The Slice of Lives

By Craig Miller

Calvin Cooper runs one of the most successful pre-schools in history. His cutting edge educational system is innovatively changing the scholastic culture of how we shape young minds. His family life includes helping an elderly woman look after two young men that have a neurodevelopmental disorder. He is a credit to society. With the exception of being a serial killer. Calvin is not your run of the mill sequential murderer. He is a tool to the means as there is an unknown and powerful source at work behind his multiple executions. Calvin understands that he is living on borrowed time as he tries to understand and cope with his internal torture. This story will grip you by the throat and not let go. An unspoiled blend of humor, love and murder all perfectly pointing the reader towards the bewilderment of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312962224

Book preview

The Slice of Lives

The Slice of Lives

By Craig R. Miller

Contents

1. A Killing

2. Daily Life

3. Albert, Blake and Gurdy

4. Another One

5. Charlie

6. Normalcy

7.  Ellis and Doug Disconnect

8. Charlie and Coop

9. The Lead

10. The Clues Accumulate

11.  A New Floor for Charlie

12. The End of a Long Day

13. Playing with the boys

14. And Another

15. There Was This Girl

16. Work Completion

17. Read All About It

18. Murder Afar

19. King City fate

20. The Suspect

21. Means to an End

1.   A Killing

Black and whispery was the night. I stood in the damp alleyway, with my hands crammed into the pockets of my trench coat. I stared blankly at a distant streetlight which unenthusiastically illuminated the laneway, creating a feint array of jagged shadows and wet reflections. Rain was threatening as I could hear a slight rumbling of thunder in the distance. The dampness in the air encouraged me to taste the moisture with each measured breath. I concentrated on my breathing in a measured, methodical manner. Great, I thought sarcastically, another ‘awakening’. I had a clear-cut, overall idea of why I was in the alley but the exact details I knew nothing about. I hated these god damn murders. I was definitely not the one in control. An outside influence that was controlling my life was at work again. The feeling was all too familiar to me. As usual, a relentless, searing pain deep inside me had woken me up from a sound sleep and forced me to come to this very spot. Standing and waiting in the hours of darkness at this exact instance in time. I had actually gotten into the habit of keeping my clothes ready and folded at the bottom of my bed for just such an occasion. I vaguely remember the periods of my life when I used to fight these sensations but I simply didn’t have the energy anymore so now I just let the urge take over and run my life as I now know it to be the easiest way. Someone was about to die in this shitty alley way and it sure as hell wasn’t me. This had become as normal as going for milk and bread at the corner store. It was as tedious as some groggy, sleepy-eyed father getting up in the middle of the night to go get diapers. As I stood in the dimness, somewhat hiding beside two large, dark blue, metal garbage containers at the back of some sort of cockroach infested, Korean restaurant, I briefly thought of how unexciting and droning this whole process had become. There was a definite numbness to what I was feeling. I just didn’t give a shit. I really just wanted it to be over so that I could go back to bed. I was tired man. Out of pure boredom, I gently touched two fingers to my neck and half smirked. I had an amazingly low pulse for someone that was about end someone else’s life. It was astounding to me how mind-numbing murder had become. Monotonous and boring. I was waiting to kill someone and I had the demeanour of a pedestrian waiting for a bus.

Like clockwork, my next victim came staggering around the corner and started to amble down the alleyway toward me. This must be him. The stranger was so inebriated that he was feeling the brick restaurant wall with his hand in order to help himself with his balance.

‘Oh great, a fucking drunk!’ I contemplated.

