Confessions of a Serial Killer: Cynthia Young

Chapter Three

For three days, I ignored Confessions of a Serial Killer. It sat on my nightstand to motivate me to start it, but I knew that once I began to read it, I wouldn't stop.

On the third night, I was overcome with extreme boredom. Dr. Mann and I had always discussed how I was most dangerous in this state, so I knew I had to entertain myself. Confessions of a Serial Killer seemed to be my only option, as my usual methods to combat my boredom weren't working. I relaxed in my bed, turned on my lamp, and grabbed the book.

I was flipping through the pages trying to find the first chapter when the copyright page caught my eye.

Before the legal jargon was an unmistakable printing error:

Copyright © 2038 by Cynthia Young.

This had to be a mistake, as 2038 was nearly two decades from now. Perhaps Cynthia Young wanted to let it be in the public domain until the year 2038. Blunder or intentional, it was baffling to me.

It wasn't until I turned to the dedication page of the flimsy soft-covered book I felt my breath catch.

For Dr. Mann, my last victim.

Before I could even process what was happening, I was feeling my comforter in an attempt to locate my phone. It took only two rings for Dr. Mann to answer.

"Cynthia, how are you?" Dr. Mann asked. His calmness was already alleviating my panic.

"I'm doing great, Dr. Mann," I replied sarcastically.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you," Dr. Mann said in a proud voice. I could envision the smile he had on his face.

"I went to the bookstore," I said, filling the silence and starting my story.

"Oh! That's wonderful news. Did you get the books I wrote down for you?" he asked. I debated on lying to him because I didn't want him to be disappointed in me, but I knew the lie would come back to me in some way. It always did.

"I was going to, really. I couldn't find them, so I got a different book," I explained.

Dr. Mann asked, "And which book would that be?"

"It's called Confessions of a Serial Killer," I answered.

"I've never heard of it, but it sure does sound interesting!" Dr. Mann exclaimed with a gracious chuckle.

"Dr. Mann, my name is on the cover," I whispered. Dr. Mann stopped listening, and I could imagine his face contorting into worry and confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"The author is me. The book was published in 2038. You're on the dedication page," I said. Dr. Mann stayed silent for a few moments, but I knew he was trying to figure out the best way to talk me through it.

"Cynthia, can you give me reasons why you being the author isn't possible," Dr. Mann said. I knew what he meant. He wanted me to talk myself down.

"Well, I'm not a serial killer," I replied.

"There's one," Dr. Mann said in a jovial tone. I could already feel myself relaxing.

"Time travel isn't real," I said. I imagined Dr. Mann nodding. "I would never kill you."

"What?" Dr. Mann asked. His dumbfounded shock caused me to fall into a bout of laughter that he quickly joined.

"You know," Dr. Mann began after we had calmed down, "sometimes great coincidences do happen, and we see a connection where there isn't one. I think it is safe to say that you did not write that book."

"Yes. You're right," I said. "Thank you for answering my call."

"Anytime. Even if it is past midnight," Dr. Mann stated. "Goodnight, Cynthia."

I ended the call and set my phone on my nightstand. I looked at the book, and I almost put it away, determined to not let it spend another second in my mind, but my curiosity got the better of me.

Introduction

     I do not have the markings of infamous serial killers. I am not a recluse, and I most definitely am not overly charming. By all accounts, I am normal.

     I have referred to the Macdonald triad (a.k.a. the homicidal triad or the triad of evil) in the past to see if I was destined to be a killer. Macdonald connected arson, cruelty to animals, and bedwetting to identify potential killers.

     I did not start fires to release aggression, I did not abuse animals to rehearse killing, and I most-definitely did not wet the bed past an acceptable age.

     After reading more about the Macdonald triad, I discovered that it was an urban legend. Simply a mistake of using correlation to suggest causation. Furthermore, most of the traits Macdonald listed are cited as being caused by other factors that actually "make" a killer.

     I thought perhaps I may have antisocial personality disorder or psychopathy, but upon further research, I concluded that I do not. That being said, a disorder or a trauma doesn't make someone a killer. Murder does, obviously.

     A serial killer is someone who has murdered three or more people. In order to be classified as a serial killer instead of a spree killer or a mass murderer, it is important to make the distinction among the three.

     A mass murderer—in my opinion the worst kind of killer—is defined more by the number of their victims. They kill a large amount of people, typically in one place over a short period of time. They mostly want fame or revenge. Statistically, these killers are male.

     A spree killer is similar to a mass murderer, but a key difference is their killings take place over at least two locations and over a longer period of time. They differ from serial killers in the way that these murders happen quickly following the other. The murders they commit are referred to as a singular event rather than separate occurrences. Anger has been cited as a motive. Statistically, these killers are male.

     The killings of a serial killer must take place intermittently. The murders happen over at least a month, with a significant rest between them. The differentiation between serial killer and spree killer are insignificant to law enforcement. Serial killers mainly pick random victims, with "abnormal psychological gratification" being their main reason to kill. Statistically, these killers are male.

      Perhaps that is why I am not confident that I'm actually a serial killer. I am not a male. While my murders did take place over a period longer than a month, I did not get an abnormal gratification from killing. Sometimes, I killed for revenge; sometimes, I killed because I was bored; and sometimes, I killed because it made a loosely related goal that much easier to reach. The point is: sometimes, I killed. I guess I am mostly a serial killer.

    Confessions of a Serial Killer is not a guide for murder. It is simply an explanation as to why these murders have happened.

     And rest assured, Cynthia, they will happen.

My mind went hazy as I looked away from the page. I thought back to what Dr. Mann had said about coincidences. He had no idea what he was talking about because coincidences like these are no coincidence at all. They can't be.