The Hunter of Love

There is blood on my hands. The sight sends my heart racing. Not with fear as you might think. No, but with delight. The man’s face is cold and pale and his neck is red. He’s in my basement. His name is Michael White and I’ve left his wife at home waiting indefinitely for his return. I don’t know where he comes from, his likes or dislikes. All I know is that I can’t stand seeing him alive. I can’t stand the fact that he had a reason to live. 

 My entire family is dead. Every single ancestor and relative. Why should all these people deserve life when everyone who has ever loved me is dead? Now I have no one to please but myself, as well as only one life that I am going to live the way I want to. 

 Michael White, Danielle Grand, Jaya Varma, Marcos Pérez, and Aisha Asaad are only some of the names of the lives that I’ve taken. I always make sure to ask their names and I always remember. Their names and the dates of their deaths. I’m not as heartless as you might think. Killing gives me a sense of control that nothing else can replace. Believe me, I’ve tried. Diagnosed with schizophrenia, I already don’t have control over my own mind. So what am I supposed to do? Let my life control me when I’m the one that’s supposed to control it? No fucking way. I’d rather hang myself. 

*

 My next target is a pretty, young woman who is in the middle of reapplying red lipstick while facing a mirror that she clumsily pulls out of her bag. Not unreasonable as we’re at a wedding reception right now. Obviously I want to kill everyone in this room who’s enjoying their time with their families and friends but that’s unrealistic. So I wait until she’s unfocused and away from the woman beside her to approach. 

“Hey pretty, what’s your name?” Her eyes dart, obviously nervous. I stop her from running off by placing my hands at her waist and she leans into me. See? It’s easy. 

“Alexis.” She stutters but she’s giggly. Definitely drunk. 

“Alexis.” I repeat. “What a beautiful name and the woman who owns it is even more beautiful.” It’s a weak line but I’m not here to charm; I’m here to get what I want and leave unscathed and undiscovered. Funnily enough it works; she faces the floor but I still make out the red on her pale cheeks.

“Do you want to get out of here and get down to more interesting things?” I’m not lying or exaggerating when I say that this wedding is boring. Many of the songs are in a foreign language, the entrée is bland, and the couple themselves are staring at each other longingly and not paying attention to the guests that they’d invited. I’m also not lying when I say that what I’ll do to Alexis is tons more interesting than this wedding. Hopefully, Alexis would see reason (or not, depending on how you look at it) and come with me.

“Sure,” she says breathlessly and I almost pity her. Almost. This is always the case with everyone I kill; I feel bad for seconds but it’s always worth it at the sight of their lifeless bodies and/or the blood that seeps from whatever wound I choose to inflict on them. It’s worth it, knowing that they’re dead and I’m still alive. That they’re powerless and I’m the one with the power. With Alexis, I beckon her to the bathroom. The guests would no doubt think we’re fucking and I almost laugh at how far that is from the truth. Sure, she is hot but that’s also what makes her the perfect kill. That’s what my priority is now. The question is how do I want to go about this? A weapon is too conspicuous and I would surely be found out. I’ll just have to use my hands. 

 Alexis is still giggly and also quite touchy. This makes things all the more easy. I let her touch me. God knows I haven’t been touched like that in years so I’m not going to say no. I wrap my arms around her neck as she rests her head on my shoulder. And I squeeze and squeeze. She promptly looks up at me, her eyes brimming with tears, and her chest heaving as she struggles for breath. Until she ultimately drops dead. I move her body from the unisex bathroom to the female one, praying to a god I don't believe in that there’s no one inside. Thankfully, the cubicles are all open as I enter and leave the woman’s body on the tiles. It’s gross and undignified but what else am I to do? Whoever comes in later would assume the cause of death is suicide. And I can be safe. 

*

 My house isn’t too extravagant but I don’t mind as I’m the only one who lives here anyway. There are two rooms, one of which I like to read and play darts in (to improve my aim) and the other is the bedroom. My preferred genres are murder mysteries and thrillers (obviously). It’s funny to think that I can enter a bookshop and just buy these books without anyone questioning me when they actually help me perfect my craft. 

 Now I’m puffing at a cigarette while reading a book where the killer frames an assistant for his murders. He uses quite convincing tactics, the assistant always being at the wrong place at the wrong time (in his case). I can frame someone if I want to but the time for that is not now. Now I’m safe and no one suspects me. 

 There’s a knock at my door. That’s puzzling because I don’t have any friends or family that are alive. My feet are suddenly shaky and I don’t want to open the door. This sense of fear is new to me and it makes me think that something’s wrong with me. But I fear (the new emotion that doesn’t want to be suppressed) that ignoring the insistent raps at the door is worse for me than facing who or what awaits me behind it. When I open the door, a glimpse of who is behind it is enough for me to shut it again right away. And yet, that sweet, high voice still speaks to me.

“Hello Xavier.” Her voice sends chills down my spine and I suddenly get a splitting headache. Sometimes I hear their voices in my head, begging for freedom and release. The people I’ve killed. But I don’t know what to do so I take as much prescribed clozapine that’s safe until the voices quieten. And finally open the door again. Alexis stands in front of me looking as normal as ever. I’m not sure if I didn’t successfully kill her or this is her ghost but I’m frozen in place and I can’t move my mouth to ask. She deems this an appropriate time to speak for me. 

