Slaughter is the Best Medicine - A Short Story

INTRO:

It was while trying to write my very first novel (which I don't really count because it was too short and essentially unfinished) that I got to a point where I needed a palette cleanser. I wanted to write something short - anything - that had absolutely nothing to do with what I was currently writing, which was more of drama.

I can't possibly say where the inspiration for this came from, although it's possible that elements of it are subconsciously inspired by the popular TV show Dexter.

I've not edited this since I first wrote it so here it is in all its raw roughness.

Slaughter is the Best Medicine

“Hi, everyone. My name is Leo and I’m a serial killer.”

An approving applause swept through the audience.

“I kill on a yearly cycle, the anniversary of my mother’s death and, um, that’s only two weeks from tomorrow.”

There was a dull hum. They understood the pressure. Leo let an awkward smile slip through his lips before he continued.

“I’ve been searching since the last one, doing my due diligence as always but it’s been a tough year.” He paused to clear his throat. His eyebrows were knitted together in frustration as he struggled for the right words. “For a while, I thought I would never find her. I’m sure that many of you understand that the next one is never as good as the first and when you’ve been doing this as long as I have it gets harder, not easier, to find the right fit.”

There were many nods and grunts of agreement among the crowd.

“But then, through this wonderful network we have here, I found Darcy and she brought me hope. With her help I’ve been able to expand my hunting ground and just this morning I found a very good candidate,”

There were tears of relief in Leo’s eyes as the audience erupted into an aggressive cheer, stamping their feet, punching fists in the air.

“And on that note, I would like to introduce you to the woman who could change your life too, one of our sponsors this year, Miss Darcy.”

The audience gave a polite applause, unsure of this stranger in their midst. If she wasn’t truly one of them, it could be dangerous.

“Thank you, Leo. You’re doing great,” said Darcy, taking the podium and waiting for the dull conciliation to subside. She was a tall woman with a spiked pixie cut that only accentuated her height. It was intentional, a show of power. Something that was necessary when addressing a fleet of the Rolls Royces of homicide. At least she looked like she belonged.

“Firstly, let me just say what an honour it is to be accepted into the circle,” Darcy had a warm and gracious face, aesthetically attractive to most red-blooded men. An untrained eye would never know she was a Black Widow. To the well-trained eyes in the room that were quick to examine her, it was becoming painstakingly obvious where her true talents lay. There was shift in the tension of the room as one by one they started to relax in her presence. She often had that way about her.

“It’s a tough business that we’re in and although it’s often preferable, we can’t always do it alone.” She stepped out from behind the podium and began to slowly pace the stage as she spoke. The rhythmic click of her stilettos was almost hypnotic and she moved her hands in time with her words as though she were conducting an orchestra. The audience were entranced.

“We have to battle against the odds to get things done. It’s not just the police anymore. It’s profilers, predicting our next moves. It’s IT forensics, tracking our movements. It’s politicians and activists and nosey neighbours with their smartphones. It’s time to up our game.”

The reaction from the audience was one of strong agreeance and curiosity. She was right, after all. Getting away with murder wasn’t as easy as it had once been. Damn the progressive nature of society!

Darcy stopped pacing and faced her audience head on.

“That’s where I come in. I have a team of facilitators to whom you can outsource. We can hack, we can supply equipment, track down targets, cover your tracks. Whatever you need, we can deliver, for a fee, of course. You’ll find my details in your welcome packs including a voucher for 10% off your first order.” Darcy finished with a gracious smile and exited the stage, giving Leo a strong handshake as they passed each other in the wings. The audience applauded more generously as she left.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy,” said Leo. “I know you’re all keen to be on your way but we do have one more speaker for the day. A, uh, last minute addition to the programme it would seem. Please welcome to the stage, Mr Elijah.”

They exhibited one last perfunctory applause. A patient bunch but they were also bored. They’d been sitting in the same bland hall for hours with only a mediocre buffet and bitter coffee to sustain them. These annual conferences always held an edge of agitation beneath the surface. And although there was a code that had never been broken, there was always the possibility that it could be.

A face that was unfamiliar to the regular attendees rose from the front row and took his place behind the podium. He was a man of average height, average build, brown hair with a common style to it. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about him, not a thing that would have him stand out in a line-up. It was the best disguise anyone could wish for. There wasn’t a whisper of nervousness about him. He looked relaxed, exuding a casual air of confidence as he stood as tall as his frame would allow, drew back his shoulders and lifted his chin to address the room.

