Fictional Story “My Victims”, by Jihan Angrila

Chapter 1: Meet Layla, Rio, and Me.

I don’t think it’s normal for people to have supernatural powers. I have always believed in things that I see, which is not much. Humans are just… well, humans. Intelligent, yes. Charismatic, can be. Personality? Animals can have that too. But supernatural powers on any kinds? Highly unlikely. That’s why psychics are made fun of so much; with their ‘energy-sensing’ abilities, ‘talking to the dead’, and other kind of non-sense. I’m sure many others, no, the majority of the people with a logical brain would just laugh and say “you’re just faking it” when someone shows them something out of the ordinary. And they’ll probably think you’re weird too. Definitely weird.

That’s why I’m one of the weird ones. I’m not normal.

Why?

It’s easy. Whenever, I kill someone, I absorb their memories and abilities. Their entire life (sometimes), their fears, ambitions, dreams, and much more. Clearly, no one knows about my ‘special ability’ since I’m still here talking to you, and not in jail. But being honest, maybe soon. Thing’s haven’t been working out in terms of my killing spree lately. You might be curious as to why I would say ‘killing spree’ instead of something that would just mean one murder. Sorry to disappoint, but I just can’t help it. Whenever their memories flood into my head, all their emotions, especially in their final moments, is just so thrilling. It’s addictive. It’s enslaving. I’m just obsessed with it.

The best part is obtaining new abilities and skills without the need to practice them at all.

Who wouldn’t want to have that?

One day you kill someone and then, the next thing you know, you’re a vet with ten years’ experience in horse surgery. How cool is that?

Documents for job interview or application can be faked but skills can’t. Right now, I hold the position of a senior banker with forty years of experience and earning a fat salary every month.

And I’m only thirty!

Life is definitely good right now. Who knows, maybe the next month I’ll change my job to something more interesting. Don’t get me wrong, I kill not for practicality. As I have said, it just feels really good when the memories come flooding in. If I could live different lives before I truly die, why not take the chance and become more knowledgeable? Life is what you make most of it, right? So, it’s justifiable to enrich my own life by living through others’ lives.  That’s how I’m making the most of my life at least.

I have already planned who to kill next. There’s this detective that has caught my eye. She’s just too good! If I could kill her, I’ll be invincible with my power. All her skills in criminology and whatever would surely help me avoid the trouble of evidence and stuff like that. I did kill a policeman before, but he was a rookie so that didn’t really help. But it was nice knowing 5 years of aikido without actually doing any of the training.

Life’s just too perfect right now.

I should clarify that just because I said ‘killing spree’, does not mean I’m on the same level as Luis Garavito. That would be too much. That would make me god with all that skills. In all honesty, I fear one day all the abilities will make me go mad. By ‘killing spree’, I mean I’ve only killed 10 people so far. If I remember correctly. There was a period in my life where I just blacked out due to someone’s passing. Sometimes their memories get jumbled together and it becomes hard to differentiate who’s who. Too many voices in my head. That’s the drawback of my special ability but hey, it’s worth it.

To me, it’s like a drug that I just can’t stop injecting into my veins.

I started at the fresh, young age of 18. It was accidental of course. I didn’t realize that when I take another person’s life, I literary take their life as my own. My first was a classmate of mine. We were young and stupid, drunk, driving late at night through the town. I technically didn’t kill her but I was the one driving and the one more drunk. She kept asking me to stop but there was just something thrilling about her worried face and driving at illegal speed while being out of your mind. The next thing I knew, we crashed and just as she was hanging on to me, her life drained and transferred into mine. All her memories, skills, assets, everything, I felt them. I was convulsing with pleasure and it was both disgusting and fantastic.

It was euphoric.

 Obviously, I survived and she didn’t.

I managed to get myself together and fled the scene. For some reason, no one knew it was me who ‘killed’ her. It was a small town and I guess they didn’t really look into that kind of stuff as much. Teens were looked down upon in that town. What a shame. They could’ve stopped a future serial killer if they had tried to catch me. I’m not complaining; the opposite actually. That night made me realize the capabilities I was able to achieve today and it awakened my love of being so multifunctional.

As I was writing this, I didn’t actually know why I was writing it. But now I do. I’m writing this to commemorate, to celebrate those who were unwillingly giving up their life just so they could be of use to mine. I won’t disclose specifications of the places and such information, but rather give a vague sequence of what happened. Call it your privilege of letting your imagination decide. So here are the ‘chapters’ of this book that will describe people in each that I have… obtained my wide array of skills from.

This is a terrible idea, in all honesty.

Imagine all the horrible crimes I have committed! And to record them too? It’s basically suicide. But I can’t keep up with the voices and memories in my head anymore. At least I don’t think I can much longer. The abilities I have obtained are beautiful but the memories that come with it sometimes are just too much. So maybe, if I write them down, I can differentiate who’s who again. Besides, that’s why my next target is that detective, right? No more worrying about having loose ends. That ends here.

Enough rambling. That’s enough explanation for now. As I write this, I will continue with my plans for the detective but they won’t be written here of course. That’s a surprise. Anyways, let’s introduce our first victim.

