Rage seethes beneath my skin, and blackness crowds the edge of my vision, tunneling until everything is tinged with darkness. When everything clears again, I’m surprised to realize I’m no longer alone in the garden and the sound of my mom screaming behind me from the back doorway is almost deafening. I look down to see I’ve got the hosepipe wrapped tightly around her latest boyfriend’s neck.
“Zach stop it! You’re killing him!”
I could stop, but I don’t want to. I pull harder, enjoying the choked gurgling sounds he’s making, and the darkening of his skin the longer I deprive him of air. He’s strung out, I can see the track marks on his arms as he tries to fight me off, but he’s sluggish, too doped up to put any real effort into defending himself. I keep hold of the pipe, even after he stops twitching, staring into my mom’s eyes, showing her all of the hatred and disgust I feel for her and the piece of shit lying unmoving on the ground in front of me.
“Zachary! Why did you do that?” she cries weakly, her voice slurred from God knows what.
“Because I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I come home to this every single fucking day. I’m done, Rose,” I sneer, kicking the body with one of my steel toe cap boots before moving forward to get in her face.
“I’m your mom, don’t you dare call me anything other than that.” She slaps me, somehow more concerned with my blatant disrespect than the fact her boyfriend has just been murdered in front of her.
I’m done. I’m fucking done. As I push past her, she grabs my arm and her nails scratch my skin. Something in me completely snaps, and I lose what little composure I’d regained in the few moments that have passed since I strangled her boyfriend. Spotting the birdbath my dad installed, I lift the small concrete dish and swing the heavy ornament at her head, knocking her to the floor. Red stains my vision, and all I can see is blood and fury as I unleash every ounce of my hatred on the selfish bitch, until her skull cracks and blood streaks her once soft hair.
I sit back and look at the destruction I’ve wreaked with a sense of detachment. I knew I had to do something, but I never would’ve thought I could do something like this. I don’t even remember dragging Mom’s boyfriend from the house and into the garden. I watch the blood seep into the solid earth, staining it red, as the two dead bodies in front of me grow stiff with rigor. Staring down at my bloody hands, a strange feeling sweeps through me, accompanied by a startling realization...I enjoyed it.
It’s been three months since I killed my mom and her piece of shit boyfriend, and I’ve never felt so at peace in this house, not since my dad left anyway. Even working in my garden never fully took the edge off.
Looking over the freshly laid patio with the newly painted birdbath, I smile at my handiwork. Dad would’ve been proud of how it looks. I worked until my muscles were screaming and my skin was streaked with sweat and dirt, but I finished it. Buried deep beneath the earth I’m standing on, now covered in neat paving slabs, no one will ever discover what I did.
If my dad hadn’t transferred my inheritance over and had Mom draw up a will before he left, I’d be worried about how I’m now going to pay the bills. A little digging unearthed the deeds to the house and the completed payments of the mortgage. Without anyone to contest it, everything is mine. I just have to keep up the facade a little longer and pretend everything is okay.
School might be a problem, but if I keep my head down, focus, and don’t get into any trouble, there’ll be no need for them to ever try and get in touch with my mom. Letters I can deal with, phone calls I can field, but if they ever decide they want a face-to-face meeting, then I’m fucked.
It’s difficult staying focused, keeping the itch I long to scratch hidden beneath layers and layers of carefully crafted lies and deceit. The more I try to smother it, the more it seems to want to burst free. Like a flower desperately reaching for the sun, the petals strain to open, and absorb the light it so fiercely craves. This side of me is clawing at the walls, and my fingers want to sink into flesh like they do the earth, to bring forth the seeds and blossom into something brutal.
I want that feeling back, that euphoria, and the pulsing rush of my blood flowing through my veins. I want to sow my own seeds with crimson lifeblood and create my own garden of flowers in this slice of earth I call my own. Rose was just the start, but with her body entombed beneath the patio, her flowers will never grow here.
Chapter One
Zach
The gurgling cries from Heather as she desperately tries to break free from my vice like grip on the back of her head makes me smile, and it rouses something more, which I ignore for now. Nothing gives me quite the same kind of thrill as murder, not gardening or even sex, although both provide a temporary relief for the need that constantly plagues me. I keep my hand on her head long after her limbs stop flailing and the bubbles have ceased...just to make sure.
When I’m certain she’s dead, I haul her lifeless body out of the water and drag it into the garage where my dad’s old truck sits. I’m not sure why he never took it when he left, but it’s mine now, so fuck him. Peeling back the tarp that covers the
