A Love to Kill

Part Fifteen

Rodger drove home while his mind was blank. He didn't feel like himself. It seemed as though he was watching himself, outside of his body. It was strange. Rodger couldn't grasp the exact feeling. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel. Remorse maybe?  But should he even feel remorse?

Rodger pulled up to the curb of the graveyard in a black suit. He eyes fell upon the group of people that sat or stood before a fresh grave. Rodger strolled in their direction, his hands in his pockets. He wasn't family. He wasn't anything to Billy. And Billy was nothing to him. So why was he here? He murdered Billy! If these people knew what he had done, they would throw him into that grave! Yet Rodger couldn't stop his feet from moving forward. He couldn't stop himself from joining that group of people. He settled in the back, out of sight, though he highly doubted they would throw him out. Rodger didn't listen to the people that spoke. They weren't the reason he was here.

A black coffin was lowered into the ground, and Rodger observed that it wasn't viewable. For a good reason. Rodger had already seen what horrors the bullet had done to his face. Now that he looked back on it, he must have shot Billy several times without realizing it. He couldn't have done that much damage from just one bullet. Funny. He couldn't remember shooting the gun more than once, or even once. It the sound hadn't accompanied the shots, Rodger would have never realized until looking down that he had killed Billy.

The fact that he couldn't remember such an important fact unnerved Rodger. He wondered if there were other little details that his mind had tucked away from him. But there was nothing he could do about it. What was he supposed to do, go to a hypnotist? Oh well. Maybe it was best he didn't remember. The memories he could see were disturbing enough.

Rodger froze. Disturbing? Did he really just describe his memories as disturbing? Did he see death as disturbing as well? Death? What he had loved all his life, his reason for living? Did he regret killing all those people as well?

Rodger whimpered, soft enough as to not draw attention to himself. What had he become? What had happened to him? Why? He didn't want this. He was a killer that loved death. He was...he was...who was he? Who was he really? He always thought he knew. But now...damn it. He didn't want this!

Rodger backed away from the crowd, and automatically began walking through the graveyard. He needed to get ahold of himself and figure this out. To his horror, nothing came to mind. He didn't know what he felt about all of this. He knew he loved Dawn. He knew he wished he hadn't of killed Billy. But for what reasons? Because now he was in Houston's radar? Or because he felt sincere remorse? He didn't know anymore. He felt so confused.

The grave he saw in front of him, however, made him realize something. He always regretted killing his parents. They were the only ones that he never felt that sick satisfaction when he looked back. He wished every day that he hadn't given into temptation. Rodger felt ashamed of himself.

"Mom." He whispered. "Dad." Rodger doubted that they could hear him. But he had to get some things off his chest regardless.  "I'm sorry." He chuckled to himself. "If you are listening, I doubt you want to hear from me. You're probably better off not hearing from me. But here I am. And I am sorry. I'm sorry that I'm such a piece of shit, and that if you were still alive you'd be ashamed and afraid of me. I'm sorry I'm such a twisted, warped, horrible person. I'm not fit to lick a normal person's boots. But I know that now. I know I'm a bad person. I know I'm an example of the worst type of evil in the world. But Mom, Dad, I met this girl. She's not really that sane either. But she's made me realize some important things. She's made me realize, after all this, that under all of these dark cravings, I'm still human. She made me touch my humanity again, something I haven't felt since I killed you both. Something I haven't felt since I first felt that compulsion to kill people. And I love this girl. I can't even believe a wicked person like me is capable of this much love, let alone love at all, but I do. But she wants me to kill her. She's in pain, and she's going to die whether I kill her or not. I just don't know what to do. I've just discovered that I might somehow redeem myself, yet she wants me to go back. I don't know what to do. Is it wrong to want her to live even though she doesn't want to? Is it sadistic of me to keep that relief from her? I just...I don't know who to turn to. I don't know what to do. I'm so lost." Rodger sighed, and listened to the wind that whispered in his ear. Obviously, there was no-one to answer him. Tears leaked from his eyes and traced lines across his cheek. They fell to the grass and soaked into the earth. Rodger grabbed a chunk of grass and squeezed, pulling it from the ground. He was in so much agony. He didn't know how to deal with himself. Night fell around him, but he was still on his knees, head lowered, tears running down his face.

"Mom." He whispered again. "Dad. I love you. I love you both. Even if you hate me."

He couldn't blame them for that hate. For everyone's hate that radiated toward him like some sort of missile. Part of him hated himself for who he was.

Rodger is my most confusing character. Ever. I think it's because he doesn't know himself, so it's difficult for me to know him. He ALWAYS has these conflicting thoughts running through his head, and they change rapidly. He can turn from cold blooded murderer to sniveling coward in a heartbeat. I'm not really sure what's happening right now. I keep on trying to get Rodger into Dawn's apartment again, but he won't go. He'd rather just hang out and feel sorry for himself. So hopefully in the next part he'll suck it up and move the story along haha.