KENHARDT - Secrets 41

I felt giddy with anticipation. I was really going to do it. I was going to kill him. And it wasn’t necessarily the act of killing that excited me, rather, the finality of ending his life once and for all. The realization that what I was doing was just. And when I was finished, he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else ever again. It would finally be over. And perhaps then I could finally get some sleep at night.

But let me fast forward to the good part. It was April 23rd, 1965. I knew from my studies that Mark would be out at the bar with a few of his friends before returning to his home around eleven or twelve. I waited.

I wore a dress that sat just below my knees, a spring jacket overtop since it was still cool out. I had done my hair and makeup, sprayed some perfume on my neck. I slipped on a pair of flats and placed the knife in my purse. I had taken it from my father’s work bench. He never noticed it was missing.

Mark stumbled home around quarter after eleven. He was slightly buzzed, and by the looks of things, tired. Because if he wasn’t tired, he wouldn’t have been coming home alone.

He unlocked his door and hobbled inside. The coast was clear, It was my opportunity to strike.

I strutted across his front lawn with poise and confidence. Any onlookers watching would simply see a pretty young woman going to see Mark Irving. No surprise there. I knocked twice and waited. He answered after a moment.

‘Hi there,’ he breathed, a haze in his eyes.

‘Hi,’ I smiled at him, ‘May I come inside?’ He looked me up and down, heel to head.

‘Course you can, miss.’ He took a step backwards and welcomed me into his home without hesitation. He locked the door behind us.

‘Do I know you from somewhere?’ He asked, a sly grin on his face.

I blushed. ‘I don’t believe so,’ I said. ‘But I saw you at the bar tonight. I wanted to come introduce myself. I’m Suzanna,’ I stuck out my hand,

He shook it. ‘Mark,’ he said. ‘Mark Irving.’

He led me to his living room. The television was buzzing quietly in the background. One of the windows on the main floor was open, allowing a cool breeze to enter the house. It provided a tranquil feeling of relief over my body that had become hot and fuzzy with anxiousness and anticipation. It would also become my escape route.

He offered me a drink and I declined. I needed to stay clear - headed. He shrugged and got himself a beer. I was unsure if Mark Irving was seeing a lady at this time, but that night, it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. Because that was the type of man that Mark was. He only cared about himself, his own needs.

I didn’t want to be there too long. He was taking his time, sipping his drink, making small talk. I slid towards him, closer to his seat on the couch. He smiled at this , invited me closer. And that’s when I knew it was time, I reached my hand into my purse as slowly and carefully as I could. He Didn’t notice, of course. His eyes were locked on mine. And that’s when I said it.

‘You don’t remember me at all, do you?’ He turned his head slightly, trying to focus on my face, ‘I thought you looked familiar,’ he said.

I smiled. ‘But you don’t remember that night, do you?’

He laughed. ‘Oh, don’t tell me we’ve hooked up. And I’ve forgotten?’

‘Even worse,’ I said, keeping my eyes locked on his. ’Three years ago you took me out on a date,’ I said. He lowered his beer from his lips. ’It’s was wonderful, actually. You were quite a gentleman. That was, until we got to your car.’

His expression changed then. A slow recognition finally settling upon his face.

And that’s when I did it. I drew my hand backwards and shoved the knife into his chest with full force. He jolted backwards, his hand releasing the bottle of beer instinctively at the shock. I knew I had to act quickly. He was bigger than I was, and stronger. If I didn’t weaken him soon, he would over power me.

So I withdrew the knife from his chest and stabbed him again, And again. I stabbed him seven times until I felt it was safe to stop.

He was gasping for air, trying to say my name. Reaching for my face, my hands, anything. Grabbing at me, trying to stop me. I felt panicked, it was that night all over again. His hot breath on my neck, his hands on my arms, I pulled away from him and watched as he began to crumble.

His hands were on his own body now, holding his chest, trying to stop the blood from oozing out. But it was no use. There were too many entry wounds. He was bleeding out, I’d punctured a vital organ.

He was making these unearthly sounds. Animalistic, almost. It was frightening yet satisfying all at once. He fell backwards, then sideways, and slid off the couch.

