Serial Killer's Diary: Part 24

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/30/13   8:15  PM

      Being the assistant manager has a few perks.  I get free meals.  I get insurance, both medical and dental.  Not to mention, my pay raise is higher than what I’d expected.  The best part is I don’t have to wait tables anymore.  Instead of tips, I get bonuses now.  I make the schedules too so I don’t have to worry about anyone cutting my hours or giving me every single crap shift while the hot chicks get the best tip hours. 

      I’d been thinking about how to tweak the detective’s noses and perhaps have a little fun with them.  I had planned to try a little undercover surveillance to get a feel for their schedules but there was no need.  They spent most of the day at the restaurant.  While it would be fun to put some Hemlock in their coffee it would be a horrible mistake.  Not only would it blow my cover, Don would be set free and I definitely don’t want that.  It makes me happy to know he is going to rot in jail or perhaps wind up on Death Row.  Every time I think of Don, I just want yell out, “dead man walking”.   Instead, I added a few drops of Visine to one their cups of coffee.  At first I wasn’t sure who got the loaded cup but soon enough, it was pretty obvious.  Blake spent more time in the bathroom than he did digging through Don’s desk.  Yeah, I can’t have a desk until they’ve finished so I’m stuck taking the corporate Webinars at Jack’s desk.  
      I hate that word, “webinar”.  I hate all those stupid little corporate America phraseologies and catch phrases.  It’s right up there with “actionable”, “taking ownership”, “core/corporate values” (by the way, there’s no such thing), or “thinking outside the box”.  My stupid webinar used every one of those idiotic terms and then some.  After a little “face time”, I could be a real “game changer” on the “fast track” to GIVE ME A BREAK!!!  I swear, the next time someone tells me something isn’t “brand” I’m going to punch them in the face.  How’s that for brand?  Or maybe your next “cup a Joe” or “go juice” will get a few squirts of Visine and all you “foodies” have your meals garnished with chopped Hemlock instead of parsley.  I’m headed to bed early tonight, I have that follow up appointment from the MRI. 

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 23

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/29/13   8:45 PM

      At Jack’s request, I met with him today at the restaurant.  He said he would be happy to offer me the assistant manager position, assuming I would sign a document releasing the restaurant (and its parent company) from any kind of wrongful termination suits.  Hmmm…I guess legal is concerned about being held liable for Don’s actions.  I don’t see any reason to hold Don’s behavior against anyone else, especially Jack.  I signed the agreement and, good news; I’m going to get a pretty hefty raise too.  Jack and I were shooting the breeze when a new waitress came knocking on the office door.  She looked barely older than sixteen, sporting a fresh crop of pimples across her nose and chin.  She’s a pathetic replacement for Natalie but beggars can’t be choosers.  The restaurant doesn’t exactly rate high in public opinion right now.   
      Anyway, the girl escorts a couple of men into the office.  The men reached into their jackets and pull out their badges.  Police detectives.  I felt my heart jump into my throat like a rat trying to leap off of a sinking ship.  That little voice inside my head wasn’t so little, it was shrieking like a crazed banshee.  “They’re coming for you.” “You’re busted.”  It was so loud I was afraid everyone in the room could hear it.  As it turns out, the detectives had no real interest in me.  They asked me the same stock questions they asked everyone else.  I wasn’t special in their opinion.  They took my statement and sent me on my way.  It just goes to show how clueless they are.  They’re no match for my superior mind.  It would serve them right if I took them out too.  I wonder- would it be possible?  Could I really pull that off without getting caught?  That would be the true test of my talents.  Well, Detective Blake and Detective Richards prepare to be awed, or dead.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 22

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/28/13    9:15 PM

     I’m definitely feeling the effects from yesterday.  By the time I finished all the yard work for Mr. and Mrs. Flemming, I could barely move.  I hinted to Mrs. Flemming that I might have to move out if I couldn’t find work soon.  With no job and practically nothing coming in from unemployment, I could either eat or have a roof over my head-I couldn’t afford both.  She looked so sad; I swear she had tears in her eyes!  She insisted that she and her husband didn’t want a new tenant.  She said they felt so comfortable with me and it wasn’t like they really needed the money anyway.  It made them feel safe to have a strong young man nearby if they needed any help.  Again, she reminded me of all the times I’ve helped them out, like shoveling the driveway, mowing the grass and cleaning out the rain gutters.  I figured the reason my rent was so low was because I did those things but apparently that’s not the case.  They offered to waive November’s rent if I did a little extra yard work.  Done, only now I can barely move. 

      I slept in and it was late in the day before I was able to get up and shower.  I stood under the steamy spray for at least an hour trying to loosen up my muscles.  Eventually, I managed to get myself moving.  My fridge was empty so I headed over to the store for some groceries.  I ran into Angela there.  She and Marcus have been dating seriously so I had to listen to her gush over her happy little life. Ugh! 

      Anyway, she gets real serious then and asks me if I’ve heard about Natalie.  I was afraid I’d give myself away so I went with the “play dumb” routine.  As her eyes grew teary, she told me Natalie was dead and they suspect foul play.  I could feel the blood draining from my face as I asked her what she meant by foul play.  She says, “They think it was murder.  But if you ask me, I think it was Don.”  Curious now, I asked her why.  She tells me that just before Nikki died, Don had asked her out on a date but Nikki said no.  The next day, Nikki was dead.  Then she says, “And there’s that crap Don told Natalie about you.”  What crap, I ask her.  It seems Don claimed that I told him that I’d had sex with Natalie.  He must think I’m some kind of ladies man because he claimed that I’d managed to make Natalie do other things-perverted things.  He told all of this to Natalie because he suspected she had feelings for me.  “I don’t even talk to that douchebag!” I replied.  I must have shouted it because the other shoppers all turned and looked at me and Angela shushed me.  Angela says, “That’s what I told Natalie, right after you got fired last week”.  She leaned in closer, whispering to me about how Don was saying all kinds of horrible things about me to the whole staff.  
      “That’s why Natalie wouldn’t speak to me,” I interrupted.  Again I was shushed but this news was huge.  Natalie only snubbed me because she thought I was spreading rumors about her.  My heart sank.  Angela said she found out later-after I’d already been canned.  She said Don hit on Natalie and even kissed her in the parking lot.  I’d seen the kiss but apparently, what I hadn’t seen, was Natalie saying that if he ever did that to her again she was going to file sexual harassment charges.       