Not that I cared, but I could do this with one hand tied behind my back. As my victim came within talking distance, I tried to close my eyes as the usual overwhelming sensation struck me like a head on collision with an 18 wheeled transport truck. With my arms spread out, I looked up to the shadowy, gray sky and my eyes slowly rolled over so that only the whites were showing. My body briefly jerked in a violent, uncontrollable manner as my mind was swamped with the drunk’s personal information. In milliseconds, I had been jolted with a lightning bolt of his private data. The drunk’s name was Michael Vincent Munham and every single detail about the man’s entire life came flooding into my brain. Like always, the evilness and wickedness of what Michael Munham did with his life immediately brought tears to the whites of my eyes. I slightly staggered and let out a small groan. As was customary, I was quickly back in the moment. Still oblivious to what was about to happen, Munham awkwardly shuffled by the garbage containers whistling some sort of Irish folk song.  I quickly moved out and grabbed Munham by the arm. As Munham gasped with surprise I forcefully slammed him against a cinder block wall between the metal rubbish containers. Even though he was intoxicated, he immediately understood that I had the upper hand in the strength department as I was able to immobilize him with one hand on his arm.

My money is my front pocket Munham said in a heavy breath as he despondently jumped to the wrong conclusion.

I’m not here for your money. I’m here for your life. I whispered calmly.

Who are you? What do you want from me? Munham cried.

Do you know those three little daughters you have at home that you are abusing on a regular basis? I’m cheerfully here to eliminate you on their behalf. I again said tranquilly.

Munham’s eyes widened and looked at me as if I was the devil. It was a look I was all too familiar with. These crazy fuckers do such hateful crimes to people day in and day out and then they look at me as if I’m Satan because I simply point it out to them. It really pisses me off. Munham was about to cry for help so I covered his mouth with my hand while simultaneously smacking his head against the cinder block wall.

Don’t fight the inevitable. Your death is now. You have taken away the rights of three beautiful human beings for too long. Your own rights will now be permanently taken by me. I said. I didn’t usually get so wordy during my killings but I wanted this child abuser to know why he was going to die.

The fear in Munham’s eyes was enough for me to realize that he understood my message. In one motion I snapped my hunting blade into my right hand and swiftly slashed Munham across the neck. I strategically knifed him in the side of the neck so that the blood that discharged from his jugular would not spew on me. As blood poured from his neck, I proceeded to stab Munham in the torso with the precision of a prize fighter delivering a knee buckling upper cut. The second puncture was a forceful blow to the middle of his chest as this had to be done powerfully in order to penetrate the rib cage. In a matter of seconds, there was no life left in Munham. I dropped him between the garbage containers like an oversized bag of wet cement. I reached down to grab a piece of newspaper that was blowing by and wiped the blade of my knife on it. Then with a flick of my right wrist, I snapped the hunting blade back up and onto my forearm. I scanned both ends of the alleyway for witnesses even though I knew there would be none. I think I could murder one of these bastards in broad daylight and there still wouldn’t be a witness to be found. My body jolted again as another lightning bolt of information hit me. As was expected, this second informational flow started shortly after the last beat of Munham’s heart. This data was more about the future of Munham’s girls. The only time I was able to read the future was after I had completed an execution. As always, it was a relief for me to comprehend that the girls were going to be fine. I checked my watch. It was three fifteen in the early morning. I left the alley way and started to walk the five blocks over to the Munham’s residence.

I tiredly walked the distance to the Munham dwelling. Shit man, I just wanted to go to bed as I typically felt another fragment of my life drain from my body. I quickly confirmed the address and walked towards the Munham dwelling. I got to the bottom of the stairs and I stared at the door. This was the part that always made the killings worthwhile. Knowing that there were three little girls in the house and how things were going to get better for them. At least it made me feel somewhat relieved. It truly was the one of the few things that kept me from killing myself. I knew without question that this was the first day of the rest of their lives. I slowly opened the porch door and walked into the dimly lit, covered entrance.  I unlocked the front door in the porch with the keys that I had taken from Munham’s dead pocket. The first thing that I noticed when I entered was that the house was exceptionally clean. You would never know that children lived in such an organized and clean dwelling. That dead fuck had these girls scared shitless. They were terrified to go to bed without things being in perfect order. If a single material thing was out of place, that was when the abuse would start. I started to move up the stairs in order to talk to the little girls. I knew their names were Kendra, Olivia and Samantha Munham. I decided to wake Olivia. Olivia was the middle child. I knew she was the one with the calmest demeanour and the one with the wherewithal that would more or less understand the big picture. Kendra, the oldest, would be too concerned for the safety of her sisters and would misinterpret my message. Samantha, the youngest, was simply too youthful to understand and I knew that she would simply do as her sisters would as she had an incredible amount of trust in them. I quietly went into Olivia’s room and gently tapped her shoulder. Her eyes opened and I could sense for a millisecond that she knew why I was there.

