Jimmy was done. After so many years of constantly obsessing about her past, and thinking about past lovers, he just couldn’t take it anymore.
It had started with a simple list. A simple list she had made which showed the names of every guy she had been with. It was a stupid little exercise. They were counting how many people they had been with, and she tallied up the numbers by listing them on the paper. The stupid thing about it was that he had kept the paper on his nightstand, and looked at it constantly. For days, every time he woke up, he saw that list.
Call it OCD, call it hoarding, but he kept these little things all the time. He had pencils from grade school still in his desk. He had a man made of playdough he had created for an art project in 6th grade. Now he could add this paper to his list of hoarded items.
It shouldn’t have mattered. He should have been able to ignore it, throw it away, even just put it away. But for some reason he memorized those names. How they were written, the order, and worst of all, the number that was attached to his own name. It wasn’t a large number. She wasn’t a slut or anything like that. But for some reason it haunted him.
Eventually that list had disappeared. Jimmy didn’t remember how it did. Did he throw it away? Did he lose it? He wasn’t sure. But wherever it was, it wasn’t in his possession anymore. With his obsessive personality, if he still had it, he’d know where it is.
One day, after they had been married, he heard some more details of her past affairs. Does it matter? Absolutely not. Jimmy knew this. But his heart was breaking. As he continually imagined her with these other people, he slowly lost his sanity. His personality began to change. He had mental images, like a movie playing in his mind on repeat, of horribly detailed, explicit sex scenes from the little bits of information he had about her past.
After a couple of years of marriage, it turned into real anxiety. He had to know everything. He found a box of her old high school yearbooks, and made a point to find each one he could. He did find a couple of them, and then he suddenly had a face to add to the images in his mind. Thinking it might help, in reality all it did was sharpen his focus on his mental images. Again, as time goes on, the past is further revealed. Like an onion, he was able to piece things together that made him hurt more.
Logically, Jimmy was completely aware that it didn’t matter. In today’s society, she had been with very few people. Emotionally, it felt like she had cheated on him. He couldn’t get over it. Would it end his marriage? If it did, would it follow him to the next relationship? He became obsessed with this question. Maybe he wasn’t in love? Maybe this retroactive jealousy was proof of this love for her. Paradox’s continued in his mind. He couldn’t rightfully leave over this, she did nothing wrong. Yet it felt like she had. What could he do?
Another few years had passed. They now had children together. Breaking up was no longer an option. These images gave him a horrible depression. He was angry at his wife, angry at himself, and he was angry at everybody judging him for this. He had no release. He went into a self cutting phase, in an attempt to get past the hurt in his mind. He tried to replace his emotional pain with physical pain.
It just kept getting worse. TV shows would remind him. Seeing young couples hand in hand made him think of it. Why was he thinking of this? Why did he care? The scary question was… How long could he take it? There were death traps everywhere for him. Disneyland became torture. Dance clubs were not possible. He couldn’t stand to see other people happy with their mates. He was jealous, pained, depressed, angry, and alone. Utterly alone. What is it like to go to bed each night, knowing that the person you are closest to doesn’t understand? What is it like to be with someone you don’t hate for what happened, things that happened before he even knew her, that still causes a resentment towards the one person he should have none for.
Jimmy used to be a happy person. He saw the best in every situation. If you got lost in the woods, he’d point out how beautiful the scenery was, and that it was a blessing that they were lost because they wouldn’t have had this particular viewpoint if they hadn’t been lost. He was the child who laughed when others cried. He comforted everyone who needed it. He tried to make others feel good about themselves. No matter what happened, he was insightful and optimistic about the future.
He found himself a shell of that person now. He was dark, empty, and alone. He hated everyone and everything. He had no escape. Everything was a trigger, reminding him of a past that he wished he had been a part of, but wasn’t.
He had tried therapy, and had learned to dread those sessions. They always ended with him more depressed and angry than before. He was constantly telling therapists about what he saw in his mind, what he heard in his mind. It was a horrible experience.
Then came the day when she decided that she had to clear her conscience. He remembered some parts of it clearly, distinctly. It was like watching a movie in his mind. Other parts were quite fuzzy.
