Depravity

I’ve always enjoyed murdering people. But I also had a desire to control a group of people at once. I wanted to decide when they eat, sleep, use the bathroom and of course, when they die. My opportunity to take full control of people happened years ago. My journey started on a chilly afternoon in mid-October 2014. I was driving on my way to a study session. I was a full-time criminal justice student at University of the District of Columbia and a part-time employee at a local deli. Life was decent. But I wasn’t driving to either school or work. Instead, I was driving to see my little sister Tamika’s principal at Yorktown High school. I was pissed. She got into another fight, and the principal wanted to speak with me. As I walked into the principal’s office, I knew she was going to say something else besides suspending Tamika.

“Thank you for coming Ms. Thompson,” the principal said.

“What seems to be the problem?” I asked.

“Tamika got into a fight with a girl earlier this morning. The girl was pretty injured.”

“The bitch started it with me, Debelah,” Tamika said.

“Because of this, I am suspending Tamika for three days,” the principal said.

“I’ll talk with her,” I replied.

“There’s one other thing” the principal said. “I was informed a male student has been sending very intimate photos of Tamika to other male students.”

“Who is this male student?” I asked.

“Unfortunately I am not allowed to give out his name because he’s a minor, but this incident is being investigated, and the student is currently suspended. If this continues to happen again, though, I will have no choice but to expel Tamika.”

“I understand. Please be assured that I will be having a talk with Tamika,” I replied. “Thank you for your time.”

Goddamn, I was so tired of that girl. If you look up the word rebel, you will see a picture of Tamika Thompson. But she wasn’t always like this. Her behavior was obviously triggered by her somewhat traumatic childhood. Our parents died when she was younger. I noticed the change of behavior in Tamika when she turned thirteen. She became promiscuous, losing her virginity during a threesome. Her problems didn’t end there. I consistently smelled marijuana when I walked into the house and was always at her school because she’s always fighting. I knew she needed help, but I didn’t care enough to take her to a therapist. I had other things on my mind.

“So who instigated the fight?” I asked Tamika during our drive home.

“There’s this girl named Helena. She really believes because of her white skin she can steal all my boyfriends. So today the bitch hit me from behind while I was walking up the stairs. I beat her ass.”

I honestly didn’t care about the fight. I was more concerned about the punk who sent out Tamika’s nude photos. It’s not because I care about her though. My goal was to become an officer for the Metropolitan Police Department. This silly incident can be catastrophic for me if this punk decides to share Tamika’s nudes on the Internet. People would view me as the woman with the troublesome sister. I knew I needed to take matters into my own hands.

“Look, I’m not upset about the fight, but I am concerned about the guy who shared your nudes,” I said. “What’s his name?”

Tamika didn’t respond.

“Tamika, what’s his name?” I said louder.

“Juan Jimenez. He’s in 11th grade.”

That night, after finishing up some homework, I went online to look up Juan’s social media. He was an average looking, skinny Hispanic boy. But he had more than 1,000 pictures and half of those were of him with different girls. I struck luck when I read his feed and found out he would be hanging out at an arcade nearby. After finding out the address to the arcade. I immediately got in my car along with some latex gloves, a rope, a mask, and chloroform.

Being a police officer wasn’t my goal; it was a step I had to complete in order to achieve my goal. My goal was to become a serial killer, but I didn’t want to be compared to killers like John Wayne Gacy or even Belle Gunness. No, I wanted to be more brutal than the two of them combined. I desired to be way more vicious than them with a higher body count and of course I wanted to be as anonymous as Jack the ripper, which is why I was studying to become a cop. As a cop I will be trained to kill without leaving evidence. I don’t know why I have this sheer need to kill. I know that it started a few years ago. Besides, society was asking for this for allowing me to have a fucked up childhood.

As I sat in my car in the arcades parking lot, I realized how stupid this idea was. The arcade was packed, and there was no way someone wouldn’t see me snatching Juan. As soon as I put my keys into the ignition, luck struck as Juan walked toward the back of the arcade where I was parked. He was urinating. Why was he taking a piss at the back of the arcade? Weren’t there bathrooms inside? Eh, it doesn’t matter, I thought. Let me just snatch the little bastard before I luck out.I quietly got out of my car with my hammer and struck him in the head. I assumed I killed him so I dragged him into the back seat and drove off.