I don’t know how long it took him to die, but I stood there and watched until I was sure he had stopped breathing. Once he was dead, I removed the black marker from my bag. And right there beside him on the floor, where his dead body lay and his blood seeped through the cracks of the tiles, I wrote my initials: SAD…

I don’t know what it was exactly that caused me to do that. I hadn’t planned that from the beginning, It was sudden, Spur of the moment, It was almost as if I wanted to take credit for the work I had completed, like an Artist leaving a signature on their painting. I didn’t want to be caught, but it wanted something for myself. A reminder of what I had been through and what I accomplished. And in a way, it was one last Fuck You to the man who had ruined my life. Beside his dead body would indefinitely be my name. SuzAnne Dennikin.

It never started off a hit - list, as you can clearly see. Never once did I think I would become what people refer to as a serial killer. Nor did I know that I would become the infamous Sad Killer. It all came effortlessly.

It was as though once I got a taste of vengeance. I needed more. It felt good, And again, please do not think me sick for killing these men - these human beings who everyone claimed innocent. Because they were not innocent. They were bad men, Terrible men, Despicable human beings.

It was the act of righting wrongs, avenging the people who needed it. Bringing justice and vengeance to those who had gotten away with it for so long.

It Didn’t take long to decide who would be next. I never intended for there to even be a next. But once I got that first taste, I couldn’t stop. And so who did I choose? It would be none other than the drunk driver, of course. The seventeen year old boy who got away with murder. Who had too much to drink and recklessly made the decision to drive. Who, in turn, killed a family of four. Who brought havoc and misery to so many people. He had destroyed lives, ruined families. He needed to be taught a lesson. He needed to die.

Due to his age at the time of the accident, nobody knew who the boy was. But I was determined to figure it out. After a bit of digging and a trip down to the precinct, I finally had a name, Mike Darby…

Mike was now twenty - seven, ten years since that fatal night. He was young and free-spirited, happy and content, Everybody loved Mike, just as everyone loved Mark. Nobody knew the truth about either one of them, and that is what bothered me the most. That these men that gotten away with indisputable acts and no one had even batted an eye.

It was three weeks later, when I finally made my move on May 7th, 1965. I didn’t choose that date accidentally, and quite frankly, given my timeline, I would have preferred to wait a tad bit longer before my next kill, But it was the anniversary of their deaths for Christ sake, The ten year anniversary, Mike’s death needed to carry significance. He needed to understand that what he did was wrong and that there were consequences to his actions.

That night, I began my routine. I dressed up nice and did my hair. The weather was warmer now. I wore a strapless dress, even put on some heels. I was more experienced now. I would know what to do, how to behave, how to execute my plans thoroughly.

But this time went a bit differently. I met him at the restaurant, flirted my way to his table. He had a few drinks. We laughed, talked about our lives. He told me about his childhood. I made up a childhood I never had. He never noticed.

We went back to his place, my arm linked through his. We sat in his kitchen talking for a long time. He Didn’t make a move on me until nearly forty - five minutes had passed. I appreciated that. At least he wasn’t a pig like Mark Irving.

He led me to his bedroom. I took his hands in mine. Then I pushed backwards onto the bed and straddled him. But before I gave him the chance to kiss me, I began to speak.

‘Do you know what day it is today?’ I said to him light-heartedly.

He seemed confused. ’What?’ He laughed from beneath me.

‘The date,’ I said. ’What day is it today?’ He thought for a moment. ’Friday May 7th,’ he said.

‘Very good,’ I smiled. ’And do you know what happened on this day, ten years ago?’

He tried to sit up I pushed him back down. He stared at me, his eyebrows furrowed.

‘I’ll give you a hint,’ I whispered, getting closer to his ear. ’Your accident.’

He pulled away from me suddenly. His face was contorted into a look I did not recognize. ’What are you talking about?’

‘You killed them,’ I said. ’Craig and Karen Webber and their two children, Joanie and Kyle.’

He stared at me, awestruck, And before he could say anything else, the pillow was over his face.

I pressed down as hard as I could, He was struggling underneath me. It proved more difficult than I had initially predicted. But I held my ground. I pushed down as hard as I could, thinking about the Webber’s and how they died, knowing that I was doing the right thing.

His body was jerking feverishly, grasping at anything he could. If it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system rendering him weak, he surely would have overpowered me.

I straddled him harder and pushed the pillow further into his face. At one point I almost believed that he would knock the pillow away and free himself - and then what would I do? Run away? Scream for help? He would know what I tried to do. I would be charged with attempted murder.

I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let him get away with it. So I kept pushing, kept holding on for as long as I could.

It wasn’t long before his body ceased and his muscles relaxed. His arms dropped to the side, motionless. Yet still, I held the pillow longer, with all my might, just in case. I couldn’t be too sure.