“Honey,” she said, “I need to tell you something. It’s been bothering me for a long time now.”
“Okay,” he said, “What is it?”
“Remember that time when I said a girl hit on me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well… She did more than hit on me…”
He looked at her, a small smirk on his face.
“We… kinda made out.”
“Huh…” he said, nodding his head. He got a far away look in his eyes.
“Oh my God! You’re picturing it!” He laughed. “You are such a guy!” she said.
Later she had told him that she was fantasizing about being with a woman when they were together. She admitted that sometimes he was a part of the fantasy, and sometimes he was not. He asked her if this was something she wanted to try, but she vehemently refused the notion. Later, she admitted that after telling him all of this, it quit entering her mind. She seemed purified by the confession.
At first, he was aroused by the idea. But by the end of the next day, the images that had plagued him before were now focused on this single event. He couldn’t shake it. Suddenly, she was a different person to him. She was one of Them!
He wrestled with the idea. Who is Them? Porn stars? Slut? He didn’t know. But it was in his mind. She was now categorized as one of the types of people he couldn’t stand. No… that wasn’t it…. He had frequently categorized her exes with people who only cared about sex and the thrill of it. Now he felt she was one of them. Worse off, he felt like he had married the type of girl you don’t bring home to mom. And beneath it all, he felt this dread that he never experienced any of these things with her, or anyone else for that matter.
When he pressed her for more details, he discovered that it only went as far as shirts off. That helped a little. But then she began opening up like it was no longer a forbidden subject, and new images poured into his mind. She mocked how the other girl had sucked on her breast. He became obsessed with which breast it was. Knowing it was probably both, whenever they were intimate, he would suddenly wonder, and lose his desire and erection with the thought of it. He began to hate her breasts and love them, all at the same time. He began to wonder if his wife had sucked on her breasts as well.
A year later, he discovered that one of her exes had been present, and that she had kissed him as well. It got even worse when he discovered that it was closer to a threesome, as the girl had been riding the guy while she made out with his wife. The images in his mind got more explicit, more insane.
He began to get obsessed with FFM pornography. He looked for specific scenes that were close to what his mind had created. He began to imagine it was them, and he would just steam. He hated the very thing that turned him on so well. He began to wonder if he was angry that he wasn’t a part of the experience. Could it be that trying this very thing with his wife would appease the demons somehow? The obsession continued.
Jimmy had not had a drink in over five years, and when he finally found it again, he discovered that his pain went away when he drank. Thus followed years of drinking, hangovers, and discontented family life. He spent the next five years drinking his depression and sorrows away. He would wake up every morning, feel horrible about what had happened, and resolve never to drink again, only to discover in the evening that the thoughts were returning, like demons re-invited to a party they had left. Alcohol was the only key he had to show them the door.
He became a drunk. At first he was a happy drunk. Soon he became an angry or depressed drunk. He would drink for hours, distracting himself with TV, conversation, anything that would help him relax and forget his life, including his wife and the pain associated with her.
For the longest time, he had thought that killing himself might be the best way. Was it possible that ending his life might release him? What if the afterlife included his depression and anger? There would be no release, and it would even include guilt for what he had done to others. On the other hand, wouldn’t hellfire be better than this??? Still, if there was no afterlife, he could finally have his blissful eternal oblivion. That seemed wonderful to him.
At some point, sitting at work, the image of those three would hit him, and he would just pause. His mind racing through it. He would groan, clench his fist, and just die inside. His insides would clench. The only thing he could do to get rid of the pain and images was run to the work restroom and masturbate. It was shameful, hateful. He was disgusted with himself. Yet it stopped the pain. His obsession had found a compulsion.
Yet no matter how often he tried to compulsively masturbate the obsession away, it always returned, full force, until the day came when he could hardly stand to look at himself. Every memory of that time period, either of her life or his at that time, depressed him. It made him think of those three wrapped up in their sexual fantasy.
But what now? What could he possibly do to permanently end this?
Throughout these thirteen years of pain, anger, and fear, he had that one particular ex-boyfriend that he couldn’t stand. The one that he always wanted revenge on. The one that hurt and angered him more than any of the others. The one who had been present and seen his wife during this experience. The reasons behind his extreme hatred for this one person was unimportant. He just wanted to see him hurt for what he’d done.
