RedDragon501
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- Apr 12, 2013
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- Columbus Ohio
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I started my search at The Cornerstone, a popular gay bar in San Francisco. It had been a while since I went out on the town. I was there alone, as usual, and it was just as awkward as the first time coming here. Though, to be fair, it would be much harder to carry out my plans if I were there with friends, I would have a lot of explaining to do, even though everyone would be too drunk to remember when I slipped out. I sat at the bar, sipping on a screwdriver, looking around for a fresh new face. I swore to myself when I noticed that the bar was full of ‘the usuals’. The night was still young, though.
I checked my watch: 11 o’clock. The bar should be filling up soon. I ordered a fresh drink as I kept my eye on the front entrance. Any minute now, a line would form outside. A handsome young man, who introduced himself as Mark, sat down at the bar next to me and ordered a drink. He kept looking my way and smirking. I looked over at him. After a few attempts, our eyes met, and we introduced each other. Mark was definitely my type: young, athletic, about the same height as myself. He had dark hair, and intense green eyes. Mark explained that he was a junior at UCSF who, and I was sworn to secrecy on this, swam for the varsity team. Shit. Cross Mark off the list, despite his good looks, bubble butt, and lean swimmer’s body, he wasn’t worth the attention that would be generated after tonight.
I took one last look at Mark, and took a mental picture of him before I quickly took my cell phone out of my pocket. I looked intently at the darkened screen, as if someone were calling me. I looked at Mark, and pointed at my phone before quickly getting up and moving to a new vantage point. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I had been here several other nights, each night I had the same intention. And each night I found what I was looking for. I swore to myself the last time I came here, about a month ago, that it would be the last time. It’s almost like a drug at this point. I was only satisfying the craving that my brain demanded.
It was around 12:30 when I noticed a small gathering in the corner. A cheesy birthday cap stuck on someone’s head in the center of the crowd. I moved my head to try and get a look at the birthday boy. I caught a glimpse of part of his face, and I was intrigued. When the bartender returned to freshen up my glass, I nodded my head towards the small group. He didn’t know too much, just that it was the guy’s 21st birthday, and that the group was ordering shots faster than the glasses could be filled. I nodded, not taking my eyes off the birthday cap, and ordered a top-shelf Long Island. I discreetly dropped a small tablet into the drink as I picked it up and walked over to the crowd, squeezing my way through into the center, where the birthday cap stood out.
I gently tapped the birthday boy on his shoulder, but not before getting a look at the goods first. Nice ass, not as well-defined as Mark’s, but his body was slightly more muscular, not stringy and lean like a swimmer. His shirt accentuated every curve of his abdomen. I must have looked like a total creeper standing there with a drink in my hand, staring at this marvelous young man in front of me.
“Can I help you?” He shouted over the loud house music. It was enough to snap me out of my trance. He had one eyebrow cocked, looking at me skeptically. I had to take a second to bring myself to reality, to form the words in my mind before spitting them out of my mouth. One wrong move, that’s all it takes. I looked back into his steely blues and smiled.
“Sorry, I just saw there was a birthday over here, I thought I would come over and wish you a happy birthday.” I presented the drink; he relaxed slightly, but looked at the drink as if it had a skull and crossbones on it. Good boy, he’s got intuition. I brought it closer to him, while mouthing the words, top shelf. He looked surprised for a brief second, his first top-shelf drink. A broke college student wouldn’t dare refuse a top-shelf drink. He slowly took the drink from my hand. He put his lips to the glass, eyeing me. I smiled. “You only turn 21 once, right?” He thought for a second before tipping the glass ever so slightly, allowing the drugged cocktail down his throat.
As with Mark earlier that night, and the other boys before him, I began asking the crucial set of questions. His name was Chris, he was also a junior at UCSF. His closest blood relative lived in Ohio. No siblings. I pondered over whether or not he would be worth the risk. I looked around the tight group. I didn’t recognize any faces, no regulars, no one who would notice whom he left with; they were all drunk off their asses. I began to have doubts. I could always back away, I didn’t put enough into his drink to cause him to lose consciousness, just enough to drop his defenses completely.
A short while later, it became obvious that my little party favor was kicking in, Chris began slurring his words and nodding off mid-conversation. It was now or never. “Hey, you wanna get out of this place? It’s getting a little stuffy in here.” He stood there like a zombie. It took only the slightest push to get him to head towards the front entrance. I used his hand to take the birthday cap off his head. It dropped and rolled sideways onto the dance floor. No one noticed before it was crunched and shredded. I put my arm around his shoulder as we approached the front entrance. The bouncer eyed me suspiciously. I smiled my friendly smile, “I think he’s had three too many!” The bouncer rolled his eyes and let us pass without taking a second glance.