      She wasn’t in league with Don.  In fact, Angela had finally managed to convince her that Don had lied about me and, if she hadn’t died, Natalie was planning to apologize to me.  Suddenly, the room began to spin.  I couldn’t breathe.  Natalie was dead and the worst part is that she hadn’t deserved to die.  It was all Don’s fault and I was filled with rage. I insisted that Angela and Marcus had to report all of this to the police.  Natalie needed to be avenged.  Angela smiled (a dark and wicked smile) and said, “We already did.”  The police had arrested Don just a few hours earlier.  Marcus was at the restaurant and he called her right after it happened.  He said Don was sobbing like a little girl as they led out in handcuffs.           
      By the time I got home, there was a message on my answering machine from Jack, begging me to come back to work.  He said he couldn’t guarantee that they’d stay open much longer, especially after all the bad press, but he desperately needed an assistant manager and he wanted me for the job. 

Rest in peace, Natalie.

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 21

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/26/13   3:45  PM

      I barely slept last night and no matter how hard I try, I can’t even catch a nap.  Every time I close my eyes I can see her lying there, stiff and lifeless as her mom thrusts down and down again in chest compressions.  It’s not like I have a priest or something and I sure as hell don’t want to confess to the police so I guess this is my outlet.  I was so distraught that I couldn’t even write it down last night.  Sadly, I wasn’t able to tune it out though.  I wanted it to turn out so differently.  I wanted her.  As I watched her mom-pressing down with all of her strength while tears streamed down her cheeks, my vision blurred.  But I should back up and explain it all.  Maybe if I get it all off my chest I can finally get some sleep…

      After I sprinkled the Hemlock on Natalie’s food, yesterday afternoon, I high-tailed it out of the parking lot.  I remembered that she was scheduled to work until 8 because I was foolishly clinging to the idea that maybe she and I could go out after work.  I tried not to think about her but I couldn’t help it.  At 7:40 I finally gave up.  I drove over toward the restaurant and parked next door in the Starbuck’s lot.  I saw Natalie exit but she was followed by someone else.  I had borrowed Mr. Flemming’s binoculars a while back and there were still in my glove box.  As I peered through the high powered lenses I noticed it was Don.  They stood by her car for a few moments and then he kissed her.  I hope Don gets pounded into oblivion by his cellmate when he ends up prison.  Anyway, she got in her car and I followed from a safe distance.  I expected her to drive to her apartment, which is why I brought the binoculars but she didn’t.  I saw her pull into the driveway of a large house with blue shutters.  I drove past the driveway and up the hill.  From across the street I could see into the house through the gigantic bay windows.  Natalie walked in without knocking so, naturally, I was curious.  I could see her hugging an older couple and, judging from their age, I assumed it was her parents.  I watched her cross through to the back of the house and pop her take-out container into the microwave.  She was sitting at the kitchen table talking then her mom hugged her again.  I watched as she dug into her food and washed it down with a large glass of iced tea.  Well, I assumed it was iced tea-it was brown and there was a lemon slice floating in the glass. 

      I began to wonder if I had put enough Hemlock in the food.  It seemed like I was waiting there, watching through those binoculars for an eternity.  Finally, Natalie stood and started walking out of the kitchen when she froze.  Next thing I knew, she tipped over onto the floor like a felled tree-stiff and lifeless.  I could see her mom shriek and I swear I could hear it piercing my eardrums like a silent dart.  I could see her mouth, “call nine-one-one as she dropped to her knees and flipped Natalie over.  Her father dashed to the phone.  They still have a wall phone hanging in their kitchen. 

      Weird, I never really had a relationship with my dad.  He’d left us and I lived with my mom until she killed herself.  By then, he was already involved with another woman and had a new family.  I ended up in a boarding school, essentially an orphan.  But Natalie, she clearly had a family that she loved and they loved her.  Even her dad was sobbing openly when the EMT’s carted her out of the house on the gurney.  It wasn’t until I went to put the binoculars back that I realized they were soaking wet.  The tears streaming down my face matched those of Natalie’s father.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 20

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/25/13    6:15 PM

      I was up early this morning.  I’d forgotten to turn off my alarm since I only recently joined the ever growing ranks of the unemployed.  It was still dark outside and I decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood to try to clear my mind.  As I wandered along, I seemed to end up in front of the house growing the Hemlock.  With no one around, I snagged a few handfuls and stuffed them into my pockets, wondering how I was going to pull off my newest mission. Once I got home I chopped up the leaves and put them in a zipper-seal bag.

      By then it was time to shower and head over to the hospital.  There’s nothing exciting to report there.  The techs were friendly enough but they aren’t allowed to tell me anything.  It was the ride home that made all the difference. 

      There’s no way to avoid it, I have to drive past the restaurant on my way home from the hospital.  The instant its stucco exterior came into view I found myself wishing a huge meteor would come hurling through the sky and smash the whole place into oblivion.  It didn’t.  But something almost as good happened.  As I sat at the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green, I noticed Natalie scurrying across the parking lot with a package in her hand.  I had one of those, should’ve had a V-8 moments, where I smacked myself in the head.  I can’t believe I forgot. Natalie always takes home whatever is left over from her lunch.  Since it’s been kinda chilly out, she probably figured it was safe to put it in her car.  I was silently cursing myself for forgetting the Hemlock but then I reached into my pocket and it was there!  I didn’t remember putting it back into my jacket pocket but I’m so glad I did.  Revenge really is sweet but, in this case, it is also a dish best served as cold leftovers.  As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed Don’s car was nearby and the spot next to Natalie’s car was open.  Natalie has a bad habit of leaving her car unlocked so it’s about time someone teaches her a lesson. 

      One of the advantages of being an ex-employee is that I know for a fact the video cameras in the parking lot do not work.  Well, take that Natalie.  The chopped leaves look exactly like parsley but I really got lucky because Natalie had ordered the Garlic Alfredo Chicken.  The garlic scent is so strong she’ll never smell the Hemlock.  A second death by Hemlock to employees of the same restaurant will certainly catch the attention of the authorities.  The restaurant will probably close once the media catches wind of it but if they hadn’t fired me, they wouldn’t be in this mess.  Goodbye, Natalie!

