouldn't this be enough for a killing? All I need is a knife and something to knock him out, right? 

But what's the plastic and trash bags for? Well, I understood the plastic wrap, but shouldn't there be bleach or duct tape? How exactly did my father do his routine?

I dug deeper into the trunk, being careful not to accidentally hit any hidden knifes. Under the sheets of trash bags was a long sleeve dark green shirt.

I held it up. I can sense the pain and blood it sat through.

This was daddy's kill shirt. I remember every time daddy said he had to go to "work" he had this shirt on. I never really noticed back then, but I realize now that this was his kill shirt. 

Oh, the mysteries this garb has witnessed. The material was soft and plush on the inside. 

I brought it up to my face and inhaled deeply.

It still smelled like my father. 

I took of my shirt to put on this new-found treasure when I caught sight of my enlarged belly. Its like what, six months?

Then I just sat there sitting on my legs and stared at it. 

Is this what I want? Is this what I want to be? Sure my daddy was a serial killer, but I accepted that. He was my hero. 

But will my baby accept this? What if... It saw me as a monster instead of a hero? How will Jonah react to me sticking a knife through a man's heart?

What if my good intentions just weren't enough? If I go through with my plan I'm no longer Emmaline Yorks. 

I would evolve into something darker and a more menacing.

But never malicious.

Frankly, I don't know if I could live with myself.

I can't back down now! He took away my Jonah, Father, and my poor little Tess.

He left me with nothing. I have nothing else to lose except this baby. I don't even know how Jonah will take it when he sees me with my engorged tummy... I can't have thoughts like these now. I've gotten this far haven't I?

I quickly slipped on the shirt, grabbed a few black trash bags, giant rolls of plastic tarps, the knifes and the sedatives and placed them in daddy's old messenger bag.

I'm ready.

I left a note for my mom in the kitchen that said:

 "I'm going out. Probably won't be back till morning. Don't look for me."

It was going to be a two and a half hour drive from Flagstaff to Phoenix. I'll probably get there by 10.

Was I worried? 

Yes.

Was I scared?

Oh, hell yeah.

Was I determined?

Fuck yes.

I'm going to avenge my father and Tess, and I'm bringing back Jonah. No hick from a farm will ever get away with this. 

What was his name? Brady?

But what about Constant... Maybe he wan't apart of this. Whatever the case is, Brady is a nutshell and I'm sending him straight to hell.

I glanced at my bag ever so often, but I had no doubt in mind that I'll use them tonight.

I drove mile after mile, and each mile the Jeepers got worse and worse. I was getting close to him. I was getting close to Brady. 

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I drove up the gravel and there stood the deserted horse ranch. The sign that said Spur Cross Stables at the front of the gravel driveway was worn away just like the building in front of me.

I didn't get out of the car. 

I sat there breathing and coming up with a last minute plan. I reached into my bag and pulled out the syringe and glass bottle. I loaded it up and stuck it into my boot. I pulled on my gloves and put the extra syringe and bottle in my pocket. I took out the knife and slipped it into the back of my pants and pulled my shirt over it.

Then my phone buzzed. 

"Glad you could make it. No surprises I promise. Just make your way into the barn. I trust you remember where that is."

The text didn't faze me. I wanted them to know I was here. I wanted to show them I wasn't afraid and I was going to stop at nothing to get the father of my child back to where he needs to be. 

I hopped out of my car, not bothering to lock it. 

I walked into the main office and through the glass doors that led to the horse stables. It brought back fond memories of my tenth birthday. 

I walked past the horse stables. They were dark, empty, and quiet. I heard the owners' children sold the horses and moved to Florida. 

Once a place for frolic and excitement, now a place for the perfect murder. 

I walked on until I saw a big red barn. Daddy told me they kept the babies in there to nurture and raise them. 

As I walked up to it I withdrew the loaded syringe from my boot and placed it in my butt pocket with its safety cap on. The barn door was open ajar. 

The Jeepers continued with their endless crawling as I approached the door. 

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.