to know how it would feel. An intellectual approach would never have worked. You can't imagine what it would be like to kill someone. You have to get your hands dirty and dive right in, even if the entire process disgusts and appalls you, and even if your hands shake all the way through. There's no other way.
Holding my hands up to the light, I inspect the cut on my thumb. Typical. I was cutting away at the corpse's flesh and I managed to snag the skin on my left thumb. It'll heal, but it's still annoying.
"So after all this time, do you think Gazade has accepted what he did to those women?"
"I don't know if a man like Gazade can ever truly accept the depths of his own evil," the guest tells the news anchor. "He's probably living in a fantasy world in which he's some kind of hero. For a person to truly acknowledge that he's capable of such unspeakable crimes would be... Well, I just don't think that it's possible."
"Do you think we'll ever know the truth about why Gazade committed these heinous acts?"
"You mean, what was going on in his head?" The guest pauses. "We can try to guess, but at the end of the day, only Sam Gazade knows what was happening in Sam Gazade's mind."
"Maybe his final words, before he's executed, will help?" the anchor suggests.
"I'd say it's unlikely," the guest replies. "Serial killers tend not to make great revelatory speeches as they're put to death. That's just in the movies. In real life, they're far more likely to restate their belief in their own supremacy. I'm sure Gazade will have some interesting last words, but I wouldn't go expecting them to tie up any loose ends that might have been left behind by the investigation."
Strangely, I feel proud of myself. I never expected to be pleased that I'd killed a man, but I can't escape this faint feeling of superiority. I guess I'm not immune to the murder bug after all. It's like a drug, and I can see how killers might get addicted to the process. After all, killing another human being is the ultimate way to prove your own worth. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I can't help thinking that everyone should kill at least one person, even if they don't particularly want to do such a thing. There are people like Sam Gazade, who kill because of some dark inner motivation, and then there are people like me, who kill because of intellectual curiosity. We're complete opposites, but in a way we're experiencing the same sensations. As a result, I feel a little closer to Gazade. Perhaps these are dangerous thoughts.
"Did Sam Gazade hate women?" the news anchor asks.
I turn to look at the screen.
"I don't think you can argue otherwise," the guest says with a frown. "His four victims were all female, and his attempted fifth victim was also a woman. The nature of what he did to them, such as the mutilation of the genitals, was very specific, and there's no way you can ignore the removal of certain body parts. So the answer to your question is, yes, Sam Gazade most certainly hated women. That was the entire motivation for what he did."
"Huh," I whisper, momentarily transfixed by the screen.
"And does that speak of a deeper problem in our society?" the anchor asks.
I look back down at the corpse. Am I really proud of myself? Yes. Of course I am. I've achieved something that's so far outside my area of expertise, it's a goddamn miracle. I've replicated one of Sam Gazade's murders, but I've done it for reasons that are almost diametrically opposed to whatever garbage went through Gazade's mind. Despite the countless hours of discussion in the media, and despite all the books that have been written about the case, Gazade was nothing more than a low-grade brute who killed women because of some kind of pathetically simple-minded mental problem; the guy was no great genius, as evidenced by the fact that he was caught fairly quickly. It's the nature of the media beast to elevate Gazade to the pantheon of great murderers, because they want to make his
Holding my hands up to the light, I inspect the cut on my thumb. Typical. I was cutting away at the corpse's flesh and I managed to snag the skin on my left thumb. It'll heal, but it's still annoying.
"So after all this time, do you think Gazade has accepted what he did to those women?"
"I don't know if a man like Gazade can ever truly accept the depths of his own evil," the guest tells the news anchor. "He's probably living in a fantasy world in which he's some kind of hero. For a person to truly acknowledge that he's capable of such unspeakable crimes would be... Well, I just don't think that it's possible."
"Do you think we'll ever know the truth about why Gazade committed these heinous acts?"
"You mean, what was going on in his head?" The guest pauses. "We can try to guess, but at the end of the day, only Sam Gazade knows what was happening in Sam Gazade's mind."
"Maybe his final words, before he's executed, will help?" the anchor suggests.
"I'd say it's unlikely," the guest replies. "Serial killers tend not to make great revelatory speeches as they're put to death. That's just in the movies. In real life, they're far more likely to restate their belief in their own supremacy. I'm sure Gazade will have some interesting last words, but I wouldn't go expecting them to tie up any loose ends that might have been left behind by the investigation."
Strangely, I feel proud of myself. I never expected to be pleased that I'd killed a man, but I can't escape this faint feeling of superiority. I guess I'm not immune to the murder bug after all. It's like a drug, and I can see how killers might get addicted to the process. After all, killing another human being is the ultimate way to prove your own worth. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I can't help thinking that everyone should kill at least one person, even if they don't particularly want to do such a thing. There are people like Sam Gazade, who kill because of some dark inner motivation, and then there are people like me, who kill because of intellectual curiosity. We're complete opposites, but in a way we're experiencing the same sensations. As a result, I feel a little closer to Gazade. Perhaps these are dangerous thoughts.
"Did Sam Gazade hate women?" the news anchor asks.
I turn to look at the screen.
"I don't think you can argue otherwise," the guest says with a frown. "His four victims were all female, and his attempted fifth victim was also a woman. The nature of what he did to them, such as the mutilation of the genitals, was very specific, and there's no way you can ignore the removal of certain body parts. So the answer to your question is, yes, Sam Gazade most certainly hated women. That was the entire motivation for what he did."
"Huh," I whisper, momentarily transfixed by the screen.
"And does that speak of a deeper problem in our society?" the anchor asks.
I look back down at the corpse. Am I really proud of myself? Yes. Of course I am. I've achieved something that's so far outside my area of expertise, it's a goddamn miracle. I've replicated one of Sam Gazade's murders, but I've done it for reasons that are almost diametrically opposed to whatever garbage went through Gazade's mind. Despite the countless hours of discussion in the media, and despite all the books that have been written about the case, Gazade was nothing more than a low-grade brute who killed women because of some kind of pathetically simple-minded mental problem; the guy was no great genius, as evidenced by the fact that he was caught fairly quickly. It's the nature of the media beast to elevate Gazade to the pantheon of great murderers, because they want to make his
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