Writing Prompt: “You accidentally kill a person. Instantly, you absorb all of their memories, feelings and talents. It feels quite addicting to you.”
March 4th, 2006.
I remember the day well. It was a day that would completely change my life as well as the life of others. It was a dark day that only brought on darker and darker days. Of course, some may see a silver lining with my condition. I tried to be happy about it, but it’s hard to stay positive when it involves death. That’s where people’s support dries up quickly.
I was driving up from college to meet my boyfriend at his parent’s cabin. They owned a cabin up in the mountains and he decided he’d invite some friends to stay a long weekend. It was Spring Break and none of us really had any money to travel, so this sounded nice.
I had one more day of midterms than anyone else, so they went up early and I traveled alone the day after. I was furious. My boyfriend abandons me just so he can spend one more night drinking and partying and smoking weed with his buddies. Typical. I was always second in his mind. Doesn’t matter.
The drive up to the cabin was long and it was a lot of windy roads. Just trees and mountains. I had left early from my apartment off campus and drove through most of the night. By the time I was nearing the destination, I was tired and upset. I tried to call my boyfriend. But it was 2006. Service was bad. Especially out in the woods.
I called and called, but I got no answer.
I remember I looked down at my phone again to hit the redial button for the millionth time when I heard a large smack.
Something had struck my car.
There was a series of thuds as I slammed on the break eventually coming to a complete stop. I wasn’t wearing any kind of seatbelt, so my head slammed forward into the steering wheel.
I’m not sure how long I was out. Probably 20 to 30 minutes. But eventually I did wake with a splitting headache. I checked the mirror and saw that I had dried blood running down my forehead and some plastered my hair to my head.
I managed to open the door and stumble out onto the wet pavement. Mist was still in the air, coating everything. My head hurt. I was nauseous. I had these thoughts. Almost like memories of people I didn’t recognize or events that I was never a part of.
I stood up using the car for support. Then I saw it.
At first I thought it was a deer or large dog. Some kind of animal that came out of the woods. But no. Instead I saw the body of a man lying in the roadway, blood pooling around him. He wore athletic gear.
I would later find out that the man was a doctor a town over who lived near there. He apparently enjoyed jogging through the woods as a way to relax after stressful days at the hospital. He kissed his wife before leaving on his jog and didn’t make it back.
I saw his wife’s face vividly although I never met here before or after this event.
I ran to the body and started performing CPR. I had never had training, but I tried my best to save him. Maybe if I would have started CPR when I first hit him, but thirty minutes later, it was too late. He bled out there on the side of the road.
The moment replayed in my head over and over. He didn’t see my car. He was lost in his own thoughts. Apparently he had a puzzling case he was running in his head. He just stepped out onto that road. He took his final breath.
Now I was covered in both my blood and his. I had killed him. I was a murderer. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. What are you supposed to do? Who would believe me that this was an accident? I was in the middle of nowhere. No cell phone service. Nothing.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I dragged the body to the back of my car. I opened the trunk and lifted him into the trunk. It was a pretty messy process. He was huge compared to me and I didn’t lift weights. It took a lot in my current condition, but eventually I got him in the trunk and I slammed it shut.
Eventually I made my way up to the cabin. Once I got there I noticed the place was already trashed. Beer cans and bottles laid everywhere, pizza boxes laid open on the counter. I washed up the best I could in the bathroom and eventually found my boyfriend laying haphazardly in the master bedroom.
I woke him up being as quiet as I could because I didn’t want to arouse the others in the cabin. I tried to calmly explain things to him, but eventually I began to cry. I just lost it. I was a mess.
He tries his best to calm me down but he is majorly hung over and confused about the whole thing. I eventually lead him to the car outside and pop the trunk. There is the doctor’s body laying in the back.
I don’t know what to do so I turn to him, but he’s no help. He’s freaking out. One minute he is frozen in fear and the next he insists we use the landline to call the cops.
Call the cops? No way. I was already in to deep. Sure, maybe at first, I could have called the cops and explained it was an accident. I’m a pretty girl. Maybe they’d give me something minor and I’d only have to serve half the time because of my good behavior. But now? I was going to jail for a long time. I killed someone. Dragged his body and put him in the trunk and then drove away from the scene. I was a murderer.
