When You Wake up and Scream

"What did you say you needed to get again?"

Conán could sense the slightly hint of suspicion in his potential victim's voice as he unlocked the door to his flat.

"Chill out," he told him calmly. "I just need to get my money. I left it in here."

He went in and left the door open slightly, knowing that by leaving the other man alone he would inspire a bit more trust. He knew the man would be thinking that if Conán wanted to do him any harm, he wouldn’t leave him alone.

"Ah, you're joking," Conán said loudly all of a sudden. "It's not where I thought it was. I'll need to check all the other places now. You want to come in a minute?"

Conán's gamble at leaving the man by himself had paid off, and he quite happily came into the flat. Conán disappeared into the bedroom and pretended to rummage around in there for a while, when in actual fact he was watching the other man, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"You've a lot of whiskey in here, you know that?" he called to Conán. Conán laughed.

"Yeah, I'm fond of whiskey."

"Lots of vodka, too."

"That's good stuff also. I'll always be a whiskey guy, though." Conán came out of the bedroom. "What did you say your name was?"

It was the first time Conán had ever enquired anything about any of his victims.

"Simon," he replied. Conán nodded.

"I thought it was something like that."

"So you live here by yourself?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"Mostly?"

"Well, there's one person who visits me. Other than that, I'm a hermit."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"And is this person a girl, eh?"

"Might be." Conán grinned.

"So what do you do with yourself all day? You work?"

"Not as often as I like."

Conán sat on the sofa next to the man, who seemed to have forgotten what they were there for. He was slightly drunk, which paid to Conán's advantage.

"So you're stuck in this place?"

"Well, I dander around Dublin a fair bit."

"You must be able to entertain yourself easily. I wouldn't be able to stick boredom like that."

"Ah, I daydream." Conán grinned.

"Daydream? You not think you're a bit old for that?"

"You're never to old to daydream."

"So what's so fascinating that it can entertain you for days on end?"

Conán's mood changed as quickly as the snap of a finger. The other man noticed, and Conán liked the uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.

"Murder." he said, ever so simply, slightly hushed.

"Hey, man, that's really not cool," Simon muttered, edging away from him. Conán grinned.

"I think it's pretty damn cool, actually," Conán smiled. Before Simon could get away from him, Conán pounced and soon had him pinned to the sofa, again demonstrating strength his skinny figure didn't suggest he had.

"What the Hell are you –"

"Shut up." Conán commanded simply, and to his intense delight the other man obeyed, watching him fearfully. "Good, I'm impressed." Conán added.

He could feel Simon trembling under him, but Conán was quite relaxed.

"You seen the news lately, Simon?" he asked softly. Simon nodded. "Seen about that serial killer running around Dublin?"

"Yes," Simon muttered hoarsely. "It's you, isn't it? I should have known not to be so stupid as to go off with someone I only just met."

"They say simple mistake cost more lives, don't they?" Conán asked. "Simple mistakes like not indicating in your car or going off with a complete stranger when there's a serial killer on the loose … I like the sound of that, serial killer … it makes you think of all these high profile guys over in the States, doesn’t it? Someone told me today that they didn't think it would happen in Ireland, that they thought it would always be in America, but I rightly said that we can happen anywhere."

"So you're him, are you? You're the one who's killed five people?"

"Eight, actually. They've only found five bodies, but I killed this other guy and cut him up – his head's in the freezer, you should see, it's really cool the way he's stayed so well preserved – and I killed two others a couple of years back that they haven't associated with me yet. So I've killed eight. Eight people."

"So I'll be your ninth, eh?"

"That's right. You're being awfully calm about it. I respect that, you know. Usually I get them struggling and crying and begging and all sorts, but no, you just take it on the chin."

"Well, I'm not going to get away. I'd rather go out with some dignity."

"I respect that."

"So what will you do with me when you've killed me?"

"Well, I'll have to get rid of the evidence now they're onto me. So I guess I'll have to drag you into the bath and cut you up, like I did with the other guy."

"And will you stick my head in the freezer as well?"

"No, I'll not do that. Steve was a one off."

"Steve?"

"That's what I call him. I realised his name was Paul, but I like Steve better."

"Well, I suppose whatever makes you happy."

