As I sit in the dark, a blanket of shame covers me, I wonder to myself how I could have been so stupid. But the urge had been too strong. The need to be evil and vile, the feeling of good after doing evil was something I couldn't forfeit. You see the things people consider to be addictive are completely trivial to me such things like weed, alcohol, the highest point of an orgasm or the inexplicable joy when the football team you support wins a match.
But to me the feeling of being inebriated with alcohol or high on marijuana cannot compare to the rush of blood or thrill I get from firing a shot or inflicting that wound soo deeply, that the person won't see the next 5 minutes.
There is no better feeling than watching a person gasp and fight for their last breathe. Look into their eyes as they see their lives flash before them. No better feeling than freeing people from the prison of their lives. I never get a thank you from these people I have helped, but the terror they experience from realising that it was me, the look of shock and betrayal is gratitude enough for me.
Just like every addict, it gets to a point when this evil is lifted off me and it dawns on me what my hands for holiness have done. I am a sick person and the 12 step programme can't help me. I have tried it. Done the admission and group therapy and I still want more.
What I hate most about this hobby, is not the metallic smell of blood or the mess I have to clean off after each indulgence or the fear of being caught. It is the voices in my head that taunt me and drive me crazy. The silly voice of my conscience repeatedly reminding me of the tears and fear in the eyes if my friends. I can't exactly say they are my victims cos I have served them the biggest favour ever. Taking a person's life is easier than giving them a promise of hope that things will be better when I know they never will.
Finding my victims have never been hard for me, my choice of vocation makes it easy cos people just pour out their hearts to me and the ones I know that my hands can help I willingly offer to.
In this darkness I lay, I could hear the sirens wail and the sound of the helicopter and I knew it was finally time to do what should have been done the day I came to this earth, my last victim had managed to let me be reckless, she was a girl of 16 and was pregnant, in my mind I had saved her the humiliation, rejection and stigma attached to teenage pregnancy and the promise of two deaths had made me soo feverish with anticipation, I forgot some fingerprints, and now the police has linked all 22 murders to me. I know I can't stand trial. I will have to be killed. I can't even claim insanity and running away is out of the question. I have to do this myself, because all the therapy didn't work and not even my vocation or conscience could have curbed this habit.
As I plunge the knife to my heart, I look into the mirror, smile and say to myself, "good evening, I am Reverend Paul and I'm an addict".
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