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 19

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/24/13   2:00 PM

      Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.  In spite of my aching and fever, I hauled my butt into work anyway.  We’ve been shorthanded between Nikki’s death, Natalie’s bereavement, and Jack’s flu.  As it turns out, Natalie was back today.  I tried to say hi to her but she was very cold and distant.  I asked her if I’d done something to upset her but she walked away in a huff.  Ten minutes later, I’m in Don’s office getting reamed out because I made Natalie feel “uncomfortable”.  The bastard fired me!  As I was walking out the door, I heard him say to Natalie, “You don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore”.  So, after everything I did for Natalie, she got me fired.  How could she do that to me?  I could have reported her for harassment and defamation of character.  She told people I was gay, for crying out loud –but I didn’t!  Instead, I got her out of an abusive/unfaithful relationship and this is how she repays me. Maybe Natalie needs to be reunited with her boyfriend… 

      This is going to take some serious planning.  If she turns up missing, Don will surely try to pin the blame on me.  He’s had a bug up his butt about me since I started there.  But, if I can find a way to stick him with the rap, it would be sweet justice. No, make that righteous retribution.  Yes, that’s what I need to do.  Both of them will pay.  I guess I’ll have plenty of time to figure out a plan while I’m at the damn unemployment office.  More later-

5:00 PM

      Now that all of the stupid paperwork for unemployment is finished, I can focus my attention on more important issues-Natalie and Don.  Maybe I should    

Well, crap!  I forget what I was going to write.  The hospital called and they can get me in for that MRI tomorrow.  They set me up for an appointment with one of their physicians on the 31^st , to get the test results.  The girl who called sounded hot.  Her voice was sort of throaty and really sexy, think Demi Moore (back in the day and pre- Ashton Kutcher, when she was smoking hot)  I wonder if the voice on the other line had been one of the ladies at the restaurant.  With the obvious exception of Becky, those other chicks were pretty cute.  Gotta forget the honeys and focus! 

      I need to find out where Natalie and Don live and what they do outside of work.  I wish I could figure out a way to get Hemlock into their food. No, wait….I only need to get Hemlock into Natalie’s food.  Twice in the same restaurant and this time no quail…maybe Don would get nailed for both Nikki and Natalie’s death.  Now that would be sweet!  I need to do some recon and tonight, after dark, I need to snag some more of that Hemlock before it dies.  It’s been getting chilly lately.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 18

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/23/13    7:30 AM

      My body aches from the exertion but it’s that sweet agony that runners and bodybuilders extol.  I used to think they were insane but now I finally understand what they’ve been talking about.  Even my morning coffee smells richer and tastes smoother now that I’ve transcended beyond the limitations of my pain.  As I savored my steaming mug of coffee, I clicked on the morning news.  
      Their top story was the death of Dr. Daiwik Dheshmukh (see, Dick was much easier) and a Ms. Claudette Beal.  So, the tramp has a name-not that I care. They also shed some light on the mysterious feminine shadow I saw at Dick’s door.  Plot twist!  The incensed Mrs. Dheshmukh had uncovered the truth behind her husband’s trysts.  She went to the front desk and told them she had accidentally forgotten her keycard.  She provided her driver’s license and since the room was registered to a Mr. and Mrs. Dheshmukh, they gave her a key.  It’s still unclear where she got the handgun but the first thing she did was put a bullet into Ms. Beal’s head.  After the shot, she noticed her husband sprawled out on the grungy carpet with his head split open like a smashed jack-o-lantern and that’s when she screamed.  So, the recently deceased Claudette Beal has been blamed for Dick’s death and his little Missus is currently sporting a D.O.C. orange jumper, awaiting arraignment for the murder of Claudette.

       As an added bonus, Becky the bitch was found in her home last night.  She wasn’t important enough to get top story status though.  Just like I said, no one gave her a thought until she didn’t show up to work.  Her manager at the hospital had called, as did her co-workers, wondering why she hadn’t shown up for her shift.  Apparently, they got suspicious because Becky had been awarded for perfect attendance five years running.  Her employer contacted the police and they approached her landlord.  When the rescue workers finally entered her home, her cat had chewed off parts of her face.  It seems they also took advantage of the hole I’d left in Becky’s belly.  Her entrails were strewn about the kitchen.  I watched the entire program to see if I could score the trifecta- a little shout out, if you will, about Natalie’s Neanderthal but local junkies don’t make the network news.  I guess there just aren’t enough hours in the day for that sort of thing.    

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 17

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/22/13   11:59 PM

      I woke up this morning feeling like crap and blaming Jack and his damn flu.  I was tempted to call off tonight but I’m so glad I didn’t!  Dick switched it up.  He and his floozy came in tonight.  The hostess sat him in Sean’s section but I wasn’t about to let a prime opportunity slip though my fingers.  Sean suddenly ended up with a case of explosive diarrhea after I put a whole mess of Ex-Lax in his coffee cup.  I think, not that it matters, that I even managed to get Don to like me.  When Sean went down, I told Don not to worry I could handle both stations.  He looked shocked.  Not only did he thank me, he stayed out of my hair.  He even shook my hand at the end of the night, thanked me again, and told me I was “a stand-up guy”.  Whatever.  I only wanted to get to Dick. Before Sean’s pressing engagement with the toilet, I slipped out to my car to get the Roofies.  I noticed one small flaw in my otherwise perfect plan.  I had forgotten to put my driving gloves back in the car.  I had worn them inside after dealing with Natalie’s Jackass now-dead boyfriend.  I was starting to panic when I realized I had something even better right here in the kitchen-latex gloves.  All the food handlers wear them. (or at least they’re supposed to wear them)

      Everything else went according to plan.  I started with the half-dose in his tramp’s wine.  Next it was a sprinkle on her salad then some more on her entrée.  You should have seen Dick’s face.  He was furious that she was so sloppy drunk.  I could hear him hissing at her under his breath to get her act together.  Halfway through the entrée she was slurring and could barely keep her head up.  In my most professional tone, I asked Dick if I could interest him in some dessert or perhaps some coffee.  At first he said no, he wanted the check.  Very softly, so that no one else could hear, I said, “How about if I bring you both some coffee, no charge.  It might do the lady some good.”  I knew I was pressing my luck.  He might have socked me one right in the face but he looked at me with appreciation and thanked me.  Mwah ha ha. 

      Just like I’d planned, I put the rest of the ground up Roofies in his coffee and I told him I’d be back in a few minutes with his check.  He’d noticed that I was running around like a madman trying to clean up two stations so he told me to take my time.  I did.  I wanted to make sure he had plenty of time to finish his coffee.  When he’d drank every last drop I brought him his check and even helped him get his tramp out to his car.  He slipped an extra $20 cash in my hand-in addition to the $25 that he’d tallied onto his credit card slip.  Don was so impressed with the way I’d handled the 2 stations he let me go and had Brandi stay to help him lock up. 

      With a pocketful of latex gloves, I hopped into my car.  I could see Dick’s sleek Beemer darting out of the parking lot and I was just behind him.  I could see him dragging her to their room.  He was staggering pretty badly as well-which is good for me. I was glad to see their room was on the second floor because there weren’t any security cameras on the upper tier.  I still can’t believe a rich guy like him would take a woman to a motel where the doors are directly outside.  C’mon man, at least spring for a Comfort Inn.  Anyway, I gave them a few minutes to settle in as I got my Heisenberg hat and the rest of my stuff ready. 

