As I Start Journaling

March 7,1988-

It seems a strange thing, as I put pen to paper, to try and capture forever the events that have transpired over the course of these past several weeks. This has been a transformative time for me, experiencing events I have never encountered or anticipated encountering. I believe everyone has, at times, considered in daydreams, doing something outside the norm such as climbing the tallest mountain peak or walking among lions on the Serengeti, but how many of us actually climb Mt. Everest, or go on safari? The occasional musing moment has tempted each of us away from any number of mundane tasks periodically, but to actually act upon one of these not once, but multiple times is not an everyday happenstance. Upon arriving home today, I was overcome with the need to mark down the details of the direction my life has taken, so that I will be able to recall them well in the future when the memories do not appear as crisply as they do today.

A few weeks ago, I was walking home as I typically do on a clear day, rather than deal with questionable smells on public transport, and I found myself drawn to a pastry shop. The delightful fragrance of blueberry and bread wafting across the path turned my feet, and I soon found myself peering into a shiny glass case sporting a variety of sweets. My slate gray eyes rather quickly landed upon the blueberry treat I was searching for. The danish was tenderly packed into a bag and handed to me by a smiling stout gentleman with a broad walrus mustache who jovially suggested I recommend the shop to friends and to stop back in and try their other delightful wares, blueberry and otherwise. With a friendly nod, I slipped out the door and back on the path. The diversion seemed to have taken in more time then I had thought as I glanced down at my watch and saw the time. I pride myself on keeping informed and make every effort to arrive home in time for the six o’clock news. I came across the cut-through alley. I usually wouldn’t venture down its uneven brick terrain filled with trash bins from local businesses and the occasional unkempt homeless person. However, the sun was shining brightly, and I’d already had a rather good day, having spotted a possible problem with a potential land purchase that would end up saving the government plenty of money earning me a pat on the back. Feeling quite confident and full of myself, which was a rare thing indeed given my smaller stature among men, I tugged my gray sweater vest a little straighter over my khaki’s and found myself stepping lively over slightly mossy bricks.

Half-way through the alley, I found that I’d been unconsciously holding my breath. I slowly let it out and breathed again, forcing myself to relax. After all, I was almost through the alley, and I hadn’t seen one layabout yet. Passing the most substantial container in the lane, a door adjacent to the bin opened up, and a large man came out. He appeared to be in the middle of an argument. Standing there with a scowl on his face, he took off his work hat, throwing it inside while yelling, “You’re firing ME? Watch how you walk home at night!”

Glancing over, I was surprised to recognize my schoolmate from years ago. He had dropped out after failing the same year twice in a row, and I hadn’t seen him since. I was surprised he recognized me, but then I shouldn’t have been. I had been a target of his bullying for years prior to him leaving the educational system. Griping under his breath as he looked around, he caught sight of me, “Bernie, is that you?”.

I paused and slowly turned. Bulging arms strained at a too-tight blue and white striped shirt sporting a name tag and the logo of the seafood establishment he was working for, “Oh, hello Rem.”

My heart started beating a mite faster as I began to recall some of the torments those hands had brought me. His name was Rembrandt. Had his parents entertained the notion that naming their baby after a famous artist would somehow imbue him with artistic skills? As far as I could tell, the only artwork he ever committed himself to was that of applying bruises and welts on the smaller-bodied. My parents, however, by naming me Bernard were clearly only hoping for a top of the line accountant, business lawyer, or small-time government official. My job in the land surveyors office qualified close enough to make their naming dreams come true. I was feeling a bit awkward and slid back a step, one step closer to the end of the alley.

Detecting my foot movement, his stormy eyes narrowed. Slamming his fist against the rubbish collector, creating a small bang. I hate to admit it, but this caused me to jump in fright. Taking another step back, I put out a half-hearted wave with the words, “nice to see you, but I’m running a titch late,” as I turned and quickened my pace to freedom. I should have known better, really. All those years of being picked on and harangued by Rem and others like him had taught me to NEVER turn my back, and yet that is precisely what I did. What WAS I thinking? That we were grown men with jobs and adult responsibilities? That bullies outgrow their need to make themselves feel better about themselves by punching on others? I had only myself to blame for what happened next. A powerful force slammed into my back, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I flew forward, releasing my hold on my white take away bag, which went flying into the air. My arms were straight out and of no use, trying to break my fall, forcing my face to do all the hard work, giving me a chipped tooth in the process. I could feel a knee in the small of my back pressing down, and seconds later, my sides were being pummeled by two meaty fists. I squirmed a bit, trying to get away, which only seemed to fuel his anger.

