Blood Thrill Read online

  Blood Thrill

  David Swinden

  www.davidswinden.com

  Table of contents

  Chapter 1. First Blood

  Chapter 2. The Morning After

  Chapter 3. The Funeral

  Chapter 4. The Girlfriend

  Chapter 5. Second

  Chapter 6. Hope

  Chapter 7. The Investigation

  Chapter 8. The Case Opens Up

  Chapter 9. Confusion

  Chapter 10. Getting Hot

  Chapter 11. Its Over

  Chapter 12. Let's Play

  Chapter 13. 9 pm.

  Chapter 14. Snake

  Chapter 15. Sideways

  Chapter 16. Brainwashed

  Chapter 17. Partnerships

  Chapter 18. Mr. Mayor

  Chapter 19. Blood

  Chapter 20. Knowing me, Knowing you

  Chapter 21. Arsenic

  Chapter 22. Thrill

  Chapter 23. Blood Dance

  Chapter 24. Smoke and Mirrors

  Chapter 25. Deceitful

  Chapter 26. Leveling

  Chapter 27. Hunting

  Chapter 28. Dancing with Death

  First Blood

  His muscle memory must have taken over, as the bullet passed through the window glass and struck him straight in the temple. This was the second night of hunting; I had climbed up between the rocks of a small hill to claim my victim. The previous night I had tried, without any luck. Having loaded up the rifle and taking aim, I had fired, but kept missing every time. The last short had sent shivers down my spine; as I’d finally succeeded. These motherfuckers needed to die, if I was to feel any solace other people had to die, and die by my hand they would.

  I watched as the Big Rig kept on going for another 5 to 6 seconds, before it veered off its lane and headed straight into another oncoming 18-wheeler. The fireball was exhilarating, as the plumes of smoke rose high in the air. It was then that I realized that a few other cars had added themselves to the blaze. They were unable to stop on time and had been too close to the heavy-duty truck before it was hit. Having caused enough carnage and mayhem for one night, I was now at peace with the world, but more so, with myself. All the anger I had felt when the government had taken over a part of our farm for a bypass route, now felt justified. Yes, we would receive compensation of some sort, but nothing could make up for the loss of peace and quiet. A road would now pass through the outer edges of our farm. It was like the land had now been divided into two countries. My parents had moved here for the tranquility and silence, to escape the buzz and noise of the city sprawl. But that was not to be; a bypass road would now cut through the beautiful scenery bringing those noisy fuckers into our rural homes. What was a young boy to do?

  Having just turned 16, my anger had kept growing rapidly over the past year. There was no peace to be had, as I sat and watched the road being built. On and on, the racket continued - until that final day when it had been officially thrown open. Day and night now, vehicles roared through our lands. Why the fuck where there so many humans around? Some of them badly needed to go. There were over 7 billion of these creepy crawlies around, and I had decided then and there to start popping-off a few. What good were people anyway? All of them seemed to have some destination they were dying to reach in such a hurry, driving like they’d received a call from the president. Since they’d been in such a hurry to reach their destinations - maybe I could help, by sending some of them to their eternal destinations.

  Old man Jim was a family friend who would often show up at our home. He lived a while a-ways, closer toward the mountains. I would visit him frequently as I had an SUV at my disposal. We lived in the rural country and most of my roaming was on long distant country roads. These roads had no asphalting, just plain beautiful mud roads. Jim was used to living alone and was most of the time up to no good. He was a bootlegger of moonshine and hid his stash somewhere up in the hills, amidst all the tall trees and thick foliage. I knew his hideout, and was a better trekker than he. For which precise reason, he would ask me to help him at his small independent factory of amusement. It was there that I discovered something more sinister about the old man. In the cave nearby he had a collection of guns. These guns and ammunitions he had stolen over the years. He had quite a good collection, I must say. I took a shot every now and then, whenever the need arose and I felt it necessary to practice. These guns became a necessity for me and their presence always made me feel comfortable, safe and secure. It was from this cave, that I had retrieved the rifle and ammunition that was used in the first road kill.

  Having hiked from this hideout and making it all the way to the road. I had stationed myself on a small hill, which consisted mainly of boulders heaped one on top of the other. How nature had managed to play such a game was truly a mystery to me. I was now looking down on the road from a vantage point. (This was not the bypass road, but the main highway that the bypass connected to.) It was at a 30 degree angle that I was sighting from; must have been at least a thousand meters away from the road. Having set the sights to the best of my knowledge had kept firing away. The last bullet connected and now I had to get away. Having hiked up to this point, it was now time to disappear and get away from all this destruction. Climbing back down I began to walk in a very roundabout way, eventually reaching the farm - and home.

  2. The Morning After

  The thrill of the kill was weighing heavily on my heart the next day. What if this could easily be traced back to me? Would I be caught and tried - being only 16 helped since I would be tried in a juvenile court, and by default receive a much reduced sentence, the fear of getting caught was now beginning to torment me.