Do I really want to do this? I could drop this poor kid off in some alley close by, he’d be back to his faculties in a few hours, he’d most likely even make it back to his place before the hobos could get his wallet. No, this is what I want. But what about his family? His friends? His classmates? Chris has done nothing wrong, just let him go and no one will be any wiser. He simply stumbled out of the bar to find a place to relieve himself and/or puke, got lost, and wound up slumped over in a dark alley. It would be another story for the scrapbook. Drunk College Memories. No. This was different. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Take it or leave it, now or never.
Before I knew it, we were standing on the sidewalk facing the threshold. I had mindlessly pulled Chris closer to me while walking. He kept mumbling, only a few of his words were barely intelligible. This was the place. I looked at Chris’s innocent boyish face. Before I could stop myself, my free arm reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It was unlocked.
I walked inside cautiously, listening for any sounds of life. Not a peep. I turned the lights on, did a quick, but quiet walkthrough, making sure no one was home. Good. The stage is set. Chris was still outside, swaying back and forth, looking around without really seeing anything. As I checked one of the bedrooms, I looked back outside, and my heart nearly dropped when I saw he wasn’t standing there. I ran to the front entrance, and saw him standing about 10 feet from the door. I looked both ways before quickly walking out to grab him. I put my arm around his shoulder, and led him inside. I led him to the couch and told him to wait while I got everything ready. He could help himself to whatever there was in the fridge. He sat there, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes, slightly swaying.
After I had everything just the way I wanted it, I went back to the living room, grabbed Chris by the hand, and led him back to the master bedroom. He saw the bed and started to waddle towards it, collapsing face first when his legs hit the side of the mattress.
I took a deep breath, emptied the contents of my pockets into a ziplock bag, and laid down next to Chris. I turned him over so that we were facing each other. His beautiful blue eyes were locked on me, then he muttered something, He was becoming more intelligible, but still slurring heavily. I laid my hand down on his cheek before moving in for a kiss on his pale red lips. He didn’t give much tongue, but he must have had some concept of what was happening.
I went to my black duffel bag lying on the floor next to the nightstand. I placed the contents of my pockets inside, and pulled out a pair of leather thigh-wrist restraints. I placed them on the bed next to Chris, who didn’t seem to mind. I sat him up, and took his shirt off. His chest was even better than it looked under his tight-fitting shirt. His pecs were defined, but not large. His abs were just the right size for his pecs. I ran a hand up and down his chest while I unbuttoned his pants. His cock was impressive, even flaccid. He was circumcised, and was more well-endowed than the boys before him.
I pushed him back on the bed, and moved him to the center of the mattress. I grabbed the leather restraints, and placed them around his thighs. I strapped them tight enough that he grunted in protest. He tried weakly to remove them, but it only made it easier for me to grab his wrists and lock them against his thighs. I grabbed my camera from the duffel bag and took a picture. The last one he would be in.
I put the camera into the ziplock bag along with my phone, keys and wallet. I grabbed my toolkit and unrolled it right next to Chris. He looked over, but didn’t react, at least not as much as I would’ve hoped. I slowly removed my favorite tool, the scalpel, from its holster. I held it near my thighs while I leaned in and gave Chris another kiss. His tongue was more alive than it was the first time. I looked into his eyes, and he stared back into mine. I kissed him one last time, rubbing my free hand down his chest, taking in every inch of his well-built stomach. I cupped his warm, low-hanging balls. I broke the kiss and laid the scalpel on his stomach, in the ridge between his abs. I walked into the adjoining bathroom, and filled a cup with cold water. I walked back into the bedroom, and splashed the icy cold water over his face. He went from semi-conscious to fully aware in less time than it took for him to catch his breath.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, for now at least.” I sat down on the mattress next to him. He tried to move his arms when he noticed the shiny steel lying on his stomach. His primal instincts kicked in, and he tried to break free of his restraints. “You’ll only cut yourself by doing that, you know.” He looked at me as if I had magically appeared on the mattress out of thin air.
“What the fuck, man?!” Pure anger in his voice.
“You made the fatal mistake of not listening to that voice that told you not to take an expensive drink from a complete stranger.” My voice was nonchalant. He looked stunned. Anger would soon give way to desperation. “I’m sorry it has to be you, but you stood out like a sore thumb. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If your birthday were tomorrow, I wouldn’t have even been there.”
“What do you mean it has to be me?! What the fuck are you going to do to me?!” Right on cue, that tone of desperation was creeping its way into his last words. I got up from the bed, and pulled a leather hood out of the duffel bag.
I held it out to make sure he saw it and knew what it was, “Once I put this over your head, you won’t be able to say a word. You won’t be able to scream for help, and you’ll be completely blind.” I began to loosen the hood’s straps.
Tears started pooling in his eyes. “What do you want?! Please, just tell me what you want! My parents are rich, filthy rich! They’ll give you whatever you want, please just let me go!”