After another minute or so, I removed the pillow and had a look at his face, His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly ajar, a tiny pool of saliva dripping from his mouth. I reached my two fingers towards his neck and felt for a pulse. There was nothing.

I placed the pillow gently on the bed next to him, unhooked my legs around his body, and stood. On the wall, I scribbled one word. SAD.

I know what you’re wondering, was the pillow my plan all along? It seems quite spontaneous, if you ask me. But yes, the pillow was in the plan all along, Because although stabbing Mark Irving had brought me great satisfaction, it was risky. There was so much blood, And it was tiring, I must admit, Stabbing a man seven times - it took a lot out of me. So while I was planning Mike’s death, I was brainstorming other ideas. Other modes of killing that might prove easier.

Suffocation seemed straight - forward, and I wouldn’t even need to bring the murder weapon, it would already be there, at his place.

I cleaned up as best as I could, took one last look at Mike Darby, and headed out the window. It was becoming my new favourite way to leave a man’s house.

The next was Patrick Brooks. Let’s rewind three years prior to the death of Mike. After getting fired from my job at the Restaurant, I became desperate, looking for any job I could find to make money. My mother had told me about a man named Patrick Brooks who needed and occasional sitter for his two children, Angela and Joey, OF course I inquired and was met by a wonderful man who was happy and relieved to have found a sitter, He explained to me how his wife had recently left him and he was all alone with the children. I understand and empathized with him. My parents separated when I was young, so I knew more than anyone how difficult it could be on a single parent. Little did in know that he was the very reason that his wife left in the first place; a bruised eye and a broken rib to boot.

He Didn’t need me often, only on the odd night that he went out, or when he had a busy work schedule during the day. I enjoyed spending time with Joey and Angela, they were good kids, kind and gentle. We would play hide and seek around the house, solve puzzles, play board games, I’d tell them stories about other worlds and they would get lost in them, imaging themselves in a faraway land.

It Didn’t take me long to realize the undisclosed about that was happening in the Brook’s household. Patrick was a very good actor, I had seen men like him before. How they were able to put on a phoney smile and show their charm, all while beating their wife and children behind closed doors.

It was difficult thing to come to terms with. Mind you, this was two and a half years before I began my act of vengeance on Mark Irving, so I was unsure of how to proceed with the situation, Of course, I could never prove anything. I couldn’t go to the police and risk having the children’s father taken away from them on a false claim - that would ruin their lives.

But I was so sure, so certain about what he was doing to them, Their behaviour, his mood swings, The odd bruise on the arm, or cut on the leg, dismissed as falls and accidents. It made me sick how easily the children learned to lie to him. But there was nothing I could do about it. Until the summer of 1965, that is. Once Mark and Mike were taken care of, I knew who had to be next.

I hadn’t sat for them in a while as Patrick felt that Angela, at the age of ten, was old enough to look after herself and her brother. It had been about seven months since I had last been around their place and my body was buzzing with nerves the night I went over there. I waited until just after nine pm when I knew the children would be in bed. Then I knocked on the front door and waited for Patrick to answer.

He opened the door and was surprised to see me, I smiled, he invited me inside.

He asked how I was doing, executing a phenomenal performance of the caring man, the hardworking dad trying to support his children. I told him what was new with me, that I was looking for a new job for the summer and was wondering if he needed me at all. He told me he didn’t, but would keep in touch in case the odd out of town job came up where he needed someone to watch the children.

I didn’t chat with him for too long, the small talk was irritating my head and I wanted to get it over with. I had already chosen my modus operandi - a garrotte. It came down to the decision being between a cable tie and a rope, but I ultimately decided on the latter. In my mind, that was easier.

We were sitting at the kitchen table. I stood up and walked behind him. Perhaps he thought I was going to get a drink of water, so he didn’t pay much attention or turn around. I didn’t want to risk my perfect opportunity by speaking and catching him off guard, although deep down I wanted to so badly. To be able to tell him that I knew what he was doing. To make him see the kind of horrible man he was and let him know that he was getting exactly what he deserved. But instead, I kept my mouth closed. Once I was behind him, I put the rope around his neck and pulled.

Officer Kennedy Cross got the DNA printout of the foetus from DR Kelvin. Somehow it matched the DNA of their John Doe, Holden Scott.

Joe was not answering his cell phone. It was the 7th time Kennedy was calling him. It made sense to her that Holden was involved in the girls lives. Having a relationship with Haddie, Supplying Anya with the Dagga and Kiera maybe appetite suppressants, who knows….