A gunshot wound pierced the poor man’s body as he looked up at me in despair. My finger still lingered upon the trigger as the man collapsed to the floor. It was the last time I would kill someone before the authorities caught me. I had no emotion in the moment, there was no shock as I’ve done this several times before, but something inside me told me this kill was going to have a different outcome. To really understand everything, I have to start from the very beginning. Not my first kill, but the moment I was born.
Chapter 1: Birthright
It was a cold evening in the year of 1968. It was still early into November when my mother could no longer keep hold. I was born in a limousine, as my mother could not make it to the hospital in time. My father drew up my own birth certificate; November 11, 1968 he wrote for the date of birth. By then, Mother nor Father had decided a name for me, even during the nine months, they had not a clue for a tag to call me. It was decided in the moment as Mother and Father stared into the starry night, looking at the ocean waves that I would be named Harbor Icarus Thawne.
My childhood was unique compared to most kids of the day in age. My family was quite wealthy. Father always attended his meetings dressed in suits of maroon, black, or white. Mother fancied nothing as much as Father did, she was not the gold digger type of wife, preferring to wear simple dresses or handmade clothing.
As I attended school, Father worked his days prosecuting the guilty and protecting the innocent. Mother was a very clean negotiator and made very fast sales to families looking to expand their homes. I was not alone though. I had an older sister, Coraline Thawne, I always preferred to associate her with her initial name, Natalia. Mother insisted she loved the name Natalia, planning to name her, until she fell into a coma, and that right was ripped away by our Grand-Ma-Ma, who instead, named her Coraline in ties with her mother. Mother was indeed furious, and terminated all contracts with Grand-Ma-Ma, taking her out of the entire family name itself.
Along with that, I have a younger brother, named Benedict Thawne, quite different compared to me and my sister, Ben, as he was often called, thought he had all right of control from our parents, because he was the youngest. Father threatened Ben with adoption, not once nor twice, but eleven times, even leaving him at the center several times. It’s not that my brother was a terrible human being either, he did quite well in school, passed his classes easily, class president multiple times, he was even dating the cheerleading captain. They later went on to be Prom King and Queen during their senior year. They are even still together to this day. Something clicks in him when he arrives home though. He changed his perfect ego into a controlling stereotype. Ben isn’t the majority though, indeed he’ll show up many times, but this is my story.
I wouldn’t consider myself as the “favorite child,” but I was well-liked among the family. My father’s brother, Winston Thawne, was more like a best friend to me. We often spent time fishing together, attending football games; typical teenage stuff. Tragedy struck not long after my 22nd birthday (1990), Winston was in a huge legal battle, my father – his lawyer – tried again and again to prove my uncle’s innocence, instead, the judge found my uncle guilty and sentenced him; outrooting the Constitution, and summoned him to be executed. I was the only one to show up, witnessing Winston sit in that chair, strapped down like an animal. I said my last goodbyes as electricity ran through his nervous system, killing him.
This here truly is what began my intentions of who I wanted to become. I had the law on my side and many assets to use on multiple occasions. Henceforth I became a serial killer, and the life around me would change. My public image and my private image I had to maintain, or I’d sit in that very seat my uncle sat in.
Chapter 2: 1992
It’s often aware that the concept of murder on a human being can be disturbing and inhumane. The maximum penalty to one who commits homicide or genocide can often switch by the extremity of how their victims were taken out, including lethal injection, firing squad, or electric chair, like my uncle. Often excused when self-defense is in the equation, which I could use to exempt myself of my crimes. Beginning roughly two years after my uncle’s death, I had turned 22. My mental diagnosis had changed graciously. Within the period of these last two years, I was stabbed by a couple muggers, and had almost been shot. I suffered from PTSD from this. Time over time, I started noticing strange behavior coming from my actions, Accidentally stealing, being domestic towards strays, plucking hairs from my scalp, cutting at myself; I craved vengeance… insanity… and bloodcurdling death.
At once, I seem to have become an analyst of the human species. I met a lovely lady at the coffee shop down the road from me. Elizabeth Osborn was her name. I began luring her. She would be my first victim, the first in the process to bring back my uncle’s pride and ego. She had luscious brown hair and emerald colored eyes. Her skin was smooth as her figure was magnificent. Her voice seemed to echo who I was. She was the perfect subject.
After a month of talking, I invited her over to my place, where I planned to strike. In the middle of us having dinner, she went to the restroom. I walked over to the kitchen, grabbing the same knife I used to cut the meat, making sure to wrap the knife’s handle with a cloth to avoid the police from making it out with fingerprints. I crept to the bathroom, kicking down the door with huge force. She was in front of the mirror, turning around, seeing me with the knife. I grabbed her ’round the stomach, I kicked the door close so her screams would be muffled from the neighbors and that she couldn’t escape. I won’t go into much detail about her death, but eventually I made it look like a suicide and dropped her out of the window. I felt a bit amused by my deed, but I had to be quick.
I cleaned the bathroom quickly as well as our dinner. This would be my only kill I didn’t do by a proper motive, as in I collected nothing of theirs, took no pictures, absolutely nothing but death of the person. I made my way out of the apartment just as the police got to it. I had now begun my hunt. This was just the beginning.
…to be continued