“If you don’t do as I say, I will expose you. Besides, don’t you want to get rid of those voices in your head?” I look at her in alarm. This inhuman knowledge is how I know that this Alexis is not solid flesh but a ghost. During the (very) brief time I knew her, she was drunk and giggly. But that also means that her guard was down. This certainly doesn’t describe her now. But I listen because I’m terrified. And also intrigued. I’ve never dealt with the supernatural so I don’t know what’s the best way to react. 

“Every single person you’ve killed was once a child. And every person you’ve killed has caused children to be orphaned or have only one living parent. So what I want you to do, unless you plan on being in jail for the rest of your life or being trapped in your own head, might I remind you, is to spend time with these children and maybe that could melt that cold heart of yours.” I think I would’ve preferred to be stabbed in the chest or spend eternity in a prison cell. She wants me to spend time with children? “And don’t even think about anything murderous, I’ll be watching you the entire time.” I’ve never killed children, how could she think so low of me?

 Alexis somehow knows where to find the people I’ve killed and I assume this is some sort of knowledge you gain after you die and decide to come back to haunt the living. I’m wary of her so I’m doing whatever she wants. It’s not like I can kill her again; she’s already dead. We arrive at a small house. When the male child that opens the door sees my face, he almost closes the door again but his hand shakes and he almost shuts his hand on the door. I see Alexis bend down and whisper in the boy’s ear. It seems that keeping ghosts company is not something abnormal here and I don’t know how to feel about that. The boy introduces himself as Akhil and I remember that he’s Jaya’s son. At the memory of her name, a familiar, female voice in my head screams and I instantly transport to a time years ago on the 27th of July 2021. On that day, I found Jaya in a park near my house. She was cycling and I got in her way so she had no choice but to swerve which isn’t really possible on a bike and so she fell. The injury was pretty bad; she could barely walk. So naturally, I carried her to my house and asked her about herself and if there was anyone she loved in her life. She’d told me that her son was her light, her life, her heart, and the only good thing that came out of her relationship with her most recent ex-boyfriend. So naturally, I stabbed her in the chest and watched as the light left her eyes. She couldn’t love anyone anymore and she was safer for it. But as I take in the the living room now, I don’t see a boyfriend. Just Akhil, Alexis’ ghost, and an older woman I’ve never seen before. I look at the boy, questioning.

“Thatsmygrandma,” he rushes out. Okay so he isn’t totally alone. Why does Alexis still want me here? The only thing that stops me from asking the question aloud is her sidelong glare at me. Looks like I have to do this. 

“Akhil I…what do you like to do?” I’m too afraid to apologise both because I’m not sure I actually am sorry and also because I don’t want the boy to conjure the memory of his mother’s death. He looks like he’s about seven so he should have hobbies and ones that shouldn’t be too difficult.

“I…I like to…to draw.” 

“Do you want to draw now?” I ask with as much tenderness I can muster (barely any; the question sounds like a threat). Akhil doesn’t speak, only nods so fast that I think he’s going to go dizzy. I think he thinks that the more he nods, the more I’ll believe that he really is eager. We sit at the dining table together and I try to keep my distance as much as I can while still being able to see the boy and what he’s drawing. All the while Alexis and the boy’s grandmother are staring daggers at me as I take in the boy’s appearance. He has light brown hair that must be from the father as that wasn’t a feature Jaya had. Her hair was dark and appeared more silky than her son’s. His eyes are big and hazel, features that he does share with his mother, and my heart lurches in my chest. I now see why Alexis put me up to this. 

 Akhil draws a house that is significantly better than anyone else his age should be able to draw. And I’m honestly shocked. 

“Wow Akhil, that looks awesome! Do you take drawing lessons?” This isn’t with feigned excitement. 

“No,” he whispers without looking at me. As if the one-worded answer would trigger me. But I never kill out of anger, it’s because of the injustice of the world. It’s because of the lives of those closest to me that were taken away. It taught me that to love is to be weak. 

 As an English man, I didn’t have many relatives. Each of my parents only had two siblings so I didn’t have many cousins either. And my grandparents on both sides were dead. So when a flood hit our houses (because we all lived next to each other for some daft reason) while I was working in the CBD and I came back to find the houses flooded and my relatives’ bodies being dragged out of the water by paramedics and firefighters, I wanted what happened to me to happen to others. But looking at Akhil now and Danielle’s features on him, I’m not sure that’s a great mindset to have anymore. After all, he’s just a boy. Someone who has a whole life ahead of him. One without parents. 

 When it’s time to leave Akhil, Alexis guides me to another house: Marcos’. She wants me to bond with his son too, get to know him and his interests. We repeat this for all the children until weeks pass and I barely recognise myself. Or at least, for most of the children. I still haven’t spoken to Aisha’s children. But I’m not really feeling up to it right now. It’s late and I’m at home now. I take a good, long look at myself in the mirror. In some ways I look better, while in others I’ve definitely seen better days. My blond hair is longer and so is my beard. I prefer not to cut it or shave anyway. The blue of my eyes has also paled slightly. But I find I can barely stand upright, my head is pounding more than ever despite most of the voices silencing as Alexis told me would happen, my face is swollen, my throat is sore, and I end up in a coughing fit. By the time I go to look for a chair, my knees weaken and I’ve fallen to the floor. There’s a sharp pain in my chest that doesn’t go away no matter how I move or where I place my hands. There’s nothing I can do anymore. This has been a long time coming.