This
was so simple, he thought to himself and it was a wonder that no one
had ever thought of it before. Manson, Bundy.. even that Russian
cannibal bloke… all of them had a hard time picking their victims
and disposing of them. For Clive Cleaver it was as simple as 1,2,3;
with speed dating it was as easy as plucking fruit from a tree.
He'd
created a number of aliases and identities using the internet and
avatars and most of the speed dating companies were very lax when it
came to doing background checks,all they wanted was the money; and
provided the individual was well behaved and inconspicuous they would
get invited back again.
Clive
had been doing this now for quite a few months and traveled the
country with his day job and used the 'net to research where the
local speed dating hubs were. He was very particular about his prey
and made sure that didn't kill every time the urge took him.
The
police had already been wise enough to pick up on the connection
between the speed dating sites but he had been so meticulous in his
preparations and considered himself a master of disguise -willing to
shave his head if necessary, or even gain pounds to change his
visible features. Robert de Niro had nothing on him.
He
took his time with his victims, ensured they were the right type of
self-obsessed, narcissistic bimbo before following them home and
editing them out of the gene-pool. He always followed them out of
disguise, that way they could never link him to the speed dating if
anything went awry.
There
was another reason – it was more intimate, that they should see his
real countenance before they died.
Through
his research and, thanks to the internet, there were very few locks
that he couldn't pick (his flat contained the largest collection of
locks in the South East. Each time a new model was released he would
buy it and within a week he'd learnt how to pick it.)
Once
inside he would quietly find the woman asleep and render her immobile
with a form of anesthetic which he had concocted himself.
In
daylight he was a drug-representative for a new form of anesthetic and a self-confessed expert on working out the right dosage for each
victim. The anesthetic combined the ability to completely numb the
patient whilst keeping them wide awake. It was pioneering and truly
remarkable to watch; and, the most amazing property for Clive, within
hours there was no trace of it in the bloodstream. It was still
“untested” but he was responsible for finding potential markets
for it.
When
his company stumbled upon this wonder drug Clive was overjoyed as
well for it finally gave him the greenlight to start the killings. Up
until then he had done all the preparations, spent hour after hour on
the locks, reading up on psychology and finding out how the other
serial killers had screwed up; brushing up on his stalking techniques
and then his surgical knowledge -he wanted to enjoy his encounters as
much as possible. The anesthetic meant that they wouldn't die from
the pain or shock so it would just be the blood loss that could upset
things.
Again,
the 'net provided a lot of textbooks on torture techniques -both
psychological and physical; and he knew enough to change his M.O.
after every encounter. Some attacks were focused on the sexual
organs, others on the face and hands. Each type would be seen differently by the forensic psychologists who would try to create a
profile on him.
Some
places he would burgle (and give the stuff to a local charity) others
he would completely trash afterwards -always being careful not to
leave trace evidence behind.
He
had almost reached double figures and the police were no closer to
catching him; not even realising that there was a “him” to catch:
Police in Scotland rarely contacted those in Sussex, and there wasn't
much to connect the two any way.
One
time Clive wanted to kill a couple of men, just to really muddy the
waters but couldn't bring himself to do it initially. Then, after the
thirteenth victim, he felt that he needed to. He was becoming
frustrated that the game was becoming too easy, he needed to take his
frustration out on someone.
He
went to a gay club where they held a speed dating group and stayed
for as long as he could stomach it. He had been working out and was
confident about the way he looked but hadn't counted upon being sized
up immediately upon walking in to the club.. He felt completely out
of his comfort zone and so was a lot quieter than normal which made
him more attractive to some of the men and worked in his favor. It
was child's play finding the right man in that group.
There
was one, Toby, who was just the wrong side of camp and pushed all of
Clive's buttons and made him the number one target.
Upon
breaking into Toby's apartment Clive was shocked to see him not only
awake but fucking another one of the speed-daters; neither noticed
Clive staring at them. When Toby finally saw him it was too late for
them both.
There
was no time for Clive to drug them and he could only grab at whatever
was at hand -a large lump of amethyst crystal. He lept at the
conjoined men, ferociously slamming the crystal shard on their heads
time after time after time. It was the only time that Clive had lost
control of himself and even he was repulsed by his actions; it took
him hours to clean the bedroom up.
He
had severely jepordised his future with that particular piece of
indulging and vowed that he would go to ground for at least a couple
of months. He was not, in his own mind, a true psychopath. It was
relatively easy for him to stop -just until the heat had died down
some and then he would be able to reap again.
