Seventeen (Short Story)
... clue, or a speck of blood or a hair, or a shoe, and just like OJ, a glove… nothing! It was as if he wasn’t even there at all to commit such a crime. So where do I even begin? You know, there are bad people out there who abuse their wives and children. And from what I gather, Rhyme-time was one of those unlucky kids growing up. His kills were personal. Never killed a soul for no reason. He did it because he felt he had to. In our society, a person like this is referred to as…… “Freaking Insane,” or so I’ve been told. And that fact alone, gets me going. Now over the past few years I’ve been following this guy like I was a cop myself. Like I said prior, the only thing I’ve ever known has been violence. That and writing. Goodness, there is just something about writing. You know, it just frees you. It takes you to a whole new world where it’s just you, your paper, your pen, and best of all your ideas. You’re no longer in the present. It’s an escape. And I guess to me, it’s like my drug. But a healthy drug. Not that I’m promoting drugs or anything. Anyway, you get my point. Ever since I turned 19 I’ve been writing. And over the past few years, I’ve been told that I have a knack for it. It’s just one of those things, and when writing about the Rhyme-Time-Killer, I seem to write with such ease. I mean, I’ve often been asked how it was that I knew so much about this Rhyme-Time Killer. In fact, I once had someone come up to me and say “Hey you… buddy! How the hell do you so much about this Rhyme-Time-Killer? Why the hell should we believe anything you have to say?” And then I turned around and I smiled and said, “Well, if you keep talking to me like that, I’ll have to show you exactly what it is I know about this Rhyme-Time-Killer.” But the only real way I knew how to explain it was like saying, you know how a guy loves his sports or a little bookworm loves his science crap right? Well I love death, or what I should say, is that I am intrigued by it. Now, the police were after him for three years, and not once, not one time did they even have a lead. And when they finally made “break” in the case, it was because he wanted them too. I mean the only thing they ever knew about him was that he had a twitch and he spoke with a southern twang. And the only way the cops found that out was because Rhyme Times first victim died two days after he was mauled. Rookie mistake. And after that, it just became too easy. I’ve often heard it described kind of like this. It was like a game to him. It’s almost like when your playing tag with your sister, you purposely slow down just a bit so she can catch up, but just as she gets closer…. BAM! You take off. Well, it was just like that with him. If he didn’t want to get caught, then forget it. But as perfect as he was, or thought he was… his 17th and final kill wasn’t quite as perfect as he’d hoped it would be. And for that reason alone, is why I stand before you telling you this story. Death 17 was identical to death number one in almost every way. Perhaps it was his way of saying that he was going out the way he started. But then again, perhaps not. The murder took place in Green River, Utah. Like I said, he knew his target. The Rhyme Time killer had a certain target. People that were just like him. People that lived in homes with daily problems. Marriage, abuse, whatever. It didn’t much matter. It was as if he thought he knew what they were going through, so he decided to put them out of their misery just in a slightly twisted way. He had each step planned out. The rhyme, the time, the kill. He had it all. But that’s not what scared the public. What was most disturbing to these people was not that he was an angry man on a killing spree, but that he was a man who loved to kill. Who found ecstasy when doing so. And this is how the final kill unfolded. Tyler Johnson was his name. Victim number 17. Single guy with one kid. Kid’s name was Reed. He was 12. He had a brother, but he ended his life. Just couldn’t handle the abuse anymore. Johnson was a real bastard. Getting home late after drinking with his buddies then waking his boy up just to fuck with him. He’d hit the kid again, and again and again until the kid just couldn’t handle it anymore. Then Johnson would go to sleep. Now I don’t know if you folks know, but word spreads fast around small towns and, wild enough, Rhyme Time got that word. So, just like the other murders, he took it upon himself to solve Reed’s problem. Perfection was his specialty. And on July 19th he decid...