There was no logic behind Jimmy’s ideas. There was no reason to think it would help the situation. But he wanted it to happen. He wanted to see the fruition of his ideas come to pass. What would it be like to see him bleed? What would it be like to know that this person would never breathe again? To know his mind went silent? That his memories of the events would be finally erased, as if erasing the memories could possibly erase the event himself?
This is how he found himself in the middle of tall grass, lying low, watching a small town through his sniper scope. At first he had looked carefully over the neighborhoods. He didn’t know where this guy lived exactly, but he knew the car he drove, and what he looked like. He didn’t know the license plate, but that was no big deal, because in a small town, how many people really drove a large red truck Ford? Turns out, a hell of a lot of them.
Looking through neighborhoods was the longest route he could think of. The longer he looked, the more he realized this. It was a mistake. He had to change tactics.
The next thing he did was gas stations. That was easier, since he could just sit and wait while watching just one. Again, small town. How many gas stations could there be? Turns out there were two dozen of them. Everyone had habits, yes? How many times do people go to the same gas stations over and over again. So he would watch one station for a day or three, then move on to another.
He would stand around the station, kind of loitering. He did this for a couple of hours, until the attendant would yell at him, threaten to call the police. Jimmy knew this was a bad way to go. People would notice him. The killer would be too obvious. He ended up looking for places to hide and watch. It was much easier to rent an apartment or a room near a gas station, and just watch for a few days.
On the fringes of town, he could hide out in the wild areas. Dirt fields with tall grass and weeds growing in it, so that he was camouflaged. This is where he found himself now.
He was on the fringes of town, watching the gas station from a small hill about three hundred yards outside of town. The gas station was on the very edge, at the end of a dead end road. It was a strange place for a gas station, but for some reason it was popular with the locals. Especially the teenagers. They would stand in the back area, smoking and talking and making out. During the night, there was a lot of drinking, drugs, and sex in the back area. During those times, his obsessional visions would flare up, and he would think of his wife doing those things, since she grew up here. It was especially painful for him to watch this. But it also helped fuel his desire and resolve.
It was during one of his scouting missions at this gas station that he found the guy. The son of a bitch who had fucked his wife so many years ago. No, she hadn’t cheated. This all happened a year before they ever met. His logical mind screamed at him for his insanity. It screamed horrible, abusive things at him for being unfair, hurting his wife and himself, for something that he obviously thought of more in the last ten years than she had even a week after the events took place. But he couldn’t help it. He had to do this.
Now that he knew the man had been here once, it was just a matter of time before he went again. Was it the only gas station he ever went to? Probably not. But if he’d been there once, he’d be there again. People were like that. Creatures of habit.
It was early afternoon. He was laying in a field of tall grasses and weeds, about three hundred yards from the gas station. He had a perfect scope on the pumps themselves, and had toyed with the idea of trying to blow the place up when he saw him, but instead had decided on the direct kill approach. It would suck to fail. He really only had one shot at this.
Looking at the station, he noticed some teenagers walking over to the back of the station. Two girls and a guy. His obsession was triggered. He twitched a bit. His right eye blinked, and his right shoulder shrugged slightly. Damn ticks were going to be the death of him. They bothered him, greatly. It was just another one of those things out of his control.
He briefly entertained the idea of taking out the teenagers, but it was just that. A brief entertainment. He wanted this ex boyfriend more than anything else. If he shot at any time before he got the main target, his cover would be blown. It wasn’t worth it. Maybe after he killed the ex, he could start popping off others?
He immediately dismissed the idea. If he just shot once, he would have a chance to get away before anyone found him. Sure, they might track him down. But at least he would have time to finish his plans. If he shot a few people, they’d find him sooner. Or more urgently. His initial surprise shock would be gone. He needed that initiative.
Waiting… waiting… waiting… a tiger on the hunt, waiting in the grass for his kill to appear. Unknowingly pumping gas into his truck. His fucking oversized truck, probably compensating for something. Oddly enough, that thought just pissed him off more. Imagining his genitals did nothing but irritate him. In fact, all he could think of was his wife defending him, like she did last year.
