Chapter One

  My name is Richard Seeger and I am a killer. I hate to start things off this way yet I can't seem to find another alternative. Everything I'm about to tell you goes back to it. Before my inevitable first kill, being a painter, where I lived, being a victim of mental illness, a human being even, all of it was irrelevant. Nobody cared about who or what I was. Much like highway driving, nobody notices you until they are driving by the accident that left you smeared across the pavement. Our predatory instincts are all that seem to hold people's attention. When I think about “the beginning”, the outcome begins to make much more sense. This was bound to happen eventually. My existence is proof that life needs death.
  So where do we begin? Oh I know, let's begin with the where. I could simply say I'm from Missouri and that alone would say so much. I'm going to go further than that. I am from River City, Missouri. Home to conservative mindsets and unchanging policies. The only plus side to the city, minus the few people I grew attached to, is it's right off the bank of the Missouri river. Before, I lived a borderline gypsy lifestyle at a nearby marina; which of course is where I grew my fondness for the river. It was there I grew and nurtured my passion for art. Art, or at least people's views on art, is likely the leading factor which lead me to become what I am; but let's not get ahead of ourselves. The beginning, starts with a day, a day that would lead to a gruesome end.
  "Ah piss!" I screamed at the canvas. Reminiscing too much, which is far too common for me, distracted me from the painting at hand. The damn stroke I was trying to accomplish didn't come out as I had imagined it. This isn't uncommon for me but nonetheless, it's frustrating. Light a smoke and keep going till it works. That's my motto! I plunge my brush back into the ivory black oil paint and gently stir it around with little strokes. "This damn line is going to do what I want." I imagine every abstract expressionist has said the same thing at one point or another.

  "The piece being stubborn again?" asked my favorite and only pupil at the moment. I had almost forgotten she was there. Getting too deep into my own head tends to block out the rest of the world. Kelly Malone wasn't the only other abstract painter in River City but she was the only one who admired my work enough to study under me; potentially the only other one I enjoyed talking to as well. She found me a year before moving to River City when I was among the Riverbillies but it wasn't until I had moved here did she express interest in studying under me. Honestly, I'm not sure why she admires me at all. The rest of River City doesn't seem to appreciate much of my work. Though why would they? Around here if you aren't a pet portrait or landscape artist than you are "crazy" or "weird." Living here is like being stuck in the late 1800's.

  "Yeah…you know how it is…struggle till the end" I mumbled as I slapped more oil paint onto the canvas. Kelly didn't reply but I assumed she wouldn't. She knew better than to disrupt too much. Even from the beginning, she's always shared this kind of mutual respect for me and my work. You don't pull the artist out of "the moment" as it could fade away entirely. That would be a cardinal sin indeed. As I took another drag of my cigarette I took a step back from the easel. I need a whole view of this piece so it can speak to me again. Red my master…we need red. Red it shall be. As I watched the ivory black paint dissolve away in the thinner I imagined myself drenched in a liquid black paint. Swirling around me like some kind of living creature trying to entangle me. Could you imagine? Like some liquid demon trying to devour me for a meal. It reminds me of a time when I was a child and I had poured a bucket of house paint all over myself. Oh crap, that's not a good memory! Back out of it Richard!

  "What the f**k are you doing you little s**t!" screamed my father as he tore into the room like an angered bull. I'm not sure what shocked me more, him screaming at me or the fact he was even in my apartment. My father lives hours away from River City and I don't recall inviting him in. "You f*****g idiot! How did this sound like a good idea? Huh! Are you f*****g stupid?" The blood vessels in my father's neck looked as if they were small snakes trying to force their way out from under his flesh. My own anxiety rose as my father continued to scream at me and demean a decision I had made over twenty years ago. What am I going to do? How do I get away from him? He'll hit me if I move or try to hide from his discipline. In my panic, I accidentally knocked over the can of paint thinner; spilling its contents all over my wooden floor. Oh crap! "Oh, that's right! Keep making f*****g messes!”