“But if I let you go, then there’s no guarantee I’ll get whatever it is that I want.” I loved toying with the boys before placing the hood over their heads.
“No….no, I swear you’ll get whatever you want, just let me go. I won’t even go to the police! No one would ever know!”
“Do you normally ask your parents for millions of dollars?” I paused loosening the hood, and looked him in the eyes before smiling. He was scrambling to think of something to say. While I finished loosening the hood, he started sobbing. I grabbed the scalpel, and placed it on the nightstand. I ran my fingers through his short black hair. I firmly grabbed what hair I could, and lifted his head. After some adjustments, the hood fit his head just right. The mouth gag muffled his sobbing and pleas for help. I grabbed the scalpel, and ran the blade lightly across his left bicep. I traced back to the same line, and applied a slight amount of pressure against the blade. Blood dripped down his arm, onto the bed sheets. His muffled scream could barely be heard in the living room.
I leaned in and sucked on his wound, but clots were already forming, the bleeding had almost stopped. I traced along the first cut, and stuck the blade into the open wound, applying more pressure, making the wound deeper. Blood flowed from the cut. I brought my mouth close and sucked on the cut, tasting the bitter metallic taste of his blood inside my mouth.
Chris was trembling and sobbing heavily. He didn’t even try screaming for help. Instead, he just shook his hooded head, hoping to miraculously loosen his restraints, and escape this hellish nightmare.
I leaned over his stomach, which was convulsing from his irregular breathing. I lightly dragged the scalpel over the ridges between his abs. He stopped breathing as soon as he felt the warm steel against his skin. I ran the scalpel down his stomach towards his cock, applying slight pressure all the way down to his waist. Blood oozed from the wound. He screamed, which caused the blade to go deeper into his abdomen. Blood started pooling, and dripped over his sides.
Chris went into full panic mode, fighting to break free. He knew he could do it, he had to. It couldn’t end this way. Not on his 21st birthday, when he should be out with his friends, getting into trouble while he could still get away with it. He was expecting the hood to be lifted over his face any second, only to find that he was lying in his bed, some sort of fevered dream brought on by the alcohol and whatever else he ingested. But dreams don’t hurt like this.
I lay down on the bed next to him, the sheets were now slightly soaked with blood. I put the scalpel down, and rubbed the top of the hood with my hand, while I leaned in and whispered into his ear, “I could eviscerate you right now, you would bleed to death, and you would die in extreme pain.” He was breathing heavily, but stopped struggling. “But despite whatever impression you might have of me, I’m not in this for the mess. In fact, I think I’m done here.” The hood turned towards my face. “I’m going to sit you up, and put you on your feet. I’m going to leave the hood and restraints on, but I’ll leave the door open as I leave. By the time you find your way to the front door, I’ll be long gone. Sorry I’ll have you discovered in such a humiliating state, but there will be plenty of pity from your friends, and especially your family. The campus community will rally around you, and police patrols will be beefed up. They might even name a building after you.” His chest began to rise and fall steadily, the blood pooled on his stomach began to coagulate and dry.
I sat him up, and pulled him by his feet to the edge of the bed. I placed his feet flat on the soft blue carpet. I spoke plainly, “There ya go. A fit guy like you should be able to stand up from that position. While you stumble around, I’ll be cleaning up. When you hear me leave, you should just be able to follow the sounds, and find your way outside to freedom. Oh, but one last thing, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you.” I grabbed the scalpel, and got down on one knee beside his legs. I quickly sliced across both his Achille’s tendons. His instinct was to use his arms to push away the threat, but he just struggled against his bonds. He screamed at the top of his lungs, which could be heard in the living room, but was absorbed by the heavy front door. He fell back down onto his back, small pools of blood forming around his feet and quickly absorbed by the carpet. I picked him back up and slapped him across his hooded cheek, just enough for him to calm down. He was still screaming and struggling. The pain must be immense. I walked over to a small chair in the corner to watch.
After a minute or so, Chris began to calm down, his muffled screaming subsided into shallow breathing. He moved his head around, trying to see anything through the thick hood placed on his head. A short while later, he clenched his leg muscles to try to stand up. He almost certainly knew that he’d be flat on his face before he could make his first step. He slowly raised himself off the bed, using his leg muscles to keep himself stable. The pools around his feet grew larger and deeper. He was breathing heavily, trying to keep himself from sobbing. He slowly tried to move one foot, but it was quickly followed by the sound of bones cracking. He fell face first onto the carpet, his feet planted flat. He screamed in utter agony, his bones were sticking out, and blood poured out of both his legs. He blacked out as he hit the carpet.
