I Am Eli

I AM ELI

As I walk, I can hear the small branches cracking under my boots. The forest sways and the trees whisper as I’m on my way to kill. I've thought this through time and time again. I have been carefully waiting and planning the perfect time. I have every detail I need to be ready for this kill. She’s single, no family, lives alone, and doesn't attend a college. Pretty much non-existent in any type of community. She has no pets, so there will be no disturbance to me upon entering her home. She lives on the edge of these woods. In fact, I can see her home now.

As I near the backyard, I hear a TV on. Luckily, she has no neighbors so nobody will hear her struggle as I snuff her out. I continue walking towards the house, clasping my kit. My kit is the most important thing for me to have. All I need to stage the perfect scene is in this kit. I approach the slide door in the back and pull out my gloves, then my lock pick set. After putting on my gloves, I feel around the handle for the lock. "Aha! There you are,’’ I whisper to myself. I hear the lock pop open and I get the door open, slide my way in, and silently close it behind me. There is some shuffling around in the living room and I hear the TV click off. I walk around the corner beside the stairs and wait behind her book shelf. I slide my syringe out of my bag. Enough tranquilizer to knock her out for about two hours. Just enough time to prepare her for the show. I hear her walking, closer and closer. She walks a few steps past me and I sweep up behind her as I gently slide the syringe through her neck. I lower her to the ground and begin to remove her clothes. She is the youngest of my victims. I bind her with bungee cords and start dragging her upstairs, her unconscious body thudding lightly at each step. I've decided to change my methods. I want this woman to be found. I want to see my fantastic work on display, for the entire world to see. I will gain so much fame, though it is too bad I must keep it anonymous, for if they knew I was the mastermind behind the piece, I’d be put out of my joy. I continue dragging her up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. I come to one on the right, pushing on the door so it swings open. I hoist her up onto the bed, take the bungee cords off, and begin tying her to it. I tie her arms to the headboard, gently lifting each to the bar and her feet to the posts at the end. After finishing, I put my bag onto the bed and spread everything out to take a look. I have my paint, so vibrant and glorious, ready for this masterpiece. I lay out my brushes, carefully selected to do the job right. I look to the biggest one to use for the base color. Deep Blue. I pull the bottle from my little collection and hold it to her face to compare it with the tone of her fair skin. All in one swift motion, I squirt some of the blue onto my palette and begin painting her delicately. This must be perfect. When people lay their eyes upon my work, I do not want them to feel they need to look away. I stroke the brush up and down her pale, almost lifeless looking body. Blue suits her. I finally finish with the blue and now I’m ready for the rest. I take a couple more of my bottles and hold them to the blue that stains so beautifully on her skin. I paint dainty, gracefully grown, spiraling vines going down her body, with little flowers twirling, in wisps of aqua-colored wind. As I put the finishing touches on her, she begins to come to, almost gracefully so, fluttering her eyes. I quickly finish the last few strokes and begin packing all of my paints back in my bag. I take the hand-held mirror out of my bag and get ready to show her how beautiful I've made her. She opens her eyes slowly and looks around, bewildered, she stays silent. No words she can even gather to describe her utter confusion. She looks at me quizzically, yet fearful, and then down at her feet.

Seeing her arms are tied to the bed, she nervously whispers, "Who are you?’’

I was expecting her to be frantic. I look at her and lower my face down to hers. She leans her head as far back as she can, and I utter the words, ‘’I am Eli.’’

She looks at me, panicked and tries to turn her body. "Please don't move. You'll ruin all the work I've done," I say to her.

Taking deep breaths, she shakily asks, "Eli? W-why am I here, all tied up...?’’ I sit on the bed beside her and run my fingers through her hair. It is soft...

I see her stomach heave slightly, and I say, ‘’Simply because I'm going to kill you tonight and you are the grand masterpiece in my display. I will shine in streams of glory and it’s all with help from you and your now improved perfection.’’ I hold the mirror up to her so she can see what I have done. She begins to panic and squirm. Just what I wanted. I take my scalpel out of my bag and show it to her. I hold it to her thigh and I swiftly slide it across, causing it to instantly begin bleeding a glorious stream of red. It seeps from my perfectly laid slice, adding a new, wonderful color to the collection I've laid on her. As she looks down at the seeping wounds I’ve created, she winces in at the pain. It is so much that she grips the ropes tied around her wrists tightly and her breathing grows faster as I move to her other thigh to cut into it the same. She is breathing heavily and uneven. I can see her chest heaving and feel her heart pounding. I move my scalpel to her left arm and cut on her lower arm, followed by her upper arm, allowing the glorious red to exit here, as well. I do the same to her right arm. She is surprisingly still alive now. Normally with these methods they bleed out and are gone within minutes, but this woman is determined to fight on. I run my scalpel gently across her skin to her neck, and once it is there, I press down hard, being sure to slice through her ligaments. She tries to scream at this point, but the pain becomes so overwhelming that she dies within seconds. I smile at my work and begin packing my bag. Walking into the bathroom, I take my gloves off and wash my hands and brushes. I then take my gloves and walk back into the room. I fill the gloves with her blood using a simple eye dropper to collect her still warm blood. I take my bag and put on another pair of gloves and go out the front door. I close the door and turn to look at the front of the house. I lift one of the blood-filled gloves and look at it. I can see the blood glowing in the porch lights. I throw the first at the house, look at the large splatter it left, then I throw the other. This will bring attention to the house and she will eventually be found. I run around to the back of the house and begin my trek back through the woods to my car, once again passing my other victims—those pesky twigs. Once I get to my car, I put my bag in the trunk and get in to start it up. I begin to drive back to my perfectly messy loft, ready to rest my head after a long day of work. I pull up into the driveway and park the car. I get out and walk around the back of the car to take my bag out of the trunk. I get my bag and go to the door of my loft. I shuffle around in my pocket for my key, finding it after a few seconds and put it in the lock. I have to wiggle it around just a bit before it finally clicks open. I walk inside and push the door closed, dropping my bag loudly after I lock it. Home, sweet home. I climb the ladder to my bed and kick my shoes off. I picture my beautiful work one more time and close my eyes. Sleep is important, even for a serial killer.

I sit up, squinting at the sun in my eyes. I jump down from my bed rubbing my face, and walk to my couch to find the remote. I click on the TV. The news is on. I smile and watch as they report on my most treasured piece.

‘’I am Elaine with News 35. There is an ongoing investigation involving the murder of 22-year-old Lisa Thomas. On his usual paper route, Stanley found there was something quite unusual about one of the houses. The Seventeen-year-old paperboy says he came to a house, splattered in what looked like red paint from a prank, but walked up for a closer look to discover it smelled of blood. We are told that he immediately called 911 and left the scene. Your thoughts, Tom?’’

‘’What a gruesome and unusual thing he did find, Elaine.’’

‘’It absolutely is, Tom. As more information develops, we at news 35 will keep you up to date on this tragic finding.’’

This is amazing. They found my work. They found my masterpiece. I am filled with such a joy that cannot be shown simply with words. All I can think to say is that if they’re wondering who the killer is…

I am Eli.