Will You Into My Will (chapter-67). Released on Feb 2/2024. Now available on online stores :)

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Hey guys, ‘Will You Into My Will’ is now available for purchase on online stores. Finally! Took a loooong time huh. Grab your copy today. Thank you for the support all the way through ^_^!

Here is an amazon.co.uk link https://amzn.eu/d/02mitqw

Available on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Austin Macauley’s website, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones, WHSmith, ebay.

————————————————–

‘Hey. What happened?’ I speak, once I stand next to Brandon.
He looks at me, then away to the ground. Muddled.
Still lost.
His eyes lids are half pulled down, pupils contracted, reflecting light dimly
with only dusky hue of lime on the background. His lashes look clumped
together on lower margins and there are blotchy stains marks against his light
skin where he must have rubbed his hand.
‘Brandon,’ I call again. This time squeezing his arm.
‘Don’t.’ Brandon pulls away from me. ‘Don’t,’ he repeats.
I freeze. Did I expect this? Did I not know it coming?
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know.’
I stand still.
He picks up his gaze and fixes them pointedly at me. ‘How long were you
planning to not tell me?’
His tone.
It wasn’t loud, he was not shouting. Brandon is loud when he is angry. I have
seen him be angry. A number of times with James. He can shout. But he wasn’t
loud with me. But he was restraining it. His voice resonated of anger, tightly
sealed on his lips.
I turn away from him. I could not answer this.
‘Turn around.’
Brandon speaks again. More assertive this time.
‘Carem, turn around!’ He snaps when I don’t respond.
I jump with fright at a safe distance away from him. This wasn’t him.
Brandon wasn’t Will.
‘You slutty bitch. Do you know how much it hurts?’
He breaks in tears now.

Still unsure of how I should be behaving, I stare at him, I am still on denial
that truth has come out. That Brandon knows. My mind is still processing.
‘How would you know? You are heartless. And I thought, things could
change—’
He laughs then. On his own. Wipes his eyes roughly with his palms and sits
down on the ground.
Extending his legs and stretching his elbows on back for support, he
questions, looking up and at me, ‘Is he that good?’
‘Come on. I am listening, Carem. You need to give some answers.’
I still don’t reply. What am I supposed to say?
‘Carem. Answers.’ He insists.
‘I am in love with him,’ I reply, in faintest voice I could produce.
‘Love. Did you say love?’ Brandon repeats, in a louder tone. He chuckles
unpleasantly with a half-drawn smile at the idea of it, then hisses, ‘Don’t joke
with me.’
‘That’s the truth,’ I reply.
‘It’s not the truth,’ he strongly disagrees. ‘He is twice the age as you. He is
married, unfaithful and using you for sex. Don’t tell me your standards are so
low that you are in love with a man of that category.’
‘He is not married.’
‘Carem!’ He gets up abruptly from where he was sitting and walks towards
me. ‘You had sex with him. It was good. You think its love.’
He affirms it again, pressing his both hands against both my arms. ‘It was
good and you think its love.’
‘It’s not about sex, Brandon! I love him! I loved him way before I started
seeing you!’ I scream now, pushing his hands away.
He had crossed the limits. Nobody tells me, my love is adulterated. Not even
him.
‘Have sex with me. And I will show you a good time.’ Brandon steps in still,
forcefully kissing me.
‘What are you doing?’ I push him back.
‘He is a wrong man,’ he replies, wiping his lips. ‘I thought you had come
back to me this time for real.’
‘I am sorry—’ I stammer.
‘Don’t move,’ he holds up the arm half way between us on air, straightening
the palm up, stopping from moving closer to him. ‘Stop. Carem. No more.’

He crouches down on the ground, pulling his head in between elbows, resting
on his knees then. ‘James had seen you with that guy. He told me; he didn’t trust
you. I saw you two kissing. I know, where you disappeared for all those days.
You thought I didn’t know—I knew everything even before Mia told me.’
‘But I love you—’ he sobs, pulling tightly on his hair. ‘I thought you’d be
through him. I hoped you’d be. And we could fall in love over again.
I slump down.
How foolish is Brandon to be in love with me? A girl like me? A cheat. A liar.
How could he let me tag him along? Why would he do that to himself?
‘I am sorry, Brandon.’
My throat lumps with pain as I say that. ‘I know Will is a wrong man. He is
unfaithful. Selfish. Mean and fickle. But I can’t help it. I love him. So much. Do
you know how that feels?’ I begin to wail. I was never getting over this
overpowering feeling of control he had on me.
‘It hurts,’ he replies gazing at me. ‘You are unfaithful, selfish, mean and
fickle. But I can’t help it.’
We sit there, two fools, sobbing peering at each other at an arm distance.

Love was fickle. At least for us.
The light of his eyes grew dimmer as I watched him. If there was a switch
off button to feelings, I could use, I wouldn’t have thought twice to do that
for him. But I cannot.
All I can do is pray. To pray for Brandon to find love. A true love. If
there was any. Even if it meant giving my share. And so much happiness,
that his emerald pair of eyes always glowed brighter than these stars that
are staring at us now, from a world so far away, where perhaps everyone
are happy and have their perfect-forever-together.

Will You Into My Will (Chapter 54). Released Feb 02/2024. Available on online stores now :)

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Hey guys, ‘Will You Into My Will’ is now available for purchase on online stores. Finally! Took a loooong time huh. Grab your copy today. Thank you for the support all the way through ^_^!

Here is an amazon.co.uk link https://amzn.eu/d/02mitqw

Available on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Austin Macauley’s website, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones, WHSmith, ebay.

—————————————————-

It’s a shame how we could really love someone with all our heart and never
know, never really be sure of how they feel about us. They may mean a
whole world to us and what we do, how we talk, how we feel. All of our
actions, our hopes, plans and future may entirely revolve around them; but
for them, we might mean nothing.
I find it frustrating to depend on just mere words, non-verbal cues and
assumptions to feel emotionally secure. What I don’t own, may never be
mine or perhaps isn’t mine or was never mine. How can I rest in peace with
thoughts like that?

Will is sleeping next to me.
Even with his face this close, his warm breath blowing on my face, I feel
unsettled. ‘He loves me, He loves me not.’ How can one not be selfish to want
to hold to him for life, when all I care, want and dream about, lying right next to
him is, ‘him’.
How can I not be greedy, when I can’t reason out my own self from thinking
that no one will keep him happier and no one will love him more other than me.
I am your person, look at me Will.
‘Love and don’t expect.’ Whoever said it, definitely didn’t know a thing
about love.
Is it possible to love someone and never want to hold them? Is it love, if you
haven’t brought up enough guts to confess while shaking on your knees? Can it
be love, if you aren’t awake on middle of night, planning and skimming to make
your ‘perfect together?’ Do you really believe, you could love someone without
any expectations—?
I read the text messages from Will’s cell-phone one more time. It read ‘Love
you. And I miss you.’ from Ressica, his fiancée. And a reply ‘Me too’ from Will
for all the 4 days we have been together.