  It was all over the news, and TV stations kept playing clips from all the carnage and destruction. An investigation had begun into what might have caused the accident. It was not going to take long for them to piece everything together and realize that a bullet had set all of this horror in motion. The sheriff's department had transferred the case to the local Police Department from the main city. This was done as the main PD had the necessary expertise and resources to conduct a thorough investigation. The sheriff’s office was not really equipped to handle homicides. Everything had been set in motion and I could feel the noose begin to tighten around my neck. My anger had turned to fear, and this was not something that I had anticipated. In my anger and hatred the only thing that had mattered was revenge against all of humanity. This was not something that I was going to be able to pull off. It was definitely time to cool my heels and see what became of the investigation.

  By late evening, a clearer picture began to appear in the news. The bullet had been found, and any new number of angles where going to be looked into. Maybe it was just a stray bullet that had found the driver of the big rig - it was an accident. Maybe the driver had enemies and someone had waited for him out on the highway to put his lights out. All efforts were now focused on finding the place from where the bullet might have originated. That was going to prove difficult as I knew the vehicle had kept on moving for a while, before it veered from its lane and smashed into oncoming traffic from the opposite lane.

  It took another three whole days before the final story began rolling out. Local news channels were reporting that although everything was burned and charred; a bullet hole had been found in the skull of the trailer truck driver. Judging from the time of the accident, and the approximate time of death - a clearer picture of where the bullet might have originated from, began to appear. The PD was reporting that this was a homicide, but the intent was unclear. The motive for this kind of wanton and malevolent killing was as yet to be ascertained.

  There was a notice out with a reward for any information leading to the arrest of the killer/killers.

>   I had been careful to use gloves and a skull-cap for my head. Also, while walking I had used shoes that had flat rubber soles. This was to make my imprints in the sand that much more difficult to spot. Now after a few days, even if my hideout was discovered, the wind would have already swept my footprints into the mud. While walking back I had followed a path that had led me through many a mountain stream. Here I had stepped into the water and kept on walking through it, careful not to upset any stones at the bottom. I truly had a Kill Mind and could sketch everything to perfection. Even if a canine unit were to be put on my scent, they were not going to get very far.

  I had an earnest prayer in my heart that all my precautions would pay off in the end. I had already planted the gun back in the cave and had also noticed that Jim had not been around for a couple of days. I secretly hoped that when he returned, he didn’t go check the guns to see which ones had been fired. I would need to keep an eye on his place, every couple of days; after all, I did not want to have to kill him. He was a nice guy and had already taught me a lot about hunting, tracking, and killing.

  He had killer instinct like no one else. Once he had his mind set on killing something for the pot - nothing could stop him. If for some reason he tried to poke around my business, I was not going to spare him. Just because I had kill tendencies, did not mean I was willing to throw my life away. Self-preservation was strong within me and that’s what started everything in one way or the other. My parents loved the farm and it was a gift from them to me. This was going to be mine someday by virtue of inheritance. Yet, the government had to interfere and spoil everything.

  I had no idea from where the old man had stolen that rifle - a NOSLER M48 TGR 2010. It was a high-powered weapon and the cops were onto it. Forensics had determined that it was a rifle that had been used but could not identify the exact weapon. Ballistics had determined the kind of weapon but not the exact match. Knowing that these were farming areas, the police had begun to visit every farm asking questions, specifically to try and find out which homes owned firearms and such.

  Sure enough on one sunny afternoon, the cops were at our doorstep. My parents were thankfully out at work and I was home alone. Seeing a child the cops were decent and very polite, inquiring if we had guns and do we use firearms. I asked them to come in and told them that my dad was a neurologist, and my mom a cardiologist. They were not the kind of people to even be capable of firing a gun - both of them were against violence, and shooting something was unthinkable to them. The lead detective left his card with me, and said he would meet with my parents someplace else. If there was something unusual that I’d notice, it was to be reported to him immediately.

  He then wanted to know - how come I was alone and did I attend school? I told him that I was being homeschooled, as my parents were always busy and engaged in high-powered jobs.

  ‘So are they okay, with leaving you alone like this?’

  ‘Yeah, I am like… used to it you know, looking after myself.’

  ‘All alone on such a large property, what if there is an emergency?’

  ‘Well, nothing ever happens… except that thing on the highway.’

  ‘You have my number, in case you hear or see anything be sure to call me up, okay.’

  ‘Yeah, will do…’

  With that he left, and I was left all alone once again to ponder the recent events and take stock of everything. This was getting too close for comfort - why did that detective keep digging and poking around like this? He seemed young and it looked like this was his first real case. His name was Brian Miller, and he appeared a bit too eager - mostly in the manner in which he kept looking around, as though some clue was going to pop-up at him by surprise. He was a good looking detective though, with wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and must have been at least six foot tall. It would be such a shame if he got any closer and pissed my off. I would then have to take him down. We had a large property and I could bury him in some godforsaken corner where no one was ever going to be able to find him.

