The Online Profile of a Serial Killer

Posted on *date blocked* (Third Post)

In the stale quietness of the hospital room, I wake up to the disappointment of not having died last night. I lie on the reclining bed repelled by the thought of my chaotic existence. Already in a room tight enough for a tomb, I crave only for oblivion. But Marie has other plans for me. She is beside me, thumbing the space on my forehead between my eyebrows. I hear the beeping of a heart monitor and a white light shines somewhere above my head. Every time I blink, Marie's face doubles, then slowly merges back into one face, then doubles again with another blink.

"Where am I?" I lift my arm to see if I can. An I.V. needle pierces through the skin on the back of my hand.

"You're at St. Mike's," Marie squeezes my shoulder.

"What's happening?" my voice fades.

"You're okay now," Marie holds my hand. My eyes slowly close and she gently shakes me. "You...you're okay."

"I killed them," I whisper.

"Those...those were terrible things. But you had... had nothing to do with them. You heard those stories, you saw them in the news, and you made them Will's stories. That's all you did. And Will...Will is just a character in your head."

I look into her eyes and I see someone who is brave now – decisive. She speaks firmly, and I believe she is there. But she is wrong. I was Will all along. "Just leave me," I close my eyes. 

"I'm not leaving you. I'm... I'm going to help you." Marie hushes me and squeezes my arm.

A nurse enters. "Sorry ma'am. It's passed eleven, he should get some rest."

Marie nods and the nurse leaves. Marie walks to her purse and takes out a green rosary. "Keep this," she hangs the rosary on the footboard of the bed. "I was in the hospital once, too, remember? Do you remember what helped me?" She presses her lips on my forehead and blackness plows over me.

I wake up again, gasping for air. The beeping of the heart monitor fills the void. Florescent light from the hallway pours in through the open door. A figure in the room casts a shadow on my face. The figure is tall and thin, its arms long at its side.

"Hey buddy," the figure says in Will's voice.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor speeds up.

Will walks to my bed and I toil to lift my head for a better look at him. His face is cloaked in shadow from the hallway lights behind him. He leans over to the foot of my bed and touches the rosary that swings and clinks on the metal bars of the footboard.

"You're not real," I force out the words.

"Am I?" Will smiles. "You rest up. You've done some great things, man. You've given me myself. And I've given you yourself. This is what you've always wanted, haven't you?"

Marie's right, it's the meds, I think to myself. I close my eyes expecting the voice to stop. But it doesn't.

"We are closer now," Will says.

"Closer to what?" I say, thinking that speaking back to a spectre of my imagination would make it go away, but the vision of Will only becomes clearer.

"To God," Will says.

I shake my head and the pillow makes crumpling sounds under my head.

"Soon these shit and piss filled bodies of ours won't exist, but we will," Will squeezes my foot under the sheets, and I'm shocked at the solid feeling of his touch.

"You don't exist," I whisper, the beeping of the heart monitor slowing down. "You don't exist," I repeat, drifting into sleep.