“These guns are lethal weapons.” She had said, raising her two fists, right after Jimmy said he wanted to hurt the guy. Why couldn’t she see what he was going through? Why didn’t she understand? How the hell could she defend this asshole? And even worse, how could she add him to her list of friends on one of those social networking sites??? That was the biggest insult of all. His face was suddenly in his mind. It hadn’t helped when, three or so years ago, he had seen the girl she made out with on that site as well.
Jesus, why couldn’t he get these thoughts out of his head? It seemed like every day was a new battle. There was no end. Why bother? He had thought of killing himself in the past, and had rejected the idea. Now it came to him anew. If he lived, he would rot in jail. What would be the point of that? A man like him would not last long in prison, and he didn’t want that kind of torture to add to his intrusive thoughts!
He saw a truck. Peering through the scope, he tried to make out the person. His head was shaved, that was a good sign. Jimmy’s heart started to pump faster. His hands were sweating. His eyes were wide, and his vision was clear. Then he spied the license plate, and realized it wasn’t him. Damnit!
How long was he going to have to wait here??? All day and night if he had to. He wasn’t leaving this spot. Not for anything. He would not miss this chance. He had to get him. He couldn’t live another moment knowing that this son of a bitch was still alive.
Another horrible thought entered his mind. What if, after he shot this guy, his wife started to think about him more? Was it possible that knowing he was dead would make her ruminate on him? Oh, to hell with that! The fact that she knew he was thinking like this did nothing but make her remember. He was the cause of more pain than he could even imagine. He caused the memory to never die, and likewise to cause himself more grief.
He had wondered for so long… Would she leave him if he kept thinking about this stupid event? In the end, she had. She couldn’t take being reminded of what she saw as a dark period in her life constantly. She was tired of having to explain herself, watch the one she loved suffer for it. Suffer for something that was not her fault, and should not matter. He knew this. But he couldn’t help it. In the end, yes. She had left. What else could she do?
She had packed up their kids, and moved out of town. When he lost his job to the alcohol, he could no longer afford to go out and see his kids. The drive wasn’t bad, but it was too costly. He just couldn’t do it anymore. In a way, that was a blessing. He no longer had to see her with the new guy.
At first, when she had left, he thought that his depression and obsessions might go away. In fact, maybe he would find someone new that wouldn’t bring this out in him. But, of course, it didn’t work that way. He was in his own hell, and would never escape. Not without a bullet to his own head. And there was no way in hell that he was going alone.
Not being the type to kill his family before himself (how could anybody do such a thing???), he settled on taking out the guy that caused him so much pain. The weird thing about it was that the woman didn’t bother him. Well, it did. But Jimmy didn’t ruminate on the woman. He ruminated on the guy that did the whole thing. The guy who set it up, who suggested it. The bastard responsible for all of his pain.
No. Jimmy was responsible for his own pain. Wasn’t that what the therapists always said? He had to find his own happiness. Well, it didn’t work. The only thing that took his pain away pushed his family even further. In the end, it took his family, job, and now his life.
He had discovered a way to be sober. Training himself to kill the one that he thought of over and over and over again. Yes, that was definitely a good way to get sober. How in the world could he survive the shooting room with a hangover anyway? No, it just wasn’t possible. And he found his skills improved much faster when he didn’t drink. His memory came back. His focus. Even his ambition. It had all returned.
Of course, the thoughts and memories had also returned. So what then? What was left to do? If not being around his wife (ex-wife?) hadn’t cured his obsessions about her, then there was only one thing left to do.
Suicide would have to be it. But again, there was no way in hell he was going alone. This evil, sick, son of a bitch fucker was going down. It wasn’t fair that he got to experience his wife in a way that he never did. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t going to let this go. He knew he would never have closure. Not until he was dead. And, once again, there was no way in hell he was going out alone.
He had briefly considered being a serial killer. Could he really track down all of her exes before he got caught? It was possible. In fact, with practice, he might do this very well. He would be the next… what was that guy called in Phoenix who was raping and killing his victims for a few months there? The Baseline Killer. That was it. He’d be the next Baseline Killer.
Except he wasn’t going to rape these victims. Well, if he got the chance, it might be worth pissing on their remains before leaving. Hmm. Maybe the last one. Because otherwise, his DNA would be everywhere.