  The next day in order to keep tabs on that old man, I visited his home and found that he was dead. Must have died from natural causes, but there he was, lying stiff and as dead as dead. He had no one and it fell to me now to take care of his mortal remains. Looking through my phone, found the number of our pastor and enlightened him on what I’d found. It caused me to think of all the good times we’d had, all alone in those hills, hunting, fishing, and cooking.

  3. The Funeral

  The next day was the funeral and it was to happen at about 3:30 in the afternoon. My mom and dad had still not been able to spare the time, and I had to go alone. There were a lot of people who attended this final ceremony of his, and I noticed that Brian Miller was also present. Our pastor was a very kind and humble soul, who spoke in his usual soft voice, offering condolences to anyone who knew and liked the old man. It was a nice place to be at - this cemetery. This was not a place that made me feel creepy, if anything; I felt right at home. Right at home amid all the dead and these dearly departed souls. Death to me was not something to be scared of, in point of fact, it did not even matter to me. Everybody must die - some sooner than others - and some with a little help from me.

  After the service, as I began to walk away slowly, Brian moved in and seemed to want to ask a few questions.

  ‘I’ve heard that he was bootlegger, and that you were close to him?’

  ‘Yeah, I really liked him and his death has saddened me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘I hope so…’

  ‘Can you take me to his place; you know… the one where all the cooking was done.’

  ‘What cooking?’

  ‘Oh come on, where he made all of that moonshine.’

  ‘Sure, let’s go. Meet me in an hour at the farm.’

  I got into my SUV and headed straight back home, changed into regular clothes and waited for the detective. Sure enough he arrived and we went in his car. Right up into the hills, and when we reached the path that led to the Magic Factory, we got out, as we now needed to trek to the place. It was a steep uphill climb and I could tell that the detective was finding this exhausting.

  He walked around just looking and observing and I couldn’t tell what he was looking for. Whatever it was though - I was sure as hell going to make sure he finds it. I had come here after the death of Jim and removed most of the guns and ammunition back to a hidden corner on the farm. Taking care to leave the rifle alone, this was sure to have the old man’s prints on it. It was my intention to make sure the detective finds this gift, (from me to him) as it would then close the case, and get this stupid fucker off of my back and off the farm.

  I kept walking around in circles and I could see sense that Brian was following me about, like a small puppy. Little by little I led him nearer toward the cave, betraying no signs that I knew of its existence. He eventually found the opening and being the little ‘Bright eyed detective’ that he was, rushed in and came out immediately, telling me that this was now a crime scene and that I would need to leave immediately. I told him that I had no transport, at which point he relented and said I could stay till the rest of the crew arrived. He looked as though he had hit a goldmine and was now mighty pleased with himself. He was on the phone, calling his local PD, telling the team to come down to the spot, also passing on the GPS coordinates to them. He had found a hidden stash of guns and money, which he was sure, had something to do with the case. So engaged was he that he kept moving about and wouldn’t remain still for a single moment.

  Hi team eventually arrived and he was behaving like a hero. The guns and money were moved out, while the whole place was being cordoned off, as this was now a crime scene and part of an active ongoing investigation. I was dropped off at home while Brian and the rest of the gang moved away.

  They had found the gun with the old man's prints on it. This was the murder weapon, which meant ‘Case closed.’ The only lingering question was ‘Why did he do it?’ Maybe he had go
ne nuts during the last few days of his life, and had gone about shooting people; there was no real rational explanation however. They had the gun, they had the perpetrator, and that was that. It was Case Closed and everyone went home happy.

  News of the case being finally solved spread throughout the city and our own rural area. People were happy that it was just an old mad man, and not some serial killer that had begun stalking the highway. This had worked out well for me, and I felt a great sense of relief as things could have turned out a lot worse. This sudden stroke of good luck was all that I’d needed to put everything behind me and move on.

  The next time I would need to be careful and think things through. Yes, there was definitely going to be a next time, I could feel it in my blood as it flowed through my veins.

  There was just one small problem though - I did not have anything to remember my first kill by. When the old man Jim went hunting and used a weapon for the first time. He had a very special ritual called ‘First Blood,’ wherein he would use his index finger and run it through the animal’s blood. Which he would then in turn run along the barrel of his Kill Gun; this way, the animal’s blood would stay on the gun forever, this he called First Blood.

  I had just made my first kill and had also gotten’ away with it, but I hadn’t claimed First Blood – the physical blood needed to be on the barrel of the gun that I had used. This was bothering me and kept lingering in my heart. Of course I did have a heart, its emotional function was different from others, but I had one. Maybe one day I might be able to take it out and show it to you, if you didn’t mind looking at such things.