You need to wake up Olivia. I have some instructions for you that are very important I whispered.

Does my father and sisters know that you are here? She said.

I briefly paused and smiled. Are you not scared of me? Shouldn’t you ask who I am or even scream for that matter?

I suppose so. But I assumed that if you wanted to hurt me you wouldn’t have said that you have some important instructions for me. Olivia stated as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Yep, I was talking to the right kid.

Olivia, listen very carefully. I know about the abuse. I know what your father was doing to you and your sisters. I’m here to tell you that it is over. There will be no more of that. Your father is gone and is not coming back. Ever.

‘Ever?’ Olivia repeated.

‘Never. Ever.’ I reassured.

At that instance, instead of sadness, I saw a glimmer of hope sparkle in Olivia’s eyes. It was as though she had prayed for this very moment. I sat down at the end of her bed and went on to explain to her the details of what was about to happen. I assured her that things were about to get much, much better. They were going to live with their aunt who had been unsuccessfully trying to get custody of the girls for years. I also explained their financial situation. How the house would be sold and a trust fund would be set up for Olivia and her sisters. I assured her that things would be great from this day forward and she needed to assure her sisters of that.

Do you understand the situation Olivia? I asked.

I totally understand replied Olivia.

The last point I need to make is about me. You can never, ever tell anyone we had this conversation. I need to go help other victims like you. If you tell the police about me, I won’t be able to help other kids and other people that need my assistance. We will never talk again. It was a pleasure meeting you Olivia.

Likewise she replied.

Meeting Olivia gave me an inner faith about the future of the world. What an amazing individual. I had no doubt that Olivia would grow up to be a flourishing contribution to society in general.  Even after all that she had been through. As often happens, it had almost made my murder worthwhile.

I quietly left the Munham residence and quickly picked up my pace towards home. I glanced at my watch. It was three forty am. I quickly determined that if I ran briskly I could be in bed in just over 30 minutes. All in a night's work I guess. I gave new meaning to the graveyard shift.

2. Daily Life

The Brain. Its definition is as follows: the portion of the vertebrate central nervous system that is enclosed within the cranium, continuous with the spinal cord, and composed of gray matter and white matter. It is the primary center for the regulation and control of bodily activities, receiving and interpreting sensory impulses, and transmitting information to the muscles and body. It is also the seat of consciousness, thought, memory, and emotion. It sounds very complex. Doesn’t it? It’s no wonder that very few brains are alike. Actually, when you think about the complexity of each individual’s intellect, it really is a wonder that any of us can get along at all. Throw faith and belief in there and mix it with everyone’s intellect and it is no wonder there is so much turmoil in the world.

My name is Calvin Cooper and I know the pre-school parents wonder about me. Who is that guy? What is with this weirdo? What’s wrong with his brain? I would wonder too if I had children. If only they knew that they were allowing a midnight murderer to teach their precious children. But I wasn’t your average run of the mill murderer now was I? My late night random murders had a purpose. Whose purpose? It sure as hell wasn’t mine. Maybe one day that question would be answered.  I also have another issue. My mental telepathy and ability to read minds and situations is off the chart. I’ve never heard of or met anyone that comes remotely close. That is my life. If I acquire some sort of physical contact from anyone, I can read into their minds with an incredible amount of detail. So I can potentially read any mind on the planet during the day and at night I often wake up in the middle of the darkness to randomly murder some disgusting monster. What a great existence.