I don’t know what to do about it.
I feel displaced. Like an outcast, intruder in a place where I don’t belong.
I run my fingers through his face, across his forehead, along the border of his
nose to his lips and to his chin.
This is the face, I’m in love with.
He is heart throbbingly beautiful. I envy how peaceful he looks, while I lie
there next to him losing my mind.
He is with me but he isn’t.
‘Hey, stop staring at me. I can’t sleep,’ Will mumbles, fluttering his eyelids
lazily, catching me gawk at him like a lunatic.
‘Can’t do,’ I reply, tired. My eyes hurting from sleepless night.
‘Why?’ he asks, fluttering his lashes again.
‘Don’t know. Maybe because you look so good when you are sleeping.’

‘Try sleeping. Come here.’
Digging my face flat on his chest, I move to him closer. It disheartens me
sometimes to think, how for his ample attention I suffer.
‘I don’t milk, do I?’ he jokes, pecking a kiss on my forehead, when I nibble
on his nipple.
‘I know,’ I reply, turning over, pressing my back against him and pulling his
arm over me. ‘Can’t help my instincts.’
He chuckles.
I love that sound he makes, when he laughs quietly like that. Have always,
will always. It makes me glad to know, he sounds happy with me.
I can feel the weight of my lashes finally getting heavier on my lids now snug
in his warm arms. Its 5 a.m. in the morning. We are late birds, not exactly Will,
but I can be contagious.
But in no time, my eyes are wide open again. My head reflexively bends to
my side feeling his tender kisses from lips advancing from my shoulder to the
neck. Our hands interlock on my chest as our hips follow the ritual dance. Once
again, for a thousandth time, my heart starts pounding fast; oddly enough pulsing in strangest of places.

——————————–

We are out to explore the Highlands again; this time with a group of other holiday backpackers arranged by our tour guide. On our way, we came across Matt and his four friends cycling through the unhostile road, exploring the lush greenery on their two wheelers. One by one, they swung their hands-on air, waving goodbye to us.

We had a good time.

Most of us were young couples so it was easy to start a chit-chat. Everyone
was friendly and enthusiastic. By the time our 6-hour hike was done, we were
exchanging numbers and email addresses.
Will didn’t seem like he was in good mood when we returned to our cabin.
He wasn’t throwing fits or showing his usual tantrums but he was being
peculiarly very silent. There was no verbal reply to any of my queries, except
nodding ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’
Needless to say, I was nervous.
‘I’m tired. Should I just put the beans, sausages and bread for dinner?’ I
shout, once I settled in the kitchen chair without taking my shoes off, exhausted
from the walk.
‘Anything,’ Will replies, startling me, his voice right behind my ears; his
eyes scowling at me.
‘You scared me—’ I laugh nervously.
‘I will take a shower,’ he reports abruptly, without caring to calm me down,
walking away from me.

I hate it when he is elusive like that. Because I can’t tell what he is
thinking. Not that I could when he is being normal, but at least I know how
to behave then. What wouldn’t I give to read his mind just for a day.

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 53.

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Why do you look depressed Inspector? Is it because I told you, we are the bloodlines of the worst of what humanity has to offer. Are  you feeling hopeless again? Relax. Look you need to stop feeling like that every time I paint a grim picture of our being. That is kind of my job. If someone like you gave up, what would happen to all those sleeping in peace dreaming about their beautiful futures? Yes, it’s scary and there are evil evil people out there and they are sprawling. But I’m sure there are also good people like Leo and Kenzi out there. It takes one small burning candle to light the path. Once you light the path, you’ll see there are so many others waiting with candles in their hands for it to be lit. And that is the world we brought our daughters into and that is the world we will, as fathers, fight for to keep it. 

Sometimes it will feel like we are losing the war. When the good is too good and we need to make choices. We’ll grab a shovel each then, I’ll bury the devil and you bury me. No one likes a story without a villain and without tales of his merciless defeat by the hands of the kind & the heroic. So, you pick your breath and broaden your soldiers right now. If I was a princess locked in a tower, l’d run back to be locked again another 100 years watching that face coming to rescue me.

I actually want to believe AI would be the answer for our solutions for world peace. Not the one that would be hacked and controlled and manipulated to destroy specific targets, specific groups or nations. But the one with a conscience. With no personal, financial, political or religious gains for its own. She would be nurturing like a mother would be, conscientious and righteous like a father would be, protective but respectful of autonomy, patient, merciful and just…This AI would give us a world where we all felt safe and we were all  living our lives to the fullest. Disease free, hunger free, following our passion, chasing our dreams. Wouldn’t that be our Utopia?

But again, would my version of Utopia be the same as yours Inspector or anyones? Would living truly in Utopia make us happy? Does the pain make us appreciate laughter a little more, death makes us appreciate life a little more, disease makes us appreciate health a little more, loss makes us appreciate love a little more ?  I think the only way to ensure everyone lives their Utopia is that we each get to write our own scripts… Whatever we think makes us happy, gives us a little more thrill. Here is a crazy thought as if my psychiatrist doesn’t think I could get any crazier, what if  I have already written it, my script I mean. And the AI is already so advanced that I am living in a simulation inside my head huh? I don’t know why they don’t keep those looney bins working on these imaginative stories inside the psych facilities. Isn’t there so much trouble in the world already where they can be of some assistance? 

Someone is going to take control of her one day and rain chaos on all of us. 

I imagine you have made a small guess Inspector of how much time I have in here to think about all that. 

I’ll have to cut our meeting a little early today, Inspector. You know how busy the prison barber can get. The old man retired so they recruited a new barber who is really good. I would say he must have worked as a professional hairdresser previously. He knows a lot of things about his trade that align very much with my interest. Last time I had a haircut he passed me some free samples of lavender scented french soaps… Worked brilliantly on my hair & on my skin. And it felt so great to finally smell something good around here. 

Ponytail doesn’t really suit me, does it Inspector? What do you think? There were definitely some questionable stares coming towards me when I made my way to the kitchen today. ‘Jo, Is your hair natural? It’s so lovely,’ the cook looked like he was flushing and hyperventilating as he was talking to me, fanning his face repeatedly.  He added scoop after scoop of beef gravy on my plate with a huge portion of chips that nearly fell out of it. I knew he always paid extra attention to me but with my hair longer now my pheromones just dripping off, it must be making him wild now. 

Well the barber will love to take me off it. That is, if  he can keep his hands off me for a few minutes. He is gay as well. And very proud of that. You can’t miss it. His clothes are delightful to eyes and he has a peculiar fashion sense. ‘Oh honey, it should be a crime for you to wear that yellow prison overalls. You are smashing it!’, that’s what he said to me Inspector when  I first went for the hair cut. The way he eyed me up and down, I felt violated somehow.  But once he managed to get me to sit down. His touch on my hair was like magic. I had almost forgotten how great it felt to be at my own hair dressers. If you ask me, the barber was even better. And he gives neck massages for 10 minutes to everyone afterwards. No wonder I couldn’t get my booking earlier than this. 

Oh look at me boring you with my prison life. Talking about my appointment with a barber. Was there anything you wanted to know today? I don’t see your notepad with you? I like it, you know. When you run your burly fingers through that little notepad and go through your questions with me. It means you prepare for me. You think about me. It makes me feel special. I used to do that with my girlfriend too. The same approach I mean. Made sure she kissed me every night before she went to bed. Repetition makes a habit. And habits are hard to let go. I hoped she missed me if she ever left. But one day I stopped doing it. I don’t know why. Maybe I felt guilty of lying to her. Then she stopped doing it. And, you know the rest of the story. She left because the TV noise was too loud for her. I mean, who does that? I think you need to make sure to at least carry the notepad Inspector? What if the video recorder breaks or all this is lost? These are all valuable information you can’t risk losing.

