Sweet Revenge

"Where you heading, love?"

I always loose count of how many times I say that in a day. Life as a taxi driver can get boring, especially when you’ve been doing it for over ten years, as I have. Some people are under the impression that we get to meet a lot of new people, but after a while it all becomes the same to me.

"The train station," the young woman replied, and I nodded and pulled back out into the heavy traffic. She must have been about eighteen, in her last year of school, and I already hated her.

"Last year?" I asked gruffly, to make sure my assumptions were correct.

"Yeah," she replied, looking out of the window. Of course, she shouldn’t talk to strangers. Another messed up rule, I reckon. Your parents spend their whole lives telling you not to talk to strangers, but as soon as you’re old enough and they can’t pick you up themselves, they’re telling you to jump into cars with strangers. Stupid, if you ask me. Well, if you asked me, a lot of things are stupid.

"Hoping to go to university?" I prompted.

"Hope so," she answered, leaving no further room for conversation. I didn’t care, though. I knew all I needed to know. There was nothing she could say, or do, which would save her now.

Don’t think I’m a bad person. I’m not really; I’m actually a nice guy. I work hard, I put food on the table, and I have a lovely wife and two beautiful children. I pay my taxes and I’m kind to my neighbour and all of that, but every person has a guilty pleasure, don’t they? Whether it’s secret drinking, or perhaps a gamble here and there, or perhaps they’re obsessed with cross-dressing and hitting the clubs. It doesn’t matter, we all have certain things we do, don’t we?

Mine was killing. Like I said, don’t hate me or think I’m a bad person, because I have a perfectly legitimate reason. First of all, I don’t kill random people. I kill boys, and girls, just like this charming, easy-to-talk to lady next to me.

Secondly, I’m doing it for the greater good. They’re going to leave school, go to university, get a degree in something and still end up working jobs they hate. It’s simply the best thing to do for them.

And finally, I came from an incredibly poor family. Therefore, the final reason is for me, and only me. It’s my little selfish pleasure in life. I kill them so they never have the chance to live what I’ve always wanted, when I’m stuck driving people around day in, day out, and mopping up puke out of the back of my car on Sunday mornings.

"Traffic’s building up by the road works," I said after a couple of minutes of driving. A lot of people complain about awkward taxi silences, but I can’t say it’s ever bothered me to the extent I feel as though I have to say something. "I’m going to have to bring you the long way around, but not to worry. It won’t cost you anymore."

A little ironic, don’t you think? In actual fact, it’s going to cost her everything. It’s going to cost her life.

I liked it when they were daydreaming out of the window. It was the second-easiest way to ensure they didn’t realise we were heading in the complete wrong direction. Believe it or not, when they’re gazing out of the window like this young lady is doing right now, they don’t actually see anything at all. Their mind is elsewhere, and I wondered what I would be like to be so blissfully away that, second by second, your life was running out. It always gave me immense satisfaction to think that I was the only one who knew when their time was up. I had been killing for three years now and it never got boring. Actually, I found it got better. Seventeen victims now, and I’m still going strong. I don’t plan to quit. Why quit something that is doing so much good?

Of course, they realise eventually, though. They always realise. But in my opinion, that’s where things start to get interesting. That’s where things start to get fun.

"Umm … where are we going?" she asked, turning to look at me with more annoyance in her eyes than fear. I never tried to continue to bluff after this point, so I took my eyes off of the road for a few seconds to grin at her.

"We’re going on a little trip," I smiled. "So if I were you, I would just shut up. I don’t want to hurt you yet. It would really ruin my little routine."

"What … what do you mean, yet?" she squeaked. Ah, there it was, finally. The fear. The uncertainly. The knowledge that death was coming, but not knowing when, or how.

"Did your mother ever say to you to never talk to strangers?" I asked conversationally.

"What’s that got to –"

"Did she?" I barked, and the girl jumped with fright at the sudden change in the volume of my voice. Ha, I love it when they jump.

"Of course she did! What mother doesn’t?"

"Did she not realise what taxi drivers were, eh?" I grinned, excitement making my heart thump madly in my chest. The adrenaline was making me shake a little, as I put my foot down on the gas and shot the car through a thin, straight country road. The trees were bright and leafy on either side, but the beauty of the moment wasn’t there. The beauty of the moment was in the girl’s terrified eyes, her shaking hands, and her bitten bottom lip.