But the parents must ask themselves repeatedly - how can he help care and provide education for our precious offspring at a pre-school service and not introduce himself to us? How peculiar this must be for them. I wish they knew that it was for their own benefit. But everyone knows that Sarah and I do a phenomenal job with their offspring. I know this because they just eagerly keep coming back every day. Not to mention the children that graduate from our program have an incredible success rate. We have a waiting list of potential clients as long as my arm. Sarah gets asked about my standoffishness on a regular basis. My ‘aloofness’ as she explains it. Sarah is my partner and co-owner at the King City pre-school. She is one of the good people of the world. Trust me, I know. If anyone can decipher who is good and who is not, it’s me. I used to think that I was put on this planet for it. She communicates with the parents at drop off, pickup and evaluation meetings. She also bills the customers, controls enrollment, pays the utilities and taxes, and does the bookkeeping. Everything a responsible adult should do to run a successful business. Sarah also carries the burden of knowing that I’m telepathic. Fortunately, she doesn’t know about my late night killing sprees. No one does. That might put a damper on our school, friendship and business relationship in general. None the less, I educate the kids and try to teach them to become caring, well balanced individuals with a passion for success. And I happen to do an amazing job at it. That is the basic function in my job life. It is also one of the very few things that I can do on a regular basis without going totally fucking crazy. This, funny enough, is the opposite of most adults out there. Lucky me.

It was the end of day pick up time on a Tuesday afternoon. Sarah and I had helped the kids get ready (for what seemed like the zillionth time) and the parents were trickling in to pick up their little human packages. I stood in the background, about 40 feet away, with my arms crossed, which was one of my favourite body language displays. This also included the usual blank, despondent look on my face (another one of my favourites). One of the fathers casually thanked Sarah and turned to give me his standard, disapproving look as he walked out the door. Fuck you buddy. Keep walking. It’s in the contract. All of the parents sign contracts when they become members in our pre-school. They are not allowed to talk to me or approach me – ever. That thought puts the usual smirk on my face. Man that must freak them out. But we come very highly recommend and we are ranked as the best in the city. We are also the number one recommended facility for future students seeking prep school and private school entries. Plus their kids beg and plead to come here so the folks just have to suck it up.

After the last child pickup, Sarah approached me and teased Well, Dickweed, we are done for another day.

Dickweed? I said, Did you learn a new word, honey?

I’m definitely not your honey and there is a picture of you in the dictionary under the word Dickweed Sarah replied playfully. 

Oh, Sarah, you are just a little agitated because you faked your orgasm with Billy Boy last night I whispered as we walked into the creative room. 

Sarah shouted my nickname ‘Coop!!. You Bastard! His name is William and I’ve asked you many, MANY times to stay out of my sex life!" Sarah realized her loud tone and sheepishly looked around to make sure again that there wasn’t anyone else in the foyer.

I started to laugh as I walked back into the main office, It’s OK Sarah. Lots of lovely ladies fake orgasms. It’s just that you do it like Meryl god damn Streep. Billy Boy is walking around today thinking he must have invented fucking. You made that poor buggar think he is the MAN! How proud that must make you feel.

Sarah grins "You are such an asswipe. I hate to ask but when did you find out I faked my orgasm?’

You and I were only inches away at one point when the kids doing their academics today I said, You know that’s all it takes. I also recognized that you were feeling a great deal of shame for not calling your mother during the week, you had a nightmare last night about a huge eight ball that was chasing you, your toe is sore and you can’t remember when you hurt it and your primary focus all day has been that you really, really wish you had a real, hard core, genuine orgasm last night.