“Trying to get away, Bernice?”, oh yes, verbal taunting at the height of intelligence that. Those kinds of barbs stopped stinging long ago when I realized the low I.Q. that produced them. I started bucking and twisting, having determined the rhythm of his jabs, timing the twist so that my precious abdomen was only open to the side not receiving a punch. A well time turn of the hips managed to upset Rems’ balance, and he was forced off-balance having to lean over and grab the ground with one hand. I took my moment to scramble out and attempt to run. Unfortunately, Rem had plenty of practice with those trying to get away, and he reflexively grabbed at my waist, getting a handful of pants and belt and threw me headfirst toward the bin. Had I been closer, I’m sure the head knock would have been frightful, possibly knocking me unconscious, however, it was a small thunk that would end up resulting in knot barely being formed. The thunk had sounded loud, however, and I decided to try and play possum.

 Rem walked over and kicked me violently in the hip. Gritting my teeth against the misery, I willed myself not to react. The second kick landed a little higher up, and the pain was more piercing forcing my eyes to pop open in surprise. Rem laughed when he saw my eyes open. My right arm was under the bin near one of the wheels. In the seconds before my body was lifted into the air, I saw a glint of silver and grabbed at it. I discerned quickly that it was a dining knife. It must have cut a hole through a rubbish bag and slipped out.

 Rem had a hand on each side of my sweater vest, at the collarbone, and was leaning in so close I could feel his breath. It stank of fish as he talked, “You’ve always thought you were too good for us regular folk. You were always a pretentious little knob weren’t’ ya? Well, you are not better than, you are a helpless runt. Back in the day, I would’ve been a mighty warrior, and you would have been the sad little man begging for help. I’ll show you… I’ll..”.

During his rant, I had raised my arm slowly and angled the knife. I plunged it into his neck. The blood came out in fascinating spurts, which quickened when I pulled the knife back out. I stared in his eyes as the light seemed to go out of them. For further insult, I wiped the blade off on his shirt, right above the logo and the name tag. It was an odd feeling as I turned and walked toward the street beyond. As if a weight had been lifted. My white bag had landed on the only spot of grass in the alley and appeared unscathed. Scooping it up as I passed by, I tucked the knife in my pants pocket and walked the rest of the way home. Astonishingly I hardly had any blood on me. I’d only missed the first five minutes of the news, and went about my evening as usual. Fixing supper while the news ran, eating by 7:00 while reading, finishing the clean up in the kitchen, taking a shower, and watching a night program from bed.

March 8^th, 1988-

This morning, I awoke well-rested. I unloaded the dishwasher, surprising myself when I pulled out the blade that didn’t match my set. I’d almost forgotten about the bloody knife I’d placed in it the night before. I wasn’t trying to hide anything. The placing of the item in the dishwasher was simply a knee jerk reaction to the cleaning of cutlery. I always set the dishwasher to run before bed. I put away my newly sanitized Rembrandt Killing Knife into an old cigar box and then hoofed off to work at the usual time. I expected the coppers to retrieve me from work. They didn’t.

March 9^th, 1988-

Still no police.

March 10^th, 1988-

Managed to get the chip in my tooth fixed.

March 11^th, 1988-

Been raining all week and I’ve had to take public transport. I hope it is sunny on Monday as I have been craving another fruit pastry.

March 12^th, 1988-

Pleased to report that my gray sweater vest looks good as new. I left it to soak all week as I do my wash on Saturday mornings.

March 13^th, 1988-

    Called mum, told her about my find at work. If I’d expected a hearty congratulations, I would have been disappointed. She was neither pleased nor disappointed. She rather expected I’d do my job to the best of my ability.

March 14^th, 1988-

My fellows in my section at work had approached me now and again congratulating me on the find made that previous Monday, the Monday of the blueberry danish. It was sunny, and I found myself walking home, enjoying the weather, and being drawn into the pastry shop to pursue another delicacy. At the shop owner’s suggestion, I found myself leaving with cherry turnover, two in fact as they were smaller than the danish. I had just about made it home when I heard a whimpering sound behind the block of flats and against my better judgment, went to check its origination. As I rounded the corner, I spotted a young man kicking a smallish dog. Upon seeing me, he ran off, but I recognized him as one that visited the apartment complex from time to time, presumably visiting a friend or relation. Walking briskly over to the dog, I saw it was still alive but banged up. Scooping it in my arms, I took it to my flat to see if there was anything I could do to remedy its situation. The end of the evening found Spud (that was what I started calling him), and I curled up watching programs before lights out.