After a few seconds of silence, he jerked back to life. He was losing blood fast, and would be entering shock very soon. I had only a little time left to act. I quickly picked him up off the blood-soaked carpet, and placed him flat on his back on the bed. He was breathing heavily, and the color was draining from his skin. I retrieved my tools, and placed the scalpel back in its holster. I grabbed the tool that would end his suffering. It was a steel spike, about one 8 inches in length. I whispered softly into his ear, “It’ll be over soon, I promise.” He was resigned to death, he knew it was coming and made no effort to break free from his restraints. “From this point on, I’m going to make this as painless for you as possible.” He began to shiver; more of the color had drained from his body. He made a low grunting noise that trailed off into a moan. I quickly removed the hood from his head, and tossed it to the side. I glanced into his eyes, which had that look of defeat. I quickly took off the thigh restraints and threw them towards the duffel bag. He could impale me with the spike that I held, if he could find a second wind. But he wouldn’t, even if he could. I was his angel of mercy, come to take him away from his pain.
I felt around and under his pecs for the intercostal spaces, the spaces between his ribs. It took me a moment to find a space large enough for the spike. I determined the best angle, and he screamed just before I plunged the spike through his ribs, right into his lungs. I held the spike in place as I lay down on top of him, to keep him from wriggling the spike out, which would only prolong his suffering. I brought my face to his, and we looked each other in the eyes. I ran the fingers of my free hand through his hair, as he arched his head back, trying desperately to gasp for air.
“Shh… It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon. You shouldn’t be feeling any pain anymore, but you’re panicking, trying to breathe. Your lungs are filling up with blood, it will only be a matter of seconds before you begin to feel light-headed and slightly euphoric. Just try to stay calm, okay?” I wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t calm down, his instincts told him to breathe, just one lungful of that sweet air. But it wouldn’t happen.
With his last second or two of life, he stared into my eyes, a sad, but calm look. He mouthed the word, “Why?” before he went limp. It would be a minute or so before he actually died, he was just unconscious right now, but you wouldn’t know by looking at his body. I placed my index and middle fingers against his neck, and felt a pulse. It was weak, and fading, but it was there. I sat up, waited a few seconds and yanked the spike out of his lung. Blood ran from the wound like a dam that had just burst. I laid the spike down on the bed, and continued to rub his head until I felt the last of his pulse. I sobbed softly before laying his hand back to his side. I closed his eyelids. His boyish face looked peaceful. Pale, but peaceful.
I stood up and slowly packed everything back into its proper place in the duffel bag. I checked the alarm clock on the nightstand: 3:33. I’m not superstitious, but I tried to avoid that time as much as possible. No matter how hard I tried, I always found myself standing there in the dark, a duffel bag in one hand, looking at the corpse lying on the bed, barely illuminated by the soft red glow of the alarm clock. I swear if so much as the house groaned from settling during that minute, I would drop dead from a heart attack. It was always the same silence, though. Silence so heavy the ears strained to find something to hear, just so you knew they still functioned. The clock showed 3:34. I closed the bedroom door behind me as I turned toward the entrance. As I approached the front door, I took a deep breath, and walked out into the cold night air.
I found a bench across the street and sat there for hours. The wait was unbearable, but the result was rewarding. Finally, at around 6:30, a car slowly came to a stop on the curb outside the apartment. It couldn’t be a student, the car was too new, and it was a foreign make. It blended into the darkness, same as I, but for its lights. After a few moments, the engine shuddered as the ignition was turned off. Maybe it was a doctor from the University’s medical center. Shivers shot up and down my spine as I watched them open the front door, slightly taken aback that the front door wasn’t locked. The front door closed behind them as the light turned on, the warm glow spilling onto the streets. I made my way over, and stood in the warmth, but only for a few seconds. That’s all it took before I knew they had seen it.
Epilogue:
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER, SUNDAY FEBRUARY 17th, 2013
Headline: Serial Killer Strikes Again, Another Grisly Discovery Made Near Campus by Innocent Tenant
By John Mitchell, with some content provided by AP News.
Local and federal law enforcement agents are scrambling after the so-called ‘Impaler’ serial killer, notorious for luring his victims, all of whom are gay male students at UCSF, and leaving the bodies behind to be discovered later by the homeowner or tenant, struck again early Saturday morning. The victim, 21-year old Christopher Collins, was last seen by his friends at the local bar The Cornerstone at approximately 1230. He was there with several close friends celebrating his 21st birthday. Police are withholding most details, but confirmed that the victim appears to have died from a puncture wound into his right lung, which preliminary autopsy reports show was filled with blood.
The San Francisco Sheriff’s Office, along with UCSF Campus Security, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, are urging residents living within ten miles of campus to make sure that their doors are locked prior to leaving, “…so far, we know that none of the scenes show any sign of forced entry, even though the callers insist that they regularly lock their doors.” The Sheriff’s Office has promised that campus security patrols, city police patrols, and undercover cops will all be increased in and around the campus area, until the murderer is found.
So far, this is the 6th victim found in as many months. Visit our website for more details, and breaking news regarding these events.