You asshole! Sarah shouted. She pretended she was mad but I know she was enjoying the attention. Her good mood, as it always did, warmed me and made me smile so I decided to go for the joke jugular.

Sarah? I was just wondering. Shouldn’t you be having a talk with Billy Boy tonight? I mean, when you had sex last night he is thinking that he maxed you right out on the old orgasmo. I started to gyrate my hips for effect Now tonight you are going to hook up and he is going to go with the same fuck moves assuming you love them so much. The next thing you know, you haven’t had a climax in two months and Billy Boy gets his walking papers. Then Billy Boy is wandering around aimlessly in the rain wondering what the fuck happened.

This wiped the smile off Sarah’s face immediately. Aaaarrrrrrrrgh! Why do I talk to you!!!.

Actually, I said as I gyrated my hips again but this time on the side of Sarah’s leg. C’mon baby. Don’t make those Aaaarrrrrrrrgh sounds like that. It is the fake orgasm sounds like that that got you in trouble in the first place.

Oh my God! Sarah shouted as she burst out with laughter Why do I have to work with the only guy in the world that can read minds!!

Hey I said with a mock serious tone Don’t sell me short. I’m sure you realize that I can do more than just read minds. Geez, read minds, you make it sound so cliché. 

Let me explain my dilemma. Apart from the uncontrollable murdering, I can not only read minds but I can also catch very detailed glimpses of people’s past and present. With a small feel or touch of a person I often get a full blown picture of that person’s world in a split second. A gift? Trust me. It is the ultimate nightmare.  There is definitely something defective within me. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I had a normal brain. Sure, if every adult’s mind was full of prudent thoughts and good intentions, looking into someone’s secret world would be perfectly acceptable. Maybe even entertaining. But the reality is that those good people of the world are few and far between. Most people have something seriously wrong with them. Pedophiles, thieves, liars, scumbags, egotists, con artists, phonies, tricksters, grifters, nymphomaniacs and perverts. The list goes on and on. If I had to Ball Park it, I would say that about half of all adults are totally messed up. If I’m in a crowded room that means there could be fifty fuck ups that are right in my thought reading range. I get a glimpse of their entire existence and their family history which usually include the reasons as to why they are so messed up. And you would think that those people would be easy to pick out. It’s the exact opposite. I’m always in awe of the people that turn out to be monsters. But those crowded situations are what I’ve had to avoid my whole life. This is why I’m a total fuck up. This is why I can only surround myself with people that are pure. Children are the purist humans of all. This is why I had to get a job cultivating children all god damn day. This is why my two best friends in the world are mentally retarded. This is why I have to wear headphones in public places. This is why I can only be in contact with people like Sarah and Gurdy. I watched a phony doctor on television once talk about the gift of mental telepathy. What a stooge. It is an incredible curse. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Am I smart? No. Unfortunately, I’m of average intelligence. People always assume that I have an Intelligence Quotient that is off the charts. Not even close. Maybe if I was smart I could figure out a way to deal with this stupid situation. Or worse yet, if I was smart I probably would have killed myself by now.

