I Confess

The machines around him were clunking and clattering. The sterile smell entered his nostrils and penetrated his brain. Causing him to feel nauseous. He reached out and grabbed the cardboard bowl he had been giving all three officers, looking away from this aging, coughing man. 

The three officers have been summoned. Two were part of the Dallas police department and the other was from the metropolitan police department, All three had come on a promise of big news. They had been promised a confession and that's what they had right in front of them. Penned in a child's scribble, barely legible. But still a confession. The man in front of them was the butcher of Bradbury lane. The man who was in his late 50’s, dark brown hair, pale skin. Sharp thang like teeth. Had just confessed to killing over ten prostitutes, all of who worked on the same street. He was a gruesome psychic who liked to stalk the ladies of the night. He liked to hunt them down and cut their throat. He put them through a disturbing ritual of some kind of a mix between satanism and talking to God himself.

He cut up the body in precise and efficient cuts. Placing each part in a circle around a cross. His crimes were so horrible that even the newspapers wouldn't show crime scene photos.

One of the men sitting there witnessing the confessions was DI Taylor. He had been chasing this bastard for years. Fixated on him. The crimes took place between ninty ninety and the beginning of the new millennia. DI Taylor had been one of the first on the scene to see the horror, and after the very first one he had promised his wife he would catch the bastard. He wanted him to put in prison for life.

Well, he had got his wish finally or sort of the man had barely hours to live before he passed away and entered the gates of hell.

Looking deep into the cold dead eyes DI Taylor knew he had his man. The man who mutilated and murdered for a decade. A man who he wished the worst of hell to fall upon him. 

The doctor had just walked in and whispered to one of the texas police they needed to leave. The family had come to say their final goodbyes. The two Texans left first. Taylor started the man in the eyes once more “I hope the devil treats you well down in hell you cold heartless bastard”. With that last word, the DI left the room.

Tears began to drip down the man's eyes running lines down his cheek. He bowled out, tears after tears after tears. His heart ached badly. This was going to be his lasting image. The image of him before he passed away, he hoped to get in heaven, he had always been good but this might be his downfall this might turn the escalator down.

In the hallway, a strange man in a thick black jacket leather trousers with his hat pulled down bumped into DI Taylor. For a moment they locked eyes. There was something off about the man, they were the same dark and dirty eyes like the one in there. He knew deep down that the man was a problem, but it sure as hell wasn't his problem. No t was texas's problem and he was just about ready to leave this dirty humid town and take the next flight home. To see his wife and their cat. And to finally open that thirty-year-old bourbon he promised his wife they would open it when he caught the bastard butcher and that had finally happened.

When DI Taylor stepped into the humid air, he was relieved he walked over to his car and sat down in the driver's seat. He fetched out the neatly folded stack of papers from his top pocket and began to read them,. He was going to frame it in his office. Where everyone could see the confession he had flown 20000 miles away to get.

The confession read.

“I callum cooke of ninety two east brook street, dallas texas wish to make a confession. Between the years of 1990 and 2000 I killed at least ten people I know of. I tortured them before slicing them up and posing them. This is a lis of the names in which I have knowingly killed

You may find pieces of jewelry and such other things in a locked safe at the back of my garage the code is 2222. I acted totally alone on these crimes and my wife which I meant five years after the killing spree had absolutely nothing to do with the crimes….

The note went on for a long time detailing half the crimes he committed, where certain body parts were, and how he lured them in. It went on for five pages. Over the years he would always come back to this. It was like winning a lottery to a loser cop who liked to flash it about a lot.

In the room that DI Taylor had just left the sketch man in the hat slipped in closing the door behind him. He put down the blinds and took a set.

The words out of the coughing man's mouth spewed fast “Are they ok, where are they”

“They are fine, did they get your confession”

With all his trembling might the dying man answered

“Yes they did they seemed happy with themselves now where are they? I need to say my final goodbyes. I haven't got long”

Looking at his watch the sketchy man said “ They should come in a few minutes don't you want to say anything before I go this will be the last time we ever meet brother”

At the last word he trembled, the dying man felt a rage like no other. He hated him with all his might. Every inch of his body shocked but calmly he said.

“You have got help, promise me that. You promised me you would get the help you needed”

“O yes brother I got the help I needed.”

“You will never do it again, never” The words were hard-pressed the man before he used to be his sweet brother, innocent on all accounts but now he had seen his true colors. He must have eaten the poison apple. He was no longer part of him. The bond they used to share had been severed in a heartbeat.

“I promise, I would never break a promise” On that note, the man began to whistle as he headed for the door.

As the door slammed shut the man in the bed whispered “I will see you in hell” That was the last words he ever whispered. Patiently looking at the clock the man whose his daughters would turn up with his wife, they never came as he took his last breath he was alone. Just like his daughters and wife, they died alone. All came to harm under this one man.