I drove the five minute ride to a nearby dumpster to dump Juan’s body. When I got there I thought to myself it would be better to dump this piece of shit further to avoid suspicion. So I drove the three-hour ride to Norfolk to dump Juan’s body in the woods.Around forty-five minutes into the drive, I heard moaning from the backseat. “ Where am I? Who the fuck are you?” Juan said. He was able to talk but was still very weak from the blow to his head. I stopped the car in the middle of the empty road and climbed to the backseat on top of Juan’s body. I then soaked my white towel with the chloroform and immediately put it over Juan’’s face then strangled him watching him take his very last breath. I ’m sorry but you just had to die” I said to him. You were going to cause too many problems.

Digging that hole in the woods had me both enervated and frustrated. The killing of Juan didn’t satisfy me the way my first murder did. Yeah, that’s right I killed a few times before. It happened a couple years ago to a middle aged-woman. At least my previous murders were methodical and pleasurable. Juan’s killing was so last minute. I remember just thinking to myself, Will I ever find my modi operandi? Serial killers typically have a preferred method of murdering their victims and I struggled for a few years to find which method is right for me. My motive was to find enjoyment in killing and watching people take their last breath in pain. My target audience? Anyone who looks vulnerable. My Mo? I didn’t have one at the time. I was so upset by this that after I buried Juan, I booked a hotel room with a receptionist who I had the most interesting conversation with. I ordered champagne and had a great night.

The next day was Saturday. I decided to go on a morning jog since jogging helps clear my mind. Killing Juan didn’t give me a sense of fulfillment but I still decided to treat myself. I jogged to the loan store to get a payday loan to buy an AR-15. The lady at the counter politely said I was ineligible due to a lack of credit history. I huffed and puffed and went outside at the back of the building for a smoke. As I stood there smoking, a woman walked past me and smiled.

“How are you doing?” the woman asked me, waving her hand.

“What did you just say to me?” I said angrily with my voice raised.

The woman turned around. “I just asked how you are doing.”

I walked up to the woman pointing my finger in her face. “You don’t ever talk to me if I’m not bothering you.”

“Ok, well you have a beautiful day on purpose,” the woman said smiling.

That chick was clearly trying to provoke me. But that chick also chose the wrong time to mess with me with all the stress and frustration I was feeling about killing Juan Jimenez. I stared at her for a slight moment then I ripped her right eye out. She screamed in agony, but I was able to chloroform her (Yes, I used to carry chloroform in my purse at all times.). I dragged the lady in my car truck before people noticed her screams. Tamika was at a friend’s house, so I was able to finish the woman off in the garage. I waited a while for the chloroform to wear off.

“OH GOD PLEASE HELP ME!” the woman shouted, tied up laying on my garage floor.

Why do they always beg God for help after they do something wrong, I thought to myself. I quickly skimmed my garage to look for the best tools to end that woman. I decided to dismember her limb by limb. The woman screamed in agony until she finally passed out and died. I then took her dismembered parts and threw them in my secret room in the basement.

Saturday was terrible. I realized that the entire murder was fucking unnecessary. At least I got good exercise from it.

On Sunday, I went for another morning jog. I realized I was across the street from a small church called Englewood Presbyterian. That was pretty cool. I reminisced about the days when my parents took me to Bible study as a child, so I decided to go in. Pastor Eddie was speaking on marriage; it was very clear to me every member at that church pretty much worshiped Pastor Eddie. When he opened his mouth, everyone watched him with admiration. The men looked up to him while the women wanted to hook up with him. I couldn’t blame them. Pastor Eddie was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. For me, it wasn’t the way he preached that caught my attention. It was his eyes. His eyes reminded me of the first man that I loved : my father. However, his eyes always brought back a memory that happened four years ago in January 2010. The day my mother died:

It was the night of January 1, 2010. My mother and I were in the kitchen, cleaning up after my grandmother’s birthday party. The room was silent. I hadn’t spoken to my mom all day.

