Mind of a Killer

What have I done? I looked at the slain body of my husband, and as I did so a sudden exhilaration spread through me. I had killed someone; and it felt wonderful. It was at that moment I realized: I would kill again.

You see, it happened like this: I had came home from my job about an hour before I usually did to surprise my husband, but instead he surprised me, a surprise that caused his death. I caught him with another women. The women ran home and left my husband to fend for himself. “You!” I screamed, “How could you do this to me? I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the chef’s knife from the drawer. I went back into the room and stabbed him in the heart.

I quickly but calmly took a rag and wiped my fingerprints off of the knife. I went to the store, because I needed an alibi. I figured that the person who was my witness to my being at the store wouldn’t get the time exactly right.  I returned home, worked up some fake tears, and called the police. “I just got back from the store, walked in the bedroom, and found him dead,” I sobbed. I gave them my address and hung up and waited. The police came and I repeated my story. They asked me if had an alibi, which I did, and it checked out, rock solid. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” and police officer said. “Thank you,” I said, “but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” The next weeks plotted my next murder, the women my late husband was with. I found where she lived and I would kill her in one week.

One week later, I grabbed a kitchen knife from home put on a wig so the women wouldn’t recognize me. I went her house and put the knife in my coat pocket. I knocked on the door and smiled when she answered. “If I could take up just a moment of your time? May I come in?” I asked. “Um… Sure,” she said. Once we were in the house and the door was closed I pulled out the knife and stabbed her in the back. She died instantly.

Once again, I felt exhilarated. I wiped my fingerprints from the knife. Now, an alibi. I decided to stop by my friend’s house for a few hours. When I reached my friend’s house, I took the wig of and knocked on the door. I smiled and said, “Hey, Lindsey. How are you?” I remained at her house for about two hours. I then went home and waited for the news to come on. “The body of twenty-eight year old women was found murdered in her home. She was found when her husband came home from work. Police say that the time of death is between one to two hours ago.” Yes, I thought, I’m cleared.

Two months passed. The absence of the thrill was too much. I had to look for another victim. I thought for hours on who to kill. I thought of people who wronged me in some way. And finally, I came up with an answer. Cindy Mason.

Cindy Mason stole my first love, James, away from me after college. We had plans to marry, but he left me for her, and I ended up marrying my bastard late husband. And plus, I knew where she lived. She lived with James across town. They would both die tonight.

I hid various knives on my belt, and once more, I donned the wig. I put on a trench coat, to cover the knives. I looked in a compact mirror I had, and realized that I looked exactly like a friend of Cindy’s. I knew my plan immediately. I drove to her house. I walked up the driveway and knocked on the door. Cindy answered. As I thought she woul
d, she thought I was her friend, Ashley.  

I promptly asked her if I could come in, to which she said yes. As she shut the door behind me, I turned and stabbed her in the chest, the lung to be particular. I took off my wig and asked her where James was. She looked up at me and said in a gasping breath, said, “I won’t tell you.” I walked up to her, bent down, and with a twisting motion of the knife, began piercing the skin and flesh on her back. As she gasped in pain, she finally said, “He’s in the shower; just stop it!”

I increased the pressure on the knife’s end to the point it stabbed downward and pierced her heart. “Thanks,” I muttered as I stood and began looking for James. I heard running water. James, I thought to myself. I followed the sound and soon I was at the bathroom door. I opened the door quietly and walked in.

I pulled the curtain back slowly, and stabbed him in the back. He fell immediately, but was not dead. He looked at me, and said breathlessly, “Maria… I thought… I thought that there was no grudge when you broke up with me.” Confused, I sat on the floor and said, “I never broke up with you. You left me for Cindy.” “She told me that you broke up with me,” he said.

All at once, I understood. Cindy had told him that I broke up with him so she could date him. And now, James was mortally wounded. Because of me no less. James’s breathing slowed and stopped. He was dead. All of pain and suffering of my victims hit me. I cried and cried and cried, but nothing would change it. I walked over to the phone and called the police. I told them everything. They came and arrested me.

At the trial, I pleaded guilty. They sentenced me to death by lethal injection. As I sat on death row, I thought of lives I had ended. None of them deserved it. On my execution day, they led me to a chamber. In it was a hospital bed with straps. I lay on the bed as they strapped me to it. I bit my lip as they began the injections. As my body shut down, I hoped that the spirits of the people I killed would rest, knowing their killer was dead.
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