It took him an hour and forty-seven minutes to fully dispose of the body. He hadn’t counted on the bone being so tough to cut through. Using the cleaver hadn’t been the bright idea he thought it would be. It hacked in big, uneven pieces from the bone and left the muscles and fat a bloody mess.
He was pissed that his favorite movies had lied to him about how easy it was to kill and then get rid of the corpse as if the victim had never existed. It hadn’t been so simple in real life.
Finding a person to kill wasn’t hard. They were everywhere and their very presence annoyed him and constantly brought about headaches. He started to feel a headache forming in the front of his temples, so he popped an Advil and began his search for somebody to make famous posthumously.
He hung out around bus stops and rode the subway with his eyes peeled for a suitable test case. He found it very amusing that he went underground to find his victim. Because he knew that in death, whomever he met would never feel the cool, loving embrace of the earth as a final resting place.
He quickly pushed his morbid thoughts to the side as the train pulled into the station and he spied the homeless man on the metro platform. He tried to stifle a giggle as he stepped out of the subway train and headed toward the indigent man.
The first thing to do, is gain this man’s trust, he thought. Once that’s achieved the rest should be cake. He stepped up to the man who was sitting down with his back to the wall. He studied the bum, watching how his prey acted and moved. The homeless man was busy warming himself with a freshly bought cup of coffee. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt that looked as if it would fit better on a ten-year-old. His jeans were faded so much that the original color was untraceable. Over the sweatshirt he had a black overcoat most probably bought or stolen from a secondhand clothes shop. He worse a pair of dirty gray sneakers and a coonskin cap, which contrasted the rest of the clothing, completed the outfit.
He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and presented it to the man sitting on the floor. The bum looked at the money with much interest. He explained to the bum that he was in need of somebody to do a job for him. He had three dogs back at his apartment that needed walking and he was unable to do so himself due to previous commitments. The lie wasn’t carefully planned; his mind raced on the sport and this was the best he could come up with. He decided in his head that he would have to prepare his lie for the next time.
After convincing the bum to follow him, he made his way toward the surface streets with the bum in tow. As the passed by a police car he made eye contact with the cop inside. The policeman nodded at him and turned to working on a crossword puzzle that was in his lap.
They walked for twelve blocks, the homeless man shuffling along, avoiding eye contact with everyone, the other lost in his own thoughts. He could feel the sweat starting to form under his arms and on his brow. He knew that in this cold weather sweating was quite a feat. He was almost unable to control his energy and the bum soon had to jog to keep up.
Once they made it back to the apartment he began to question his motivation. Should he really go through with killing this man who had never done anything to him? Should he take a life for no better reason then to see what it was like? Once he began to think of how much power he could have he grew a broad smile and his mouth turned very dry. He wanted to kill so badly that he began to hop around in place, and almost ran into the bathroom where the bum was relieving himself, so that he could kill him as soon as possible. He hoped that by ending this man’s existence he would be able to stop the headaches that seemed to be coming more and more frequently. But he held back so that he would be able to plan better.
He was not as well prepared as he had believed himself to be. What he wouldn’t do for a gun or at least a nice chainsaw or power saw. He ran into the kitchen and began to tear the room apart for a good weapon. The carving knife? No, too much work. The electric carving knife? No, the cord wasn’t long enough to do any real damage. A big two-pronged fork? No, not quick enough. A cast iron skillet? No, too heavy. The cleaver!
He tucked the cleaver into the back of his pants and went into the living room to wait for his victim.
That was almost two hours ago. The man had made it hard; he put up a good fight. Better then he thought the guy would. His place was a mess, the living room couch was overturned along with the coffee table which now had several deep cuts in its top. The wall by the front door was splattered with blood from when the bum had almost escaped. There was a hole about head height where the cleaver had gone through his next and became stuck in the plaster. The kitchen floor was a mess of various cutting implements and utensils, tossed about is if by a localized tornado.
But the worst room of all was the bathroom where it looked as though
Hannibal Lector had stopped by and decided to redecorate the walls with human blood. The bathtub was filled with dismembered body parts. A foot was hanging over the side and the shoelace was swaying back and forth over the linoleum, tracing lines in the pool of blood that had gathered in front of the tub.
As for damage to himself, the man had a bruise on his stomach from where the bum had surprised him with a punch that knocked the wind out of him. He was also somewhat out of breath from chasing the bum around the apartment. He vowed to started getting back into shape to improve his physique and to deter those who would fight back.
He had considered many different ways to get rid of the body. But in the end he decided to put the pieces into garbage bags. He then took the bags to the roof of his building. As he stood and looked over the city he felt revulsion. He realized how much he hated the general populace of the city and even the rest of the state. He had gone through an ordeal in the last few hours, but he felt that it was worth it. If he could fid the city of its population, even one at a time, then he was going what needed to be done, and he felt good about that. He knew deep in his heart that he was doing important work, but it was also fun and that made him feel even better.
He turned around and put the bags into a little shack that housed as assortment of cleaning and lawn maintenance implements. The cold weather would mask the smells of decomposition until the spring.
He locked the door behind him and begin to walk back into the building, leaving red footprints in the clean, white snow.
Once he got inside the headache began again. He reached into his pocket, pulled out in Advil and continued down the starts.