When You Wake up and Scream

"Why is Mary different?"

"Because she was Naoise’s best friend. They had a row the night I killed her, because Mary turned up at my flat looking for Naoise. I don’t know how Mary knew where I lived, she must have been told by Naoise … anyway, we had a row because she didn’t believe that Naoise wasn’t there, and then she started accusing me of lying about my childhood to try to get Naoise in bed. That’s what they all thought we were up to, but we never slept together. We really were just friends at that point. So I lost my temper with her and I pulled her into the flat and slammed the door and then I yelled at her for a while, and I wanted to make her pay for what she said, what she thought, and she looking like my mother to me. Then she did, anyway. So I … oh, God. This is going to sound really bad …"

"Even worse than everything else?"

"Well, yeah. I was completely sadistic at this point, I was getting fed up of them just being killed and me running off. I wanted to scare them, I wanted to hurt them, I wanted to see their pain. So I went and grabbed Steve, because he was in the freezer, and I showed him to Mary and she understandably freaked out. That’s where I got it from, when you showed me that photo. I was good, wasn’t I?" Conán suddenly winked, there was a grin and a flash of laughter in his eyes, terrifying when it was juxtaposed against the horrors of his confession. Detective McAfee instantly knew what Conán was up to – he was trying to unnerve him – and so he played along, cocking an eyebrow up.

"Yes, you were brilliant, Conán."

"I should have gotten an Oscar, eh?"

"You should have."

"So, anyway," There was a glint in Conán’s eyes now, no trace of remorse, just a look of glee, or pride. As casually as he could, Detective McAfee edged his chair away from Conán slightly, but Conán noticed.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, grinning. "You scared of me now? I’m not all that bad. Why don’t you come over and sit next to me, eh? Come on over here, we could be friends."

"Just keep talking, Connolly."
The use of his surname distanced the detective from the serial killer, so he ran less of a chance of forming a relationship with him. Detective McAfee knew that he couldn’t fall into that trap.

"All right. So I showed her the head and she freaked out, she was all like –" Conán did a high-pitched impression of her and then broke into laughter. "She was real scared. I’m surprised she didn’t pee herself. So I messed with her head a little and then I told her that I would have to kill her, and she tried to get away at some point and I told her how many I have actually killed and she was surprised, and then she begged me not to strangle her because she’s always been afraid of not being able to breathe. I pushed her back at the sofa and she was too terrified to move, and when she was looking the other way I smashed her round the head with an empty whiskey bottle, I think it was whiskey, anyway. It probably was, knowing me. I do like my whiskey. I stunned her, but she wasn’t unconscious. She looked real dazed, though, and she didn’t struggle when I went round and strangled her. She just made choking noises, which were good enough for me. So then she died and I was left with this body, and I dragged her to the bathtub and I got hammered, but … Jesus, I couldn’t do it, could I? For some reason I couldn’t cut her up. Perhaps it was because she was a girl, I don’t know. But I couldn’t do it. So I left her there and then I dumped her body off in some random alleyway and that’s when she was found. Naoise came round when she found out, and she was real upset. I felt awful because I already loved Naoise by this point, I was just denying it because the thought terrified me. I didn’t want to love somebody, because I knew it was dangerous, and it was, because if I had been caught by any other person I would have throttled them, no doubt about it. But because I loved her I couldn’t and I got caught. Perhaps I was ready to be caught, my head’s still away with it. But it was because I loved Naoise that the whole Mary thing messed me up. I couldn’t look at Naoise when she was sobbing her heart out and know that she was hurting so bad because of me, and me alone, and the worst thing was she was clinging onto me for support and she didn’t know. I was betraying her, stabbing her in the back. When she fell asleep, I took the knife I used to cut up bodies and I went into the bathroom, knelt over the bath, and I was about to slit my wrists when Naoise caught me and talked me out of it. Perhaps she shouldn’t? It would have saved sixteen lives.