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 52.

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War is an evil Inspector. It makes monsters out of humans. And god knows what, to those who were already monsters before it. I am not taking any sides on who deserved worse and who deserved better. I’m just pointing out to you there were losses, irreparable losses on both ends. In both ends, it was humanity that  lost. The good who sacrificed, the good who followed the orders, the good who refused to comply or give in, the good who couldn’t kill or torment others; they died. Come to think of it, a very dark conclusion, we are all the bloodlines of those who did all those things to survive. Murdered, cannibalised, tortured, raped, stole, lied… And it surprises us, why do psychopaths and serial killers exist? Wouldn’t it be more surprising to think why they are a minority? 

You know, Rita, tuft of black hair sitting in my collection… I came to know her because of her association with Leo. She was Leo’s special friend you see. He, well, fancied her very much. They were completely opposite. People say ‘opposite attracts’, it was very true in their case. He was disciplined, of reserve personality; she was a cannon ball, outgoing, social butterfly. He was a good, good person in heart although he looked tough on the exterior. She, well lovely Rita, our lovely Rita was not exactly  a nice person underneath the soft pretty shell… Interestingly she was religious. I always assumed people who believed in God and are religious, are kind hearted, are good people but maybe not always.

Rita used to work as a receptionist in a big firm. Good looking, witty, interesting. Lived a bigger lifestyle than her cheque could cash but it was okay because she had credit gift accounts with multiple men. Not the favour for exchange kind, she played a different game entirely. She would be dating these men, make them fall hopelessly in love with her and when she felt they were hooked enough in a relationship that never really existed but only in their heads, she would cash them out. ‘My rent is due, will you help me this month honey?’, ‘my car is broken, can you send me money to fix it?’, ‘I like that ring but it is so expensive, ‘all my friends are going on this vacation and I really want to go, honey can you pay the hotel bill please’? 

She didn’t think it was wrong. Maybe she did but she didn’t care because it wasn’t her hard earned salary that she was blowing off on shopping and vacations. ‘I didn’t force them, they offered to, they wanted to…’ I didn’t believe her you know why because I saw her reel Leo into it, part by part. Love bombed him for  a few weeks. It was impossible to get her away from him like a chewing gum stuck to his shoe. Then she played the helpless card. Oh, some people are so good with it, Inspector. If you’d seen her in the act, you’d swipe all the awards from the Oscar and give it all to her. Best actress, best supporting actress, best director, best screenplay… You name it all. Once he started believing her that’s when she started pitching the amount. A couple of tenners, then a couple of hundreds then escalation. To thousands! 

I hope he at least saw it through. But he said, ‘sometimes you have to take a leap of faith and hope for the best. That in their treacherous heart, there is some love, some hope, some guilt and some sense of repentance left. But don’t you worry boy, you’ll still get to go to college. That was just my savings. I’ll sell the house if I have to. You just do well on your studies. As long as there’s life and some skills in these hands, money will just come here flowing you’ll see’. 

She fled away after what she got. Of course our lovely Rita wasn’t going to stay. No hi or hello. ‘Good riddance at least. If I have to pay for some people to disappear from my life, I’d do it, I thought.

But, Rita, she was something. That’s why is special and in that box. I don’t know if it was her or her desperation, she came back to him years later again, empty handed, her palms open like that, open and out to him, asking for more money. Can you believe it? Her palms open? Only thing different this time was she was indeed in trouble. She had cancer in the gut and it was terminal. She couldn’t hold down a job, she didn’t have anyone to go to. All the credit gift accounts from the men who were showering her were  gone. Eventually they had realised she was scamming them. And boy did she pick the right men, they’d all forgiven her as well, thinking good riddance. 

I warned Leo, I did. Told her he should not welcome her back to our lives. That she was a parasite. He should let her be and let karma take care of her. But Leo took her hand and said, ‘no one should die alone’. 

Love is an absolute curse for most people out there. Its a gamble really. And if you meet people like her, you can’t get away without offering your neck to the guillotine. It’s always so unjust.

Months after living with us, we’d finally get her admitted to the nursing home for better care, for pain control, for symptoms control so she can live her last days in peace. A few months  later though Leo met his end. He was fixing old rustic pipes in a church. Said, he smelled rotten eggs. Half an hour later he was dizzy, couldn’t stand still with a pounding headache. Doctors said, ‘it was methane poisoning.’ They said, methane was odourless and sewer pipes can have hydrogen sulphide mixed with methane gas to give that peculiar smell. 

We had credits to pay. From the loan Leo took to help her out and from my college fees. I didn’t want Leo to sell his house that had so many memories of him and his childhood. We thought we would be able to work a little extra and pay it off. Of course I didn’t know he was sitting with a ticking bomb in his head. 

I visited Rita month after month for nearly 5 years till she died. She lived that long. And symptom free, pain free for most part of it. ‘I was so scared. I was desperate, you don’t understand’ she said to me in her final day. ‘And I was really naive when I was young. I thought I had a whole life ahead of me to take it seriously’. I kept my quiet. Took her a bouquet of flowers like Leo would have done every month. Combed her hair and plated her black hair neatly in fish tail like he would have done. But that day, I snapped. ‘Why did she deserve a long life when he didn’t?’.

It was hard but I had to do it. I loved her because he loved her. She was my only living memory of him. Only link that made his existence real for me. But I hated her because I did, of what she made him live through. 

Rita had this beautiful thick black wavy hair Inspector. Leo would say, ‘her hair smells of roses every time he would come back after meeting her’.

One must always be very careful of whom he or she chooses to love Inspector. Trust me it’s always a choice in the beginning, no matter what anyone says so. But once you are passed that phase lets pray, you are not standing next to that person releasing the blade and waiting to hold your head in her basket.

Breeze of your Hair. Chapter 51. IOU.

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I wonder sometimes if I was ever truly a family to Papa. I mean Leo. I only called him papa as a joke like his fellows used to call him because he was always the mature one. Picking after his men after hours off duty passed out and wasted in the pubs, getting in trouble with the coppers defending them…   

Do you want to hear a story inspector? Well, even if you don’t want to, you don’t have a choice. Here you go, a nice cup of tea. A little caffeine to wake you up. One teaspoon of sugar just like you like it.  I would cut back on sugar if I was you. Fast foods with sodas, unhealthy weight and sugar tsk tsk not  a good combination. 

Tell me and be honest. I treat you well Inspector don’t I? I offer you a drink, you get to rest on a chair for 2 whole hours instead of running after thugs at this age, in this cold weather. You get paid just to listen to interesting stories told first hand by me and yet still, you sit there with a long face. How you managed to keep your marriage even for a decade is a mystery to me. Anyways, the story I’m about to tell is about Leo‘s grandfather and his friend. And the title I chose for this story is, ‘IOU’. 

On August 6, 1945, Hiroshima, Japan  was completely destroyed by the explosion of a nuclear atomic bomb launched by the United States. On 9th of August, 1945 a second nuclear bomb was dropped on Nagasaki in Japan. The Soviet Union had broken its pact and had now sided with the great allies. United States, Great Britain, France and China. The Emperor of Japan was forced to surrender,  the imperial soldiers then came under siege. Imprisoned.  Their names listed convicted criminals of wars as those of the enemy allies; the German and the Italian soldiers. A world of horrors was waiting for them… They became the targets of the bounty hunters, free labor workforce in labor camps,  guinea pigs for experimental studies… Who knows what other faith they must have met. 