  Within all the chaos Kelly's voice broke in "Richard! Are you ok?" I looked away from the towering form of my father and looked at her. I wanted to speak but I knew if I tried I'd get slapped in the mouth for sure; or worse if he was having a bad day. I quickly looked back to him remembering the many times I looked away as a child and what diverting my attention brought me. He was no longer there. I desperately looked around my living room which was more of a studio than an actual living room but he was nowhere to be found. The spilled paint thinner was there. My pissed off father was not. The anxiety diminished and it was at this moment it dawned on me, I had been crying and sweating like a w***e in church. I quickly sat in my painting chair and wiped the sweat from my forehead. Absent-minded, I used the cloth I used for wiping off my brush which left a colorful streak of oil paints across my forehead; honestly, in the moment it didn't matter.

  "Is he still here?" Kelly's face and question told me everything I needed to know; I had been hallucinating. When I was twelve years old I was diagnosed with schizophrenia which of course was a misdiagnosis and would later become schizoaffective disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, borderline personality disorder and the ever so popular bi-polar disorder unspecific with psychotic tendencies. Needless to say, I'm a beautiful little bundle of sunshine and razor blades; at least on a good day.

  "Uh no…no he's gone" I managed to mumble out while still checking the room out of habit. Kelly grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaned my mess for me. How pathetic is this right? I can't even clean my own messes. Maybe my dad has always been right about me. No! We can't afford thinking like this Richard! You know where this leads to! But maybe you should be locked up…you're weak Richard! You can't handle your problems. "Oh, I truly don't have the patience for this…" I growled under my breath while picking my still burning cigarette from the ground. When did I drop the damn thing? What if I had burned my studio to the ground? Or burned the entire house my apartment was in? What if my landlord was sleeping and didn't know her home was on fire? You'd enjoy that…the smell of burning flesh…no more yapping little dogs at all hours of the night…you know you would Richard! The voices in my head were mostly annoying but every now and again they could become scary; because they were right.

  "How long has it been since you've had your medicine?" Kelly looked at me with a worried look on her face. Can she tell when I’m inside my own head? Is this a bad thing? Can she tell what I'm thinking? The audacity she could…wait…I'm projecting again.

  "Is it obvious?"

  "Yeah…a bit" the slight smirk on her face was her way of trying to disarm me. Letting me know my illness doesn't scare her. I couldn't appreciate her more in times like this.

  "I guess it's been a bit" I admitted halfheartedly. To be honest I can't remember the last time I had my medication. Living as a professional painter, especially one in which doesn't frequently sell work, doesn't exactly pay the bills let alone leave enough money to maintain my scripts. Of course, some things can’t be said. What kind of worthless mooch would doing so make me look like? Nobody respects a beggar and I'll be damned if the world is going to find yet another reason to invalidate me. Not on my watch!

  "You know you can come to me, Richard! Don't you want to be able to control your surroundings?" she half giggled while digging into her purse. What the f**k was her comment suppose to mean? Of course, I want to control my own surroundings! Now she's calling me lazy on top of…damn it…projecting again. Get a grip, Richard! She's only trying to help you. Why do you need her help…are you so weak you can't do it on your own…you little p***y of a man…you're never going to amount to anything…you know this right…you're going to die as nothing…precisely like your father predicted!

  "Yeah, I know. I don't like feeling like a burden on you. Besides, I've been ok for the most part." Which was a complete lie of course but again she doesn't need to know everything. She wouldn’t care anyhow…why would she…you're nothing…you'll always be nothing. Kelly's shoulder length brown hair flipped over her shoulder as she pulled a small grip of money from her purse. Her hazel eyes burned into mine as she gave me the protective look she so frequently gives me.

  "You know you aren't a burden! Stop talking like you are!" She'd never admit it but I'm fairly certain she sprouted fangs for the death glare she gave me. Kelly forcefully shoved the money into my hand; not once dropping eye contact with me. She can be a bit of a “badass” at times. "Now go get your medication while I go run some errands."

  "Yes, mother!" Even the disciplinary slap on the shoulder my comment bought me couldn't force the goblin of a smile on my face away. Kelly walked out the door while presenting her middle finger to me the entire way out. As far as friends go it doesn't get much better than her. Watching her walk along the sidewalk did nothing to quench the anxiety of having to step out into the world myself. All the people, the noises, the colors, the tastes, almost any external experience is a living nightmare for me. Imagine you are surrounded by darkness and thousands of bony, twisted fingers `are touching you, clawing at your flesh; all the while you are expected to perform multiple tasks at peak efficiency with little regard to anything you might be going through. This is what leaving the apartment is like for me.

