I Don't Want To Kill You Read Online Free PDF Page A

holes where the poles had been inserted were obvious, as they were slightly wider and rounder than the others, but the police had never said anything about any other wounds in the back. I touched one, lightly, trying to guess what had caused it – a single claw, or a whole hand of them? I glanced over the body quickly, looking for a pattern, but there didn’t seem to be one.
     
    The holes were ragged and messy, wet with dark black and purple blood like a liquid bruise. The entire surface had been mutilated and tenderised with almost animalistic ferocity. Nothing about the killer’s clean, meticulous method had hinted that there might be anything like this.
     
    ‘What on earth did he do?’ Mom whispered. It was a brutal sight, even six days later in a sterilised room. Margaret stopped her work to come and stare as well. Mom looked up at me, eyebrows raised in a silent question.
     
    ‘Holy . . .’ said Margaret, touching the body gingerly. ‘Did they talk about this on the news?’
     
    ‘Not a word,’ I said. ‘I don’t remember hearing about it from the other Handyman killings either.’
     
    ‘It looks like he stabbed him thirty times,’ said Margaret. ‘Maybe forty.’
     
    ‘What does it mean?’ Mom demanded, still looking at me.
     
    ‘What does it mean?’ I echoed.
     
    ‘You’re the expert, right?’ Her voice was hard to read – angry and curious and desperate all at once. I couldn’t tell who the anger was aimed at. ‘You’re the one who studies this kind of stuff. What does it mean?’
     
    I looked back at the body. ‘The first thing it means is that the police are keeping it quiet – partly to avoid freaking people out, but mostly it’s a marker. It’s like a signature, that nobody knows but the killer, so they can always tell which is a real Handyman killing and which is a copycat. It can also help identify any letters that come in to the police or to the media. If the letter mentions the stuff the police haven’t revealed yet, they know it’s a real letter from the real killer.’
     
    ‘Does that happen a lot?’ asked Margaret.
     
    ‘More often than you’d think,’ I said. ‘A lot of serial killers like to involve themselves in their own investigations.’
     
    ‘But what does it mean about the killer?’ asked Mom. She was still watching me, her eyes sharp and penetrating. ‘What does this say about the person who did this?’
     
    I looked back at her for moment, then down at the body. Is she asking about the demon?
     
    ‘It means that she’s angry about something,’ I said.
     
    ‘She?’ asked Margaret.
     
    ‘Or he,’ I said quickly. ‘He or she premeditates everything, and she’s very meticulous about everything she does. But then after it’s dead, and after she’s done whatever else she needs to do, she just goes crazy on it.’ I touched the back again. ‘This is pure rage. Whatever else the killer wants, whatever other needs her killing serves, the base of the whole thing is anger.’
     
    ‘At what?’
     
    ‘I don’t know,’ I said slowly. ‘Pastors? Men? Us?’
     
    ‘Us?’ asked Mom.
     
    I looked at her. Is this what she wanted to know? If the demon is really on a vendetta? I chose my words carefully.
     
    ‘Whoever did this came halfway across the country to do it. He or she is very driven, and very careful, and very angry. Without more evidence, all it really tells us is that we’re going to be getting more evidence soon. Probably very soon.’
     
    We looked back at the body, watching half-congealed blood shine darkly in the harsh light. Now I had more pieces of the puzzle, and a better idea of how this demon was killing, and that was good. It was very good. But even as I learned more about the ‘how’, I was starting to doubt that I knew the real ‘why’.
     
    And that wasn’t good at all.
     

Chapter 4
     
    It was Sunday, and I was going to church.
     
    I’m not a religious person, in any real sense, though I don’t