      It was easier than taking candy from a baby.  He stumbled to the door, opened it and nearly fell on top of me.  Hoochie-mamma was out cold and Dick’s skull split like an overripe melon.   His blood and brain matter were splattered all over the tramp as I pressed the hammer into her hand.  She’s a righty, by the way.  Then I slipped out without a sound.  I was in my car congratulating myself on my successful mission when I heard a gunshot.  There, shadowing the doorway of Dick’s motel room was the outline of a woman. I didn’t stick around to find out what was going on up there.  I’m sure I’ll read about it in the newspaper tomorrow.  I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 16

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/21/13   3:45 PM

I am so pissed off I can’t even see straight.  Usually, Jack schedules me when he is on because I don’t get along with our other manager, Don.  Well, Jack has the flu so Don was covering and he was giving me shit at every turn.  First I was being too social with our guest- then I wasn’t social enough.  Then, some crazy pregnant chick orders a Nicoise Salad with no capers and only romaine lettuce.  She pitched a fit, saying that there was iceberg lettuce mixed in.  Damn if I can tell what kind of freaking lettuce is in her stupid salad!  She got really loud and sure enough Don comes swooping in.  He trashed me in front of the customer and when I called him out on it, he sent me home.  Can you believe he said I have anger management issues?  Yeah, we’ll see who needs anger management when he’s six feet under.  Hmm, maybe Don has a point.   

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 15

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/20/13   2:15 PM

      My “date” with Natalie was an epic disaster.  All that excitement, fantasizing, and wishful thinking was in vain.  Huge mistake!  She was never interested in me and I was a fool to think otherwise. 

      At the end of our shift she was giddy and chattering away.  She convinced me to ride with her to the party-mistake number two.  She was introducing me around and it all seemed to be going great.  She was laughing at my jokes we made fun of some of our coworkers and bonded over some drinks.  All of the sudden, she gets a text and says, “Oh darn, Brian is running late.”  Before I can even ask who Brian is, a hulking steroidal freak comes up behind her and lifts Natalie into the air, twirling her around.  Next thing I know, she’s playing tonsil hockey with the walking muscles.  I stood there, stunned trying to figure out what happened.  When she’s finally on the floor again she introduces me to her boyfriend, Jeremy or Jackass or something.  As it turns out, my date was running late.  Yeah, you guessed it-her cousin, Brian.  She thinks I’m GAY!!!  I tried to tell her I’m not gay and she says to me, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s okay to be gay.” To which her douchebag boyfriend made a crude, homophobic remark.  I ignored him for the moment to tell her that if I was-and I stressed was- gay, I wouldn’t be ashamed but I am absolutely not gay.  I tell her I appreciate the thought but I’m going to go home.  That’s when I realize that I have no car.  I was so devastated, I was ready to walk back home.  Natalie started crying, apologizing and insists that Jackass drive me back to the restaurant.  So he’s driving, she’s in the front seat next to him and I’m in the backseat, wishing I was dead.  The tires barely hit the parking lot and I dashed out of the car and sprint to my car.  Next thing I know, Natalie is running behind me, bawling.  She hugged me and begged me to forgive her.  Damn, she felt so good in my arms.  I didn’t want to let go.  She pecked my cheek and apologized again.  I couldn’t help it. I told her not to worry about it.  I’m such a sucker where she’s concerned.  I can still smell her perfume on my shirt.  I’m tempted to never wash it again. 

      Now, here’s where I find redemption.  As I was pulling out, I notice they’re both standing outside the car, arguing.  I can see that she’s upset and he’s screaming at her.  Then he signed his own death certificate.  He slapped her.  I followed them from a distance.  Natalie never went back into the party.  She immediately jumped in her car and drove home.  I wanted to follow her, console her, make love to her, but she was too upset.  Besides, Jackass needed my attention more than she did.  When the vile pig finally staggered out from the party he had a trashy blonde bimbo climbing all over him.  He might have nailed her right there on the hood of his car but I’m not positive.  First he hits Natalie, then he cheats on her…yeah this jerk needs to die.  I followed him and his new slut to someone’s apartment.  They were going at it again the whole way to their room.  I listened in the hallway-they never bothered to lock the door.  Why are people so stupid?  I waited a while, until the grunting and “Oh yeah, baby” shouts ended.  Then there was silence.  I tiptoed inside.  They were sprawled out on the bed-naked but what really caught my attention was the sleek rubber tubing next to a lit candle, a torched spoon and a syringe.  He’s a junkie.  I don’t have to worry at all.  They’re out cold and there’s enough junk there to make sure he never wakes up.  I load another syringe and inject, then another and another and another.  Finally he convulses and I know he’s gone.  As I drove home, I look down at my leather driving gloves and smile.  The best twenty bucks I’d ever spent.  Again, no prints-not that anyone is going to check on a junkie overdose. 

      I’m glad I have today off.  I am exhausted but who knows…maybe after an appropriate grieving time Natalie will give me another shot.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 14

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/18/13    9:10 AM

I just got off the phone with Radiology.  I have to go back in for another MRI.  I very angrily informed the doctor that I could not afford to pay for another damn MRI but he assured me that I will not be charged.  Really?  Since when does this cog in the financial dominance wheel do something for free?  I suspect there is a reason for the sudden altruism because their generosity is never fueled by genuine concern.  I tried to find out why but he was very tight-lipped, making me that much more suspicious.  He merely hinted that perhaps the first study was not as clear as it ought to have been and that it is urgent that they repeat the test as soon as possible.  At that point he transfers me to scheduling.  Their first available appointment is October 31st. I explain to the moron that the doctor told me it was urgent to have this test performed and urgent means now- not two weeks from now.  She very rudely told me the 31st is the first available and she put me in for 10AM.  Then she hung up on me.  Clearly, she wants to play “Die, Bitch, Die” with me.  We’ll just see if I can figure out who Becky in scheduling is and pay her a little visit. 

9:30 AM

While showering, I had the radio on.  Now I see why the hospital is performing a free MRI. The story is all over the news.  The Radiology Department hired an intern to attach the films and corresponding reports to all of the patient files.  Somehow their free laborer made a boo-boo.  Instead of attaching each test and report to the appropriate file, she copied the same exact information onto ever patient file.  They no longer know whose files are accurate and whose have been compromised so they must retest everyone from the time the intern started until they discovered the problem yesterday.  It appears that the unnamed student is costing the hospital hundreds of thousands of dollars.  If I knew who it was, I would shake his/her hand. 

