I wake up, as always, the alarm is blaring and I hear the traffic down below. I roll over and look at the sky blue wall of my downtown apartment. I get out of bed and pull up the sheets. I straighten them all out and make sure there are no wrinkles. I walk across the gray carpet and to my laptop and start my daily research. As time flies by I realize that I am running late for work. I grab a banana off the counter and run out the door. I go down the elevator and out the main door into the busy New York streets. I hail a taxi and jump in and say “New York Times.”
I relax and slide down into the black chair and think “This is only the second time this week and I was doing work for my article.” I start to peel my browning banana when I realize my article is lying on my desk and I am praying that I saved a second one on to my flash drive that is hidden in my desk. I gaze out the window and chew on my banana, watching the traffic rush by as we finally pulled up to the main building.
“Twenty-two nineteen,” says the driver as I toss him twenty three dollars and leap out of the car and race into the building. I dodge the main desk and start toward the elevator but my boss came out and wasn’t looking in the best of moods. I dash to the stairs and start the long ascend to the fifth floor.
“This isn’t the first time I have had to do this but yet my body hates me,” I mumble to myself as I round the second flight of stairs and look up and sigh. I drag myself up the next few flights of stairs and I stumble out the door and lean against the wall to catch my breath.
“Gabriel? Why did you take the stairs up? The elevator is working just fine,” my boss, Mr. Frost says as I straighten up and reply “I decided that I need to start getting my exercise in. The stairs are a great way to do that.”
“Why is it that I feel you are lying to me, St. Patrick?” Mr. Frost replies with a stern glare.
“I am not, swear,” I reply, holding back my smile.
“Get your article to my desk ASAP,” Mr. Frost says as he turns around and goes into his office and the door slams behind him.
I sigh and run to my desk, almost knocking a stack of paper out of an intern’s hands and a cup of coffee out of a secretary’s hand. I slide into my chair and roll past the computer. I unlock my desk drawer and snatch the bright red flash drive off the bottom and plug it in. I scroll through the hundreds of articles and I don’t see my new one.
“Shit. I really need to save my articles on here more often,” I mumble to myself as I open my e-mail for the article.
“YES!” I say aloud and everyone looks over at me and I click the e-mail attachment, “Sorry, I found what I was looking for.”
I quickly hit the print button and run to the printing room on the other side of the office. I stand in front of the printer and tap my foot on the ground impatiently. “Come on, Come on. Print faster!” I yell at the printer.
The paper is finally finished and I grab it and run. I start toward Mr. Frost’s office and start back toward my desk to staple my pages together. I go back to his door and knock on the door.
“Enter,” I hear from Mr. Frost on the other side of the door.
As I open the door, I see Mr. Frost typing at his computer and talking on the phone about business. “Here is my article,” I say as I place the papers on the desk. Mr. Frost gives me an angry look and continues to type at the computer. I quietly leave the room and head back to my desk. As I finally sit down and start to work on my next article. There has been no really big news in the city so the most current political standings is the only good headline news for the past week.
I decide to open the Internet and check out other papers. They are all printing the same thing we are printing. I open my e-mail and see that police Chief Hanson, sent me an e-mail about a new string of drug busts happening in the last few months. I smile and say “So much better than politics,”
As I open Word to start typing, I get a phone call from a number I don’t know.
“Hello?” I say.
“Is this Mr. St. Patrick?” a voice replies.
“Yes,” I reply but all I hear after that is the sound of static and the call ends.
I close my phone and set it in my desk drawer as I started to type. The day blurs and I finally look up from my screen. The lights are out and no one is left. The light of my computer screen gives off a light glow in my small cubical. The soft glow creates shadows all over my desk as I look at a small family picture from Christmas ten years ago; I notice the shadow blocks me out of the picture. “The reality that my family has disowned me,” I say as I look for my phone. My phone lights up as I pull open the drawer and I look at the caller ID. “That same unknown number,” I say. I press end and put it back in my pocket.
I walked around the silent building to the elevator and I press the small button and lean against the wall. As I hear the gentle hum of the elevator as it comes up and the bell dings, as the doors open; light floods the floor. I walk in and hit the first floor button. I look at the gridded light panel above me and think about the calls I got today. As the bell dings, my mind is pulled back to reality and I start my walk home.
I stop at a local diner close to my apartment and eat a burger and some fries. As I sip on my Coke, I gaze out the window at the bright lights from the buildings down the street.
It’s near daybreak and I just can’t sleep any longer. The nightmares of my childhood haunt me. I roll over and look at the clock and the face reads “5:00.” I pull down the covers and walk across the light gray carpet to the balcony door and I watch the cars past me by.
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I watched the sunrise from my quiet neighborhood park. I was up since 5 am and sleep just wouldn’t come to my eyes. As I sat on the swing and listened to the birds, I started to think about the lack of work I have had lately. As a private detective work was limited and right now there was no work. As I heard the traffic of New York rush hour, I started toward my small white house just two blocks over. Children were already standing at the nearby bus stop waiting to head to school and I saw people walking for their morning exercise.
As I rounded my street, I could see the white fence of my neighbor’s yard, their small brown dog barked at me as I passed by their house. “Home sweet home,” I thought as I started up my front walk. I pulled out the key and slipped it into the lock, the door opened without a sound. I walked across the light brown hardwood floor to the tiled kitchen to get my day started. I pulled out the loaf of bread, two eggs, and the orange juice. As I started to fry my eggs, I put my bread in the toaster, and pulled out a plate and a glass. As my eggs finished frying, my two pieces of bread popped up and I placed them both on my black plate and poured my orange juice. I walked to the table and placed my black plate on the red placemat. I started to eat slowly as the sound of the bus comes around and people leave for work. The clock slowly ticks to ten.
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The morning goes by in a haze, the same routine every day, going to the same place. As I look at the small clock hanging in my cubical, I realize it is already past ten o’clock. This morning has been a typical quiet day but I know it won’t stay this way.
I got more calls from the unknown number but I ignore them all but I know the police chief, Chief Hanson, is coming in today to discuss the drug busts with me and that will cause people to ask what new big news I got. Mr. Frost will probably have to call me to his office to discuss the said big news and then to top off my day, my computer will crash.
The day continues surprisingly smooth, until I decide to head home. As the time for me to leave comes around, I hit save and then my whole computer decides to corrupt the files and close everything down. I restart the computer and start to retype my article. As I quickly type my article the clock strikes eleven and I hit print and save and I head toward the printing room. As I watch the paper slide out into the tray, my phone rings. The unknown caller for the fourth time today. I flip the phone open and say “Hello?”
“Gabriel St. Patrick?” the voice responds.
“Yes, this is him,” I reply.
“Do you know why I am calling you?” the voice asks.
“No. Who are you and why are you calling me?” I say as the phone call ends. I close the phone and stuff it in my pocket.
I grab the paper and head back to my desk. I shut the computer down and I store my article in the safest place, my desk. I lock the drawer and start to leave.
I stroll to the elevator and wait for its arrival. As I walk into the elevator and listen to the calming music, the dinging bell disturbs my thoughts and I head for home.
As I walk toward my apartment, I sense someone following close behind me. Every time I turn around, there is no one there. I decide to take the shortcut home, positive no one is following me. I place my hand on my small pocket knife and pray that I am actually right.
“Gabriel St. Patrick?” I hear from behind me, the voice reminding me of the phone calls, as it echoes behind me.
“Hello?” I say, stumbling over the word. I quickly turn around and I look for someone in the dark shadows of the alley way. Fear in my eyes, tuning my head back and forth. Suddenly a light laughter floats to my ears from behind me but before I can turn around, I am on the ground. I feel their weight on my back and I can feel their punches into my head.
My instincts start to kick in and I start to fight back. I manage to turn around and punch him in the face. His nose splatters blood on everything and the look in his eyes turns to shock. He gets off me and backs up to recalculate the situation. I slip my hand into my pocket and fumble with my pocket knife, almost dropping it. I close my hand around it as he come closer to me. He charges at full speed and yells. I flip open the knife and start to back up, hoping he will back off. As I straighten up on the wall, he runs right into me. I am bending over from the pain in my abdomen, from being sat on, and my knife slips right between his ribs and into his chest. He manages one last punch as he falls to the ground.
I stumble backward and watch as he slides the knife out of his chest. The blood flow gets worse and I can’t walk away; my eyes are stuck. I watch him die; I watch the life flood from his body. He is dead by my hand. I don’t feel upset; there is something more than guilt, more like happiness. This slight feeling of happiness is from knowing I killed him. I grab the knife off the ground, and head towards my apartment.