It was estimated more than 50,000  Japanese soldiers died in  imprisonment under the Soviet Union. Many more elsewhere. As I mentioned earlier, Leo’s grandfather and his comrade were prisoners of war in Great Britain. ‘This is a deadly mission Kenzi. There is heavy enemy infiltration in Germany. I need to go there with these men to collect more intel. Our allies are getting weaker… You must stay back. Protect the front line here. At least  that way even if death comes, you  are with your fellow comrades. And make sure you save a bullet for yourself. Being captive is far worse than being dead’.  Leo’s grandfather would try talking Kenzi  out of joining him on the operation  but  Kenzi would insist.  ‘We have been through so many battles together Leo. Deceived death together many times.  If this is our end, I would happily die by your side! Don’t rob me of this opportunity’. 

The threat of nuclear weapons being prepared to be unleashed  had long reached the ranks. The terror of impending doom was as thick as the dust from the rubbles of collapsing houses & the  buildings from the missile attacks. It was a suicide mission from the very beginning. 

In captivity, Leo’s grandfather suffered severe torture. All the prisoners of war were subjected to inhumane treatments but ‘Leo’s father’ they hated him more. Under his command, the allies had suffered significant losses and on many occasions. 

He would unconscious from pain sustained during the torture when he was returned to his cell in the middle of night.  Kept isolated  and starved of water and food for weeks. Kicked and punched everyday. They name-called him, tortured him psychologically by feeding him stories of how they had torn his mother and brother apart  limb by limb… By the end of a few months, they had broken him completely physically and mentally till he wasn’t a human anymore. His injuries were getting infected festering everywhere, he appeared dead and smelled like a dead corpse. So finally they threw him out like a dead dog on top of a pile of corpses to rot away. 

But, Kenzi was in the same prison camp. And he found him. Dragged him out of the heap of the bodies and into the camp in the middle of night. He hid him under the rubble of dead people’s clothes. 2 nights later Kenzi made an escape with the dying man on his back across the minefields and the electric wires. During which he sustained a bullet wound on his thigh. But Kenzi wouldn’t stop, Kenzi wouldn’t look back. He would keep running out in the dark into oblivion in a state of shock. 

For years  and years, Leo’s grandfather searched for his fellow brother. His world had changed now. In the same country where he was once held as a prisoner and tortured to death, he now walked freely. Albeit with some changes to his identity. He was a grandfather now to a beautiful boy named Leo from his lovely son who he named ‘Kenzi’ in memory of his savior. He never forgot his comrade with whom he had dealt so many hardships of the war, faced death looking into its eyes; who had sacrificed so much for him. 

Leo’s grandfather would find him one day, his friend ‘Kenzi’ on his deathbed, in his last throes of  life. Alone in some part of a remote village here in Britain.  Kenzi would then tell him how he had heard a few whispers of survivors outside the camp, hiding together in a small colony. And he had to leave Leo’s grandfather’s body there in a hope that the survivors  would take care of him knowing that the troops would be on his trail. They eventually caught up to him and took him back to prison camp, transfering to multiple locations each time,  where he was subjected to the same harsh treatment Leo’s grandfather was subjected to. Only in 1953, years later after Britain had released its last prisoner of war, a German soldier, did they finally release him to freedom. 

‘Kenzi would have come to find you’, he said. ‘But I was in no good state. And I heard you found yourself a good woman and have a nice family’. 

He had lost his leg to the bullet wound and arm to  infection. His torso was covered all over with old scars of multiple cut injuries. Leo’s grandfather broke to tears learning how much Kenzi  had suffered all these years. ‘Hiro nii-san it’s such a shame I cannot see how you look now, old and wrinkly. I have a full cataract in one eye and the other is almost blind with the previous injury’, Kenzi said to him in dying whispers. 

‘Kenzi you’ll come with my family and stay with me from today. You have saved my life, my brother. How can I ever repay you for what you have done for me?’. 

‘Hiro nii-sann give me your heart to feast on then. That would be my highest honour’. 

In Kenzi’s fleeting moments of gasping breath and forced dry chuckle,  Leo’s grandfather held his hand and promised then and there ‘IOU then. IOU’.  

3 years  later when Leo’s grandfather would eventually die of natural causes they would excavate Kenzi’s grave and bury it with Leo’s grandfather’s heart. ‘A promise given is a promise that must be kept,’ he said. 
Remember Inspector, ‘A promise given is a promise that must be kept’.

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 50.

artsitnetwork

‘So the boy got a little hot headed and beat someone up. You can see his face. I bet he is in worse condition than the other boy is. Boys will be boys. I’m sure you’ve been in trouble at that age yourself, Officer. Please excuse him for once, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again’. 

‘Jo, you’re grounded! You know how much I hate a copper nosing around. They shove a couple of low class criminals into the jails and they think they are the law? When we are the ones out in the real battlefield, risking our lives, doing what’s needed to be done. It boils my temper hearing those coppers chirp chirp chirp about their glory everywhere. Here! Use this to clean yourself. It’s a disinfectant for the wounds. Look at that nasty cut on your lips. Did you atleast beat him up for good?’

Papa never liked the police. Military police or the  civilian ones. I suppose there exists some kind of banter or fun rivalry between the military and police  in general but I feel he has had runs of bad cops during his days. No offence to you, I respect officers, military personnel, servicemen all the same but have to admit, you lot in law enforcement are very slow to act. It will take you years before you convict a perpetrator that you already knew with proof had committed the crime. 

One day he said to me, ‘Jo, to be honest  when they called me that morning  informing me that I now can finally have a foster child to take care of, I knew it meant trouble. I had been applying to be a foster parent for a couple of years by then. Ringing the council bell again and again. But they would deem me unfit for so many reasons on every application that came through. I understood their concerns; l was a single man in his 30s,  a retired veteran, with a difficult upbringing, a difficult past, with a disability, with no child rearing experience. But it felt so unfair. I felt I had the capacity to help a child in need, provide him/her with a home at least for a few years whilst I’m alive… And when you said, you beat that man up, that adult man, out of impulse because he was bald? I came to realize exactly how much difficult it was going to be being a parent to a very special child. I knew you meant trouble but it took me months to actually see you for you, for how complicated you are… And it all made sense, I must have been waiting for you all this time.’

After that incident, Papa became very strict. Full physical exercise drills were then a  routine. I wouldn’t brag about it being as intense as  his military training but lets say, I was equipped to go to the field if I had to. Soon I was better at physical combat, smarter at predicting movements and   most importantly, on my switch control. Thanks to papa, I now have a level of tolerance for baldies walking by me, running across me or  sitting in front of me… You wouldn’t have an idea would you? How many eggshells are there all around us, in our everyday lives? 

The psychiatrist tells me, it has to do something with association of a memory. That the bald scalps reminds me of the torn scalp from my mother’s head. That the image of it incites a very primal response of fear in me and anger… So much anger that overfloods me. 

I have a switch Inspector that has already been placed. The control of it is what I had to learn. Leo  taught me a lot about how to access it. Manage it as I wish. This switch is not only the gate for the neurotic itch but for all the other monsters locked inside here. (tapping his head) Mee..ow!!! Hahaha! 