11:59 PM

I sure hope Marcus made the most of his date with Angela because it was hell-night at the restaurant.  Miserable customers and stingy tips, I need a better paying job.  There was a small ray of sunshine on my otherwise crappy evening.  Around six o’clock a group of ladies wearing uniforms were seated in my section.  Their badges showed they worked at the hospital.  As I was approaching their table I heard a familiar voice.  One of the ladies was telling her co-workers about a call she’d had with a “difficult patient”.  She repeated our conversation-verbatim- then had the nerve to call her “patient” (meaning me) an asshole.  I took a deep breath and approached their table.  They all ordered drinks-alcoholic drinks.  In my very charming mode, I tell them they can’t possibly be old enough to order alcohol and I ask them for their IDs.  They giggled and flirted and handed over those driver’s licenses.  There it was: Rebecca Hadley 1465 Sycamore Lane.  I had the bitch’s address in my hand and you’d better believe I memorized it.  By nine-thirty the restaurant cleared out and Jack was kind enough to let me leave early. I ignored the pain racking my body and took a little ride down Sycamore Lane.  Becky the Bitch is actually stupid enough to hang her work ID from the rearview mirror of her car, proving she was home.  I zipped my black jacket up to cover the white button-down I have to wear for work and pulled my black leather driving gloves from the bag in my trunk.  A black ski mask, leftover from last winter, called to me from the corner of my trunk.  I folded it to look like a regular woolen cap, knowing I might need to pull it down over my face.  Casually strolling down the street, I slipped into the alley and crept to the back of 1465-a frumpy little half-double to match a frumpy little cow like Becky.  I peered in the window.  She was stuffing her face with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while watching TV and petting her cat.  The moron actually leaves her spare key under the Welcome mat at her back door.  The look of surprise on her pudgy face was priceless-almost as perfect as the terror in her eyes as I squeezed her flabby neck.  It took longer for her to die than the Jenkins bitch-probably all those folds of skin cushioning her windpipe.  I waited for about ten minutes after she finally stopped kicking to let go.  I know because I watched the minutes tick away on her wall clock. I couldn’t feel a pulse but I didn’t completely trust myself through the gloves so I snatched a steak knife from her kitchen and plunged it into her belly.  She did not flinch-proof she was really dead.  I turned off her porch light and slipped out the back.  No one saw me and I’m guessing no one will notice until she doesn’t show up for work on Monday.  Bitches like her-the ones who are home alone on a Friday night –only have Ben & Jerry for companionship outside of work.  I have a feeling I’ll sleep like a baby tonight!   

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 13

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental**

10/17/13   11:15 PM

      I knew Dick wouldn’t show up last night but I had a hard time shaking the disappointment.  I puttered around my apartment until it was time to go to work.  My mother would have called it sulking.  This from a woman who downed a glassful of drain cleaner when my dad left her for another woman.  Talk about sulking…way to go, Mom!  Well, whether it was sulking or not, I wasn’t really feeling like myself.  I guess it was obvious because Natalie kept coming to my station asking me if I was okay.  She was wearing that perfume that I love.  I swear that stuff knocks me out.  It looked like she did something different with her hair too.  She blushed when I asked her if she’d just had her hair done.  I don’t understand why that’s such a big deal to women but it is.  She smiled and blushed and twirled her hair around her finger whenever she noticed me facing her direction.  I thought she was acting peculiar but then she did something really weird.  She asked me out.  Before I could even process what she’d said, she told me she had compared our schedules and we both get off at seven Saturday night.  She said we could leave right from here and catch a movie or her friend’s party.  She said she wouldn’t take no for an answer so I guess I have a date Saturday night.

      I have to admit, I was feeling pretty good when I clocked out.  I was on top of the world.  Not even the unusually heavy traffic could bring me down but just when you feel invincible-that’s when the other shoe drops.  I should have known it wouldn’t last.  I hadn’t even flicked on the lights and my kitchen was illuminated with a pulsing red glow.  My answering machine flickered spastically, beckoning me to listen to unplayed messages.  There were five messages.  Most people wouldn’t give that a second glance but almost no one uses my landline number.  The first one was a sales call or perhaps a collection call-not that I care.  Neither of them will be getting their greedy mitts on what little money I have.  The second was from a cousin I never speak to, inviting me to her  housewarming-slash-painting party.  I swear to God, that’s exactly how she said it too, she actually said the slash.  She wants me to give up my free time to paint her house for free and bring her a damn present because she moved into a new house?  Get bent.  

      The last three calls were from the hospital.  The first one was a cool, detached computer voice asking me to call them.  The second was an actual person telling me it was urgent that I call.  The third was doctor somebody with a horribly thick accent telling me I must contact radiology as soon as possible regarding a procedure performed by his department.  Fan-freaking-tastic!  Like I’m ever going to get any sleep with this hanging over my head.  They have my damn cell number in their computer!  Why wouldn’t they call my cell if it was so freaking urgent?  If I didn’t need those Roofies to give my old pal Dick what’s coming to him, I’d probably sprinkle a little in my iced tea. It's going to be a long night.

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 12

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/16/13       8:00 AM

      Okay, I’ve mapped it all out.  I’ve got the perfect plan so even if Dick and his hoochie-mama show up tonight (even though they shouldn’t) I will be ready.  

      I’ve already ground the Roofies up into a fine powder and divided it up into dose sized packets.  On her second glass of wine, Dick’s “date” will get a half-dose of powder added in (at no extra charge)  She will appear tipsy at first.  As their meal progresses she will get more powder sprinkled on her food or in her drink.  God bless the drug companies for developing this odorless, tasteless little gem. Toward the end of the meal, the little lady (and I use that term loosely) will be barely able to hold her head up.  Dick will assume she’s drunk so they’ll both order coffee.  If not, I will recommend it as an attempt to help her sober up.  That’s when the last dose will go into Dick’s coffee.  I need for him to be able to drive to their crappy little love nest before it kicks in.  I will be following right behind them the whole way.  If their last tryst was any indication, Dick will have already checked in before arriving at the restaurant.  He’ll already have his key and drag his barely conscious date to their room.  A moment to two later I will knock on the door and he should be feeling almost drunk by then.  When he opens the door, he will see a man dressed in black with the brim of a “Heisneberg hat” pulled down low (Thank you, Breaking Bad!). I’d even sprung for a cheap pair of glasses from the dollar store to help detract from my appearance.  Before Dick can react, I’m going to crack him in the head with a hammer.  I will immediately push my way inside and shut the door.  My black leather driving gloves will prevent fingerprints as I choke the last breath from Dick’s lungs.  I can almost see him looking up at me with tear-filled, terrified eyes just like that bitch Jenkins.  Then, the icing on the cake…I’ll take the hammer and smash his skull open.  I’ll put the hammer in his tramp’s hands and squeeze her fingers around the handle.  I’ll splatter her with Dick’s blood and, just for fun, maybe some brain fragments.  