"Before Naoise came round, though, there was Oran. I got hammered trying to cut Mary up, and I took way too much alcohol and I knew I was in trouble, so I tired to get out of the flat and get somewhere. I don’t know what I was doing, to be honest. I don’t really remember much, I passed out with severe alcohol poisoning and Naoise found me and I was taken to hospital. I think we fought about something or other, because I was real pissed off when I got out of hospital. Oran was just walking down the street and I didn’t even break pace when I walked over to him. I put him against the wall and I killed him, and then I stepped over the body and I walked off. Believe me, if I had known he had been seventeen, I would never have done it. I never meant to kill a kid."

"Well, you did, Connolly, so save it for the judge."

"You shut the Hell up, or I’ll be a cop killer as well!"

"That’s going to be great in your defence."

"Screw my defence. Is there any need for it?"

"I suppose you would fit the part for the insanity plea, because you’re not all there, are you, Connolly?"

"I like the way I’m Connolly now. What’s the matter? Getting too friendly? Getting scared?"

"Look, Connolly!" Detective McAfee slapped both hands onto the desk. Conán didn’t so much as blink. Detective McAfee suddenly realised how infrequently the killer blinked; instead, he fixed you with a hard and dark gaze with those strange glittering eyes. "I know what kind of game you’re trying to play here, and it isn’t going to work, do you hear me? You can’t scare me, you can’t disgust me, and you can’t disturb me. You think you’re good at distancing yourself? I’ve been doing it longer than you’ve lived, boy, and you need to catch yourself on and get on with it, because I’m not taking any of your crap. Are we quite clear?"

"Absolutely, sir," Conán winked, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet onto the desk. One of his socks had a hole in it. Detective McAfee eyes it, his eyebrows raised. "What’s wrong? Foot fetish?" Conán asked, wiggling his toes.

"Shut shut the Hell up and get on with it, Connolly."

"All right, all right. Now, where was I?" Conán looked up to the sky and slightly to the side, his expression thoughtful, looking so relaxed that he might well have been telling a bedtime story. "Oh yeah, Simon, my ninth. He was really weird, actually. He worked out quickly that I was the killer. I’d taken him back to my flat, lured him there. He found out I was the killer because it was all over the news after Mary and Oran, and he was so clam about it. Perfectly fine. I said I would have to kill him and I did, and he didn’t struggle at all. He was really dignified, really peaceful. I respected that, so I did away with him pretty quickly. I didn’t want him to suffer, because he truly was a pretty remarkable man.

"So, then we come to Tom. Naoise nearly caught me there. I was off my head again and I had strangled him on the sofa. He was pretty drunk and so I pretended to be all caring and I brought him back and he was nearly passed out, so I got on him and strangled him. I don’t think he could have struggled if he had tried, because he didn’t even attempt to throw me off. He died pretty quickly and I watched him for a while, because the few moments after death have always fascinated me. I mean, completely fascinated me, ever since I found one of my mother’s boyfriends dead from a drug overdose."

"How old were you then?"

"I was ten years old," Conán paused, then he nodded. "Yeah, ten, I know that because I’ll never forget that. So I watched him for a while and the door went, and Naoise was there. She had promised to come over the day before but she hadn’t, because of her mother or something. I had already been round her house and I was feeling lonely and I was pissed off and feeling rejected and so I was a bit short, and I made some excuse because she couldn’t come in because I had Tom on the sofa – yeah, his head was called Tom. This is Jack, right? Aye, Jack … anyway, Naoise left, and I was upset and I was feeling lonely and I was thinking about all the times my dear old mother had told me that no one would love me, and I got real upset about it all and so I just lay with Tom for a while and I feel asleep. I never felt lonely when they were around. I used to spend time with them, you know? I used to watch TV with the heads and sometimes I’d sleep next to the bodies while they were still a little warm. When I woke up I always had to cut them up though, because I knew I couldn’t get attached to them and have them stink up the place. I still had enough sense in me at the moment to concentrate on getting rid of the evidence. Steve was lonely because I’d started to dump the body parts in a wood, and so I kept Tom for him, so he didn’t get lonely."