He
was alright now, though, and had regained his composure and the true
need was upon him. He was in a new town where no one knew him and he
could choose his next victim in a relaxed fashion. He'd done his
homework and picked the venue that he'd be visiting.
He
arrived early to watch the rest of the cattle filter in. More than
ever it was important to weed out the time wasters. Speed dating was
becoming a team sport with girls going together, already with
boyfriends, on a cheap night out. He despised them and so desperately
wanted to make an example of them -maybe one day…
There
were the same bland stereotypes like the self-pitying blubber
monsters who let their obesity count as character and dominated the
conversation with their inadequacies. There were the vain, insular
tarts that demanded to be entertained and only went out with those
with sparkling smiles and shit for brains.
There
were even a few genuine women who really wanted to meet someone and
Clive wished them luck -perversely he had no problem with them-
however he equally knew that ultimately they would end up alone,
washed up and forgotten; being genuine counted for nothing these
days.
Then
out of the corner of his eye he saw her… yes, she was perfect!
Auburn hair tinged with red, stark blue eyes but with lush inviting
lips. She had a great pair of breasts as well and her top was canny
-it both hid and accentuated them at the same time, captivating, and
she knew exactly what she was doing as well. She was coy and flattering, obviously playing her own
game. He knew that she was the one and he was going to have fun
tonight!
“So,
what is it that you are, Jack?” She asked, putting him instantly
off guard. He liked her immensely, it was a shame he was going to
kill her.
“Just
a normal red blooded male – you've probably had your fill of them
already!”
“It
takes a lot to fill me up, Jack. Think you've got what it takes?”
“I
would say that I'll give it the old college try but I'm the type to
leave someone wanting more.”
“There's
no harm in trying though.. you know? I tell you what… I'd kill for
a diet coke. Would you be a lamb and get one for me?”
This
as too easy, he thought. Was it worth making an exception and go home
with her? His disguise was perfect as he'd dyed his hair black and
really slicked it down. The glasses added that bit of Christopher
Reeve kitsch but also provided that memorable detail that
eye-witnesses would use to misidentify him by,
He
walked up to the bartender and ordered the two drinks. As the barman
served him he said, “be careful if I were you, matey.”
“Huh?”
was all he could say, taken by surprise by the sudden conversation.
“You're
going out with VD, mate?”
“VD?
You mean she's got an STD or something?”
“Nah,
she was given that name by a graduate who barely got out with his
life -if you know what I mean. He called her Vagina Dente as she was
a bit of a man eater.. you might not be so lucky to get a second
chance, mate.”
“Sounds
like my kind of woman then.” Clive said in an accent that wasn't
his own.
“Well..
you can only warn a fella once… good luck.”
Walking
back to the woman he placed the drink in front of her and sat down.
There was a ten minute break inbetween rounds and accepting the drink
the woman smiled and said, “by the way, my name's Jean. I got so
carried away with the banter that I forgot to say.” She downed the
drink before he had a chance to reply and got up. “Want to blow
this joint?”
Clive
could only nod. This was going to be easier than he thought!
He
insisted on driving her back home, even though she only lived minutes
away. As they walked out of the pub the barman shook his head in
dismay.
Clive
was a little concerned that she lived so close and that his car would
be spotted, but it could easily be disposed of afterwards and
besides, it could only be linked to his current disguise and alias.
On
the way to her place he was trying to figure out the angles; he had
the syringe in his pocket but couldn't figure out the best way to
administer it, or even the best time.
The
question really was: could he afford to have a bit of fun with her?
There was something… arousing about her, as well as distasteful…
Did he dare to let himself go again?
Yes,
it felt good last time and she was all for letting it all hang out,
after all. Yes, he would excuse himself and go to the bathroom where
she was bound to have some kind of razor blade -if only to shave her
legs. He'd read about the way that prisoners could jury rig a weapon
out of household items: stick some razor blades in a cake of soap and
you had something potentially lethal, especially if you had surprise
on your side.
It
was difficult to gauge the right time though. The barman was right,
she was insatiable and she seemed to suck the very life out of him,
her kisses were long and demanding and she knew exactly how to tease
him.
Eventually
he managed to gain the willpower to go for a quick slash. She seemed
disappointed but there was also a glint in her eye.
Just
as he pictured it, the bathroom cabinet had a razor-blades and it was
child's play to strip them apart and in-bed them into her cake of soap.
How thoughtful she was to even have it on a rope; now he had a long
range weapon. He grinned at himself in the mirror as he thoughtfully
pulled the chain.