“Good evening,” he greeted his fellow hunters. “I am Elijah.” His voice was smooth as whipped avocado and his accent suggested a public-school experience. This was going to be a good one. Those all-boys schools often churned out the best and the worst of them.

“Recently, I’ve been considering retirement. I have found that it is mere habit and perhaps boredom that drives me. I have not felt the elation of a kill in years.” Elijah released an audible sigh that could’ve have been regret or frustration; he was a difficult man to read even for a practiced audience.

“I came to this conference not just for support but for inspiration. Over the past three days I have listened intently to each speaker; the amusing anecdotes, the useful tips and simple solutions. It is all quite fascinating but no words had hit me quite as deeply as the ones spoken just moments ago by Miss Darcy. We need to up our game.” Elijah paused after repeating the simple phrase. “We need to up our game,” he said again, this time his voice low and even, a deadness to it. “We are masters of our craft. The existence of this conference, this network, is evidence of that. We have a bond built on abuse, obsession, psychopathy.”

There was an uncomfortable shift in the room, nervousness seeping in through the gaps. He wasn’t wrong but what was his point?

“We need to up our game,” Elijah repeated once more. He took a moment to look out in to the audience. They were mostly men, mostly white, of varying ages, all with a preference and a reason for what they did.

“I’ve never been all that discerning with my prey.” His voice was slow and clear. “Only my methods. It has occurred to me that something needs to change so today I am here to explore that theory. I posit that a single kill is not enough anymore.”

With the flourish of a showman, Elijah produced a high-tech looking mask from his jacket pocket.

“This,” he said with the devilish smirk of a delinquent schoolboy. “Is the Aziz 3000 air-purifying respirator. I’ll save you from the boredom of a sales pitch and get right to the point.” He put the mask over his face and pulled another item from his jacket; a small vial which he held up for the benefit of the audience “This is a scientifically engineered compound designed to…well, kill, for want of a better term. Once I smash this vile, the particles will disperse and you will all expire quite quickly. Every. Single. One of you.”

Was this a joke? Or was he merely doing a mock demonstration? He hadn’t blinked the whole time he’d been talking and the room was becoming restless and confused.

“As per our network’s security protocols this room has been securely sealed and any attempts to escape will be futile. Thank you for your time.”

With these final words, slightly muffled by his mask, he allowed the vile to fall from his hand. The delicate glass smashed easily on the hard surface of the stage. The group became drenched in panic, half of them trying unsuccessfully to flee through the locked steel doors, the other half advancing on the stage to take down Elijah. But the poison was strong and, as Elijah had warned, fast acting. There was nothing more dangerous than an honest criminal.

It took mere moments for the event to unfold but Elijah absorbed the chaos in slow motion. The cries and screams that begged for mercy were piercing and brief but for Elijah they echoed on. He would hear them forever. Eyes filled with helpless anger and desperate appeals of clemency all imprinting on his soul. Death rattles, gurgled pleas, strained threats. He could feel electricity coursing through his veins, every sense buzzing and burning with ecstasy like fireworks at his core of his being. It was the greatest feeling of his life. Not only had it fed his base desire to kill but there was a sense of righteousness, godliness even, that came with ridding the world of a mass societal scourge. It felt good to be bad.

Once the cacophony had melted into stillness, Elijah took a deep breath and expelled his exhilaration.

“Woah!”

One of the steel doors behind the stage rattled. With the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, Elijah ran to the door to throw it open, caring not a bucket for the consequences that may having been lying in wait behind it.

“Sorry to be a bother but these auto-locking doors can be a bit temperamental.  I only popped to the loo. Did I miss anything good?” It was Darcy. Beautifully, unaware Darcy. She noticed the brightness in Elijah’s eyes that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. She recognised it and gave him a sly grin.

“Have you been up to no good?” she asked seductively.

Without a word he took her hand and guided her to the stage where his masterpiece was displayed in all its glory. Darcy surveyed the scene, her mind dancing quickly through fear, awe and adulation.

“Just FYI,” she said to Elijah. “We offer a clean up service too. Here’s my card.”