You Are Dead

3

Thursday 11 December

Felix is fine with the fact that I kill people. He gets it, he understands my reasons. I have a sneaking feeling he’d like to do the same himself, if he had more courage. Harrison’s not so sure about the whole moral issue here. As for Marcus — well, really he’s dead against it — no pun intended. He thinks I’m a bad person. But hey, it’s good to have smart friends who have opinions, and aren’t afraid to express them. Personally, I’ve always respected people who speak their mind.

They say a true friend is someone who knows everything about you, and still likes you, but I would question that unconditional aspect of friendship. We need friends to keep checks and balances on us, to help each of us keep our perspectives, our moral compass. But I have to say that Marcus is wrong. I’m not really a bad person, I’m just a victim. All of us in life, all of us are victims. We’re all prisoners of our past, in some form. Our past defines us in ways that are not always obvious. It’s only later, on occasions, when you read something that touches a nerve, or your therapist points out some connection you had never made. That’s when you have the light-bulb moment. When suddenly it all makes sense. And you can justify everything.

I’ve just started my next project. She’s a young lady in her mid-twenties, slim, pretty, with long brown hair — the way I like all my projects to look. I’ve been following her for the past three months — from a distance mostly, but also on her Facebook page and through her tweets. I like to make a thorough study of my projects, working out the best way to take them, then thinking about what I’m going to do with them. It’s the anticipation that really gives me the bang. It’s like going online and looking at the menu of some great restaurant I plan to eat in. My beautiful dossiers.

Logan is quite a girl. She’s fit, in every sense. Runs marathons, was due to get married, though that’s not going to happen now — and that’s nothing to do with me. But that all helps me, navigating by my moral compass. She can’t treat men the way she has.

She needs punishing.