Saviour of the Broken

[He Doesn't Look a Thing Like Jesus Because He Isn't]

"Tell me—after my head is chopped off, will I still be able to hear, at least for a moment, the sound of my own blood gushing from the stump of my neck? That would be the pleasure to end all pleasures." - Peter Kürten ('The Vampire of Düsseldorf' killer of a possible 20 people . 1883-1931.)

[Part 1]

There were times where I almost couldn't control myself. I literally craved the feeling of skin ripping open under my blades or the way my hands would get all slippery after only a few precise incisions and I'd have to grip my tools tighter to get the job done. I craved that pungent, thick iron smell that incased the whole room, seeping into my very veins. I accepted that fact that I was messed up years ago, but my father, he had a solution to everything. There's wasn't a problem on Earth my father couldn't solve. He could easily take care of world peace, if war wasn't making him money right now. He took me in at fourteen and gave me this whole room, so sterile and white, to do whatever I was craving. He's my dealer in a sense. He supplies the bodies that knock the edge off the constant urges I have gnawing away at my soul every waking moment. I guess I should say, 'gnawing away at my mind' though. Can someone like me actually have a soul? Do we, as humans, even have souls? No one can prove that they exist, so who's to say they don't? I imagine if they do, I lost mine the day I was brought into this filthy waste land. I started to believe what they were saying when I was younger. People kept telling me and my mother that I was cursed and damned to hell. I was even called the anti-christ once! Ha! Funny little fuckers, people are. They all want to believe in this god and satan shit. They all start praying and reciting verses in their final moments, no matter what walk of life they came from, but regardless, there's no guardian angles that swoop down and grab them from me and take them to the cloud palace in the sky. I did believe them for a spilt second though, back before I had time to form my own opinions. I got to thinking about how maybe there is a god of hell and maybe he did walk the Earth and now here I am, but, truth is, I just didn't want to feel alone and like the freak of nature that I am. Well, freak of nature can be thrown out now I suppose. Gee changed everything for me. I thought I was crazy, I thought I was fucked up. Well, I hadn't seen anything yet. Gerard showed up and gave me a run for my money. His blood lust was insatiable and there was so much hatred that boiled in the boy, just waiting to be let out. I wouldn't find out why until much later, but the fact remains that, I found my match. They say everyone has this perfect match out there and its like puzzle pieces. You have to find the person who fits with your piece. I found mine. That crazy, sick, sadistic boy stole my heart just by looking at me. And don't get me wrong, I will very skillfully extract any bit of information I want out of you, but I fall back on my humanity when it comes to taking out the trash. Gerard doesn't care. He likes to play. He wants blood and he wants lots of it. He wants pain. He wants suffering. He wants a literal hell on Earth for every piece of human scum that humanity spit out. You better hope and pray that I interrogate you, because my boy will fuck you up way more than I'd ever dream of. I like to keep him a leash most days (so-to-speak), but sometimes I like to sit back and let him have a little fun. Like right now at the 10th Street warehouse. This poor bloke has no clue what he's in for. In all honesty, he doesn't deserve this, he's a mere errand boy, too bad I already promised him to Gerard before I even knew who he was. That's the thing though. They're all expendable. So, all-in-all, it doesn't matter.

Gerard was losing his shit. This fucker tied to the chair was pleading with Gerard to kill him, but that was not an option for Gee at that moment (not tonight anyways). Gee was straight up cackling as he administered blow after blow. I was simply sitting back and watching in a chair off to the side. I don't actually see how the poor soul was still alive. Gee had beaten him to the point where his eyes were swollen shut and every now and then he'd spit out another tooth and add to the pile already in the floor. There was a steady flow of blood and spit leaking from his mouth and running down his chin and into his lap. Occasionally Gerard would hit him so hard, the chair would topple over, taking the guy with it, but Gerard would just set it back upright and continue on. Gee's unfortunate subject could barely talk, but he kept saying one thing over and over again: