My name is Perilloux. Call me Loux. This is my story. Told by me. Now whatever form of 'crazy' I am all the events in this book. They happened. There will be.. well gruesome parts..
So it all started on a suprisingly good day. I hadn't been bullied at school. I was able to eat lunch without gagging. AND it was the beginning of Autumn. My favorite season. The walk home was peaceful and the breeze blew around a few orange leaves from the trees lining the street above me. For once, I walked up the steps of my humble home with a smile on my face. Swinging the door open I call out to the only family I've ever known.
"Daaaaaad, I'm hooooommeeee." My voice was sing songy as I walked through the entry way and into the living room.
"I'm in here sweety." My dad's deep voice rang through the house from the kitchen. Quickly I dashed into the kitchen, a bright smile as I prepare to tell my dad how good a day it was.
I stop in my tracks.
Next to my father is a woman dressed in office attire and a bulky man in a suit, a wire leading up to his ear. His face young. Almost around my age. And handsome. Outrageously handsome. His jaw was strong, a short beard defining it. His whole face screamed masculinity and his eyes. Oh boy. I swear they could see right through me.
Something is wrong. We don't know these people who are these people.
The voices in my head rang loud but I shook them awake, I need to be rational. I walk somewhat slowly to the counter and cautiously set my bag down on the island. Putting a strange smile on my face, obviously cautious of the situation, I greet them.
Ish.
"What's going on some sort of party?" I laugh lightly. The man narrowing his already icy gaze, the woman smiling nervously.
THEY KNOW. They know what we've done we have to run. Now. RIGHT NOW.
Gritting my teeth softly I pushed the voices away again. Calm down. Nothing is wrong these are just some of my father's friends. They don't know what we've done it's fine.
"Honey, these are social workers," he pauses and bites his lip looking anywhere but me. He's lying. And he knows I know he's lying. "They've come to take you to see your mother for the first time."
They're taking me upstate. To a psych ward. Where my mother is. Diagnosed psychopath and schizophrenic, she was ruled 'unfit to serve trial'.
She was sentenced to live the rest of her life in solitary confinement. After all she did have the voices to keep her company. Right? Wrong. I'd never met my mother but dad was allowed to go visit her once a month. And every time he came back.... god.. the look of pure and utter sadness, guilt, and grief got worse and worse.
It is his fault she's in there after all.
He's the one who couldn't keep his dirty mouth shut. But they didn't believe her when she said he had everything to do with it as well. Why?
Because she's crazy.
"Perilloux," I looked to the woman as she said, "What an interesting name. What does it mean?" She smiles at me, a genuine smile, but I can see what she's getting at.
"Essentially it translates to chaos." I smile devilishly. "Which I'm sure is something you're.. very familiar with." I blatantly look down to the lump in the side of her coat. These aren't social workers. These are detectives.
Interesting.
"Why yes," her jaw clenches and unclenches, nervous. So they do know what I did. So why haven't they arrested me?
Simple.
There was no evidence.
Sometimes having voices in your head helps. I would of gotten caught if I hadn't been reminded of the bloody prints I left in the sand with my boots.
Clearly these people knew I was a danger. But they couldn't prove I was. No one ever could.
I may be crazy. But I am very very far from stupid. I was top of my class. Always have been. Always will be.
Everything I did was coldy, brutally, very effectively planned. I had no specific target. I had no pattern. I was a ghost. Whispered about in the dark alleys at night. Everyone wondering who I'm going to kill next. A cheating wife or husband? A pimp? A schoolgirl slut? A stranger walking on the street alone?
24. I've taken 24 souls. The police have found 14 bodies. Tortured brutally before they were killed. The other ten I either burned, or gutted and filled with rocks for them to sink to the bottom of the ocean. And I'm not going to stop anytime soon.
I sigh, looking at them dully. "Are we going to go see my mother or not?" They're nod and move towards the door. The woman goes first. Followed by the handsome man. He stops in front of me. Motioning for me to walk ahead of him. Without acknowledging him I walk after the woman.
As I'm walking I begin to think about how this all started. The first life I took. I remember it like it was yesterday.
I was 16. It was Halloween night and I was dressed up. Trick or treating by myself, as per usual. I had dressed up as a murderous mad hatter. I was walking home for the night. The knife I had glinting as I went under each streetlight. Fake blood was splattered over my costume. A patrol car turned onto the street I was walking on, so I crossed my arms to hide my knife. I turned down an alley. It was relatively dark and dumpsters were lining the walls of the buildings. Hearing cans rattling behind me I whipped around, knife at the ready. Only for a black cat to run past me chasing a rat. I sighed in relief, turning back around to continue my way home.
Only to bump into a rock hard wall. Only it wasn't a wall..
It was a 6'6" 200 pound behemoth made entirely of muscle. Looking warily up at the monstrosity in front of me I had realized I knew who it was. And he knew me.
He was 18. A senior at my high-school. He always made fun of me in chemistry. His name was Ralph Smith. And he hated me, just as I hated him.
Next thing I know I was slammed into one of the brick walls. If not for his hand holding me to the wall by my neck I would of crumbled like a rag doll at his feet. His hot breath fanned across my face, wreaking of liquor. His free hand working on undoing my pants. I struggled to speak to him, let alone scream for help.
"Ralph.." I gasped, he looked at me with drunk, lazy, angry eyes. I hid my knife behind me, using my other hand the pry it his. I gasped again as he tightens his grip. Tears prick my eyes, "Please.. Don't... Do this.." I gasped for air between my words. I tasted the salt of my tears and he finally gave up on undoing my pants, ripping them off my body instead.
As black dots blur my vision I feel something warm press against me. Pain sears through my lower abdomen and I tangled my free hand in his hair, yanking his head back and plunging my knife into the placed where his neck and shoulder meet. Blood splattered but I didn't stop. He dropped taking me with him tears streaking my face as I stab his chest 15 times. When I was done I was coated in blood. My hands trembled from the effort it took to continually stab him. I smiled to myself.
Stabbing him released all the anger and frustration from being bullied every day of my life.
And I loved it.
I dipped my finger in his blood, carefully writing a single word across his forehead.
CHAOS
