The Day I Became a Serial Killer

Chapter 13: The Hard Way

My heart raced at the rate of a cheetah's pace. I tapped away at my screen, letting the unknown number that they wouldn't get away with this.

Me: You fucked up.

Unknown: No, Crystal. You did.

My mother got into the ambulance with my father, telling me to stay with the police. The rear ambulance doors shut as a tear ran down my cheek, displaying the reflection of the ambulance driving off.

"Don't worry. Your father is the toughest man I know. He will make it through this." One of the police officers said.

"I hope so."

"Look, here's my number. Give me a call if you need anything. My name is Officer Watson." The female officer said. "Do you want me to take you to the station or do you want to wait here? Do you have a friend who you can stay with until your Father recovers?"

"Yes," I said.

"Good. I need to go. Goodbye." Officer Watson said, getting in her police car, driving off as well.

Multiple officers investigated our half-burned home, snapping pictures of what used to be where I grew up. All of it... gone.

Every kindergarten photo my mother kept in her drawer, to every finger paintings Jason made in pre-school, to every report card of mine with straight A's, to every family photo we've ever taken and to all the laughs and memories we had in this home. It was all gone.

I promised myself that I would kill the unknown number. Rather it was a she or a he, I knew I'd fuck them up. I also knew it wouldn't be quick. It'd be long and painful. Because, that's all my mother will feel every second Jason is gone. I needed to find him... and William.

I snuck into the part of my house that wasn't burnt to grab my backpack and the pot of Castor Beans. I needed the Ricin. I needed to figure out a way to get money if I was going to get me and my mother a place to stay for the night.

I didn't know what to do, then it hit me. I walked into the territory of those who wield around guns and smoke a hundred blunts on April, 20th. I stood outside his home. Multiple men holding guns, wearing an angry look on their face when they saw me. "This ain't fairy-land, Princess. You in the wrong neighborhood."

I smiled as I walked into the gates of Little-Man's home. "I know who killed your boss," I said.

Little-Man's henchmen exchanged looks to one another. "The hell you talkin' bout', little girl?"

"I know the person who ordered the death of Little-Man and more importantly... who killed him." I lied.

"The Crips got Little-Man." The man said.

"Did they?" I said, looking clever.

"Come inside. We can talk it out in here."

I walked inside with the men, quite nervous, yet excited. The men led me to a room far from the couch where Little-Man sat before I killed him. They creaked the door open, "Boss, someone is here to see you."

There was a desk, flooded with stacks of cash and bags of white powder. A chair faced the wall, opposite of us. "Who is it?" The boss said.

"Someone girl says she knows who killed Little-Man."

The chair flung around, facing us, revealing a man smoking a blunt with a 50 caliber pistol in his lap. "Let her in."

The men closed the door, leaving me and their boss alone in the room. I took a seat. "Who are you?" The man asked.

"I'm the one who knows you're looking for. The man who killed Little-Man."

"Yes, tell me who did it." The man said, coming closer.