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It is early morning; I woke up at five like always even though I wish I could sleep longer. I walked to the nearby park and took pictures of the sun coming up over the houses. I was surprised that I wasn’t the only person there. There was a young man, late teens, sitting on a bench. He looked like he had been there all night and his eyes were watery and red. Before I realized much more about him, I took a picture of him with the morning sun coming up behind him.
I walked by and didn’t say anything. He reminded me of my childhood friend. His light brown hair and golden brown eyes revive the memories of Gabriel. The way his hair shined in the light. His forever searching golden eyes. This boy's begging eyes just called for me to reconnect to Gabriel.
I sighed as I recollected my memories and continued by. I just let my mind drift to happier times.
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I am recollecting my thoughts as I come back from a late lunch break. All the work for today is done and I am deciding when to leave.
I come back to my desk and drop into my chair. Looking around I notice my phone and I pick it up. I have ten missed calls. A couple are from Chief Hanson, a few from some unknown numbers. The last missed call is from Sarah Sinclair, my childhood friend who I haven’t heard from for many years. She left a short voicemail and asks me to call her back.
I scroll to her number in my contact list and just stare at it for awhile. I am unsure how this will go but I finally hit send. “Sarah?” I ask when I hear the phone being picked up.
“This is. Who is this?” she asks in return.
“This is Gabriel. You asked me to call,” I reply.
“Can I call you back? I am working on a case. Thanks for calling me back,” she says, I can hear a smile in her voice.
“Yeah, that’s no problem,” I reply.
“Okay, call you later. Bye,” she says right before the call is ended.
The phone call ends and I start to clock out for the day. I decide that I need to relax for the rest of the day. I head to my apartment and collapse on my couch. The sound of traffic passing me by fills my ears and the dimming light shines through the window as I watch life pass me by.
My thoughts lead to the guilt of the killing. How it really didn’t bother me, how my life really hasn’t changed. What changed the most is the itch, the incurable itch to kill again.
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My morning went by surprisingly smooth, I called Gabriel and he didn’t answer but he called me back later. It was now my turn to call him back. When I rounded the corner from the small corner store I decided to call him back.
I waited with the phone next to my ear, listening to the quiet rings. I slow my walk as I listen for Gabriel to answer my call. Voicemail gets my call yet again. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and continued home.
It was quiet in my neighborhood. The children were all at school and I treaded quietly down the side walk. I could hear the birds singing and the leaves fall from nearby trees.
Police sirens break the silence. I automatically turn to my house to get the phone. I need to call the police station; need to find out what happened.
As I dumped my groceries on the table, I grabbed the phone and dialed the number on the note on the counter. I got a hold of the detective I talked to last week, Detective Cody Miller.
“Hello, Detective Miller. This is Sarah Sinclair. What are the police rushing to now? I hear the sirens just now,” I said hastily.
“I am unsure of what is going on but the site is 24th Street, one mile down from 14th. I want to say it is in an alleyway,” he said in reply.
“Thanks. I am about to head the scene now. I am wondering what has happened.”
“Give it ten minutes and then head there. I might be able to find out more about it."
“Okay, sounds good,” I said before I hung up the phone.
I paced the kitchen; waiting and watching the clock. Ten minutes went by and I rushed out the door to the car. I waited in the daily traffic and tried to get there quicker.
I got a call last night about someone wanting me to find their missing boyfriend. They couldn’t get a hold of them and they have been missing for two days. I had a feeling that the scene that the cops rushed to was going to be where I needed to be.
As I rounded the corner to the 24th Street, I saw the police line just a couple car lengths away. I drove up to the line and explained how I was a detective and I am looking for a missing guy. He let me through and I parked not that far away. I walked up to the scene and I heard the police chief call after me.
“Hello Chief Hanson. What’s going on here?”
“Dead guy found in the alleyway. What are you doing here?” he asked, as we walked towards the alleyway.
“I got a call from a lady two days ago. Her boyfriend is missing and I am looking for him. She sent me a picture. I came here with a hope to find him or get closer to finding him,” I replied.
We headed into the alleyway and I saw the guy laying there. He had a single wound to his chest; looked like a small pocket knife. There were no other marks to his body.