      Someone will have to take the rap and it sure as hell won’t be me!  I will keep a close eye on her while she eats to make sure I know if she’s right-handed or a lefty.  This time I’ve planned out every step and nothing is left to chance.  I already have a bag packed and safely stashed in my car with everything I will need: 1 brand new ball peen hammer completely wiped of fingerprints, 1 travel sized packet of antibacterial hand wipes, 1 pair black leather driving gloves, 1 pair of cheap glasses, 1 Heisenberg hat, one pair of size 13 pull-over galoshes or what they now call “rubber over shoes” to prevent anyone from linking an accidental footprint to me since I wear a size 11 shoe, and finally, the powdered Roofies. 

      All I have to do now is wait-which is always the hardest part.  As much as I want it to be tonight, I know they won’t come two weeks in a row.  But I’ll be ready if they do.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 11

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/15/13   7:10 AM

I can’t sleep.  I had a horrible dream.  I dreamt the police were investigating the Hemlock thing and they were able to trace that I’d been researching Hemlock (even before Nikki was poisoned) by my computer’s IP address.  I woke up just as they slapped the cuffs on my wrist.  I swear I can still feel the cold steel clamping down and it makes my skin crawl!  From now on I will need to do my research at the library-preferably in printed encyclopedias so there’s no trail back to me.  I can’t believe I was so stupid. My computer has to go.  As much as I hate to do it, I have no choice but before I do, I need to find out how to strip the computer completely.  Be back soon….. 

7:33 AM  

Okay, I’m not proud of it but I managed to destroy both my computer and, regrettably, the Flemming’s microwave.  I couldn’t use my own.  Bad enough I have to buy a new computer, I can’t afford a new microwave too.  Mr. and Mrs. Flemming are like clockwork.  Every morning they leave at precisely 6:58 AM to meet their other retired pals for coffee and breakfast.  After they eat, they go walking at the mall. That left me with plenty of time to dig their spare key out of the fake rock in their flower bed and torch my trusty laptop.  Needless to say, those yappy little ankle-biters were going nuts the whole time.  It’s a miracle I didn’t test the Hemlock on those mongrels but it would break Mrs. Flemming’s heart and she’s always been good to me.  With no other way to shut them up, I tossed a couple of Milk-Bones into their crates to get some peace and quiet.  After my laptop was cooled enough to touch, I locked up and returned the spare key to its hiding place.  In the privacy of my apartment, I then proceeded to smash the warped pile of waste into tiny bits.  It will go out tonight with the rest of the garbage then tomorrow to its new home at the landfill.  Adios Amigos.  I’m going to stop over at Best Buy on my way to work and see if I can find a decent replacement.  From now on, I have to be more careful.  I’m going to sit down tomorrow and start mapping out my plans for Dick.  It could happen as early as next Wednesday and I need to be on top of things.  No more mistakes!

   

10:43 PM

I am one lucky SOB.  Best Buy had a really nice laptop on clearance and I got an additional 20% off because I applied for their credit card.  I never used to believe in signs but I’m a believer now.  I am on the right path.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 10

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/14/13    8:45 PM

      I am a genius!  Today, at work I solved my conundrum.  Marcus, our resident wannabe gangster asked me to work his shift on Friday night.  He’s been stalking Angela for a while now and she finally agreed to a date but she’s only available on Friday night and Marcus is supposed to work.  Obviously, I do not care about helping him get laid especially when I’ve been on a dry spell myself but I decided to see what I could get for myself out of his proposition.  I told him I didn’t think I’d be able to do it because I’ve been in so much pain.  I told him it darn near crippled me to cover Angela’s shift this past weekend.  Marcus says, “So, if you weren’t in pain, you’d do it?”  He proceeds to tell me that he could see his way clear to giving me a handful of Oxycontin if I’d work his shift.  Now, he has my attention.  I’d heard whispers and rumors that Marcus liked to dabble in drug distribution but I needed to find out for myself.  I told him that would work for my shift but afterward I’d be in so much agony I wouldn’t be able to sleep.  I tell him it’s too bad he can’t give me something to completely knock me out and keep from feeling any pain. 

      Marcus has a bad habit of popping his gum when he’s thinking really hard…for him that’s mostly a perpetual state.  He’s not the brightest crayon in the box.  I wanted to slap him so hard his gum would fly right out of his mouth but I didn’t.  I wanted to see if he could come up with Roofies all by himself.  He didn’t- at least not right away.  First he suggested heroin.  I shot that down immediately.  I can’t put heroin in Dick’s food or drinks.  I proceeded to tell him I was looking for something more like a muscle relaxer that would knock me out.  More gum popping, then finally he says he can give me something that would knock me out so hard someone could violate me 10 ways to Sunday and I’d never know it.  Innocently, I asked him what could do something like that.  After all, I say, I don’t know anything about drugs and I don’t want to take something that will show up in my urine and get me fired.  He told me he could get me “Rohipnol” the idiot can’t even pronounce it but he’s gonna get it for me.  I told him if he can really get me both of those meds-let’s say five a piece- I’ll work his shift.  He says to let him make a few phone calls and he’d let me know before I went home.  An hour later he stuffs something in my pocket.  He tells me I need to tell Jack tonight that I’m covering Friday night.  I snuck into the bathroom and closed the stall door.  Sure enough there were ten pills in a little baggie.  I saw Roofies once on 60Minutes and they were the real deal.  I’ve got Dick just where I want him now.  It’s just a matter of patience.   

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 9

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/13/13    10:00 PM

      Well, the Hemlock is real and Nikki is dead.  As a sort of penance, I worked her shift and mine and Angela’s. (I also needed the money.)  Nikki and Angela were best friends; or perhaps friends with benefits if the rumors were true.  By the time I got off last night I was too damn tired to do anything but sleep.  Today wasn’t much better with all the teary-eyed waitresses getting on my last nerve but Natalie was hostessing again.  She hugged me and said I was kind for covering Angela’s shifts.  God, she smells good. 

