So let's get this out of the way. I am what the simple minded people call a pedophile. In that I enjoy children in a sexual fashion prior to the age of thirteen. Puberty really turns me off. Yes boo and hiss, but I think if you take the time to consider the situation you would see it as I do, just another fetish, no more repugnant than bondage or golden showers.
One might think that since the act of loving children, as I do, is illegal, that would be all the reason needed to help me understand the vileness of my acts. But don't forget, homosexuality used to be illegal. Women having a say in public used to be illegal nearly all over the world and still is in certain places. My point is, just because something is illegal does not make it wrong.
Issues of morality aside, my taste for my particular fare is still illegal so I must employ devious ways to trap my quarry. You've heard of the vans and free candy, that's for amateurs. A nice hatchback with an open trunk space is all that's necessary to trap my prey and it always goes under the notice of any that might be on the lookout for so-called degenerates such as myself.
And the bait? You can't beat a puppy. All I have to do is track a particular child as they walk to school and once I'm certain of time and place I park myself and wait. I open up the back and actively play with the dog till the kid comes along. They know not to talk to strangers, but puppies are too cute to pass up.
They always ask if they can pet the dog and I always allow it. I ask them simple questions that are far from sensitive information so it doesn't raise any flags. Eventually, I angle into the problem I have. I need to drive to the vet, but my furry little friend gets too anxious being alone, so I need someone to sit with it and calm it down.
It doesn't always work. Some kids can see through the ruse and excuse themselves, but most don't. Such is the case as it is with my current little boy, Brian. He's in the trunk space with a little rottweiler puppy keeping it calm while we drive on. I'm careful not to get too excited and tip my hand, but it is difficult. If you only knew how much.
I drive for a full ten minutes and stop at an old factory building. I pop open the trunk and escort Brian, with the puppy in his hands, to what I tell him is the back entrance to the veterinarian's office since the puppy will get too excited around other dogs. He accepts this explanation and we pass through the door.
At this point it's all about the details. I had painstakingly designed the back to look like a kennel in a vet's office, complete with a PA system that filters the sound of barking dogs through the enclosure. I escort Brian to a cage and close him up inside. I tell him I'm going to see the vet and get the procedure underway. He accepts the plan and snuggles the dog that much more.
Meanwhile I pass through the mock kennel and make my way up the stairs to my fully furnished apartment. I click on the stereo that plays a compilation of smooth jazz classics. I head over to my little bar and fix myself a martini before grabbing a bottle of grape juice, dumping out a quarter of it and filling the empty bit with vodka. I shake it up. Everything is ready.
"Does it ever bother you?" a voice cuts through the music.
I turn my head and see a man dressed all in black with a shadow somehow concealing his face standing in front of the door. "Does what, ever bother me?" I ask and wish I kept a gun, but that's the last thing I need them to find should the police ever raid this place. Just another reason to shoot first, ask questions later.
"Come now," he starts in and holds his place. "I'm in your inner sanctum, do you really believe I don't know what's going on?"
"And what do you think is going on?" I skirt the glaring issue as I feel this guy is fishing and I take a drink to show I'm not perplexed in any way.
"Do I have to spell it out?" he continues while remaining mostly still. "You kidnapped little Brian and have him locked up downstairs."
"I have done no such thing," I leap to my defense and set the drink on the bar.
"Then you did go to the vet," he presses and folds his fingers in front of him.
"Well no," I admit and tap my fingers against the surface.
"And you didn't just lace a children's beverage with a tasteless liquor so he's sure to ingest so much grape juice that he'll basically do whatever you want without complaint," he reads me the riot act and steps further into the room.
I hold silent. He's cut me to the quick.
"Sounds like kidnapping to me," he points out and walks to the bar where he sets his hand on the surface as he looks at me from the other side. "But I ask you, have you ever stopped to consider what you're doing to your victims?"
"It's just sex," I rally and look him dead in the shadowed face. I still don't know how he's doing it. "And not all that different from a simple fetish."
"Were we animals in the wild I would have to agree with you. A place where rape is so common place it doesn't even merit concern," he relays and leans just a little closer. "But we are human beings and our brain and emotion centers take up a great deal more room than our quadrupedal counterparts. Sex is never just sex with us."
"Like I said, it's just a fetish," I reiterate and hold my place.
He just stares at me, at least I think that's what he's doing. "I have to give it to you," he carries on. "Most would say it's a mental disease just as legitimate and life consuming as depression, or say they were touched as a child and can only relate love as such."