I have the most fun eliminating the baldy swines. No offence again Inspector. It’s like… you know what they say when pleasure meets the purpose. Oh! Those are the best times. I bet Leo is proud of me, come on, look into your records, how many of the victims I have are actually baldies? Only 3 of them. And they are real time big criminals. I never hurt the innocent ones. You should only be scared of me, if you are a nasty, baldy,  bad criminal. So you have nothing to worry about Inspector. Besides, you are my friend. Even if the full moon comes and I turn into a big bad werewolf I wouldn’t attack you. Maybe a small bit off your limb, you wouldn’t mind that would you? 

Papa ‘Leo’  was a Japanese born English national. His surname was ‘Ito’. You must have made an easy guess from there. All these war stories and tales of cannibalism, about trophies and victories of wars, I heard it all from him. His grandfather was amongst the prisoners of war held here in Britain, long after the war. Lots of nations continued to hold their hostages even decades after the war came to an end. He managed to escape and remain in hiding for a long time. Fell in love with an English girl, married her and had a beautiful boy who would later fall in love with a Japanese girl with similar ancestry and have Leo. It was only in the early 2000s, people started moving in big flocks as tourism soared. I visited Japan with him then. It was the first time for both of us. He was a stranger there as much as I was. Japan is a beautiful country with rich culture and heritage. 

Anyways that’s that. He would come to me years later after his death, as father Gerome often does. ‘How are you my boy?’, he would ask, like I ask Adrian when I see him. Unaware that I still carry him with me, even though I was mad at him, angry for leaving me uninformed, suddenly and in chaos once again by myself. ‘I am sorry’, he said. ‘I was selfish. I wanted to deal with it on my own. Without having to deal with anyone else causing unnecessary problems… for me.’ 

‘Forgive me. I thought, you’d understand more than anyone else what it feels like to feel a burden for people you care about. I was longing to have company, for love. It was only a few months, a year tops… But I became selfish. How bad can it be to lose one more person for someone who is used to having so many losses? You’d move on, I thought… I didn’t imagine I’d hurt you this much. I am sorry my boy. I’m truly sorry’. 

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 49.

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‘Remember Adrian there is only so much … let’s say ‘men’ around to be recycled before you catch a disease.’ 

‘What? I am talking from experience. Besides Adrian said so, he is 16 now, he understands this’. 

‘No. No. I think it was a good thing you brought it up, Sofie. Adrian, if you get intimate…  you need to use protection okay?’

‘And remember, girls have lots of choices because one single boy will be sliding into 20 girls’ DMs. So desperate to get laid. Most of you gender were just born psychopaths. It’s always about a conquest. And then you can’t settle down with a slut because you are a delusional maniac with self respect when you’ve been a hoe all your life?’. 

‘Okay Candy language…’.

‘Yes. Adding to Candy’s statement Adrian, if you think it is easy for a man to flip and have one night stand out, you have no idea how easy it is for a woman to flip… Because she will only have begun to entertain the idea and behold, there will be 10 men on queue ready coaxing her to get started with them. If she has girlfriends who agree on the idea, which in most cases they will, there you go, a disaster waiting to happen! ‘

The two women wouldn’t stop at all, Inspector. They were  starting to scare Adrian now. I could see his eyes growing wider and wider. They were stressed and you could really hear the courtroom play; accusations after accusations, questions & remarks, splashing of dirt all over their lives and personal choices…  Sopfie’s self defence case was strong but this prosecutor seems like he is not giving up without a hard fight.  

‘Adrian, what Sofie and Candy are trying to say is, communication is the key and cheating on relationships is never acceptable. That’s not what a gentleman does’. 

‘Agreed’, both Candy and Sofie nodded. ‘And that’s not what a lady would do. You communicate, if it’s not working out you walk away respectfully’. 

‘Thing is Adrian you let your heart do its magic. And you follow it through. You appreciate it enough to be a humble devotee. You savor it, you work for it, you welcome it like you’d welcome nothing else in life… People say when you love someone you love everything about them. Yes, maybe quirky little things but god sometimes it’s so hard  to accept them for their flaws. But as painful as they are, the flaws are so minute in the grand scheme of things… But you have to hold on to those feelings, sometimes you have to remind yourself of those feelings because we are humans and we are so selfish and we tend to get carried away so easily… Remember my boy, to be strong at that time and think of what is important to you, in your life, in the long run. Because there will always be opportunities for short fixes, short highs. There are attractive people everywhere, every direction you look, for both of you. This is how the devil tests you. Not  every story is supposed to be a fairy tale, otherwise what would be the point?’.

I think I taught the boy a thing or two about love yesterday, Inspector. I’m glad both Sofie and Candy were here for that talk. Talking about these things always makes me nervous for some reason. If I was a happily married man maybe it would have made sense for me to give that advice. What can a man like me teach him from his regrets and failures? Hopefully, not to make mistakes like I did. I see so much of me in that kid. Like my papa used to say, ‘I see so much of me in you kid’. 

Oh you look surprised. Haven’t you read about it on the records yet? ‘Papa’. My foster father of 3 years. Mr Leo Ito. A retired veteran. ‘Was’, was a retired veteran. Early discharge due to disability. ‘Injured in the war’, at least that’s what he would tell me. Until he had a severe headache one day and I rushed him to hospital. One seizure episode in the Emergency department and he died. It was instantaneous, left me in shock. Even more so, when the doctors refused to help him, to resuscitate him. “It was his decision not to be resuscitated,’ they kept repeating to me. ‘No. No. Otherwise I would have known. I am his son’, I kept fighting back, jumping back on his chest. They had to tranquilise me to calm me down before I broke down his ribs again, pressing his heart with all my force. Once I was calm, monitored by security in a suite,  they brought me his records with a CT scan of his head. There was a bullet wound lodged inside his brain. Leo never told me about it. He was always having headaches in the last year. How many times did I run down to the chemist to get him his pain medications? He could have at least mentioned it to me, right? ‘Why waste the doctor’s time? It’s only a little niggle’, he would say. Had so much ego, didn’t even apply for his state benefits. Limped around the house, to and from the work with his badly injured hip, fixing things. All sorts of things. Cars, washing machines, boilers, lights.. Just couldn’t fix himself. 

 ‘There are people who need it more!’ Why die with suffering when you don’t have to? Maybe that’s why I don’t talk about him. But he was the closest thing to a real father. Father Gerome was good and kind but Leo put food on the table for breakfast/ for dinner,  gave me a house, and a chance to have a family, a normal life. He taught me how to drive, gave me my first beer …  I was a little younger than Adrian and he was a little older than I am now. He used to talk like an old man. Oh I used to laugh when he used to give me advice on life. ‘Are you a hundred year old grandpa?’I used to tease Leo. But Inspector experiences make us so much older. I can never do what Leo did for me for Adrian but I hope the boy at least keeps my words on his mind. It won’t mean much now but someday, well, someday when I am gone I hope he remembers it too. 

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 48.

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I thought nothing could crack you Inspector, I had almost given up and then voila!   I discover the thought of feasting on another human is not something you can digest. Did you get a good night’s rest at all after that? Did you dream of my head on your dining table? Smiling at you? Eager to serve. You could have my skull Inspector, if you’d ask. I’d be more than happy to mention that in my will. ‘A special gift from a very special friend.’ Or you could have it as a trophy like those war trophies the soldiers returning from the battles had collected; the severed hands, the limbs, the left over parts of their enemies. 