Layla Chase.

Sweet girl that got her life robbed just at the age of eighteen due to a car crash. Courtesy of me, of course. Her life was filled with happiness most of the time. A couple of depressions, heartache and heartbreak now and then but nothing really outstanding. What she offered me was good homely feelings through her memories which I really appreciated. I personally never had such a thing with my own parents but it’s good to know what that felt like. Not only that, she was exceptional in understanding others. As in emotionally. That was another plus for me as you can guess I don’t really understand much of that stuff.

Typical psychopathic behavior perhaps? Lack of empathy and such.

But now, it’s so easy for me to understand people still and use it to my advantages even though that skill was obtained twelve years ago. Call it a plus in my manipulation skills.

Layla was also very good in the STEM field. Which was great since that helped me get into the college of my choice to study biomedical engineering. But that wasn’t the most messed up thing I have done to her. Even for me, the time when I used her own memories to sympathize with her family during her funeral was the worst thing I have done to her. I had to take a bath after that because of how filthy I felt. Pretending I actually cared about how her parents felt was pretty gross.

What else is there with Layla? I guess the caring and warm relationship she shared with her sister always helps me through my dark times. Whenever I pull that memory from my head, I feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. Although only temporary, it always brings a smile to my face when I adopt Layla’s point of view whenever she spent her time with her sister. I don’t know what happened to that sister. Something that confuses me is that, despite the fact that I have Layla’s memories, I can never remember her sister’s name. Oh well. It’s not that important anyways.

To conclude Layla’s life, all I can say that if she had lived on, she would be one happy person. Good opportunities were ahead of her but alas, she crossed my path and that’s how she ended.  Good for me though. She ‘helped’ me discover my love of re-living someone’s life and for that, I’ll be forever grateful to her. Even though she didn’t give me many abilities.

Moving on, then.

Rio Tonsia.

Rio was my upper classmate in college. He was in his third year and I had just started. We all have to agree that college is the time of self-discovery. The time to discover your skills, limits, and expand your knowledge. He was a fairly exceptional student with good scores and had a great passion for what he was studying about. The only thing in college that I first wanted to explore more was my memory and ability absorbing skills. So why not start now? The perfect time to grow and bloom as an individual. Rio had no idea who I was. But good killers know how to study their victims first before striking and even an amateur like me understood that. I studied his schedule, his habits, his everything before striking. A quick slash to the neck in a secluded place was all it took. The moment his grip on my arms loosened, I felt the same euphoric feeling I felt the night Layla died. I could see his life at first; from his childhood up until I cut his neck open from his perspective. The last part was thrilling but I knew the memories that will stay with me were even more worth it.  Just like Layla, he lived a relatively normal and happy life. The only difference was an ex that he couldn’t move on from. They broke up just before he graduated high school. In my opinion, it was pretty pathetic not to move on from a person like her. He made friends with such interesting people in college, he could’ve been with someone better than his ex. But I guess he liked to wallow in self pity and sorrow. If I use Layla’s high empathy skill, I felt bad for him. But I won’t waste my skills on that.

I think it’s obvious why I choose Rio. I gave you hints before already. He was good at what he was studying and had great passion for it too. He and I studied the same thing. Of course I wanted what he had. Who doesn’t? Rio wasn’t that high in emotional skills but his practicality was just something I couldn’t resist. All of those A+ grades, sophisticated reports, and knowledge in the field? Yes please.

This time, I murdered not to discover someone’s life. This time it was more about practicality and the abilities I needed to excel in college. In a way, it was an experiment too on how far his skills could take me. And to be fair, it took me far. First year student with the mind of a third year student? It’s incredible.

Took me far enough to graduate first in my class.

Life was easy during college.

But then comes adulthood and that’s for the next chapter of whatever this is.

My writing might give you the impression that I care about no one but myself. And you’re absolutely right. My whole life I’ve used others for my own benefits, literally. I’ve lied constantly, every time actually, and never shown others how I truly felt about them. They think I’m just another person with functioning feelings but they’re dead wrong. This book will show you how I have truly felt my whole life, at least through the experiences that I experienced through my victims. Call it a documentary? Call it whatever you want. Keeping it all to myself would be wise. It would be safer. But everyone, even a serial killer with supernatural ability, needs to vent sometimes.

Chapter 2: Emily and Anne.

When I was younger, I made dumb mistakes too. Although, it’s not what you think. What counts as a dumb mistake for me would be killing someone that’s entirely useless. Well, you can’t say that someone is entirely useless, but you have to agree that some people are just not as useful as others. Previously, I talked about how killing someone would benefit me. I recall that my tone suggests it was a tremendously good thing for me to kill someone for the ability and memories. That is true; it does bring me tremendous joy and ecstasy to have those memories fill me where I have none. But every positive has its negative. And that is what this next chapter is about.

Emily Strangewood.

Strange girl, indeed.

To fit with her name, I had her executed in the woods. I find it funny to match my victims’ names to how they died or where they died. Just a small detail that serves as my signature to the police. Speaking of the police, they still hadn’t caught up to me. Despite my three body counts, no one could figure it out. With Layla and Joe I was sloppy but still the authorities had no idea who was behind the murders. Now, with Emily, they still had no idea.