      In other news, I am in the clear.  The hospital confirmed that Nikki died of Hemlock poisoning BUT they’re blaming it on her food.  The chef’s special to be exact.  As it turns out, quails can ingest Hemlock and it does not kill them; however, it will kill a person if they, in turn, eat the quail.  Nikki stealing my roast quail was like divine intervention.  There is no way for a chef to know if the quail was tainted so there’s no recourse for the restaurant.  Quite the opposite, the distributor is the one who’s taking the rap and I get off Scott-Free.  I nearly wet my pants laughing at this morning’s headlines.  Every newspaper, not to mention all the local TV newscasts, jumped all over the story.  Quail, the quiet killer.  It’ll be too risky to use the Hemlock again so I’ve been researching other options for my old pal, Dick. Natural Neuro-blockers are pretty much out of the question.  They do exist but they’re going to be much harder to come by so I may have to consider street drugs.  Roofies would render a similar effect and are much easier to get my hands on.  Now I just have to find a dealer I can trust-as much as anyone can trust a drug dealer, that is.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 8

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/11/13    7:45 AM

I can’t sleep.  The pain is back and worse than before.  Dick recommended that I go for a walk when I’m really hurting because it will loosen up my muscles.  Dick is a dumbass.  The walk only made me hurt more but there was one positive note.  I figured out where I’d seen those Hemlock flowers before.  Two blocks down, there’s a little cottage style house that looks like something out of a fairy tale.  Growing along the border of their wildflower garden were the same little clustered white flowers and the lacy leaves triangular that I’d seen in the pictures.  Since I was the only one out strolling the neighborhood, I picked a large bunch and high-tailed it home.  I went straight to my computer and compared the pics.  I am almost positive they’re the same plant.  There’s only one way to be sure.  I will need to try it out on someone and I think I know exactly who I can use as my guinea pig.  I’m gonna take a couple of Percocets and go back to sleep.  I have a double shift tonight.  More later.

Still 10/11/13   11:59 PM

Shit!  Houston, we’ve got a problem.  The good news: the Hemlock is real and it works.  The bad news: I’m not sure if I’m in the clear this time.  I was working with Nikki tonight and, as you know, I can’t stand her.  I had ordered the chef’s special tonight for myself and I was going to eat it on my break.  Jack’s pretty cool about giving us a discount on the food-50% off when we’re working.  I was just about to clock out because Alex had my meal plated.  Nikki clocked out and started eating my dinner!  I was so pissed.  I swear it was like I was on auto-pilot or something.  I was watching myself from the outside-like an out of body experience.  I walked into the back, opened my bag, and pulled out a handful of leaves and stems from the Hemlock.  When Nikki got up to refill her drink, I mixed them in with her, or I should say my, spring mix salad.  She ate it all.  The funny thing is, she kept complaining to Alex that the greens were really bitter and he told her she needed to quit smoking because it was messing up her taste buds.  About a half hour, maybe 45 minutes later, Nikki doubled over in pain.  Seriously, she fell over onto a tray full of food and just laid there sobbing.  Jack called an ambulance and they took her to the hospital.  Jack called us from the hospital just before closing but he hadn’t heard anything yet.  He kept saying something about hippo laws and that the hospital wouldn’t disclose any information to him.  (Idiot)  It’s HIPAA but I’ll let him slide.  Jack’s a pretty healthy guy so I doubt he spends much time having to read all those stupid forms from the doctor’s offices.  I’ve signed enough waivers so I sure as heck know all about those laws.  Anyway, I have a feeling Nikki is dead.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 7

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/9/13    6:53 PM

      I could barely sleep last night.  My mind was reeling with possibilities.  I spent some time online doing research.  Holy crap, that Ricin thing is real!  Not only is it real, you can buy the plants for practically nothing!  I also got a rough idea on how to process the seeds to make the Ricin-thanks to an article by the CDC.  It might take a little time to get the process down but it’s still a viable option.  Another interesting choice would be Hemlock which is also sold as decorative ground cover.  The flowers looked so familiar to me and I’ve been racking my mind ever since I saw those pictures.  Eventually it will come to me but in the meantime I have some serious studying to do. 

      I’m not sure if I want to go with poison though.  There was a satisfaction to killing Jenkins with my bare hands, watching the terror in her eyes fade as her life slipped through my fingers.  I think I would enjoy lording that control over Dick.  He needs to be knocked down a few pegs.  Perhaps I can find a natural neuro-blocker.  He’s bigger and most-likely stronger than Jenkins.  A paralytic effect could be helpful.  Also, a different M/O would keep detectives guessing.  Needless to say, it would be in my best interest to keep them from linking the two “victims” together.  That cracks me up, those pompous asses ran me down and bled me dry (both figuratively and literally) but the media will portray them as the victims.  What a joke!  But it will be me who gets the last laugh.  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 6

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/9/13    11:15 PM

      It seems that cosmic forces (if you believe in that sort of thing) are aligning to support my endeavor.  I was so pissed off about my stupid schedule.  Jack stuck me on a Wednesday night close which is usually dead as dirt plus no tips but fate, as it seems, has a sense of humor.  There I was, explaining to yet another pseudo-vegetarian the difference between the vegetarian plate and the vegan plate, when Natalie strolled by. I can’t decide if I love it or hate it when she’s the hostess.  Every time she breezes past me, I catch a whiff of her perfume and it’s intoxicating.  I know it sounds corny but there’s no other word for it.  But I digress….Natalie has nothing to do with what happened tonight. 

      The funny part is that I was so angry about closing because I wouldn’t be able to follow Dick when he left his office.  I’ve been trying to find an alternative to killing him at home.  Damn him and his gated community!  Well, as luck would have it, Dick happens to be a semi-regular customer.  Once or twice a month, Wednesday night just before closing he comes in with a lady.  He tips the hostess extra to have a seat in the corner, far from the windows.  Let me just reiterate how much I hate those people who deliberately show up fifteen minutes before closing and then order a ten course meal.  That alone is a good reason to put Dick in a body bag but he treated Ashley, his waitress, like dirt.  So, apparently he’s a douchebag in his personal life as well as professional.  Everyone else had their stations closed but Dick and his bimbo were taking their sweet time.  After some pleading, Jack agreed to let me leave even though we still had stragglers.  I was in my car and ready when Dick finally exited the restaurant.  At first I assumed the woman was his wife but they drove straight to the Motel 6 on the outskirts of town.  No one takes their wife to Motel 6 if the live in the same town!  I’ve got that dirty S.O.B now.  Now that I know where he’ll be, I just need to figure out how to do it.  I wonder if that Ricin stuff from “Breaking Bad” is real.  I definitely need to do more research!  