Feeling queasy again? Let’s change the topic then. I wouldn’t want to spoil our session time. I don’t know about you Inspector but I very much look forward to our talk times. Especially since now that they have reduced the visiting hours. Oh I was sad when we had to reduce our sessions to just twice a week but you have to understand they are my family. They take my priority. Mainly the boy Adrian, he is still so young. And between you, them and the psychiatrists I can only do so much. Maybe we can cut down time with those shrinks and add it to yours? Could you request that? I tried putting in a request but well… I often wonder if they suffer from hybristophilia as well, they are obsessed with me. 

Anyways, where were we? Yes. I saw Adrian, Candy and Sofie yesterday. The girls tell me, our dear boy has got a crush on a girl at his school. A senior year girl! You know how big it is at that age, don’t you? With crushes. When I had one; I felt  like my heart was jumping  right outside my chest. My face would get all flustered, my ears would go red, I could barely talk in front of her… And I would hate myself for being such a loser. I would go home, practice, practice in front of a mirror but the next day, at the sight of her it would be the same story. My legs wouldn’t move so midway of approaching her I had to change my direction to go the other way. So many times…

It’s a big thing for him and for us. Candy and Sofie are excited. They are like big sisters to him now. They absolutely love spoiling the kid. Of Course we are a tiny bit concerned because Adrian is a little behind on social skills and on emotional aspects because of his difficult past. We don’t know how it may impact his mental health if she rejects her advances or the relationship doesn’t work out. So, really we were contemplating on that meeting how much to encourage him to approach her or whether we should advise him to wait and see, if she gives him a definite green signal. Sofie thinks the girl is interested. She has many reasons to believe so. Not because she stalked the girl and listened to her conversations. Sheesh! I didn’t say that. Well, she thinks the girl is mature, kind and is definitely showing an effort to be around him which is a very positive thing. 

Ah! It would have killed me if that girl I had a crush on had rejected me. At least I thought so. Young blood, hot head… Well I ended up moving schools. And I already had too many things happening in my life to keep track of. Luckily I did meet her years later at the union, surprisingly I didn’t feel a thing at all. I guess that’s the difference between crushes and love. Crushes are intense, you want to live in the moment, it’s short lived. Love, well, you can’t imagine a life without the presence of that person. With you or without you. It runs deep, it’s more than you… Best way to explain would be this quote I have always referred back to. I’m not sure who the original writer was or what the original context was on. But it says, ‘When you like a flower, you just pluck it. When you love a flower, you water it daily’. Love is like that. Giving and selflessness… 

It is at this point, mid sentence, Candy bursted into laughter like the joker of the batman series. ‘Jo, I didn’t know you were a deeeep person?’, she said. Ouch Candy’s words hurt me Inspector, I have loved too you know. 

So there began our debate about who loves more ‘a woman’ or ‘a man’. I said ‘Only a man can love a woman without expectations. Without money, without degrees. A woman wouldn’t bat an eye at a man without either of these’. She said, ‘There you said it, it doesn’t take a man to fall in love with anyone as long as the package is pretty. No wonder the young girls are obsessed with makeup and plastic surgeries. And you boys complain! At least a woman will give a man a chance despite how he looks if he has capabilities. For a man, the woman has to be pretty otherwise nope. She could be a dimwit but as long as she looks the part…’

‘Well women marry old, for money. They are gold diggers’. Well I had to put my point, isn’t that the most important concern of ours these days Inspector?  ‘Well if I know you are going to sack up a barista girl or a secretary someday because you are so about looks and like them young, isn’t it fair of me to take my share of price as insurance?  For the beauty and the youth I am investing in an old leather bag?’ 

‘Nah. Women manipulate men. They always want more more more. Talk to me, talk to me. Why are you such emotional creatures?’ 

‘Let’s have sex, let’s have sex. Why are you such physical creatures?She can’t come if she is not there, here mentally!’ 

‘Stop it!’. Our debate got so heated Sofie had to barge in into our conversation. ‘Keep it PG13!’.

‘Sofie I am 16.’ Adrian finally burst through after being a silent listener for  a long time. ‘Can you guys relax? I’m just asking  a friend on a date. It’s not that of a big deal. I mean, I like her. Hopefully she likes me back but it’s not the end of the world. I’m sure there is someone out there for me. And someday maybe I’ll be in love, more mature, hopefully then I’ll understand what you guys are talking about but I don’t at the moment. So can you all just chill? Just treat it like a normal thing and maybe not make that big of a deal? It will be alright, trust me’. 

Ah! Inspector, when he said that, the way he absolutely stunned us with his words, I was so proud of the boy. I think he’ll be alright. I worry too much about him. 

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 47.

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Impulsiveness, lack of inhibition, taking life, mutilating body parts is not something to admire about.  Admiration is for patience, for control, knowing you could snap that neck in seconds but you won’t because you’re better than that. Admiration is for a person not running amok in lust murders, vengeance, for thrills… but for those rehabilitating, giving lives. It is very easy, especially in today’s world  to be self obsessed, self indulgent, to not participate in social/ caring acts, to self isolate, self pity and to self loathe. Very hard to put oneself out there willing to face rejections, willing to make a positive change. Children don’t get appreciated often for it, I don’t think so. Adults have intentions behind their every act. But children socialize solely out of pure goodness in their hearts. It is brave of them, courageous of them to put themselves out like that. I don’t think we reward them enough for these skills; for communication, for social adaptability that they work so hard in their lives to hone. And then we sympathize with murderers saying they had led isolated lives without families, friends and colleagues? 

 It was work. Hard work that those children had to put in and equally later in life throughout adulthood to adjust to social norms. Discipline, composure. Instead of reinforcing these qualities, praising their abilities; we are advertising these felons as poster boys? Wooing after them? I absolutely loathe it when the media presents these sickos as a victim of circumstances waiting to be saved. I am not saying I am any different. I don’t mind my commissary fan cheques. Hybristophiliacs tend to be more generous with their gifts and a lot of other things… But what I am saying is,  we will not change. If anyone thinks, he/she might be that one person who will ultimately save us from ourselves, the path of destruction we are heading into… They are wrong. I’d suggest being careful in fact if one hears that. One reason those like me are so good at manipulating and getting our way is because we are excellent pathological liars. 

Human flesh. What a  peculiar thing to want to consume, wouldn’t you say Inspector? 

Now, have you heard the stories of Vietnamese refugees stranded in the Pacific Ocean in the 1900s? How those on board resorted to cannibalism of their fellow passengers ‘3 small children and 2 adults’ in their desperation from starvation? 37 days in a ship, 110 boarded it but only 52 made it out alive. The account of the details given by the survivors were horrific. ‘The flesh of the body would be gone by morning leaving nothing but the skeletons.’ 

What about the stories of horrors from world wars 1 and 2 about cannibalism? They never seem to end either do they? Did you know, cannibalism was rampant in concentration prison camps during those periods? Thousands and thousands of starved prisoners with no food and water. Hundreds dying with disease. Fresh corpses piling one after another… If you read the novel, you’d find out the rise of Hannibal, Doctor Cannibal was in similar circumstances. War crimes… When fear, exhaustion and hunger unfolds the truest and darkest side of humans. And, opportunity is all one needs. 