I tried to explain it to him. We had to do something else. Bury the body in the woods. Hide it so no one could find it. There was no other witnesses. They’d never expect me.
I tried to talk to him, but I could tell he was already gone.
He kept insisting we call the cops. Explain everything. Maybe they’d understand.
They wouldn’t. They never would.
This conversation became a fight. I was not going to jail. I would not allow him to call the cops.
He called me crazy. Told me I was a murderer. That I was a psychopath.
That’s when I pushed him.
It wasn’t supposed to be anything hard. But the gravel beneath our feet was wet. We was wearing slippers. Slippers. It’s in the freaking name.
I pushed him and he stumbled backwards slipping on the wet gravel. He fell and his head hit the back of a raised garden wall made of stones. There was a gruesome splitting sound as he slumped against it. His skull was cracked open. He died instantly. Two murders all in one day.
Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach once again. These memories flashed into my head, but they weren’t mine. They were his.
I saw flashes of the party. The alcohol. The weed. The loud music. All of it pounded in my head overlaid with memories of a busy ER room. The beeps of medical machinery. Nurses yelling for a crash cart. And then those were overlaid with my own. The sight of my boyfriend laying in the driveway.
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking horribly.
I had to run. I had to get out of there.
I quickly ran inside and grabbed the keys to my boyfriend’s car. Well his parent’s car. And I took off. I sped away leaving my boyfriend dead in the driveway and the doctor laying in my trunk.
At this point the police knew it was me. I just had to run. There was nothing else I could do. Put as much distance between me and the scene of the crime. I ran and never looked back.
That was 2006.
Now twelve years later I’ve added a few others to my kill count. In 2008 I shot up a gas station for money. He pulled a handgun from under a counter and it was my life or his. He taught me how to speak Spanish which is something I never learned in High School.
In 2012 I was involved in a drunk-driving incident that killed the drunk driver in the other car. I was fine. I didn’t drink. I picked up a smoking addiction from the doctor, but I didn’t drink. It messed up the memories. The accident wasn’t my fault, but I absorbed her memories anyway. I ran. She was a high school cheerleader. Learned some dance moves from her and how to do calculus. Apparently she was good at math as well as dancing. Not good at making smart decisions. Drinking and driving never mix.
I know. This is coming from a murder who started this whole mess with a hit-and-run caused by distracted driving. I see the irony.
2015 was my last murder. Two cops showed up at my doorstep. They must have underestimated me or thought that they could take me down by themselves and become heroes. They didn’t. I killed them both and ran. One of them was an adrenaline junkie who had been on the force for over ten years. He taught me not to be afraid of the highs. The other was a rookie cop. Her first year on the force. She was also addicted to popping pills which was a rough road to get off. She also taught me useless movie trivia. Apparently she liked going out to the bar every Thursday when she was enrolled in the academy. She killed at trivia night.
Oh, sorry. Bad word choice there.
Every now and then I’ll wake up and forget who I am. It’s not until I look in the mirror that I realize that I’m not the doctor, or my boyfriend, or the gas station attendant, or the cheerleader, or the cops.
I’m just me.
The one with multiple lives all stuck in my head, screaming. All wanting to get out. So many lives and memories floating in my head.
March 4th, 2006.
A day I’ll never forget.
A day that they won’t let me forget.
One one hand it’s torture. Hearing all the voices. Reliving those lives.
But on the other hand, I’ve learned so much. They’ve taught me skills I never would have dreamed of. Medical skills of a heart doctor. Spanish from the clerk. The mathematics of the cheerleader. The adrenaline rush of one cop and the trivia knowledge of the other. My boyfriend was always a smooth talker. Someone with people skills. And now I am too.
Plus, someone new just moved into the apartment across the hall from me. She’s a music teacher.
I’ve always wanted to know how to play the piano.
Header Photo Credit to Wallup.net
Writing Prompt submitted to r/WritingPrompts by u/MusiKalisch