Simon's voice was dull and monotone, and Conán was enjoying bragging about his work. He was impressed at how resigned Simon was, and he respected the fact that the man was going to go out with some dignity intact.

"You don’t look like a serial killer." Simon said softly. "You look too … well, normal. You'd expect them to have this crazy look about them, wouldn't you? You know, like a cross-eyed look or something."

Conán chuckled.

"We are normal people, for the most part. We just lead secret lives. It's a thrill, you know. I can't stop doing it. I won't stop doing it until I'm caught, and I don't see that happening any time soon."

"You'll get caught one day. You'll slip up and the Garda will get you, and you'll be put away for a long, long time. And even if you don't get caught in this world, you'll be punished in the next."

"I'm already from Hell, Simon." Conán said softly. "I'll not suffer any there."

"I beg to differ."

"You think what you like. So, are we going to get this over with?"

Simon shrugged.

"It's not up to me, is it?"

"I think I like it better when people are submissive." Conán said thoughtfully.

"So, how are you going to do it? Strangle me, I suppose?"

"Well, yeah, that's the idea. Unless you've got any preference." Conán chuckled softly at the end of the sentence.

"Just make it quick." Simon muttered.

Conán made his move as soon as the other man had finished talking, and Conán moved so quickly that Simon didn't realise Conán's hands were around his throat until he realised it was impossible to breathe. Conán had a sense of respect for the man's dignified view of his fate, and so he didn't mess around. He applied as much pressure to the man's throat as he could, a slight smile on his face, and within a couple of minutes Simon was unconscious, and within a couple more, he was dead.

Conán stayed as though still pinning the man down for a while, until the warmth coming from the body began to die down slightly. Conán was feeling strange. He felt happy, as he always did after a killing, but there was also a small sense of emptiness in him, which he knew to be loneliness. Conán had enjoyed having someone with him; he had enjoyed hearing the man's voice fill what was usually deafening silence.

Conán sighed, wondering what he was going to do with himself now. He supposed that he should start getting rid of the body, but he didn't want to, not yet. He wanted to enjoy the artificial company for a little longer, quite like he did with Steve.

Conán dragged the limp body of the man into a sitting position so there was more room on the sofa, and then he sat and watched TV for a while, cracking into the whiskey to prepare for the job at hand. Cutting up bodies was hard work, and it usually took a couple of hours at least. Then, of course, there was a lot of cleaning to do.

He got to work whenever he could find nothing at all left to watch. He was calm as he grabbed Simon under the arms and dragged him to the bathtub, where he set to work. It took him until about five o'clock in the morning, and after he had cleaned everything up it was coming up for seven. He hated the way the blood congealed and hardened on to everything. It took so long to scrub it off.

Conán was aware that the urge was already back. It was not as strong, but it was there again, niggling, no doubt going to grow larger and larger until he satisfied it again. He reminded himself of a drug addict. He was going to have to keep doing it and keep doing it until it destroyed him. Strangely, the thought didn't bother him. He knew now that there was no point in fighting anymore, as he was born to kill and he knew that he could only put it off, it was going to consume him completely and he would rather get it done sooner rather than later.

The phone rang just as he finally got everything sorted, and he was surprised to hear a voice that he hadn't heard in quite some time. It was his boss.

"Wow, I forgot you existed." Conán said as he recognised who it was.

"Ah, less of the cheek, Connolly, it's not my fault everyone likes to do it themselves these days."

"What's the job?"

"Problem with the electric, you up for that?"

"Yeah, no worries. If I get electrocuted it'll be the most exciting thing that's happened in a while."

Conán enjoyed the work, even though it was only a small problem with the lighting. The house owners were an elderly couple that fussed over Conán a lot like the grandparents Conán had always pictured himself having, and the old woman sent him off with not only his pay but some food as well. All in all, it had been a good day, Conán reckoned.

He hung around the city centre for a while, wondering what he could see, and people watched like he loved to do. There was a little bit about the guy he had killed last night being missing, a small paragraph on an inside page of The Irish Times, and Conán knew that people would be getting reported missing a lot earlier now that there was a killer on the loose. He thought of the Garda looking for him, but he knew they would never find him. Not unless they opened up the bin liners in his freezer, that is, and at the present moment in time, they had no reason to do that.