Walking
out of the bathroom he was surprised to find her no longer in the
living room. “I'm in the bedroom, lover boy.” She said
seductively.
“I'm
coming… with a nice surprise...” he replied and almost laughed
when she said, “Me too...”
Her
bedroom was candlelit and smelt a little like lemon Jiff, an odd
combination. He couldn't see her as he entered and barely ducked in
time before the hammer came from out of nowhere.
She
must have been standing behind the door, waiting for him. He whirled
around, swinging the soap out hard and he could feel when it sliced
through the flesh on her flank. She squeeled in delight.
“Ooh,
what a naughty boy you are… this is shaping up to be the most
perfect night!”
He
stepped back to look at her now. She was now lying on the bed, the light
from the hall creating a breathtaking silhouette. She was still
holding the club hammer in her left hand, her right touching her side
where the razors had scored her. She put the bloodied fingers to her
lips and sucked on them. “I think I'm in love.” she said.
She
let go of the hammer and before he had the chance to steady himself
she launched herself at him, entwining his limbs with her own so they
would fall on the bed together. She ripped his clothes off as if they
were made of paper.
Just
go with it, thought Clive, if she wanted me dead then it would've
been all over by now.
There
were screams that night, but they were of pent up passion, release
and ecstasy. Was it possible that Clive had finally met his serial
soul mate?
For
a time Clive believed himself to be in heaven. Finally he had found
someone he could be his true self with; someone who not only
empathised with his predicament but also enjoyed the same things!
It
was the details that no one else understood: the pitiful look of
surrender when the victim realised that there was no hope of
survival; it was like a light draining from their eyes. Clive liked
breaking people, the stronger the person the longer it would take to
break them and the more satisfying it was when it finally happened
and Jean got the same kick out of it!
After
the marathon love making that happened after their first date they
spent hours talking and comparing notes.
Jean
hadn't killed as many as Clive but she had been more selective as she
didn't travel much; however she had started killing when she was much
younger.
She
had gone out with her little brother for a walk when she was twelve
and he had been annoying her, holding her hand and being clingy when
she didn't want him to. He was only six at the time and adored her.
Jean wanted a kitten.
It
was almost supper time and it was getting dark, the rain was scaring
her brother and he was screaming at her to make it stop. In
retrospect Jean realised that he had some form of condition but she had
had enough; it was a busy road and she was really careful to push him
when no one else was paying attention. The driver hadn't twigged what had happened until Jean screamed; then there came the sickening
thud.
“I
should've won an Oscar that day.” Jean said to Clive, “no one
suspected a thing.” Deep inside she was surprised about how easy it
had been. No one ever suspected her and what was even better, she got
a new kitten as a reward for being so brave.
She
felt cheated though, the kill had been far too quick; she wanted to
enjoy the next one… so she planned and took her time.
She
found an abandoned building that no one would ever dream to visit in
a disused part of the local industrial estate. She then took time to
find the perfect victim and as luck would have it there was another
child with a similar condition that her brother had. Everybody
picked on the boy but Jean went out of her way to be nice to him. The
teachers all saw it as her adopting him as a surrogate brother, and
in a way they were right.
It
took a long time for the boy to trust her, but it was well worth it.
Eventually she led him to the building and managed to tie him to a
chair; her knots were exquisite, even at that age. The building even
had a basement which was even better for her needs.
Due
to the nature of the boys condition it made the pain even more exquisite
for her and more than made up for the sudden death of her brother.
She could take her time.
It
took almost a week for him to die. His parents were frantic and Jean
did everything she could to act the grief stricken sister and no one
ever suspected a thing.
His
torture was slow and precise and she explored every avenue of her own
psyche; she was nearly fifteen and had a healthy sexual curiosity as
well. They boy helped answer many questions before he died.
When
she was finished she moved the body to a more conspicuous location.
There was a derelict wastrel who was known to frequent the industrial
estate; some people said that he was a pervert, a released
sex-offender and it was childs play to make him the foil for the
crime. She made sure that there was no evidence to connect her to the
boy and found a way to inform the police that there was a man
sneaking around wearing the missing boys jumper. The police were more
than obliging to create an air tight case against the tramp as there
were no other leads.
That
kept Jean satisfied for years… in the interim, before she met
Clive, she had only killed three times. All of them were on the spectrum, which was ironic as she was now a care worker for
a charity!
Clive
understood the dichotomy and loved her for it. He understood the
murderous impulse and saw it for it was. Some people drank, others
took drugs just to deaden the pain. Others might use the pain to
become artists or actors; some even became sporty and used the pain
to fuel them. Jean and Clive gave into the pain and transferred it on
to others, shared its lessons with others so they could learn from
it.