Damn! Wouldn’t that be satisfying? To actually sit the guy down and do this personally? To sit and tell him why he couldn’t take it? Yeah, he had read the emails him and his wife had posted to each other. He saw that they were “more than friends” at one time, and that he had to get over “his own insecurities”. Wouldn’t it be fun to tell him that? Wouldn’t it be fun to tell him how insecure he was, and that if only he’d kept his mouth shut, maybe he wouldn’t be tied to this chair right now? How awesome would that be?
The only problem is, the guy was huge. Jimmy couldn’t take him. Oh he could’ve worked out, built himself up for the event. Damn… That’s not a bad idea either.
As Jimmy sat there, thinking about other options, the man’s truck pulled into the gas station, and parked near a pump that was in perfect sight of Jimmy’s scope. It was a perfect shot. He just had to wait for the still moment. The moment when he knew he wouldn’t miss. If he had to, he’d take out a tire and as he bent down to inspect it, he could take him out then.
Jimmy had the silencer, so he’d have time to get away. He also knew that the fields would be searched rather quickly after the shot. He aimed his scope to account for the wind. It was amazing what a breeze can do to a bullet. You wouldn’t notice without the scope.
He took in a deep breath, and let it out, calming his nerves. The ex had just finished paying for his gas, and was beginning to work the pump. He placed it in his gas tank, and started pumping. It was perfect. He wasn’t even going inside or washing his windows. He just sat there, watching the pump. He was probably bemoaning the gas prices. Perfect. Just perfect. Jimmy couldn’t miss this shot.
He aimed for the man’s chest. He wanted him to know he’d been shot, and to have time to reflect on his death. A head wound was too quick for this bastard.
Breathe in. breathe out. Breathe in…. Pull the trigger with the breathe out.
Whew…..
Crack!
The son of a bitch ex had a red splat appear right on his shirt, just above the sternum. It was a perfect shot. He may or may not have hit the heart, but the man really had no chance. Jimmy watched for a few more seconds, as the mother fucker slid to the ground, banging the gas handle out of his car. It stopped flowing, and fell beside him. Jimmy paused, thinking about shooting the small gas puddle beside the free loving bastard. He decided against it. It was best to be a mysterious killer, slowly sliding away like a snake.
That’s exactly what he did. He put the gun down, watched the turmoil as people went to investigate. His silencer had bought him some time. People were looking around, but no one saw him, nor did they know where the shot had come from. But that didn’t matter. Everyone had to know. The field with the tall grass, fools!
Maybe the shock of it was keeping people from realizing that there was a shooter in the field? A couple of teenagers making out behind the store stopped, and went around the side to see what the commotion was all about.
Jimmy wasn’t going to leave his gun. Within minutes, the police would be there. And they would find where he had been hiding. It was as inevitable as the tide. I should go to the beach later today. Jimmy shook his head violently, the image of girls in bikini’s bringing back a vision of his wife hanging out with friends on the beach, possibly with a lover. He hated this.
As he slowly slid back, trying not to move the grass too much, he thought about how he wasn’t obsessing about this ex anymore. Had he finally found his cure? Did he get his closure?
Could he really know this quickly? Shaking his head again, feeling a bit of strain in his neck as he did so, he focused on pushing himself back further. It would be slow going. It was imperitive that nobody saw his face or body as he was leaving. Let the detectives find his hiding spot later.
A moment of inspiration told him he could use his lighter to light the field on fire. When the smoke built up enough, he could stand up and casually walk away. It would destroy a lot of evidence of where he had been. And nobody would run into the fire looking for him. It might buy him some time, and some ease. He would have to crawl another 20 yards before he could stand anyway. If he lit the fire now, by the time he got there, it would be well on it’s way.
No. On second thought, it would accomplish the wrong things. One, it would tell people where to start looking. Two, a helicopter might get involved to help put the fire out. Yes, it would distract them. But the bad of it was that he might be found sooner. While detectives will take their time investigating, helicopters would see him and go after him to find the one responsible.