“What’s wrong with you, Deb?” she finally asked as she washed the dishes.

“I’m fine,” I replied, sweeping the floor.

“Don’t lie to me. You haven’t spoken to me all day,” she said. “We’ve always been close, and now you won’t even look at me.”

“Then you should know what’s wrong,” I snapped, my voice rising.

“Please… just tell me what I did wrong,” she pleaded.

“You threw my father in jail—and now he’s dead!” I shouted. “You killed him!”

My mom slowly walked toward me.

“I put him in jail to protect you. He was hurting you,” she said gently.

“No, he wasn’t! Dad and I were in love! I loved him, and he loved me! You were just jealous because he stopped satisfying you!” I screamed.

I expected her to be shocked, maybe concerned—like any normal mother would be if their child said something like that. But instead, her face twisted with something darker: hate… envy.

“Well, now we’re even,” she said with a smirk. “You took my man, and I took him right back. He won’t be sleeping with your slutty ass anymore.”

“You won’t get away with talking to me like that,” I said, throwing the broom to the floor.

“Okay. Have a good night. I love you,” she replied calmly as I stormed off to my room.

Later that night, I crept into her bedroom. My dad had once given me the code to his gun safe. I opened it and pulled out the handgun. I held it tightly, my hands trembling. Then I aimed and pulled the trigger.

I missed.

I had meant to shoot her in the head—but I hit her arm. She woke up screaming, blood soaking the sheets, collapsing to the floor in pain and panic.

I froze. Do I shoot again? Or should I grab the bat? My mind raced.

Instead, I ran downstairs, grabbed a towel and a bottle of chloroform. Back upstairs, I stood over her.

“Deb, what are you doing?!” she cried.

“This is payback,” I whispered. “For taking my father away from me.”

I poured the chloroform over her face. She went limp within seconds.

That’s when I saw the knife on the table.

And then—I lost control.

It was hard for me to believe Pastor Eddie was a bachelor. I sat at the very back of the church when he stated “and whoever finds a wife finds a good thing.” Pastor Eddie smiled and looked at me as he said that, and all the women immediately turned their backs on me and looked at me with envy in their eyes.

One of the women who looked back was Marybeth, my manager at the deli and “friend.” She looked surprised with her mouth open. Marybeth was a very odd woman. She had been married four times. Three of her husbands died from freak accidents resulting in them snapping their necks, and her last husband mysteriously disappeared a few years prior. His body was never found. I tended to question her husband’s fate because every time I looked into that middle-aged white woman’s eyes, I saw a sociopath. I would know. I also couldn’t help but notice how quickly she changed her mind. Despite her flaws, you could say Marybeth has been a godsend. She was close to my mother and when my parents passed when I was 14, she gave me a work permit to work at the deli shop. She also paid off the remaining mortgage of my parents’ home so I could continue living there.

I walked up to Pastor Eddie after the service to introduce myself.

“Why hello beautiful,” Pastor Eddie said to me with a smile.

“My name is Debelah,” I responded.

“It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Yeah, I actually was jogging until I saw your church and decided to come in.”

“Well, I really appreciate you joining, and I hope you enjoyed today’s sermon.”

The two of us then looked into each other’’s eyes and smiled. But I can feel the mean stares by some of the female members. I then began to explain to Pastor Eddie how I was struggling with my desired passion in life and feared I would not be good enough for it. I told him l wanted to get into enforcement, but I really meant being a serial killer. Pastor Eddie gave me great advice and told me if I continue to practice I will eventually master my craft. He was so right. I haven’t murdered enough people at the time. The conversation went well until he asked me to stop by his house later that night. I wasn’t interested, but I quickly realized Pastor Eddie is someone I can use long-term.

Later that night around 11 p.m., I was at Pastor Eddie’s condo. And let me tell you, Pastor Eddie at his condo is the complete opposite of Pastor Eddie I saw at the church. Pastor Eddie in the public eye was a wise, masculine God-fearing man everyone looks up to. Even his haters couldn’t insult him. Pastor Eddie in private was a shy timid man who loves to read and play role-playing games online. The moment he opened the door, both of his hands were on both my breasts.