"She didn’t think –"

"She didn’t think," I repeated simply, forcing myself to calm a little. "That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? You don’t think. You don’t think that a taxi driver is going to kill you. You don’t think a doctor would poison you. You don’t think a cop would rape you. But it happens. You don’t think that people who aren’t as fortunate as you might have a bit of an issue with you. You don’t think people are less fortunate than you in this country, do you? Because apparently, as long as you’re all right, everyone is!"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about!" the girl cried, and to my absolute delight I heard tears in her voice. "Whatever your problem is, it’s not with me!"

"Oh, but it is," I smiled. "It’s with all of you type. I come from a poor family. I always wanted to go to college. I couldn’t because we couldn’t afford it. I ended up having to take a job as a taxi driver, and it may pay the bills, but I’ve got two young kids who I’ll never be able to afford to send off to university. They’re going to end up like me. Working stupid jobs that are unrewarding and that no one appreciates!"

"So what’s k – killing me g – going to d – do?" she asked, and her speech was punctuated by sobs now.

"Well, my way of working is that perhaps if I kill enough of you pampered and spoilt brats, there might be enough of a shortage to prompt them to let some of the poorer kids in," I smiled, as though discussing the weather. "I mean, it’s a big job, but some of the kids I know would never be able to afford college in a million years, my own included, and they’re the brightest, most brilliant kids you’ve ever laid eyes on."

"That’ll never work!" the girl gasped, looking at me with wide and teary eyes. I hummed to myself, steering the car off of the main road and down a bumpy dirt track. The suspension in my car would be ruined at this rate …

"Perhaps not," I grinned eventually. "But it sure as Hell makes me feel better."

"You’re insane!"

"Crazy is what makes the world go around," I smiled sweetly, before pulling the car to a halt under a clump on low trees and looking at her. "So, are we going to do this or what? Because I can’t take too long over it. They’ll notice I’m not picking up fares."

"You can’t," she sobbed, her crying becoming a lot more desperate now, as she realised what she had gotten herself into. This was always the best bit. "You can’t kill me! I’ve got so much to live for; I’ve not even turned twenty, for crying out loud! Why would you do this? Please, I’ll do anything, I won’t tell anyone, just let me go!"

I looked at her calmly, feeling nothing at her words apart from a sense of mild amusement.

"That’s why I’m killing you, honey," I smiled. "You have to understand that, just because you have so much to live for, not everyone is going to love you."

I quickly got out of the car and crossed to her side before she could react to what I had told her, and pulled the door open. I had been expecting her to try to hit out at me, so I caught both arms with ease. Twisting one painfully, I let go of the other to unclip her seatbelt, and then I pulled her free from the car.

"What sort of sick monster do you have to be to do this?" she asked me, fear still evident through the anger and disgust.

"I think you and I both have separate ideas of what a monster is, sweetheart," I said softly, pulling her away from the car and into an area of thicker trees, where most of the light was blocked out from the leafy canopy above us. I was done talking now. I never liked talking to my victims for long. Mostly I only let them know what my intentions were. I didn’t like giving them false hope, you know? I didn’t want them thinking I was just a rapist who would let them go – I wanted them to know there was no escape. False hope is such a cruel thing.

There was no point dragging it out any further now we were here, so I didn’t waste any more time with idle chitchat and hesitation. I pushed her hard onto the floor, using the split-second of surprise to get a firm grip around her throat with both hands. This was always so much easier, doing things this way. No mess, no fuss, plus I was always in a prime position to watch the light going from their eyes. Anyone who knows anything about serial killers knows that the greatest part is watching the light go. Watching their victim’s lives slip away, and knowing it’s all down to them.

That was what I was watching now, and it did more than excite me. It was my perfect piece of sweet revenge. A little piece of revenge that began with an innocent phone call booking a taxi and ended with glassy eyes rolling upwards. Bliss.

I never knew why I hung around for a while when the deed is done. I guess there’s some beauty in the moments immediately after death, and I liked to be the only one in the stillness and calm.

Like I said earlier, everyone has their own guilty pleasures. If I wanted to spend a sunny afternoon sitting in the shade of some trees, basking in my own personal accomplishment, I would. It doesn’t make me a bad person. Everyone needs to have something in their lives they can be proud of, don’t they?