What do you think? If you were in a similar circumstance, would you take a bite Inspector? On the flesh of a young infant for a day’s meal? Say the infant died of starvation because his mother’s bosoms on her emaciated rib cage would not produce him any milk. I read somewhere that a person can survive only 3 days without water and up to 3 weeks without food. Tik tik tik. Are you going to wait that long to find out or would you make a feast of it while it’s stil fresh? I am just curious… 

It isn’t  new knowledge that practices of cannibalism  were present in many parts of the world even before man brought the apocalypse of wars. Eras of famines for example. And ritualistic sacrifices in witchcraft/sorcery, traditions of honouring the deceased by consuming their flesh and blood… In some tribes, cannibalism was an act of ultimate revenge- insulting the enemy’s body by  degrading their status/position to a meal. ‘Bring me the heart and the liver!’, like the villainous witches shouted in old folklores. The Japanese imperialist soldiers were said to be keen on this practice; cannibalising their prisoners of war, natives of the land and sometimes even amongst themselves. You wouldn’t want to be a prisoner of war Inspector, especially of the imperialist soldiers infamous for serving human steaks on their menus. 

Sadly cannibalism was becoming a way of life in those wretched times of wars. The whole of Europe including Russia was resorting to cannibalism for survival. Think of all those countries heavily affected by the conflicts. There are historic records of cannibalism prevailing  as far as New Zealand in Oceania… Who knows when the torment of hunger became a lingering flavour of taste. 

Now might be the right time to ask this, is it true that there are no specific laws against cannibalism in most countries including the UK, USA and so forth Inspector? That one could get away with having his fellow human for a meal as long as the technicalities of it are looked into?  Oh, please don’t stare at me like that. You know, I have always had a morbid interest in the dead. I read, the foremost thing is consent. Removing human tissue without consent is a crime. Second is willingness. The donor has to be willing to give you a part of him. Murder is a crime. Third… Well, as long as you do not get  incarcerated for ‘necrophilia’, ‘outraging public decency’, ‘preventing lawful burial of body’ and a few other things; it is a free pass. Is it true? I have a strong feeling, you hate my guts today. You look unwell… Are you alright Inspector?

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 46

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Medusa? No, I doubt it’s her. She isn’t a woman trying to get attention, Inspector. She is a woman who gets attention because she makes it a point to make sure you notice her. If I haven’t told you yet, Medusa also masters the art of calligraphy. Every invite she sends is handwritten for a personal effect. Her guests absolutely love it. This letter, the handwriting is much coarser, hesitant with spraying of ink as you can see here around the curves. Whoever wrote it has spent considerable  time to make it neat, well spaced and legible. 

I don’t know if it interests you, there are many theories suggesting a link between psychopathic traits and an individual’s handwriting. Whether it’s proven or not I do-not know.

‘I often wonder if women feel this way’. Look at that phrase. Maybe I am wrong here. If it was a woman who wrote this, she’d have written, ‘I often wonder if other women feel this way’. This must be a man. Well… I’m not sure. I am only shooting in the dark myself. It might all just be a horrible prank to entertain me here. Unless it pans out to be something more, I shan’t be  wasting your time with it. But Inspector just throwing out a caution in the wind, it sounds like this person has given a lot of time to building his fantasy. He is at that point where he will act. He is getting impatient…

What do I mean? Well well interesting. You want to know my thoughts? Am I consulting you here like Hannibal Lecter consults Clarice? How romantic… The movie is called ‘Silence of lambs’.  Sir Anthony Hopkins plays his character brilliantly. I hope you watch it, Inspector. From the way this person has crafted his words, it is obvious he is a big fan of Dr Lecter. And he wants me to know. 

Well, I can’t tell for certain if he has made any kills yet. I am not a criminologist or a clinical psychologist. I have no special interest in impulsive, narcissistic, manipulative, remorseless, anti-social creatures… Hahaha! But like I said  I can tell you for certain, he is thinking of  killing and consuming human flesh. 

It’s not easy to murder anyone now-days though is it Inspector? You can’t get away with it. Every corner, neighbourhood, shops has CC tv cameras. Say  a woman was seen entering the building. There is no footage of her exiting the building front door or the back door so where is she? Inside the building obviously right? Where else could she be? Unless she was hauled out of there in bin bags or suitcases, dead and chopped apart. 

Dying is frightening. They make a lot of noises. If you are not making a kill in the middle of nowhere where passersby can’t hear or see you, you need a soundproof room. Otherwise plenty supplies of duct tapes, ropes and plastic bags to silence them. Blood stains the carpet. It sprays everywhere. Cleaning bleach, sponge, gloves, buckets, towels; these are all little things but they add to the cost. And where will you be buying them? In a Costco? The server will be printing your bill and dialing the police station at the same time. 

So no, killing is not something a man on minimum wage salary can afford to do. Especially if it’s of recurring intention while hiding from the law. He has to be meticulous about it. Plan it over and over again. But then again, I suppose that’s where the thrill is. Getting the work done without getting caught.

My guess is a white collar job, a young man in his mid 20s, eager to please. 

Have you heard the term ‘hybristophilia’ Inspector? It means romantic affliction towards the criminals. Hybristophiliacs are aroused by acts of crime. The crimes maybe as heinous as murder and rape but thats what ticks them on. It’s classified as a paraphilia.  A form of odd sexual deviance but surprisingly very common, especially amongst women. You may have seen infamous serial killers with cult followings of women and wondered at some point in life, why? Maybe the thrill of playing with a live grenade knowing well it can’t explode near her; scattering her body into bits and pieces everywhere like the killer has done to many others a number of times? Perhaps following an instinct to delve more into what made the killer a killer? To understand the nature of the devil and to avoid being its prey. Women are inquisitive beings, fanatics. Who knows what draws them to it? Can’t be in a healthy mindset… ‘Curiosity most certainly will kill the cat’.

Most of the fan letters I receive are from them. Those with hybristophilia. They write, they want to know me. They think they do to an extent. And trust me, they will spend their whole life trying to decrypt me like the psychiatrists here, hoping that I would give them a small glimpse of the ‘real me’ someday.  This ‘real me’ that they have constructed entirely out of nothing but their fantasies, with some sort of super powers of charisma, persuasion, seduction, mystery… Reality is, I am just a plain boring human. Tired of living a lie. Socially handicapped to function. Dying for attention. Boiling with frustration. Trapped in a sequence of repeat-repeat-repeat. There is nothing interesting about me. Or about any of us. Anymore than plain old John or plain old Tom. We were weak, we gave in to our thoughts/ our impulses. We didn’t have the patience of old Tom or old John to smother ourselves in rage, killing someone over and over mentally, hating them each day with every breath but keeping it all under the wrap of a forced smile. In most instances we didn’t have to, we had no one to protect or to stand up for than ourselves. We had nothing to lose other than ourselves. A rogue wolf needn’t play with rules. 

And yet, they find me interesting. Not that humble man out there working to his bones trying to make an honest living, following laws by words, playing his part to be a civilized citizen, a decent human. It’s funny how people don’t value that. They have no interest in plain old John or Tom. That they just feel, it’s given that every person has to be respectful, good humans. And it is extraordinary, unbelievable, crazy to learn people can be evil. When the reality is, most people are inherently malicious. Take away the law, the social restrictions, the religious boundaries then watch them. When everything is of freewill and comes from a place of freewill with no restrictions here, in mind. Then you will see, each one of us is capable of being such savages Inspector. The only thing between those out there living normal lives and us here in prisons is that ‘switch’. When that switch goes off and it is pitch dark and no one can see us, we are free spirits of a chaotic existence. Much like your video games. Choose your character, you are whatever you want to be, however you want to be.  