  As I close and lock the door I can hear my landlord's dogs utterly lose their minds. My one bedroom apartment is attached to a house which, like I expressed before, was built back in the 1920's. Anytime I make a loud sound of any sort which could be heard through the house, I am greeted with a parade of little yapping monstrosities. I'd almost prefer they were big dogs. The high pitch of their little barks pierces my ears like tiny needles driving through my earlobes and poking at the back of my eyes. They should count themselves lucky they aren't outside dogs. Walking the street I live on isn't much better. Almost every one of my surrounding neighbors has one breed or another of dog which, unfortunately, is more than happy to bark incessantly at my passing.  Yap! Yap! Yap! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! I get it already! It's your yard and the weird stranger passing by isn't allowed on it! If I didn't find it insulting to the animals I'd assume they were conservatives as aggressively as they speak to me.

  Oh, piss this heat is unbearable! Granted it'd help if I didn't wear all black clothing but how else would I capture the pain and suffering inside. HA! The truth is the weirder I dress the bigger of a distance people keep from me. It's kind of like a shield of sorts; which helps when I don't want these people bothering me. Speaking of people bothering me, the city bus couldn't possibly take any longer to get here. I’m sure there is a schedule for a reason but I have yet to figure out what the reason is. It's obviously not to stay on time. Your mind is racing again Richard! It's racing because you lack intelligent thought. Oh honestly, what would you know of intelligent thought? If it weren't for my mind you wouldn't exist.  If it weren't for your mind you'd also likely be successful and worth something. Crap! No rebuttal for that one. Kelly wouldn't be happy with this line of thinking. What would life be like if it wasn’t mine?

  Most of the bus ride to the pharmacy consisted of me blankly staring out the window; contemplating existence as a human being without the problems I possess. How lucky those people are. Are they though? Never mind! Not getting back into it. Thankfully nobody approached me or engaged me in conversation. Most of the passengers were obviously trying to avoid eye contact with me; which is precisely how I like it. My stop was coming so I pulled the string like all passengers do to cue the driver to come to a stop. The pharmacy wasn't significant in size yet it was the best place for people like me who don't possess insurance and badly need medicine.

  Off the bus, I go to proceed inside yet I, unfortunately, find myself thwarted by the sight of a ragged woman lying within the alley. Her young face was beaten; not by man but by something more like poverty or possibly even drugs. As she looked at me I could see the pain and despair in her eyes. Witnessing her suffering was almost like greeting an old friend. I walked to her, contemplating what I could possibly say with each step I took. People are hard to reach when they are drowning in torment. I bent a knee, lifted her eyes to mine and in their reflection I could see the mistake I had made.

  Multiple hands were grabbing me faster than I could even inhale from shock. I was launched into the alley by the force of at least three strong men. I tried to quickly gather myself but was caught in the face with a steel toed boot. The pain shot through my face like lightning across blackened clouds. My world was spinning. What in the hell is going on? I couldn't possibly look like someone who had a lot of money. Did I accidentally offend the girl's pimp? She didn't look like a prostitute. Another boot found its way to my rib cage. With the force of a hammer crashing upon the anvil my ribs cracked and broke. The pain was incredibly intense. Ah, s**t it hurts to breathe! Another boot pressed on the side of my head; crushing my skull between its weight and the sweating asphalt. Kill me already would you?

  "Don't move w*****k! I'm not afraid to break your beaner neck!" The threat was malicious and hissed at me as if from an aggressive snake recently stepped on. Why in the hell is he calling me a w*****k? Isn't it a hate inspired name for Mexicans? I managed to catch one of my attackers in my peripheral. If his bald head and hardcore attire didn't give him away, the swastika tattooed on his neck sure did. F*****g skinheads! My darker complexion has confused me for multiple different races with the weak and single minded fools of this state since I was young. One of the other degenerates dug through my pockets. Yep! There goes my medicine money. Thanks, dick! "You won't need this will you beaner b***h!" The level of intelligence with these guys astounds me.

  I caught one more swift kick in the ribs and they were off. Off to go live productive lives I'm sure. The woman I was feeling sorry for was gone as well. Good job Richard! Walked right into that one! We warned you not to care for them! Nobody cares for you! Ah yes, more words of encouragement from the peanut gallery. Again the words are right though. Every day passing is another example of why I can't stand the human race. I'm not entirely sure why I keep trying.