Dear diary, today I was recruited by this man to kill people. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? I mean I had always fantasised about killing some of the people that I have come to hate in what amounts to my short life, but I never really thought that I would get the chance to do it. When he used the words ‘close and personal’ with me a chill went down my spine — at first I thought that he was some kind of pervert hanging around the school playground. He gave me a hundred dollar bill to show how genuine he was and asked me where I needed to be to kill the person that I most needed to kill. I replied that he should probably take me to my geography class and hey presto, there she was — Ms. Perflet. She was writing up the next day’s lessons on the blackboard and paying meticulous attention to detail as she always did. He stood at the door and for a second it struck me how people reacted to him in a way that suggested they didn’t see him.
She never heard me enter the room because I had removed my shoes and I was sneaking in on stocking feet. I had a chisel that I used for my sculpture class in my hand, knowing that it was sharp but not that sharp made me worry that it would not do what I needed it to. It was so exciting moving in on her and knowing what it was that I was going to do. I put the heel of one hand on the bottom of the chisel’s handle and with all the force I could muster, which was a lot considering I focused every ounce of rage at every bad thing that had ever been done to me into my hand, I struck the first blow and was amazed when I drove at least three inches of metal into the back of her skull.
She span round with a look of utter disbelief on her face. The disbelief lessened slightly when she realised who it was that had done this to her. Some blood had obviously bubbled into her throat at this point because she coughed and sprayed me — she was already dead; you didn’t need to be a genius to see that, but obviously Mr Hunsacker thought it was necessary to tell me. When I told him that I could see that he gave me the weirdest look. I imagined that the other killings I was expected to carry out were going to be just as easy — it was like method acting, you just got yourself mentally into a place where the reservoir of hate surged through you and you could pretty much do anything. I had a lot of hate in me, Diary: a lot.
Today was my first professional kill. It is weird that I have not yet had any training but Hunsacker explains it as me having a natural facility for the work. This one was another one that required me getting really close to the subject. This one, so I was told (and I don’t believe everything I am told) was the head of a national paedophile ring which he was protecting through his position as Chief of Police and some big connections in the freemasons. Hunsacker posed as a supplier of girls and I was the bait that drew this old pervert in; I gathered from a couple of the other girls that it was unusual that Hunsacker was so involved given his preference for shadows, but he later told me this was personal. I didn’t ask. Don’t care. Don’t need to know.
The guy looked hungry as soon as he saw me and when I say saw me I mean all of me, which was severely screwed up. Made me wonder briefly about Hunsacker and his intentions — moments like that you wonder whether you have stumbled into a scaled-up model of the homestead abuse you’d always just about been able to cope with. I had to swallow any worries I had about this whole procedure though because pretty soon I was going to be in the room alone with this guy. He was literally salivating when that door closed behind us and he told me to take my clothes off. I was reluctant so he started to make his way over to me. It was the spark that lit the blue touch paper and the fireworks ensued. I cracked him round the head with the bedside lamp and thank god, it was one of those bottle lamps so when it broke it instantly became a weapon. He was a big guy and when he punched me in the gut it knocked the wind right out of me. He walked away and lit a cigarette thinking that he had dealt with me, that he could pause, that when he resumed all that would remain would be to hold me down, rip my clothes off and rape me.
As he turned I rammed the sharp end of the lamp right into his eye, driving it home. And as I was doing this part of me that was somehow disconnected from what was going on was wondering whether this technique of slamming sharp objects into people’s heads was going to be my modus operandi; I hope not because it wasn’t going to ever be very glamorous. It didn’t kill him though. The thing which finished him off was the bottle of whiskey and the candle. Flambéed pervert is a great dish to serve up for lady justice. And I had finished, and that’s when Hunsacker walks into the room.
He smiled at me and I remember finding that slightly creepy. What kind of guy does it take to hire young girls to kill people like the guy I just had to kill? Who thinks up an idea like that? Was Hunsacker just a different breed of weirdo? One thing was for sure he was dangerous on a whole other level compared to the creep with a thing for young girls. Anyway Diary, must to sleep — I have a test tomorrow.
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