Breeze of your hair. Chapter 45.

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Here is one psycho, you should be looking for. Read the letter she has sent me Inspector.

Dearest Jo,

Days are lonely in your absence. Without you, I feel like I lack my purpose for existence. At least when you were around, the hours went by quick… just looking at you, following you, learning about you, thinking about ‘what makes you you’. Now you are away, from my sight and from my reach, it feels almost unreal to believe that you exist in the same world and the timeline as me. And, you are not some photo I am looking at of a man in 1800s or a glimpse of a fantasy I must force myself to forget.

I thank the lord for that. I was never a believer of God. But if you say Jo he exists, then he must exist. I believe you. And I shall follow him as far as my faith in you will take me. For your word is light in the darkness and ‘you’ are my grail.

I miss you. Always. And I yearn for the days, when we are re-united.

I walked to a meat shop today. A larger one in the local market near me. They always have the best products. Fresh meat from excellent breed of cattle. All free range, healthy, well looked after animals … The shopkeeper has become a good friend of mine. Always lets me wander inside his slaughterhouse to make my pick. If you ever visit his shop, you must ask for a backdoor entrance. It directly leads to the storage area where you’ll find multiple carcasses of animals hanging upside down exsanguinated of blood and ripening slowly by the days. This is my heaven. Surrounded by carcasses all around me.

They are numbered by the rows and columns. You’ll usually find a trolley nearby to help you wheel them, should you make a bigger purchase. I must admit, this tends to happen to me very often. No matter how much I plan it beforehand and remind myself ‘today, I must only buy 5 kilos of fresh meat to last me a week and that’s it’. It’s something I’m working on. But, it is such a guilty pleasure sometimes, to over do it a little when you get carried away. Isn’t it Jo? You know it all too well too I believe.

The butcher says the animals are either stunned, shot or put in toxic gas chambers before their arteries are cut clean to remove the blood. Blood causes infestation of bacteria and decays the meat. Spoils its consistency and texture early. Basically, if it is not maximally drained, blood will render a good meat useless. What a shame that would be? A life gone to waste without sustaining another…

Tell me Jo, what would it make you feel, if I say that instead of animal carcasses I often tend to vision these as human carcasses all around me? That I spend an hour or even 2 sometimes with my jack knife poking on the meat whilst entertaining the thought of stabbing a human body, trying to get a feel of the depth the knife has plunged to, the ease of the cut it gives, the softness of the meat… Are you judging me now? Are you frightened of me now? Especially if I tell you, the flavour I am savouring, the tender mouth watering bite I am searching for in here, over and over again is of yours? And as I walk, I day dream of finding you amongst one of these, waiting for me to discover you?

I often wonder if women feel like this, when they go to shopping market, aisle after aisles like I feel here. Only thing missing is your company, in my cart. I will give in to you. Will you give in to me, if I promise, I will take care of you?

Yours only.

Breeze of your Hair. Chapter 44

Quora

Why did I hate the vile woman more than that Hilton poodle? Because, she should have known better. She came from the same trash like all of us, like the girls and children she abused. She knew what it was like, she was one of us. And she took advantage of it. Oh the scream. Playing that tape of scream over and over in my head makes me feel so much better, knowing that she got what was coming to her.  

You never said what you felt about the display of the swines in the mansion Inspector? Took me hours to put them together. I have a feeling, you secretly enjoyed it. You are worried, aren’t you? If you admitted that you liked it, liked what I had done and the justice was served; you’d become someone like me? Don’t you worry Inspector, you and I are cut out from very different fabrics. I assure you, you’ll never become me. 

The girl was right, we couldn’t save everyone. Some didn’t want to be. It was all what they had known for years of their life. ‘Momma’, they used to call her. They were free to go anywhere they wished after she was gone. We handed them some money to pay at least a month’s rent and food till they figured out what was next in their lives. Some took the chance but others… Well, like a lion in a circus cage, they went back to crawl in the corner even when the door was left open. The vile woman was right too. Their past sucked them back like vacuums. These women, these girls had seen so much of the worst side of humanity inside those walls. The thought of a bigger world with so many walls really scared them. ‘Momma’ was at least familiar. At least with Momma they knew what was coming, what to avoid, where to hide… 

Prostitution is a profession. Some fell into it because of circumstance, some were forced into it and well some with choice. Just because one spreads his/her  legs for the pay, works to please the customers doesn’t mean they don’t have self worth and dignity. It’s still work, hard work. I am not here praising prostitution as a line of work. At the end of the day, it is not a profession a respectable lady would choose or I’d want my daughter to be involved in and I am sure those in the profession would agree as well. But, it is an honest work. They didn’t kill anybody for their organs or scammed good people of their money or robbed a bank. They sold their time. Their body in exchange for the pay. 

You’d be surprised how good listeners these women can be. They cost less than your therapist. And I am saying, only for talking sessions. Some men need a boost in their confidence, sexuality is also a big part of mental health after all. And that comes as a part of service. There are people who appreciate the value these workers offer.  High end escorts earn pay cheques more than your monthly salary in one deal Inspector. Like in every line of work, I suppose it’s all about how you play the game.

There is this fascinating lady that I know of Inspector. A very clever, educated, beautiful woman. She’d give Greek goddess Aphrodite or the Roman goddess Venus a run for their titles. Seductive, very charming… A pianist. Great hostess.  ‘Medusa’ she called herself. Indeed anyone who looked into her eyes would freeze in time, to a stone. Femininity can be such a weapon if used right…

Have you heard about Geishas? In Japan, in the 18th century, Geishas were women with status entertaining the wealthy and high class novelties as performers; dancers, singers and musicians, often providing sexual favors. They were housed in pleasure quarters where they would offer these services and their companionship… Being trained as an apprentice from a young age, they excelled on being skilled collocutors. Now,  imagine the wealth of information geishas had, the inside knowledge about all government activities and their officials. The power play geishas could control, being in proximity with a right man.

Medusa was big fan of geisha, stories of geisha. Her art collection was extensive, whatever she could find and lay her hands on. She bought it, she showcased it. Her million dollar house had portraits of geisha as tall as the walls and painted on the ceilings.

‘I am more than what you see, Mr Clarke. Give me a chance.’ She said to me. Passing a glass of wine across the empty table on our first meeting. ‘I can see you. You are more than what you show yourself of’.

I felt a small chill at the base of my neck when she said that. Felt like she hooked my eyes with her stare. Those amber brown eyes… ‘The book from the keeper, it’d be wise if you hold to it for negotiation. You’ll need it. Sooner or later, they will come looking for you. The whereabouts of the two bodies are still in question. Well played or should I say, a very foolish move. If I was you, I’d make a run now, before he unleashes his hounds Mr Clarke. He knows everything. They know everything’. 

Women like that are dangerous, wouldn’t you say Inspector?  Her forefinger gently sliding on my jaws… But, well I have learnt my lessons from the past. Sometimes, I think, I’m still waiting for the missus to come back home. But then where is home? In a prison cell? With a killer? Here? It was only a loud TV noise, I should have just turned the bloody volume down.