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 5

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/8/13     9:45PM

      My follow-up appointment this morning was an outrage.  Before Dr. Jenkins met with her untimely demise, I was referred to a specialist.  He ordered nearly as many tests as his colleague and clearly he is just as useless.  From here on out I will be referring to him as “Dick” because he’s hardly earned the respect to deserve the title doctor, or even “Doc”, and his last name looks like someone vomited alphabet soup on a prescription pad; so Dick it is.  Dick proceeded to tell me that he doesn’t know what is wrong and “pain is subjective”.  I wanted to ask him how subjective his pain would be if I jammed a chainsaw up his ass and started it up, but I suspect that might raise a red flag or two.  Instead I smiled and said, “thank you” when he handed me a prescription for Ativan and suggested that perhaps I am experiencing too much stress. 

      Looks like Dick is going to be our next contestant on Doctors Must Die.  I drove back this afternoon just before the office closed.  After Dick got into his brand-new BMW and raced through the parking lot, I slowly tailed him.  Offing Dick is going to be a bigger challenge.  He lives in a gated community, guarded by private security.  I relish the thought of honing my skills and branching out into uncharted territory but I need to do more research.  More later…..

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 4

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/7/13   3:15 PM

      My Sunday didn’t turn out to be as relaxing as I had hoped.  I was rudely awoken by my manager begging me to cover the mid-morning and lunch shifts because one of their many college students didn’t show up for work.  What is it with kids today?  I’m not exactly old but I was raised with a work ethic unlike these lazy brats who are so full of entitlement that they think the world should be handed to them on a silver platter.  My dad would have beaten my ass if I acted like that…obviously, he found other reasons but that particular rant is for another day.

      My “few hours to cover the lunch shift” turned into an all-day-until-closing-time shift.  If I didn’t need the money so badly, I would have called off today.  After losing my “real” job, I was forced to take whatever I could get.  Yet another reason Dr. Jenkins is history.  She didn’t care that I’d lost my job because she insisted on ordering a barrage of lengthy tests, forcing me to take off work because she couldn’t do them all in one day and she refused to work evenings or weekends.  She had the nerve-no, the gall- to pretend to be surprised that I’d been fired for excessive absences.  “But I gave you a note”, she whined as if I was a child in school and somehow “a note” was a magical shield to protect me. Welcome to the “at will work state” where they can fire you for any reason whatsoever and you can’t do a thing about it.  Stupid bitch.  I’m stuck on the dinner to close shift tonight and if my schedule doesn’t improve, Jack, my manager might be joining our good doctor. 

      Speaking of…I happened to catch a glimpse of the Sunday paper.  One of our patrons had left it behind, instead of a tip. (another one who deserves the same fate as Jenkins)  She was front page news, of course.  But get this; they’ve arrested her estranged husband for the murder.  She had gone to dinner with him on Friday night and they’d had a very loud and very public argument.  The next morning when her housekeeper found Dr. Jenkins sprawled on the floor in a pool of her own blood she immediately contacted the police.  With no signs of forced entry, hubby was the prime suspect.  Besides, she was, to quote the paper, “a beloved member of the community”. So it looks like I’m in the clear.  I suppose I should feel bad that an innocent man might go to jail for my crime but I don’t.  Hard to believe it but he was a bigger scumbag than her.  His rap sheet was a mile long before the death of his wife.  Domestic disturbances and assault were at the top of the list.  No wonder they’ve nailed this joker. 

       My success has only fueled my desire to continue the work I’ve begun, and I don’t mean at the restaurant.  But I need to be careful.  My first mission was sloppy and ill-conceived.  It was sheer, dumb luck that it all panned out but I can do better.  I need to lay low for a while but I’ve never felt more alive.  I’ve finally found my true calling and my job as a waiter gives me just the flexibility I need to continue.   

Serial Killer's Diary: Part 3

**Warning: these entries may be graphic and, hopefully, frightening.  Keep in mind this is merely fiction.  No humans (or animals) have or will be harmed in the production of this blog.  All names have been chosen at random and are not meant to represent anyone, living or dead.  Any similarities are purely coincidental** 

10/5/13    2:45 PM

      I can’t remember the last time I slept that well.  Normally, I wake at least three or four times in the night and by 7am, I am wide awake.  I slept like a log until noon!  I expected to be achy and sore after last night’s exertion but I feel great.  If only I’d known, killing that useless, incompetent, witch would make me feel this good; I would have done it years ago. 

      Anyway, I left off with my departure from Dr. Jenkins’ development.  I was very careful as I pulled out and set my course for home.  With my cruise control engaged, I paid close attention to the traffic laws.  It wouldn’t be wise to get pulled over; not when congealed blood had seeped into the fabric of my clothes. 

      Thirty minutes later, I was pulling into my driveway, pleased with my evening.  I hopped out of my car, feeling twenty pounds, lighter when Mrs. Flemming flicked on her porch light and stepped outside, one hand on her hip and the other wagging disapprovingly at me.  Damn!  I’d forgotten….I was supposed to have dinner with her and her husband (and those yappy little fur-balls she calls dogs).  Renting the apartment over their renovated garage, at a ridiculously low monthly payment, I often feel obliged to agree when they invite me to dinner.  Truthfully, I feel bad for Mr. and Mrs. Flemming.  Their children rarely, if ever, visit and they’re lonely.  Not to mention, Mrs. Flemming’s cooking is out of this world.  She is the embodiment of a stereotypical grandmother.  

      I stammered, trying to come up with a valid excuse, when she gasped.  “You’re face!  It’s covered in blood.  Were you in an accident?”  Again, I felt that switch flick on and the smoothest lie I’d ever told came tumbling out.  I told her I was driving home and a dog, a beautiful black lab, ran out in front of my car.  I felt a single tear, warm and salty, trickle down my cheek as I regaled her with my fantastic story.  Being a dog-lover, I knew Mrs. Flemming would be willing to forgive me when she’d heard about how I single-handedly carried the wounded dog to my car and rushed it to an emergency veterinary hospital.  She was so touched that I’d paid for the poor animal, since I could not locate his owners, (of course I couldn’t seeing as how none of them exist).  In fact, she was so moved that she waived my next month’s rent.  My luck is certainly improving.  

      After a quick shower, I changed into some presentable clothes while Mrs. Flemming heated up the leftovers from the dinner I’d missed. She packaged it all up in take-away containers and l was able to eat it all in the comfort of my own tiny kitchen instead of having to deal with her tedious conversation and the nails-on-a-chalkboard yipping of her little ankle-biters. (Those little Pomeranians might very well be the reason her kids don’t visit)  It might be pressing my luck but I’m going to take a nap and eat the rest of those leftovers.  Who knows, maybe I’ll sleep in tomorrow and spend the day watching football.