“You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen,” he said, squeezing them.

“Thank you,” I replied.

He then started touching my hair. “Your hair is gorgeous as well. It reminds me of my mother.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I swear I wasn’t a nympho, but that night we performed every sex act you can imagine. Zero percent of it was good. That was because he revealed a bombshell early the next morning. We were cuddled up in his master bedroom.

“Did you have fun?” Eddie asked.

I didn’t reply.

“I understand. You were my first,” Eddie said.

I was flabbergasted, I looked up at him. How can someone drop dead gorgeous as Eddie be a virgin for so long?

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Fourty-one,” Eddie replied.

“Then why did you wait so long?”

“Because unlike a lot of pastor’s today, I follow the Bible. I believe sex should only be between husband and wife.”

“But I’m just a one night stand,” I said with an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know. There was something about you that I really, really liked. I heard God telling me that’s your wife the moment I saw you walking into my church. I feel safe with you and really want to get to know you and make you my wife.”

The two of us smiled at each other and began making out. We both agreed to meet up at my place in a couple weeks. But we were attracted to one another for different reasons. He was attracted by my appearance, while I was attracted by the fact that I could use and abuse him. I knew on that day we would be one of my victims.

It was the night of the day Tamikia went back to school. I was sitting on the couch eating a slice of Red Velvet cake smirking at the news anchor on television. They were reporting on the mysterious disappearance of Juan Jimenez. The anchor said: “Tonight’s breaking news story on WUSA9, we are going in depth about the disappearance of 17-year- old Juan Jimenez. Juan was a senior at Yorktown High School. He was last seen leaving the arcade around 8 p.m. Friends revealed he was walking behind the arcade to use the bathroom. There are no eyewitnesses during the time of his disappearance, and there are no suspects. Police do not believe it’s gang related.”

You know what makes me smile the most? When I think in a world where everything is surveillance and full of technology, there are still no eye witnesses and nobody has a clue.

“Debelah! Debelah!” Tamika yelled.

I immediately turned the channel as soon as I saw Tamikia run down the stairs.

“How are you doing? I haven’t seen you all day,” Tamika said again.

I just stared at her.

“Anyway I want to let you know that Helena, the girl who I got into a fight with, apologized and I invited her to a sleepover this Saturday with Missy and Donna.”

“She apologized already?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Tamika said. “Can I invite them over?”

“I’m all right with it having a sleepover, but you have to be extremely careful who you trust,” I replied. “Not everyone has good intentions. The people close to you can be secretly plotting against–”

“Thanks sis,” Tamikia interrupted, running back upstairs.

Sunday was the night of the sleepover. The girls were in the room playing music and joking around while I was in the room right next to them writing a big paper and snorting cocaine. Now I normally don’t use cocaine. Cocaine was only used when I had to write big papers and on that particular night, I had a big paper to write. While I was snorting the cocaine, a very large bang so loud it actually scared me that I accidentally cut my finger with the razor I was using. I don’t know what exactly happened. I believe it went like this…The girls were having a really good time but loved to talk. I believe she said the wrong thing to Tamika and probably bragged about sleeping with one of the boys Tamikia liked. One thing led to another and Donna and Missy started to egg Tamikia on to kick Helena’s ass again, which she did.

“What the fuck is going on in here!” I yelled, opening Tamika’s door wide open.

All of the girls fell silent, as I stared at Helena’s hand holding Tamikia by her hair. I quickly walked up to Helena and slapped her. Missy and Donna gasped; even Tamikia looked surprised after she realized the situation. Helena, who looked shocked holding her red cheek, suddenly looked at me and said, “I’m calling the police” and ran downstairs. I obviously chased after her and right before her finger touched the 9 button on my house phone, I threw the living room lamp at her knocking her out instantly. I kneeled next to her and stared at her unconscious body. How am I gonna kill her? I thought to myself. There were too many witnesses. My thoughts stopped, as I heard none coming from behind me. It was Tamika, Missy, and Donna all holding each other’s hands, terrified as I slowly grabbed the rope from the couch and began walking toward them.