I started my search at The Cornerstone, a popular gay bar in San Francisco. It had been a while since I went out on the town. I was there alone, as usual, and it was just as awkward as the first time coming here. Though, to be fair, it would be much harder to carry out my plans if I were there with friends, I would have a lot of explaining to do, even though everyone would be too drunk to remember when I slipped out. I sat at the bar, sipping on a screwdriver, looking around for a fresh new face. I swore to myself when I noticed that the bar was full of ‘the usuals’. The night was still young, though.
I checked my watch: 11 o’clock. The bar should be filling up soon. I ordered a fresh drink as I kept my eye on the front entrance. Any minute now, a line would form outside. A handsome young man, who introduced himself as Mark, sat down at the bar next to me and ordered a drink. He kept looking my way and smirking. I looked over at him. After a few attempts, our eyes met, and we introduced each other. Mark was definitely my type: young, athletic, about the same height as myself. He had dark hair, and intense green eyes. Mark explained that he was a junior at UCSF who, and I was sworn to secrecy on this, swam for the varsity team. Shit. Cross Mark off the list, despite his good looks, bubble butt, and lean swimmer’s body, he wasn’t worth the attention that would be generated after tonight.
I took one last look at Mark, and took a mental picture of him before I quickly took my cell phone out of my pocket. I looked intently at the darkened screen, as if someone were calling me. I looked at Mark, and pointed at my phone before quickly getting up and moving to a new vantage point. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I had been here several other nights, each night I had the same intention. And each night I found what I was looking for. I swore to myself the last time I came here, about a month ago, that it would be the last time. It’s almost like a drug at this point. I was only satisfying the craving that my brain demanded.
It was around 12:30 when I noticed a small gathering in the corner. A cheesy birthday cap stuck on someone’s head in the center of the crowd. I moved my head to try and get a look at the birthday boy. I caught a glimpse of part of his face, and I was intrigued. When the bartender returned to freshen up my glass, I nodded my head towards the small group. He didn’t know too much, just that it was the guy’s 21st birthday, and that the group was ordering shots faster than the glasses could be filled. I nodded, not taking my eyes off the birthday cap, and ordered a top-shelf Long Island. I discreetly dropped a small tablet into the drink as I picked it up and walked over to the crowd, squeezing my way through into the center, where the birthday cap stood out.
I gently tapped the birthday boy on his shoulder, but not before getting a look at the goods first. Nice ass, not as well-defined as Mark’s, but his body was slightly more muscular, not stringy and lean like a swimmer. His shirt accentuated every curve of his abdomen. I must have looked like a total creeper standing there with a drink in my hand, staring at this marvelous young man in front of me.
“Can I help you?” He shouted over the loud house music. It was enough to snap me out of my trance. He had one eyebrow cocked, looking at me skeptically. I had to take a second to bring myself to reality, to form the words in my mind before spitting them out of my mouth. One wrong move, that’s all it takes. I looked back into his steely blues and smiled.
“Sorry, I just saw there was a birthday over here, I thought I would come over and wish you a happy birthday.” I presented the drink; he relaxed slightly, but looked at the drink as if it had a skull and crossbones on it. Good boy, he’s got intuition. I brought it closer to him, while mouthing the words, top shelf. He looked surprised for a brief second, his first top-shelf drink. A broke college student wouldn’t dare refuse a top-shelf drink. He slowly took the drink from my hand. He put his lips to the glass, eyeing me. I smiled. “You only turn 21 once, right?” He thought for a second before tipping the glass ever so slightly, allowing the drugged cocktail down his throat.
As with Mark earlier that night, and the other boys before him, I began asking the crucial set of questions. His name was Chris, he was also a junior at UCSF. His closest blood relative lived in Ohio. No siblings. I pondered over whether or not he would be worth the risk. I looked around the tight group. I didn’t recognize any faces, no regulars, no one who would notice whom he left with; they were all drunk off their asses. I began to have doubts. I could always back away, I didn’t put enough into his drink to cause him to lose consciousness, just enough to drop his defenses completely.
A short while later, it became obvious that my little party favor was kicking in, Chris began slurring his words and nodding off mid-conversation. It was now or never. “Hey, you wanna get out of this place? It’s getting a little stuffy in here.” He stood there like a zombie. It took only the slightest push to get him to head towards the front entrance. I used his hand to take the birthday cap off his head. It dropped and rolled sideways onto the dance floor. No one noticed before it was crunched and shredded. I put my arm around his shoulder as we approached the front entrance. The bouncer eyed me suspiciously. I smiled my friendly smile, “I think he’s had three too many!” The bouncer rolled his eyes and let us pass without taking a second glance.
