Through Brian's Eyes

  *****

  So much for killing the judge first, but it didn’t bother him much. Mrs. Rivera would do just fine. He’d always liked the name Rivera. It was poetic, calming, and exotic. Now Marta was something different, and he wondered if her parents left off the “h” on purpose, allowing it to be pronounced Marta instead of Martha. He remembered some faces of the folks that served on his jury, but wasn’t sure if he remembered her specifically.

  He turned onto Stratus Drive and searched for the address 4923. This wasn’t an area he visited much while alive. It was an impressive and quiet neighborhood with nice upscale houses. Their streets were clean and paved. Not streaked with tar lines like on Elwood Drive. An image appeared in his mind. Soon, he imagined this street littered with emergency vehicles, their lights relentlessly blinding bystanders. Gossip would travel like wildfire about the gruesome deeds done to this law-abiding woman. Wouldn’t it be a hoot to be there to watch all the commotion? But it wasn’t going to happen. While all that was taking place, he hoped to be busy killing another person on the list.

  He found the house but wasn’t sure if anyone was home, so he drove to the corner and turned around. He passed the house again but was still unsure. No one was out in the yards on the street so he decided to take a chance. He drove up to the corner, made a left and parked the car so it couldn’t be seen from Stratus Drive. Before exiting the car, he prepped his backpack, placing the hardware on top and leaving it unzipped. He left the car, placed the backpack over his shoulder, and strolled toward her house. He maintained a casual stride as he scanned the neighborhood, passing by silent houses and admiring its beauty in an overt display of innocence. He trudged up the driveway at 4923 Status Drive, as though he was very familiar with the home, and rang the doorbell. He was pleased there was no screen door on the house.

  He waited patiently, turning to scan the street. There were no sounds coming from inside. Half a minute passed before he rang the doorbell again. He heard a bit of shuffling. He slipped the backpack off his shoulders and reached in to clutch the handle of the Phillips screwdriver. The door finally opened and the beautiful woman inside said hello. He immediately noticed how well her face fit her exotic name. Her stature was shorter than his and her face was framed with wavy brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her slender build was spectacular. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he remembered her from the jury box. He wondered if she was the lady with her hair up in a bun. He didn’t expect to be smitten.

  After admiring her good looks, he got around to speaking, asking her in which direction was downtown located. She pointed back up the street where he parked the stolen car. Moving with the speed of a praying mantis, he forced the screwdriver through the soft skin below her sternum. The sound of air expelling from her lungs was intoxicating. He charged through the door sending her backwards to the ground. Fear, pain, and disbelief were visible on her face. Tears poured from her eyes, and her body convulsed with each stab of the screwdriver.

  He concentrated on stabbing the soft areas of her torso to get the deep penetration he so desired. His penchant for destroying the kidneys was not wasted on her. She yelped but not loud enough to be heard outside. A firm stab to the side of her throat silenced her as blood poured from the wound like a fountain. He stood up and watched her writhe, waiting for her to lose consciousness so he could start his serious work. In the meantime, he returned to the front door and scanned the street in both directions, to ensure no one was nearby, then he closed the door. When he turned around, she was barely moving. There was more work to do.

  He reached into the backpack and pulled out the smock he’d taken from his garage, but then he thought, why get the smock bloody when I could just find something else to use like a coat or something? He searched the closet behind the front door but he didn’t find anything useful. He stepped over her body, rounded the corner and ran up the stairs, checking each bedroom. In one of the bedrooms a crib caught his attention. He went inside and examined it. A baby, maybe six months old, lay asleep. He reached in to pick the little bundle up, then paused and stared. Killing a baby would be no fun, it was too easy. All I have to do was slam it on the floor a couple of times and that was it. He set the baby back down, tiptoed back from the crib, and headed out the room. Before exiting, he saw Marta’s flannel housecoat laying on the floor beside the door to the baby’s room. He picked it up and slipped it on. The sleeves were too short and it had a tight fit, but its overall length covered his body quite well, coming well below his knees. A stack of towels sat on the baby’s dresser. He grabbed those too, then slipped back down the hallway and down the stairs. He stared down at Mrs. Rivera. She was still.

  It was time to put his other tools to use.

  He pulled out the utility knife from his backpack followed by the pruning saw and set them down near her body. Much of the blood from her neck wound pooled around the right side of her head, so he worked from her left side. He seized the saw and began butchering Mrs. Rivera like a cow in a slaughter house, stripping away large sections of her thighs and calves. Precision wasn’t the name of the game…maximum damage to her body was. Jack the Ripper used precision, but Kinkaid utilized speed. With the utility knife, he tore into her innards, removing organs and arranging them around her body in a freakish manner.

  He was finished with his bloody escapades and her robe prevented the blood from staining his own clothing. He stepped away, slipped out the blood-stained robe, and washed his hands and tools in the bathroom sink down the hall. He didn’t care about fingerprints or any DNA…it wasn’t his anyway; it was Adam’s. He wished he’d thought of that when he killed the first juror. He approached what was left of her body one last time, wiping his brow, then stowed his tools in the backpack and zipped it up. He stared at her dismembered body with a contemptable smirk then exited the house through the front door.

  He turned around and waved as though he was saying good-bye to a close friend as he walked down Mrs. Rivera’s driveway. A lone car cruised past him, and he stared at the driver. The woman driving caught a quick glimpse of him and kept going.

  He cranked down the windows after he sat down in the stolen car. The heat inside the car made him begin to sweat. The slight breeze blowing through the windows felt nice and he sat there for a while. As he rested, he reviewed the wonderful job he’d just performed. He was tired, but satisfied.

  It was time to continue his tasks. He started the car. Its rumbling engine reactivated his blood lust. He was ready for more. He pulled away from the curb, obeying all traffic laws to remain as inconspicuous as possible while his mind focused on his mission. His destination…back to the courthouse to see if the judge’s car was still in the parking lot. He was in no hurry, the afternoon was still young.