One in every three children is a victim of abuse, directly or indirectly. Every man is born good until circumstances awake the monster inside him.
Born on 6th of July, 1976 in an affluent family to Sir Trevor and Lady Catherine Trevor, I borrowed the first name from my mother and was christened Catherine Dunstan. ‘Dunce’ as every one called me, I grew up happily in the loving care of my dad and mom. But as destiny would go, the Pandora’s Box was opened once and for all before life took a sharp turn.
I was around three years old when Sir Trevor, I wouldn’t prefer calling him my dad, was addicted to drinking and my mom was always suspicious of him having an illicit affair with few other women. Squabbles crept in which slowly turned into bigger quarrels.
Either of them would start abusing each other till they ran out of words or energy. Occasionally the milieu turns tranquil after they see me crying when one of them would come and pick me up and lull me back to sleep, and then the volcano would erupt once again.
This happened every day and every night. After every such fight even when they lay me asleep, I would suffer from bouts of insomnia, and toss and turn on the bed crying and praying god that they should never quarrel and peace should return. But my prayers were never answered for a long time.
I was later admitted to the kindergarten but I showed no interest towards studies. With other children of my age, I never interacted. My teachers marked me as an introvert. My classmates often made fun of me. They called me names and teased me till the point I burst into tears and me fleeing away from the place, pushing them aside. Hatred towards my fellow beings slowly started to buildup.
I was too small to show my anger on them and so I started to bite my nails in fury. I started to hurt myself by hitting hard onto the wall and scratching my hands off the rough surfaces. I found more peace when I was all alone but I hurt myself the most then.
My teacher referred me to a psychiatrist and later they informed my parents. If my behavior isn’t arrested and corrected now, I would grow up as a psychologically challenged human being and that I have already started showing the symptoms.
That night also my parents fought, but for a different reason. Each of them started the blame game until it belched into a brawl. For the first time he slapped my mom and she started to cry. I was standing at the door with my little hands on the table near the door even as a drop of tear cascaded down my chubby cheek.
But when they saw me hold a butcher’s knife and they rushed towards me under the fright that I would hurt myself.
The next day police were at my home investigating the double murders of Sir Trevor and Lady Catherine Trevor. I was only six years old, too small to be suspected. The only circumstantial evidence, a butcher’s knife was never recovered.
And I was on a killing spree since then. I grew up into a beautiful nymph. Police always suspected a man to be behind those serial killings.
San Andreas… Trevor square… Birmingham road… Wellington Street…
January… March… April… August….
1980… 1982… 1983…
I always chose my victims at random. I always slashed the victims or shot them down when they were in seclusion. And my victims always happened to be couples in love. If you are in love or you married and having problems with your spouse, then you are my next victim. For more than 6 years I terrorized suburbs of Mexican cities with my killings throughout. More than 78 couples were killed in one of the worst serial killings that ever happened in the history of Mexico.
For four years there were no more victims, no more killings and left the police perplexed. They thought that the pattern ended.
Four years back, I found a real soul mate, a lovely and a wonderful husband he is, he took so much care of me. I finally thanked god for answering my prayers. Whatever love I have lost since my childhood I found it here.
My blood drenched hands were brimming with so much love that I couldn’t hold a gun or a knife to continue my killing spree. And this was the reason why the pattern ended. I knew god would never absolve my sins but at least I wanted to be happy as long as I lived.
And we were blessed with a two year old baby girl. Life passed on day by day and month by month, when we both altercated over petty issues. My husband was a good man though and he would pour water onto the heated pan, cooling it down immediately. But my past experiences have taught me something else.
The monster in me which was dormant for so many years seemed to surface once again.
A year later, he saw me with a male friend of mine and questioned me under suspicion, right in front of him. Unable to bear the humiliation I rushed to into the room locking the door and started to cry. He was banging the door and shouting at me to open it.
‘I wouldn’t allow my kid also to undergo the same pain as me’, I thought and I opened the drawer after unlocking it and pulled out the butcher’s knife which still bore the stains of coagulated blood.
‘Cluck’ the blot came down and I walked towards the hall gripping the knife in my hand. Even as I approached my husband, he was lying down on the floor with blood trickling down his slashed throat and I looked around in fright when I saw my three year old daughter walk towards me with a knife in her hand and blood dripping down it….
0 comments:
Post a Comment