For
a while neither of them killed. For whole months and Clive didn't
miss it. He had Jean and when the urge took him they would fuck like
wild beasts until he could no longer feel it.
As
the months progressed further though he would catch flashes if
gouging out eyes, snapping her neck mid-coitus and the sex no longer
satisfied him in that way. Rather than bottle it up he actually told
her about it; after all, she would understand.
And
she did. More than he ever dreamed. She suggested that they actually
have a threesome -they would actually kill together. God, how much
did he love her at that point in time? There was only one proviso; no
children. He drew the line at killing kids, and she was ok with that
as well.
Because
of her contacts Jean was able to liberate a lady from one of the
rival care homes; where the security was lax. She carried enough
authority with her that she was never questioned even when they
walked out the door together.
The
first kill together was a peak for Clive, a peak of sustained
pleasure for him and absolute agony for the woman. By the time they
had finished the corpse was barely recognisable as human.
Now
role-play became an active element in their lovemaking sessions as
they tried to re-live the event but soon even that felt wrong.
Clive
felt as if his will was starting to get sucked out, so slowly he
didn't notice it at first. They were now living together (and how had
that happened) and had been for some months. Even though she had a
much bigger house most of his stuff was still in boxes and at first
he hadn't minded.
Something
was missing and it took a while for it to trickle through -he missed
the thrill of the hunt. With Jean everything was planned
meticulously, well planned and clinical. She very rarely let her
urges take her (you were the exception, she said time and time again
-I wanted you so badly I didn't know what else to do) and it really
took the passion out of it for him. He loved the thrill of the hunt,
like in the speed dating circus, the lock picking -it all added to
the excitement.
And
it wasn't long before he gave in to the urges and then it was only a
matter of time until she found out.
“You've
been seeing other people!” It was so predictable, she just couldn't
let him be! He accused her of making it all up, it as all part of her
paranoia. “Paranoia?” She'd shout back. “That certainly wasn't
lipstick on your collar!”
“What
do you expect? You never want to go out any more! We used to do more
together!”
“That's
not true… what about that sweet little Danish girl? She was fun.”
“That
was last month! And you always have to be so damned picky, talk about
high maintenance...”
“Well,
you'll just settle for anyone.” It always ended the same with him
replying:
“I
settled for you.. so yeah!”
That's
how the rows would carry on. They would reach a certain level and one
or the other would walk out for a few days. It wouldn't be long
before the news would report about another inexplicable murder and
they'd be back together again as if nothing had happened, but both of
them knew that time was running out.
One
of them would have to end the relationship.
Timing
was everything. Jean was always on guard around him and was easily a
match for him. It was virtually impossible to sneak up on her and
Jean felt the same way about Clive. Clive could easily kill her if
she made the slightest error. He no longer enjoyed her cooking, would
only drink from bottles that he bought and opened. They slept in
different rooms that were locked and bolted from the inside.
Paranoia
set in deep, or that was what Clive wanted her to think. He wouldn't
come out of his room for days at a time and realised that neither had
Jean. They knew that whilst they were inside they were relatively
safe, in the meantime he had come up with a plan.
It
had taken days to silently chip through the plaster board that
connected their rooms, and there were now dozens of tiny holes poked
through. He was going to smoke her out. When he was ready he would
light a series of fires by the wall and the smoke would be drawn
through the holes into her room. Jean would then be forced out,
weakened, and he would kill her. Or the building would catch fire and
she'd die that way. He was right by the window so it didn't matter!
On
the day he was ready he was actually trembling with excitement. The
thrill of the kill, it had been too long -he couldn't believe that
he'd allowed himself to be trapped in such a way. He felt numb,
lightheaded even.
There
was a funny smell that he'd been aware of for a couple of days but
he'd put it down to his poor hygiene -pissing and shitting in
buckets. It had never occurred to him that Jean was planning
something too. It certainly hadn't crossed his mind that she had also
been chipping away at the plaster, silently creating her own holes.
She
had found a way to create a leak in the gas pipe that ran beneath the
floorboards and to divert it into those holes. Yes, there had been
some leakage back into her room but she had stayed as close to the
window as possible to escape the worst of it.
She
was looking forward to seeing his face as the light finally died
within and he realised who was the master of their relationship.
It was at that second Clive struck the match; the resulting fireball tore down what was left of the wall and killed them both instantly.
"Love
must be as much a light, as it is a flame." -Henry David Thoreau
