A Normal Human

Staring at a digital clock doesn’t quite have the same drama as watching the small hand move around the lines on the wall clock. No tick, tick, tick to count the seconds. Just my mental one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi as I wait for five o’clock to finally appear in the bottom corner of my computer screen, so I can log out and leave this monotonous hive of mindless drones.

“You doing anything tonight?” Shawn whispers just loud enough for me to hear him through the crack between our cubicles. “You seem antsy.”

“No,” I murmur. “Just trying to get some fresh air and enjoy time away from here.”

“It’s only Thursday, Lou,” he replies with a humorless chuckle. “It’s not that much time til you’re back tomorrow.”

My Mississippi train goes off the track.

“I thought it was Friday,” I groan softly.

I can feel the muscles in my legs tensing as though I’m about to sprint off the blocks. I can’t wait another 24 hours. I can’t do it.

“Well, it’s not.” I can practically see Shawn’s careless shrug through the stupid fabric cubicle wall.

“Don’t you get tired of it here?” I hiss. “I mean, really, dude. What is our whole purpose here? Are we even making a difference?”

“It’s not that bad,” Shawn mutters. I hear his chair creak as he leans away from my cubicle with obvious annoyance.

I know he doesn’t understand it. No one does.

Friday or no Friday, it’s time to make a change.

The moment I see 5:00 on the screen, I slide my cursor to log out and shut down. I’m already grabbing my bag when I glance over and see Shawn setting his headset on his desk with a depressed sigh.

I don’t bother to wait for him today. Part of me is screaming to act normal, but the other part is practically foaming at the mouth.

As soon as I’m in my beat-up old car, I run through my mental list. Order pizza, stop at St. Joe’s, start the movie. Easy enough.

I grab my phone from my bag, scroll through my notifications, and remember no one ever texts me anyway. I pull up the pizza restaurant app and type in my usual order. Triple meat plus green peppers and jalapenos with a side of garlic bread, sub ranch for the marinara on the side. The app estimates delivery for an hour and a half.

Plenty of time.

My car wheezes to life, and I throw it into gear as I join the line of drones leaving the parking lot. I resist the urge to bumper tap everyone out of my way, though just barely.

Act normal.

I follow the winding route I’ve memorized from the office to St. Joseph’s Church and circle the block before I find a parking spot one block over. I slip on my plain black beanie and leather gloves, ignoring the sweat caking my palms. I pop open the glove box, and the mist of condensation pours into the passenger seat from the freezer I installed last week. I grab the icicle as a shiver racks my body, though I don’t feel a thing from the freezer.

You have one hour tops, I remind myself. The chill of winter will give me a little extra time but not enough to dawdle.

Then I’m out in the open, the icicle pressing against my side but not too close to melt from my body heat. I keep my head down as I shuffle at what I hope is a normal, avoid-the-cold speed toward the east side of the church, where I know a narrow alley runs right up beside the kitchen door.

Once I’m off the sidewalk, I sprint to the dumpster and shove it away from the wall enough to leave a gap for my thin body.

Right on time, the kitchen door opens and a portly white man with a receding hairline and too-small dirty T-shirt waddles down the stairs toward the dumpster. As soon as the door shuts behind him, I slip to the edge of my shadow.

With a quick breath, I jump onto his back, slapping one hand to cover his slimy mouth and then wrapping the other to press the icicle to his throat.

“Hey, Gerald,” I purr as I dig the sharpened icicle into his skin.

“Oh, god, please.” His muffled whine immediately makes me jab the icicle into him harder. “I don’t have any money. I swear I’ll clear my book as soon as I can.”

“I don’t want your pathetic scraps, you filthy pig,” I growl into his ear.

Gerald’s body freezes beneath me. “I know your voice.”

“I bet you do.” I sneer and drag the tip of the icicle across his skin as a trickle of blood slides onto the collar of his dirty shirt. “I’ve listened to all your whining and moaning for months, Gerald. All your pathetic, bullshit fake attempts to change. And all this time, I’ve been trying to decide if you’ll be my first.”

“First what?” Gerald whispers as his breathing becomes heavier.

“First kill.”

Before he can react, I plunge the icicle into his throat and shove his body toward the dumpster as I jump off his back.

Gerald gurgles and tugs at the icicle, but my aim was true, and the ice is slick.

I leave him in his growing puddle of blood and bodily fluids, the shadow of the dumpster hiding my crime for now.

As I jog through the other side of the alley and loop back around to my car, I focus on slowing my breaths.

I finally did it.

The car ride home feels oddly normal. I listen to my podcast, check the pizza app to make sure I’m still getting home on time, and contemplate my weekend plans like the average human.

I pull into my apartment complex parking lot just as my podcast episode ends. Is it too ironic to listen to true crime today? Oh well. I toss my bag over my shoulder and walk up to my door to unlock it and step inside.

“Well, hello, Amadeus,” I murmur to my black-and-white cat as he rubs up against my leg with a light purr. “You would be so proud of me today.”

A knock at the door tells me I made it just in time, and I gently push Amadeus away from the door, so I can grab my pizza.

“Here you go,” the young, obviously bored, delivery person mutters as he nearly shoves the boxes into my arms.

“Oh, don’t forget your tip!” I hurry to grab a ten from my pocket and pass it to him with a sheepish smile.

“Ten bucks on a fifteen-dollar order?” the kid asks with wide eyes.

“You got here pretty fast.” I laugh and wave as I shut the door on his shocked face.

Memorable, but not too memorable.

I turn on my favorite horror flick as I kick up my feet on the table and enjoy my pizza. After it’s over, I climb into bed and fall asleep without a hitch.

When I wake up, the news is all over my social media feeds.

Man Murdered Behind Church.

Police Searching For Any Clues.

I smile as I pour my coffee into my thermos and head for my car. TGIF, a normal human phrase, am I right?

The office is buzzing with the news, but I ignore the water cooler chats and put on my headphones. My first call is almost instant.

“Thank you for calling the helpline, this is Lou.”

“Lou, I think I have a problem,” the hushed voice on the other end says.

“That’s what we’re here for,” I murmur. “Tell me about the problem.”

“I…” The man takes a deep breath. “I think I have a thing for kids.”

“The first step to the problem is admitting you have it.”