Sarah kissed me gently on the cheek and then punched my arm. See ya Monday, Dickweed she said as she headed for the door. I subsequently held my arm between my legs and grabbed my wrist and started stroking my forearm like it was a big penis. Try thinking of me when you are bopping Billy Boy tonight. That might help with your plea for ecstasy. Sarah walked out of the room and I heard Sarah’s laugh echo in the hallway as she walked to the main lobby, swiped her pass and headed out the main door. I stared at the area where Sarah was just seconds ago. Then I slowly gazed around the creative room of the pre-school. This pre-school facility truly was an incredible place. My sanctuary. I looked at the massive alphabetic, Egyptian, Latin and scientific symbols that were displayed randomly on the walls. The kid’s drawings and paintings were hung in various places for all to see. There were huge stacks of colourful bins in all four corners for toy and musical instrument storage. I loved all of the animal pictures, models, roots and vines we had hung to give the room an outdoor, jungle type of theme. We have a huge rug in the middle of the room for yoga and dance. The aura of the room had always seemed incredible to me. We had another main room called the concentration area but that was strictly for scholastics. I just looked around and I could feel the warmness come over me. It truly was a happy place. It’s one of the few happy places that I’ve ever known. You can almost hear the residue of the children’s laughter that continued to float in the air long after the kids had gone. Children truly were the secret of life. I sometimes would come here on weekends if I needed a lift. I flipped myself onto a desk and crossed my legs. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths to try and absorb some cheerfulness that the schoolroom was emitting. This was my daily five minutes of spirituality before I headed out the door and tried to make my way home. The thought of travelling to my home could often make me sick to my stomach. I had to get totally psyched up for it. The journey home was not as complicated for the masses as it was for me. I understand that most working people complain about their commute. But trust me; mine had the potential to be a horrendous expedition. But go figure. Everything was complicated for me. I had to prepare myself in order to avoid any type of contact with other human beings that I didn’t know. That was a tough thing to do in a Metropolis such as the one I live in. Should I be living in a secluded place like Alaska or the Himalayan Mountains? Shit yeah. That would be a lot easier on me but I guess it’s not in the cards. Not yet anyway. As bad as this city was for me there was something that was keeping me here that I couldn’t quite figure out. Preparing myself for the journey home while at the same time avoiding contact with strangers started with my wardrobe. A long, black, trench coat with sunglasses always did the trick. It was a very unapproachable look. Maybe it’s because of movies like The Matrix or maybe because of the nasty gunslingers in old cowboy movies. I don’t know. I’m about 6’2" and I weigh about 200 pounds. Add my longish black hair and goatee to the mix and I could cut quite an opposing figure to begin with. So my appearance usually helped me out. I’m not the type of person that someone would approach and ask for directions. My next piece of armour to defend against the ugly people of the world is my music. God, where would I be without my music? I had to carry my iPod everywhere I went. I rode the technology wave through the years as I had owned a walkman that played cassette tapes, I then owned a CD player, an MP3 player and I now had an iPod touch. I needed loud music playing directly into my ears in order to avoid conversation and contact with other people. It took away most of my awareness in public places. It was the only way. I was scared that I would murder more people if I was in direct contact with everyone all the time.

As I took off out the door, I again started to wonder about human nature. Why do we all feel so sorry for ourselves? I do it all the time. I spend so much time wishing I was normal. And normal people spend time wishing they were special. Why is that? Is there anyone out there that doesn’t feel sorry for themselves? They should invent a drug that prevents that and the world would be one fucking happy place. I hate doing it to myself but I constantly seem to come back to it. I know there is an outside influence that is making me commit these murders to these god awful people. Or is it me on my own and I just think it’s someone else? 

My journey home. Like I said, I dread it. I live only four miles from the pre-school. In the King City metropolis that can seem like fifty miles. It takes me awhile to get home as I don’t usually hop on the bus or subway. I keep to the side streets and the old, unused railway tracks in order to avoid the masses. On occasion I’ll take the subway when I’m exceptionally tired but I know that I’m in actual fact rolling the dice as I’m inviting a ‘situation’.   I’ve had many, many situations over the years. More often than not, I’m not very proud of the way I’ve handled them. Every time that I glimpse into the world of someone evil, I get a creepy feeling that this is my last moment on earth. Any fear that I have for my wellbeing drains from my body which causes me to say and do anything that comes to mind. Situations. That’s what I call them to keep sane. Situations. This piled on top of my other major dilemma creates quite a conundrum. I imagine others would call my dilemma murders. Vigilantism? Yes it’s true to a point. I guess I’m the poster boy for it. Waking up in the middle of the night to go and murder a hideous creature. That is the craze that I’ve had the most trouble dealing with as it was totally out of my control.

My ‘awakenings’ as I like to call