Confessions of a Serial Killer: Cynthia Young

Chapter Ten

Dr. Mann didn't pick up the first time I called. I assumed he was still asleep, so I called him again. I concluded the first call had awoken him, but by the time he went to accept it, it was too late. When he didn't answer the phone the second time, I started to worry that the blood in my living room belonged to him.

I couldn't stress about Dr. Mann's living status for long, as I had my own matters to be concerned with. In just a few hours, the sun would rise and expose the true extent of the crime scene. The only thing I could do was eradicate the evidence to the best of my abilities. By now, the blood on my skin had dried, and I had grown used to the sensation of the slight wetness of my clothes. I would wait to wash myself until I had finished cleaning. This way, if I had somehow managed to fall in blood again, I wouldn't have to take a third shower.

To prevent myself from becoming overwhelmed by the mess, I split my home into sections. First, I would clean the living room. It was easily the dirtiest and the most incriminating.

I had just gotten the towels from my bedroom to soak up the blood on the floor when I heard my phone ring. Dropping the towels near the puddle, I ran toward the trilling.

Dr. Mann's number appeared on my screen, and I felt relief as I accepted his call.

"Hello," I said. My voice had punctured the quietness, effectively shattering any eeriness that the atmosphere had once held.

"Cynthia, you called. Is everything alright?" Dr. Mann asked, his words coated in tired concern.

"No," I stated. "Can you come over? I can explain when you get here." I was met with a silence, and for the first time, I believed that Dr. Mann had rejected my request.

"Of course," Dr. Mann answered after several uncomfortable seconds. "I'll be there soon, Cynthia. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No, I need to clean up a little before you get here." I looked around the room. If I had only managed to clean the blood, Dr. Mann would still see chaos in the broken shards.

"Oh." Dr. Mann seemed surprised. "Don't worry about me. I am no stranger to messes." He laughed at what I can only assume was an inside joke between him and his memories.

"I'm not worried about you," I replied. If Dr. Mann saw the disorder as it was now, he wouldn't hesitate to call emergency services. I hoped that if I managed to clean up the more troublesome parts of the mess, I could convince him to wait. "Take your time-but not too much time. I have to go."

"Alright. How does an hour sound?" Dr. Mann asked.

"Make it 45 minutes," I answered. "Bye." I hung up before Dr. Mann could negotiate. I put my phone on the table and sprang into action.

I grabbed one of my towels from the small stack I had. By design, all of my towels were white. I had liked that I could bleach them to effectively clean them, but now that I needed to use them for dubious purposes. I took one last wistful look at my perfectly white towel before I set it in the pool of blood.

Once the towel had become completely soaked, I pulled it away, only for the puddle to seemingly replace itself. As I started to go through my towels, I was convinced the pool would never disappear. I wondered what murder weapon had been used that caused such a restricted mess. I didn't understand why I had been covered, but my furniture and walls had remained unscathed by the blood.

A knife would have been too messy, especially because I would have had to repeatedly stab them. If I didn't pull the knife out, I would have had to stab them in a place that brought them down instantly, only for them to slowly bleed out. Both of those seemed unlikely. Perhaps I had gotten a gun in my overwhelmed state, but even then I would have some evidence of a gun being shot, whether it be a casing on the floor or the gun itself.

My mind flipped through all conventional murder weapons until the puddle of blood had been mostly absorbed. All that remained were thin trails that lodged themselves in the crevices of the wood pattern. I suspected I would have to scrub it, but with my limited time, I would have to trust that it was only obvious to me because I knew it was there.

After rinsing my hands, I checked my phone. It was already almost five. I had spent too much time on the puddle. I grabbed the heavy pile of dirty towels and ran to the bathroom to toss them in the tub. My arms ached as the wet towels thumped the acrylic.

I had already exuded all energy I had gained. My eyes were growing heavy, but I still had so much more to do. The shards in my knees and the bottom of my feet had started to bother me. Everytime I put weight on my legs, my wounds would burn. Although I attempted to avoid traces of blood, I knew I had stepped in some. I wondered if bloodborne diseases could be spread from the loose blood to my tiny cuts. Because I had to ask, I knew my answer. It had already happened, so all I could do now was accept my fate.

I had just managed to sweep the broken china into a pile when I heard a faint knock at my door. I took a final look around to see if there was anything else I could tidy in the next ten seconds, but I could find nothing.

I answered my door, ready to calmly explain my situation. What I had not anticipated was my failure to remember that while my living room had been devoid of blood, I had not.

Dr. Mann flashed his porcelain teeth in an easy-going smile. He started to greet me when he noticed my clothes. His grin fell from his face.

"Cynthia, what happened?" Dr. Mann asked. I was ready to explain my dilemma. It was short and direct, but then I realized I didn't have a sufficient answer. I knew how I had blood on my clothes, but I would never be able to explain what had led to the puddle on my floor.

Accepting that I had no suitable explanation to offer Dr. Mann, I said the only thing that would pique his curiosity and trigger his concern.

"I can't remember."