Do I really want to do this? I could drop this poor kid off in some alley close by, he’d be back to his faculties in a few hours, he’d most likely even make it back to his place before the hobos could get his wallet. No, this is what I want. But what about his family? His friends? His classmates? Chris has done nothing wrong, just let him go and no one will be any wiser. He simply stumbled out of the bar to find a place to relieve himself and/or puke, got lost, and wound up slumped over in a dark alley. It would be another story for the scrapbook. Drunk College Memories. No. This was different. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Take it or leave it, now or never.
Before I knew it, we were standing on the sidewalk facing the threshold. I had mindlessly pulled Chris closer to me while walking. He kept mumbling, only a few of his words were barely intelligible. This was the place. I looked at Chris’s innocent boyish face. Before I could stop myself, my free arm reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It was unlocked.
I walked inside cautiously, listening for any sounds of life. Not a peep. I turned the lights on, did a quick, but quiet walkthrough, making sure no one was home. Good. The stage is set. Chris was still outside, swaying back and forth, looking around without really seeing anything. As I checked one of the bedrooms, I looked back outside, and my heart nearly dropped when I saw he wasn’t standing there. I ran to the front entrance, and saw him standing about 10 feet from the door. I looked both ways before quickly walking out to grab him. I put my arm around his shoulder, and led him inside. I led him to the couch and told him to wait while I got everything ready. He could help himself to whatever there was in the fridge. He sat there, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes, slightly swaying.
After I had everything just the way I wanted it, I went back to the living room, grabbed Chris by the hand, and led him back to the master bedroom. He saw the bed and started to waddle towards it, collapsing face first when his legs hit the side of the mattress.
I took a deep breath, emptied the contents of my pockets into a ziplock bag, and laid down next to Chris. I turned him over so that we were facing each other. His beautiful blue eyes were locked on me, then he muttered something, He was becoming more intelligible, but still slurring heavily. I laid my hand down on his cheek before moving in for a kiss on his pale red lips. He didn’t give much tongue, but he must have had some concept of what was happening.
I went to my black duffel bag lying on the floor next to the nightstand. I placed the contents of my pockets inside, and pulled out a pair of leather thigh-wrist restraints. I placed them on the bed next to Chris, who didn’t seem to mind. I sat him up, and took his shirt off. His chest was even better than it looked under his tight-fitting shirt. His pecs were defined, but not large. His abs were just the right size for his pecs. I ran a hand up and down his chest while I unbuttoned his pants. His cock was impressive, even flaccid. He was circumcised, and was more well-endowed than the boys before him.
I pushed him back on the bed, and moved him to the center of the mattress. I grabbed the leather restraints, and placed them around his thighs. I strapped them tight enough that he grunted in protest. He tried weakly to remove them, but it only made it easier for me to grab his wrists and lock them against his thighs. I grabbed my camera from the duffel bag and took a picture. The last one he would be in.
I put the camera into the ziplock bag along with my phone, keys and wallet. I grabbed my toolkit and unrolled it right next to Chris. He looked over, but didn’t react, at least not as much as I would’ve hoped. I slowly removed my favorite tool, the scalpel, from its holster. I held it near my thighs while I leaned in and gave Chris another kiss. His tongue was more alive than it was the first time. I looked into his eyes, and he stared back into mine. I kissed him one last time, rubbing my free hand down his chest, taking in every inch of his well-built stomach. I cupped his warm, low-hanging balls. I broke the kiss and laid the scalpel on his stomach, in the ridge between his abs. I walked into the adjoining bathroom, and filled a cup with cold water. I walked back into the bedroom, and splashed the icy cold water over his face. He went from semi-conscious to fully aware in less time than it took for him to catch his breath.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, for now at least.” I sat down on the mattress next to him. He tried to move his arms when he noticed the shiny steel lying on his stomach. His primal instincts kicked in, and he tried to break free of his restraints. “You’ll only cut yourself by doing that, you know.” He looked at me as if I had magically appeared on the mattress out of thin air.
“What the fuck, man?!” Pure anger in his voice.
“You made the fatal mistake of not listening to that voice that told you not to take an expensive drink from a complete stranger.” My voice was nonchalant. He looked stunned. Anger would soon give way to desperation. “I’m sorry it has to be you, but you stood out like a sore thumb. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If your birthday were tomorrow, I wouldn’t have even been there.”
“What do you mean it has to be me?! What the fuck are you going to do to me?!” Right on cue, that tone of desperation was creeping its way into his last words. I got up from the bed, and pulled a leather hood out of the duffel bag.
I held it out to make sure he saw it and knew what it was, “Once I put this over your head, you won’t be able to say a word. You won’t be able to scream for help, and you’ll be completely blind.” I began to loosen the hood’s straps.
Tears started pooling in his eyes. “What do you want?! Please, just tell me what you want! My parents are rich, filthy rich! They’ll give you whatever you want, please just let me go!”
