Garbage: Randy's Secret

I was fifteen years old when I first lured a man to his death. That was before our modern world made it so easy, back when you actually had to do real practical work in the field to facilitate a clean kill. His name was Randall, two years my senior. 'Randy', we called him around school, obviously. He had it all. Obscenely popular, naturally athletic, outgoing and affable, and absolutely drowning in tail. It seemed like every week he was in it with some ten or another, he was notorious for it. So what a surprise I got when I started following him from a distance at night when he’d sneak out and prowl the streets looking for that one thing which his life of privilege could never allow him.

I’m not going to pretend that I’ve always been as virtuous as I am now. Stalking Randy wasn’t about doing the right thing, not at all… it was childish vindictive jealousy, pure and simple. I wanted what he had, all of it, but when I realized exactly whose window he was quietly crawling in and out of in the dark, it became something else entirely. My life’s work. An unignorable calling.

Managing to ingratiate myself with him was surprisingly easy. All my former anxieties and feelings of inadequacy seemed to simply wash away in the face of my covert knowledge of Randy’s degenerate passtime. One day, after purposefully ending up in the same detention room as him, I began to weedle my way into his trust. Within a few weeks, we’d become very friendly. Friendly enough that I became his accomplice… as far as he knew, anyway. The things he’d tell me about what he’d do, what he’d do if he could get away with it… it was sickening. Even to me, and I’d already done things that would have gotten me sent away had my parents ever found out. Randy was a very different monster than I am, though.

He didn’t bat an eye when I told him about the secret stash of polaroids hidden within the ventilation system of the old abandoned children’s hospital on the outskirts of town. The ones the janitor collected, taking indecent photos of the patients as they slept. The look on Randy’s face said it all. That hunger, desperate to degrade and control… to consume innocence, and leave suffering in its place. It was so easy to get under his skin, like all he’d ever really wanted was to find someone as disturbed as he was to share it all with.

That night, as the full moon hung high in the sky, I met Randy by the park and we walked the mile or so side-by-side through deserted back streets and alleyways until we could see the derelict structure standing imposing and black against the horizon. As we reached the partially broken down back entrance, I pulled off my backpack and presented a large flashlight, clicking it on and apologizing for my lack of a spare. I lied, saying that it’d broken and that he should stay behind me as I knew exactly where to go. He bought every last word eagerly, preoccupied in his disgusting fantasies which he’d been incessantly murmuring about the entire way over. The pack jingeled with weight as I slung it back over my shoulders, which I explained away as being bolt cutters and other tools we may need to traverse the hospital quicker. Afterall, I knew the place like the back of my hand. Randy didn’t.

I led him inside, distracting Randy with made up details about the depravity of some of the fictional images. It was all I could do to shut him up. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered, the nerves rising in anticipation of the coming reveal. I could hardly wait any longer. Thankfully, we were almost there. Climbing one more flight of stairs, we emerged into a long ward hallway with rooms on either side; most of the doors having been long kicked down by other trespassers. Nearing the kill room, I told Randy that the vent entrance was just up ahead. He was almost as excited as I was.

Shining the light’s beam at the open roof vent grate towards the back of the room, I wheeled a rusty hospital bed beneath it before urging him to reach up and grab the photos; which, I assured him, were just beyond the vent’s opening. After some light resistance in the form of a tedious back and forth in which Randy wanted me to get them instead, I managed to talk him around… and the game began in earnest. I steadied the bed as he clambered on top of it, wobbling as he found his footing. He told me to keep the light steady, and I did, until I heard his palm thump fruitlessly against the metal of the vent’s interior.

“Hey! There’s nothing in here? What the fuck, ma-”

The room was enveloped in complete darkness as I clicked the button on the flashlight, kicking away the bed and sending Randy tumbling to the floor with a shriek. Before he could recover from the shock, I hastily made my exit and sequestered myself inside the room across the hall. Randy’s confused expletives echoed through the ward as he furiously called out to me, silenced only by the sudden buzzing hum of the night vision goggles strapped around my eyes.

Randy whimpered as his anger fell to fear, and then to overt terror as I allowed my heavy backpack to crash to the floor by my hiding spot before repositioning to the other side of the room. Randy found his way in, feeling around with his outstretched hands. Barely even whispering my name now. His feet connected with the bag with a loud clunk, and as he rooted around inside - presumably for a weapon - I closed the distance, bringing the wrench clutched in my hand down over the back of his head. I’ll never forget the sound as he tumbled to the ground. I was baptized in it.

When he awoke, he was strapped to the bed, fastened with duct tape for good measure. I only allowed Randy to say one single word before I taped his mouth too… his last: ‘Why?’ The sincere confusion in the question amused me deeply, and now that I really think about it, it was the first time that I ever truly laughed about anything with any honesty. A few hours later, it was over… and I was reborn, bathed in sprays of red, as I watched the sunrise through the grimy hospital window.

That was a long time ago, and I have to admit that it makes me feel just a little depressed to know it never got quite as good as that ever again. Not for my lack of trying to recapture the night, of course. That magic. The ease with which these men wander into my traps, it’s like stabbing horny fish in a barrel. An empty house, a child persona… and an internet connection. All the other tools are mere extras that can be purchased at pretty much any hardware store around the globe, and, when I'm done, I simply discard them. Like any other garbage. Like nothing. It’s just that easy. Who knows… maybe you could even do it too…