“That’s him,” I said as I pulled out my phone to show the police chief the picture.
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The sound of the TV is quiet behind me as I hear something about a killing on 24th Street.
“Isn’t that where I killed that guy? The one I left in the alley way?” I thought to myself.
I turn around slowly and start to watch the news report like everyone else but I realize that I could be writing a story on this.
I start back towards my desk and start to type up the story using the information known to me. I know I can’t call the police station yet, I have to wait for the time to call.
I finally decide to head home. The police station couldn’t tell me anything about the murder so my story is done for now.
I arrive at the house and I think about everything that has happened. The murder won’t leave my mind. I am itching to kill again. I just can’t wait much longer. The thrill of killing is crawling up again. I can’t get rid of it. I want to kill again. I try my hardest just to forget about the killing.
“I can’t kill anyone. It is wrong, and I did not mean to the first time. I will lose my job and get put in jail,” I thought to myself, trying to convince myself, that is all I need to think.
I shrug off the thought and start to make dinner.
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It was late when I finally arrived back to my house. Explaining almost nothing to the lady who called me about her boyfriend. I am still not sure who killed him or why but I had to deliver the bad news; her boyfriend is dead.
When I finally did get home, I rolled right into my bed. Still in my jeans and t-shirt, I laid there thinking about getting back up and taking a shower but when I was thinking my eyes drifted closed.
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The alarm goes off as always and I sit up quickly. The sky blue walls come into my vision and I recall what has happened as I click the alarm button. I pull my legs out from beneath the sheets and begin my day like normal, today doesn’t feel like a normal day though. I am much to calm and not worried about work for this to me a normal day.
As I head towards the office building, I know I can’t resist the urge to kill again. It is building up inside and it is ready to escape. It is like a monster clawing its way out and it is ready to play. I try to suppress the urge as much as I can but it starts to creep up all day long. This monster wants out.
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Today was a typical day in killer hunting; I made many phone calls, was put on hold for hours and I couldn’t tell you how many times I was hung up on. I finally gave up for the day around six and headed to central park. I walked the park about seven times, thinking about the case, the case files and the witness comments. This stress is going to eat me alive.
The next day was completely different, I got answers and the case files made sense. Yesterday was just a bad day and I am unsure of why. The killer was still unknown to me and there hasn’t been anymore killings in the city. As the sun started to set I headed out into town to see the city life.
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The city life is all around me and I can’t escape my instinct to kill again. That is all I am thinking about and the only thing that keeps me going. I start my look for a new target. Anyone could be next, anyone around me. I spot this older lady, about mid-forties and she gives me a disgusted look from across the street.
“She is next,” I whisper to myself.
The look in her eyes set me off. I want to kill her now but there was no point in killing her in the crowd of people. She would have to wait.
I started following her and discovered where she lives, a small apartment complex made of brick in the more suburban part of the city. She lives on the fourth floor in room D. This all I need to know for my plans to be put in action.
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I decided today to go see my mother in the city. The brick built building looks worn down and the stairs to the fourth floor look worse. I knock on her door and there was no answer.
She doesn’t have a cell phone, so I decided to take the day off and spend it in the city.
The day went by with no problems and I went shopping around in the city and I went all around town. I didn't buy much but I left happy and with a lighter wallet than when I started.
The day went by with no problems and I went shopping around in the city and I went all around town. I didn't buy much but I left happy and with a lighter wallet than when I started.
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I come back when it is dark. I waited for awhile and then she comes out on to the roof. Unknown to me as of why but I start up the stairs to finish my deed. I put the small knife back into my pocket and there was a swift change in my plans. My plans are now to shove her off the roof.
She is there silently, staring at the night sky. She seems peaceful as the stars twinkle above, hidden by the night sky. Her short graying hair is nearly combed back and her head is tilted back. My foot steps are hardly heard and my arms are reaching out in front of me. I push forward with barely any thrust. She falls slowly to the ground. She seems to float as she falls to the ground, I sink to the edge of the roof and start to second guess my natural instincts. She was dead there; bones broken and just laying there.
I started down the short stairs to the inside of the building. Down the four flights of stairs, I hear my foot steps echo in the stairwell, making me uneasy. My breathing is uneven and my hands start to twitch. I am nervous of what I will see when I make it down the stairs to see the body laying there.
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