~Two~

~Two~

     It wasn’t a dreadfully long walk to the mansion. The dingy apartment complexes, brothels, drug houses, and dark alleyways gradually disappeared and gave way to open space. The empty space was a “park” that the city officials had built to deflect attention from all the corruption in the administration. The mansion was the first one to begin after the park had ended. It was surrounded by a large wrought iron fence with oddly sinister filigree. It was a relic from times past, this large imposing house, and it sadden me every time I saw the modernization that had undergone it. Unlocking the gate, I was privileged to have a key; I went up the pathway and rang the bell. I could have just waltz in but I did have some manners and was rewarded when Brendan answered the door with only a towel slung haphazardly around his waist. He must have just been getting ready for his shower because water was absent from his hair and superb body.  A smile crossed his lips when he spotted me. “No recent conquest to stay with?” He questioned stepping back and letting me in.

     I gave him the tiniest smile as my eyes wandered over him. “You could change that.” I murmured.

     The sun had begun to rise by the time we were ready to sleep. Long ago our hair had dried from the shower and now I was nestled comfortably in his arms. Brendan had already fallen into the darkness of sleep but I found myself staring at the shadows in the room instead. The curtains were black and made out of a heavy material so the only way to for a fact that the sun was rising and getting ready to shine brightly was the clock on the wall. I never went out during the day. It was so dreadfully boring. The night streets were much more fun. At night is when all the seedy places were open. When all the murder, sex, and various other abominations happened. There was no point in going out during the day. The day belonged to the men in boring grey suits with briefcases. Though it was true that some of those men in three piece suits would return at night for completely different reasons. Hell, some would even be dressed in lovely ball gowns. See, everyone has a freak inside of them.

     The sun had only disappeared below the horizon when I woke up. Brendan had disappeared and was no doubt heading towards his “job.” I slid out from between the soft black sheets and headed to his closet. I’d often borrowed clothes from him and his sister before. They actually dressed quite similar. Comfortably dressed and looking quite attractive, I headed back out. Of course I went directly to the “seedy” area of town. Instead of looking for some new creature to have my way with, I decided to go take in a play. No money was required seeing as I had very good connections to the theatre, the owner liking to have a bit of fun now and then, and I always received the best balcony in the whole building. From the outside the building was shabby and worn down. Many people who passed it on the street were surprised to find that it wasn’t condemned. On the inside however it was lavish, full of red and black velvet. The stage itself was beautiful, the front decorated with wonderful scenes of debauchery. Everything was up kept religiously because the theatre was rather like a church to the people who attended. The plays were our mass and it was a deliciously sinful mass at that.

     I’d seen this play before. It was a typical story. Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love with boy. Boy’s a sick b*****d who rapes her and kills her. The scent of blood and sex was rife in the air. There were no blood bags in this show. The blood that stained the lovely black wood of the stage was real. It would have to be cleaned up. The body would be disposed of appropriately. The same person who cleaned the stage destroyed the body. In fact that’s how the man who cleaned was paid. All he asked for were the dead bodies of the women and occasional men. He was a lovely fellow who fit in wonderfully among the rest of us sick b******s.

     Damn it all. I started this…memoir if you will, with a clear destination in sight but now I find myself at a loss for words. Well not words, I’ve always been an eloquent individual but it’s hard to pinpoint which events are important enough to mention and which have absolutely no relevance to my little story. Hm, I suppose I should start at the beginning. That’s where most stories begin, mine just happened to begin at the end. Maybe the thrill of what’s going to happen soon is muddling my thoughts. So the beginning, yes the beginning is the perfect place to go now. For, if you chose to take me as your God, I refuse to be like the Christian God and not inform you of my origins.

     The place I grew up in was terrible. It was a small little town of no importance. It was the middle of nowhere. The very definition of desolation. One of many all over the world. People knew each other’s business yet no one did anything about it. I remember my mother once talking about how the preacher at one of the churches, we almost had more churches than people, beat his wife and molested his children. She knew this, everyone did but no one did anything. The police were to busy with their cocaine parties and orgies. Those weren’t a secret. Nothing was. That’s what bothered me about it. I wasn’t very old when I realized what charlatans everyone else was. I never hid anything. That’s why they looked down on me. I wore my emotions and feelings on my sleeves. My teachers were able to see how much I hated them through the creative stories I wrote for class. Usually the teachers faced decapitation, rape, disembowelment, and evisceration. Essays about my ‘heroes’ scared people. Apparently Charles Manson and Nero weren’t good role models but it always thrilled to think of someone playing an instrument while a whole city burned. I didn’t care whether it was just a myth. To me it would always be true. Everyone worried about me. They all cared so much. false tears like so many fake diamonds fell from my parents eyes. Concern was worn on people’s faces so often that they began to crack. I visited doctor after doctor. They checked me for physical problems and mental problems. Tons of big words were used. Medical lingo tossed around light as feathers. All it amounted to was that my parents needed to keep a close eye on me. They couldn’t give me any medication because they couldn’t find a specific problem. Couldn’t give a clear diagnosis. So my parents kept a close eye on me. In public. At home I was free to do what I wanted. I suppose I could be called a serial killer. I never killed or mutilated any fuzzy little animals like people seem to think all maniacs do. I was quite fond of animals. They were great company. I moved right to people. The first was my little cousin. They found the body floating face down in the mud. I’d always wondered if it was possible to drown in something other than water and it turned out it was possible. The effect was that of being buried alive. My cousin breathed in the mud, filling his lungs. His face was so distorted when they found him, it was more like a caricature than anything. It was brilliant. I went home after the funeral, they actually had an open casket, and laughed myself to sleep that night.  And that was just the beginning of my life.