“But if I let you go, then there’s no guarantee I’ll get whatever it is that I want.” I loved toying with the boys before placing the hood over their heads.
“No….no, I swear you’ll get whatever you want, just let me go. I won’t even go to the police! No one would ever know!”
“Do you normally ask your parents for millions of dollars?” I paused loosening the hood, and looked him in the eyes before smiling. He was scrambling to think of something to say. While I finished loosening the hood, he started sobbing. I grabbed the scalpel, and placed it on the nightstand. I ran my fingers through his short black hair. I firmly grabbed what hair I could, and lifted his head. After some adjustments, the hood fit his head just right. The mouth gag muffled his sobbing and pleas for help. I grabbed the scalpel, and ran the blade lightly across his left bicep. I traced back to the same line, and applied a slight amount of pressure against the blade. Blood dripped down his arm, onto the bed sheets. His muffled scream could barely be heard in the living room.
I leaned in and sucked on his wound, but clots were already forming, the bleeding had almost stopped. I traced along the first cut, and stuck the blade into the open wound, applying more pressure, making the wound deeper. Blood flowed from the cut. I brought my mouth close and sucked on the cut, tasting the bitter metallic taste of his blood inside my mouth.
Chris was trembling and sobbing heavily. He didn’t even try screaming for help. Instead, he just shook his hooded head, hoping to miraculously loosen his restraints, and escape this hellish nightmare.
I leaned over his stomach, which was convulsing from his irregular breathing. I lightly dragged the scalpel over the ridges between his abs. He stopped breathing as soon as he felt the warm steel against his skin. I ran the scalpel down his stomach towards his cock, applying slight pressure all the way down to his waist. Blood oozed from the wound. He screamed, which caused the blade to go deeper into his abdomen. Blood started pooling, and dripped over his sides.
Chris went into full panic mode, fighting to break free. He knew he could do it, he had to. It couldn’t end this way. Not on his 21st birthday, when he should be out with his friends, getting into trouble while he could still get away with it. He was expecting the hood to be lifted over his face any second, only to find that he was lying in his bed, some sort of fevered dream brought on by the alcohol and whatever else he ingested. But dreams don’t hurt like this.
I lay down on the bed next to him, the sheets were now slightly soaked with blood. I put the scalpel down, and rubbed the top of the hood with my hand, while I leaned in and whispered into his ear, “I could eviscerate you right now, you would bleed to death, and you would die in extreme pain.” He was breathing heavily, but stopped struggling. “But despite whatever impression you might have of me, I’m not in this for the mess. In fact, I think I’m done here.” The hood turned towards my face. “I’m going to sit you up, and put you on your feet. I’m going to leave the hood and restraints on, but I’ll leave the door open as I leave. By the time you find your way to the front door, I’ll be long gone. Sorry I’ll have you discovered in such a humiliating state, but there will be plenty of pity from your friends, and especially your family. The campus community will rally around you, and police patrols will be beefed up. They might even name a building after you.” His chest began to rise and fall steadily, the blood pooled on his stomach began to coagulate and dry.
I sat him up, and pulled him by his feet to the edge of the bed. I placed his feet flat on the soft blue carpet. I spoke plainly, “There ya go. A fit guy like you should be able to stand up from that position. While you stumble around, I’ll be cleaning up. When you hear me leave, you should just be able to follow the sounds, and find your way outside to freedom. Oh, but one last thing, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you.” I grabbed the scalpel, and got down on one knee beside his legs. I quickly sliced across both his Achille’s tendons. His instinct was to use his arms to push away the threat, but he just struggled against his bonds. He screamed at the top of his lungs, which could be heard in the living room, but was absorbed by the heavy front door. He fell back down onto his back, small pools of blood forming around his feet and quickly absorbed by the carpet. I picked him back up and slapped him across his hooded cheek, just enough for him to calm down. He was still screaming and struggling. The pain must be immense. I walked over to a small chair in the corner to watch.
After a minute or so, Chris began to calm down, his muffled screaming subsided into shallow breathing. He moved his head around, trying to see anything through the thick hood placed on his head. A short while later, he clenched his leg muscles to try to stand up. He almost certainly knew that he’d be flat on his face before he could make his first step. He slowly raised himself off the bed, using his leg muscles to keep himself stable. The pools around his feet grew larger and deeper. He was breathing heavily, trying to keep himself from sobbing. He slowly tried to move one foot, but it was quickly followed by the sound of bones cracking. He fell face first onto the carpet, his feet planted flat. He screamed in utter agony, his bones were sticking out, and blood poured out of both his legs. He blacked out as he hit the carpet.