What are the odds!

But then again, with Emily, I had taken special ways to ensure that nothing could be traced to me. Thank god for technology and the concept of catfishing. Emily was special. With Emily, I had posed as someone else and connected her to Faces, a website which lets you meet new people and stay in contact with them. Luckily I had found Emily during a dark moment in her life and it was easy to infiltrate her wall. With Layla’s help, I had charmed her enough for her to start spilling all of her life’s problems to me. Again, with Layla’s help, thank god, I endured the sad excuse of a person Emily is. If it wasn’t for Layla, I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with the woman.

Emily had told me she had depression and was suicidal during the last months of her life. Her job was awful, her friends were awful, her living condition was awful, everything was awful. When I had coaxed her out to come and meet me, as expected, she went down with no resistance. She actually let me kill her, which I thought was pretty sweet and nice of her.

But oh boy, the memories that filled my head were filled with misery. It wasn’t the same feeling as Layla and Rio. It was intensely depressing.

Right from her childhood up till she died. Abandoned as a baby, left in an orphanage, kicked out at the age of 13, grew up on the street, and so on. How in the world did this woman made it so far? I would’ve expected her to take her own life whenever she had the chance but wow, what a fighter. At least until the last few months of her life. When I took it, she wasn’t scared. She didn’t beg for me to let her go or to spare her but instead, she submitted to me. In a way, I was her savior. I saved her by ending her misery permanently.

I could relate to Emily slightly. We both had a rough start in our own way but the difference is I felt nothing until Layla came along while Emily could feel everything from the start. Also, she didn’t have my amazing gift, of course.

I felt the relief that she felt when I took her life. I believe people call it mercy killing?

All mercy and such aside, she had nothing in terms of skills. She was the definition of an average person. Nothing special, nothing ‘non-special’. Nothing at all. Unless you count her extreme depression as a special skill.

What a waste of time.

All those weeks grooming her for murder and that was what I got? I have to admit it was my mistake to be hopeful about her. I should’ve seen that all she could offer me was a serious case of depression. It took me weeks to get that fixed! Not only that, I had to see a therapist which took most of my paycheck!

Going to the therapist as someone who has so many secrets was NOT easy at all.

At one point, I thought my cover was going to be blown. But luckily, it did not because I stopped the sessions halfway and fixed the depression myself. By ignoring it through planning for my next victim.

Who was just as unlucky as Emily.

Anne Parker.

I met Anne in a coffee shop. She looked professional with her black blazer and pencil skirt. She looked like the kind of woman who had her life figured out and could offer you something insightful. She smiled at me and, honestly, I found it captivating. There was just something mysterious about that smile of hers that I wanted to know more about. The next day I saw her again and using Layla’s skills, I charmed her and made her sympathetic to my ‘lonely, single’ life. I wouldn’t say we were attracted to each other romantically; it was more of ‘friendship’ or ‘companionship’. At least for me. I wasn’t too sure about her though.

We met up here and there in different places to talk about stuff. More like for me to tell her what she wanted to hear just to lure her in. The more time I spent with her, the more there was something off about her. She couldn’t keep eye contact for long, twitched more than a normal person, just generally an odd aura came off her. After I had invested enough time and ‘emotion’ into the woman, I finally managed to lure her into the part of the local park that no one ever goes to. Why a park? Well, it’s obvious. Her last name is Parker!

This time, after the horrible time I had with Emily, I actually tried to enjoy my time slaughtering Anne. Like any other person, she begged me not to kill her. But there was something different. Something felt disturbing, even for me. Yes, she was begging me to spare her life but at the same time… it felt like she was enjoying the intimate moment we were having. As if she actually wanted me to kill her. Willingly and excited for the chance to die.

Definitely a messed up lady.

The moment I pierced her abdomen with my knife, I slowly felt her emotion. It was slow since how she died was by blood loss but my god, the feeling was so tense. Excitement, happiness, things you would expect the opposite of what you would expect when you’re being murdered. As she was truly slipping away from consciousness, the memories started to flood into my mind. An overachiever child overshadowed by the birth of her sister who turned out better than her. Years of jealousy and insecurity haunted her. At 17, ‘accidentally’ pushing her sister into the docks and letting the poor kid drown. Blamed it on the mossy, slippery wooden dock. Unable to cope with what she had done, she developed some sort of OCD or things that helped her cope.

She felt guilty, but at the same time, so happy when her sister died. Out of this world joyful.

Oh my god, she’s insane.

She was so filled with both guilt and joy it drove her slowly to insanity. She tried to distract herself with work and thus regained her overachiever status. But of course, at the cost of her sanity. All those distractions were good for nothing since she never really worked out her problem.

But what she had to offer was not worth the murder.

I obtained her efficiency, strict work ethic, and overachiever mentality.

At the same time, even though so far there was a four body count under my name, my hands felt so filthy. It was never like this. Not even when I had killed Emily, poor, poor Emily. My hands always felt good after each murder but after Anne, I felt like I needed a break from murdering. That feeling of being so guilty was so intense that I had to go back to therapy.