By the time Jimmy had reconsidered, he was at the 20 yard mark, and he could get up on his knees. In this position, the grass came up to his chest. Perfect. He didn’t need to look at the carnage he had created. He knew that nobody was coming yet. They were still crouching over the shithead trying to help him. No, he was beyond help. Soon the ambulance would come, and by then Jimmy would be on his way, well gone.
He was far enough away now to actually stand. He checked himself. Everything was in it’s place. He had left nothing behind. He walked over to a nearby tree, took a piss, and felt better. At one point, he was afraid he was going to piss himself, but he was able to hold it. And once the fucker showed up, he was too distracted to even notice. Although the crawling away backward had put some unneeded pressure on his bladder.
Jimmy walked on. He had no car nearby. It was a good two mile walk through this wilderness to his own truck. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, and lit it. He hadn’t had one in almost a day, lest he betray his position. He inhaled the smoke, grimacing at the harshness of it in his throat, but loving the dizzy sensation that it brought.
“Ahhh!” Jimmy sighed. It was a release, that was for sure. He pulled out his small water bottle from his jacket pocket, and took a deep drink. It helped his throat immensely. Plus, from all of the jitters of accomplishing his long-time dream and fantasy, he had grown quite thirsty. His mouth had been very dry.
“Is it too early to celebrate?” Jimmy said out loud. “Hell no! No matter what happens to me, the son of a bitch is dead!” He laughed, a deep hearty laugh. It was such a release! He felt free! He felt like a child on Christmas morning! All his dreams had finally come true! His life purpose for the last few years had been fulfilled! He stuck his arms out, palms forward, fingers spread. The cigarette dropped from his hand, and he cared not. He threw his head back and laughed.
“It’s over!!!” He screamed into the afternoon sky.
Gathering himself, he quit making so much noise and began hustling the 2 miles back to his truck. Well, now it was more like 1.75 miles. It would be a hard jog, he wasn’t much of an exercise guy. And he had equipment to carry to boot. But he had an exhilaration that he hadn’t felt since he graduated college. And the adrenaline was more than enough to get him to his vehicle of retreat.
Getting into the car was easy enough, and he still did not hear any sirens. He was still afraid, however. He was still deciding whether he should kill himself if they started chasing him, or if he should just go to jail. He was leaning toward the suicide option. Maybe just drive his car into the police officer. Damn! He should’ve thought about this before. He could’ve run his car into a secondary target or something!
Jimmy was halfway home on the Pacific Coast Highway before he allowed himself to believe that he was home free. He was going to make it! It was an incredible feeling! He didn’t know what the future would hold. He didn’t know if the obsessions would stop, continue, or just abate for a while. Even worse, he didn’t know if the police would track him down after a while. But it didn’t matter. Not right now. The son of a bitch was dead, and the world was a better place for it.
By the time he got home, he was in a terrific mood. Nothing could bring him down. He had been listening to his favorite music all the way home, which was about a 5 hour drive. He was chain smoking cigarettes, one after another, and singing along to all of his music at the top of his lungs. There was a huge smile on his face the entire time. He was euphoric!
Jimmy pulled into his parking spot, and went into his apartment. It was just the way he had left it. He walked over and sat in front of his PC after relieving himself from the long drive home. He got online, and began searching the news for a killing.
He found it. It was in the local paper. Nobody saw where the shot had come from, although police suspected it was from the grassy field near the gas station. Forensics would give the final word on that one. Police had interviewed every witness, and nobody had seen a thing. They were baffled. From what they could gather, there was no motive. It seemed like a random shooting. Yet it was obviously planned in some way.
Jimmy smiled. He sat back, lit his success cigar that was waiting for him at his desk. He had left it there in the event that everything was going to work out. He didn’t really think he’d get home to smoke it. But here he was, enjoying it to the full.
He put it down, got up, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The next ten minutes was him dipping his cigar in the whiskey, and enjoying the aroma in his apartment. Hopefully nobody would tell on him and management wouldn’t come knocking.
They never did. He ate some dinner, took a shower, then went to bed. He dreamt of sweet things, things that guaranteed happiness and fulfillment for the rest of his life. He was now free.
The next morning, he found himself in front of his computer again, looking up the next Son of a Bitch who had to feel his wrath. This was going to be a good project. Jimmy could feel it.