After a few seconds of silence, he jerked back to life. He was losing blood fast, and would be entering shock very soon. I had only a little time left to act. I quickly picked him up off the blood-soaked carpet, and placed him flat on his back on the bed. He was breathing heavily, and the color was draining from his skin. I retrieved my tools, and placed the scalpel back in its holster. I grabbed the tool that would end his suffering. It was a steel spike, about one 8 inches in length. I whispered softly into his ear, “It’ll be over soon, I promise.” He was resigned to death, he knew it was coming and made no effort to break free from his restraints. “From this point on, I’m going to make this as painless for you as possible.” He began to shiver; more of the color had drained from his body. He made a low grunting noise that trailed off into a moan. I quickly removed the hood from his head, and tossed it to the side. I glanced into his eyes, which had that look of defeat. I quickly took off the thigh restraints and threw them towards the duffel bag. He could impale me with the spike that I held, if he could find a second wind. But he wouldn’t, even if he could. I was his angel of mercy, come to take him away from his pain.
I felt around and under his pecs for the intercostal spaces, the spaces between his ribs. It took me a moment to find a space large enough for the spike. I determined the best angle, and he screamed just before I plunged the spike through his ribs, right into his lungs. I held the spike in place as I lay down on top of him, to keep him from wriggling the spike out, which would only prolong his suffering. I brought my face to his, and we looked each other in the eyes. I ran the fingers of my free hand through his hair, as he arched his head back, trying desperately to gasp for air.
“Shh… It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon. You shouldn’t be feeling any pain anymore, but you’re panicking, trying to breathe. Your lungs are filling up with blood, it will only be a matter of seconds before you begin to feel light-headed and slightly euphoric. Just try to stay calm, okay?” I wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t calm down, his instincts told him to breathe, just one lungful of that sweet air. But it wouldn’t happen.
With his last second or two of life, he stared into my eyes, a sad, but calm look. He mouthed the word, “Why?” before he went limp. It would be a minute or so before he actually died, he was just unconscious right now, but you wouldn’t know by looking at his body. I placed my index and middle fingers against his neck, and felt a pulse. It was weak, and fading, but it was there. I sat up, waited a few seconds and yanked the spike out of his lung. Blood ran from the wound like a dam that had just burst. I laid the spike down on the bed, and continued to rub his head until I felt the last of his pulse. I sobbed softly before laying his hand back to his side. I closed his eyelids. His boyish face looked peaceful. Pale, but peaceful.
I stood up and slowly packed everything back into its proper place in the duffel bag. I checked the alarm clock on the nightstand: 3:33. I’m not superstitious, but I tried to avoid that time as much as possible. No matter how hard I tried, I always found myself standing there in the dark, a duffel bag in one hand, looking at the corpse lying on the bed, barely illuminated by the soft red glow of the alarm clock. I swear if so much as the house groaned from settling during that minute, I would drop dead from a heart attack. It was always the same silence, though. Silence so heavy the ears strained to find something to hear, just so you knew they still functioned. The clock showed 3:34. I closed the bedroom door behind me as I turned toward the entrance. As I approached the front door, I took a deep breath, and walked out into the cold night air.
I found a bench across the street and sat there for hours. The wait was unbearable, but the result was rewarding. Finally, at around 6:30, a car slowly came to a stop on the curb outside the apartment. It couldn’t be a student, the car was too new, and it was a foreign make. It blended into the darkness, same as I, but for its lights. After a few moments, the engine shuddered as the ignition was turned off. Maybe it was a doctor from the University’s medical center. Shivers shot up and down my spine as I watched them open the front door, slightly taken aback that the front door wasn’t locked. The front door closed behind them as the light turned on, the warm glow spilling onto the streets. I made my way over, and stood in the warmth, but only for a few seconds. That’s all it took before I knew they had seen it.
Epilogue:
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER, SUNDAY FEBRUARY 17th, 2013
Headline: Serial Killer Strikes Again, Another Grisly Discovery Made Near Campus by Innocent Tenant
By John Mitchell, with some content provided by AP News.
Local and federal law enforcement agents are scrambling after the so-called ‘Impaler’ serial killer, notorious for luring his victims, all of whom are gay male students at UCSF, and leaving the bodies behind to be discovered later by the homeowner or tenant, struck again early Saturday morning. The victim, 21-year old Christopher Collins, was last seen by his friends at the local bar The Cornerstone at approximately 1230. He was there with several close friends celebrating his 21st birthday. Police are withholding most details, but confirmed that the victim appears to have died from a puncture wound into his right lung, which preliminary autopsy reports show was filled with blood.
The San Francisco Sheriff’s Office, along with UCSF Campus Security, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, are urging residents living within ten miles of campus to make sure that their doors are locked prior to leaving, “…so far, we know that none of the scenes show any sign of forced entry, even though the callers insist that they regularly lock their doors.” The Sheriff’s Office has promised that campus security patrols, city police patrols, and undercover cops will all be increased in and around the campus area, until the murderer is found.
So far, this is the 6th victim found in as many months. Visit our website for more details, and breaking news regarding these events.