"The severed head was lonely?"

"Yeah? Well, you would be, wouldn’t you? I mean, after a few weeks in a freezer all by yourself, wouldn’t you want someone to chat to?"

Detective McAfee opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it and closed his mouth again. When he finally spoke up, he had changed the subject.

"Where did you dump the bodies?"

"Just in this random wooded area, outside of Dublin. There’s about five bodies there, but there won’t be much left of them. Steve will be gone; all there will be are bone fragments. I froze him and then I smashed him up and scattered him, I only left the head. The rest I buried in their different pieces, but they were always dug up when I got back. The wild animals probably ate pieces and dragged them off and all, that’s why you have to take my word, because there won’t be much proof in the remains."

Detective McAfee felt a little sick, and he managed to succeed in not showing this to the serial killer sitting opposite him. He couldn’t believe what the man had done to human beings, people’s sons and brothers and cousins … and here he was, speaking so matter-of-factly about it all.

He was picking at his nails at the moment, which were bitten down slightly. His face was calm and relaxed, and Detective McAfee began to wonder if Conán even realised the extent of what he had done. He had seemed to earlier, but now … now he was just acting as though he were explaining what had recently happened on Family Guy.

Detective McAfee eventually spoke again.

"Come on, Connolly, you’ve got a few to go yet."

"Where was I?"

Detective McAfee got the distinct impression that Conán knew where he was, but didn’t want to get there at that particular moment.

"Your eleventh victim. Gerald Doyle."

Conán’s face fell.

"I don’t want to talk about Gerald."

"Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to. What makes Gerald so different?"

"I don’t know what happened with Gerald. I was evil. I did stuff to him I shouldn’t have."

"What did you do to him?"

"I can’t really remember. He was frustrating me, I … he was saying about the murders because I’d brought the subject round and he worked out it was me. I liked them to know before they died. I liked the fear. Anyway, he said I was weak for giving into the urges and I guess I was annoyed because, deep down, I knew that it was true. I jus went for him and smashed him around the head with the whiskey bottle, as hard as I could. He slumped right off the sofa and onto the floor, and I thought I’d killed him outright. His eyes were open, but they were glazed over, and it looked like one of his pupils was dilating. I crouched down next to him and saw that he was breathing and so I went to strangle him, but he woke up and started to fight me. Then, everything just goes black."

"Everything goes black?"

"Yeah, like I passed out. But I know I didn’t. When I came back to my senses, Gerald was dead. I was sitting on his chest and I had my hands around his throat and I was choking him and shaking him about so hard that his head was being battered off the floor. He’d been beaten to a pulp and there was glass in his head and blood everywhere, up the walls, all over the place. I was real shocked. I’d never beaten a man to death before, I never thought that I had it in me. I must have been real mad, real angry, but I don’t know why. I haven’t been able to work out why. I thought perhaps it was my past, but usually just strangling someone puts that at rest for a while, though towards the end it didn’t. I was horrified, and I was disgusted with myself. I was terrified of myself, as well. I tried to kill myself again that day, but I didn’t do it. Naoise rang up and I couldn’t do it to myself once I had heard her voice. I was standing with the knife against my throat when she rang, she saved my life. She doesn’t know it, because I never told her. But she did."

"And you disposed of the body in the same way?"

"Sort of. I cut him up, but I left his legs on the street corner. I wanted to jazz things up a bit, I wanted to start to mess around."

"I met you shortly after this, didn’t I?"

"Yeah. I killed someone the night you let me out as well. Sucks to be you."

"Don’t you get so cocky, Conán Connolly, because no one’s impressed. You’re repulsive."

"My heart bleeds."
"Just get on with it."