March 15^th, 1988-

Spud is still alive. I carried him out early in the morning to attend to his bathroom necessities and scrambled him an egg for breakfast. He hopped on a chair near a window and seemed content to lay there looking out. Arriving from work, I was pleased to see Spud doing well, and the flat unscathed except for a decorative pillow being moved from couch to window chair. I went about the evening in the usual way, banger and mash was shared with Spud, and I vow to get proper dog food on the way home tomorrow since we were getting along smashingly.

March 15^th, 1988-Additional

This evening Spud was taking a last look out of his window, and a low growl escaped. I ran over to the window and saw the young man that had been kicking Spud the day before, walking away from the building. Hardly knowing what possessed me, I grabbed the Rembrandt Killing Knife from its box, slipped it into my pants pocket, and headed for the door. Remembering the blood from last time, I grabbed a black rain jacket as I left, I certainly didn’t want today’s sweater vest to become dirty, it was one of my favorites with its’ blue diamond pattern.

I was careful to stay behind him for a while. I suppose I was planning to kill him, I just hadn’t really thought about it in the forefront of my brain, as it were. There was a park that he turned into, as I saw him take a bridge that crossed over a river, a plan began to form. My steps increased as I moved to slide up behind him. By the time he realized someone was approaching, my knife was already moving into his neck, stifling his yell before it could truly begin. In utter fascination, I supported his sagging body against the guardrail with one hand under his armpit. I carefully aimed his neck to allow the blood to flow into the water below when I removed the knife and watched his eyes dim. Before the light in his eyes died, I whispered, “This is for Spud.”

He was a slight man, although a bit bigger than me. Sliding my RKK into my pants pocket, I grabbed him by the upper thigh, and with the one hand still under his armpit, it was relatively easy to hoist him over the railing. I watched with some satisfaction as the body floated down the river.

March 16^th, 1988-

I was right to wear my black rain jacket last night as a bit more blood hit me this time than last. Being a practical person, I washed it right away on a hand wash cycle on the machine, hanging it to air dry this morning.

March 17^th, 1988-

Still no police, and talks of promotion are rampant at work. I am feeling pretty good as the chatter is clearly about me, and I am glad to be finally noticed for my efforts. Part of me wondered if we’d be celebrating my promotion, and cops would come in, taking me away in cuffs. Surely I wouldn’t get away with two murders.

March 18^th, 1988-

Spud is responding well to training. His potato brown color may be plain, but he’s clearly a bright thing. Not every clever being is in a shiny package.

March 20^th, 1988-

I have determined the universe was quite alright with me setting bullies straight. Another bully soon reared its’ head in my memories. A man who’d been awful to my mother and unkind toward me as well. My father had left long after finding out he’d sired a runt of a boy, and this chap was the next fellow in her life. He was around for a few years and then skulked off after a particular dashing constable took a keen interest. The dashing constable had since moved on, along with a few others, several trying to make a “man” out of me. Harvey Blatnath (yes, that absolutely is the name) was the worst of the lot.

March 23^rd, 1988-

I’ve been researching Blatnath. Good ole’ Harv had been in and out of the nick a few times for short stints and had moved around as one would expect with such a pedigree. I latched on to his last known address and put in a request for a personal day. The distance would require a stay-over or two, and one never knew when an opportune moment would arise.

March 24^th, 1988-

  Ms. Landsbee has agreed to watch over Spud while I’m away. She took to him right away, and who wouldn’t with him being magnificent and all?

March 27^th, 1988-

 I took cash from my hidden emergency fund when I left on the 25^th. Packing only a few items, including the RKK, I set off fairly early in the morning. I did stop by the pastry shop for a peach tart; I thought it’d be nice to have a treat from home later.

Once I’d tracked Harvey down, it was relatively easy to follow his movements and determine the best time to attack. Turns out he was a dock worker pulling the night shift. He had a habit of peeing off the side of an out of sight pier every evening around two a.m. Despite being large, Harvey was delightfully easy to kill. Spud was glad to see me when I arrived home, and I’ve been in marvelous spirits all weekend.

March 28^th, 1988-

 At work today, my boss was promoted after taking the credit for my find. I’ve heard he likes to drink in the next town over. I’ll start watching him tonight…