"None of that here I'm afraid," I add to the train of thought and lean forward a bit. "I was not touched as a child in any sexual manner and I do not think my fetish is anything more than that."
"That's fine for you, but what about the children?" he persists and closes a hand into a fist. "Do you believe that any of them went on to have normal lives with healthy relationships?"
"That's on them," I put forward and take another drink. "Sexual exploits are commonplace in our society. If they cannot differentiate between healthy existence and a tortured one, well, that's not on me."
"So tell me, if you feel so indifferent, why do you hunt your prey?" he asks of me and opens his fist. "You spend days watching them from afar and getting to know their habits. Were they of consensual age this would still be stalking. But there's more to it than that isn't there?"
I try to formulate an argument, but I can't find the words to put to voice.
"Even if you preferred more mature game you would still hunt," he insists and rounds the bar so he's standing closer to me. "Deceiving children, outwitting the authorities, having your cake and eating it too. These are the things that thrill you. These are the things that make you want to do it again. You don't do this because you want to be caught. You do it because you want to feel alive."
"It sounds like," I start in weakly, but gain bravado as I continue while I swirl the glass in my hand, an action meant to show that I am still in command of my faculties. "It sounds like you're making my argument for me, but you've forgotten a pivotal detail, predators live for the hunt without it, they simply do not exist."
"Are you saying that you could not live if you could not hunt?" he endeavors to understand me and sets a hand to the counter.
"No," I reject the assertion and hold a fist out in front of me. "I am the hunt."
He takes a step back. "I thought I might reason with you and discover a common ground that would sway your animalistic drive," he remarks, turns and starts to walk away. "But you have stepped beyond the boundaries and have proceeded into the territory of the uniquely selfish."
I watch him closely as he opens the door and stops.
"You will never contribute to society in any meaningful way, beyond what is necessary to maintain your habit and your cover," he tells me and turns his head to look over his shoulder. "You will never know how much this pains me, but I must do it."
He shuts the door and leaves me alone in the room. An interesting argument I must say, but a failure on his part. Did he really think that my meticulous planning and properly disguised lair could all be undone with a single conversation? Such a notion is beyond folly and only serves to illustrate just how limited his mind's scope is.
But what can I expect from a species that has not come to grasp the many taboos that abound around the world. He thought I was ruled by my drives, why else would I choose to sleep with children? But I am a thing that defies such conventional thinking. I am me and there is no one else like me.
I stroll across the room. I wonder if he released Brian. If he has it just means I have to stalk a new kid. But I don't think that's the case since he didn't seem to be the type to interfere in another person's life. He's a wimp who hopes to highlight the better part of humanity and help us make the right decision. Such notions are beyond naive.
I take hold of the handle and turn before pulling. The door does not move. Did he lock the door? How? I'm the only one with a key and there is no deadbolt. I fish it out of my pocket and insert it before I try to turn it, but find I can't. I twist with so much strength that I fear I will break the key, which is well founded since that's what happens.
I gaze at the lock and the half of the key still inside. It pops out the keyhole and with it sprouts forth a black, plant bulb. It pops open and a green flame leaps from it and starts moving toward me as it slides along the ground like some kind of crazy snake, but consumes nothing. I continue to back up as I keep sight of it till it starts to act erratically and I stop to watch. Is it dancing?
It jumps on to my shoes and climbs steadily up my body. It's fascinating, it does not burn anything and maintains the same, small shape of serpent fire. It climbs on to my chest and makes a ring around my shoulders. I can feel the vapors creeping into my nostrils. It brings with it a weird sensation that tickles my throat and it smells so sweet yet remains a scent unknown to my discerned knowledge.
All at once my mouth feels as though it is on fire. I try to scream, but the vapor from the flames fills my mouth and nose and doesn't allow me to utter a sound. I drop to my knees. My entire insides are on fire. It's as though the fire has found its way into my bloodstream and is being passed along to every fiber of my body.
I fall onto the floor and writhe in agony. I repeatedly pound my chest and roll on the rug as though these activities will squelch the flame that grows inside of me. They don't, but I try anyway, as there is nothing that I can think of that should be my primary activity and soon, I can't even think.
The only thing I know at this point is that I'm burning alive from the inside and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. My limited world is tinged in green and I can feel my eyeballs cooking. This is agony beyond what I thought was capable in this reality. All I can do is just lie there and burn to death. My brain is simmering inside my skull and all I can think is…