Chapter 1: 9 years
I’ve watched him for 9 agonizing years. I watched the “man” known as Willy Ray O’Neil. Who in reality is not a man at all, surpass me in every way, after he took everything from me. I understand that he is just a mortal of flesh and blood. Made from the good lord’s own stuff just the same as me. That being said, in my heart I know differently. Willy Ray O’Neil is not human. I’m not sure what the hell he is to tell you the truth.
Maybe, he’s a creature that just happens to wear human skin. A lizard, a skin walker, maybe he’s one of those Nephilim the bible talks about. An unholy hybrid of demon and man. Or he could just be a demon who found a way out of hell. Maybe he’s just a man the devil took under his wing. I don’t know which idea is more troubling. My worst fear is that he isn’t a demon, a mythical monster, or just a man in some unholy bargain for earthly wealth. I’m terrified that maybe… he’s just a man who got by with evil. While I suffer for doing good.
I was raised in a good Christian home. My grandfather was a Baptist pastor. I pray, not as much anymore but I still do. I put money in the offering, thousands of dollars over the years. I was jealous at times, I never let it show. I never raped or murdered or even stole even when I needed it. I did everything right, like a good Christian is supposed to. Why is someone whose closer to the devil than husband and wife better off than me? Why has the lord done this? I don’t know, you can bet I intend to take this up with the big man when I see him. It won’t be my judgement. It will be his and there better be a damn good answer for all this. All I have left is faith in what I was raised in. And a dream, a dream that all Willy O’Neil’s sins will eat him alive in a blaze of hellfire.
Willy’s power isn’t outright, it’s quiet, deadly, like a bad winter. You’ll feel his cold before you slip on the ice. Good things seem to happen all around him without his direct involvement. For example, I watched his long ginger hair keep its youthful glow until it started to gray. I was hopeful he’d lose it or at very least all its color. Willy ended up with a salt and pepper auburn that he still has today. My hair thinned, then receded, until I was bald on top with thick hair on the sides. A small boy at one of my last trips to the barber shop pointed out that I look like Gargamel from the Smurfs. Willy’s face grew some crow’s feet, then a few wrinkles here and there. He looks distinguished, wise even, nothing that shows his real age. My face wrinkled all over and withered, I look 10 years older than what I am, 20 in bad lighting. The worst injustice, however, lies in how God chose to leave Willy his strength and to whittle away mine.
Willy wasn’t overly tall, in fact I’m sure I’m a few inches above him, though I’ve never gotten close enough to confirm this. What he lacked in height, he made up for with a broad stocky build that made him resemble a prime pit bull. Centered, compact, muscled, strong looking, even at his age. There’s no easy way to knock him over, no weakness in the fortress. His hands are callous Billy clubs, arms thick like stove pipes, legs as firm as tree trunks, thanks to constantly lifting weights in his home gym.
And the way he dresses… it makes me sick. Willy Ray O’Neil is a vain snake, always wearing new 500-dollar leather jackets, rattlesnake boots, name brand denim. And that fucking belt buckle. The one clothing item that never changed over the 9 years, was a solid platinum belt buckle that was colored with the rebel flag. Drawn over the flag, a silhouette of a busty woman wearing nothing but a cowboy hat so detailed you can see the tips of her nipples. That buckle is worth more than any jewelry I ever owned.
Outside of his appearance, he’s tough enough to say or do whatever he wants. Willy is violent, he’s murdered people. His most intimidating characteristic is his eyes. Every time I’ve looked, it’s been the same conclusion. Willy is empty inside. Those devil eyes are a light peridot green. They appear to be normal at first. You have to really look into them to see it. I first noticed it one night after looking over some photos I had taken of him. If you gaze deep enough, there’s nothing in there. Darkness, a lack of, pure blank nothing. The same nothing that the lord interrupted by creating everything. The nothing in Willy’s eyes are a black hole, that consumes everything in their way.
I know you think I am insane, I do too. Why have I been stalking this violent southern murderer for 9 years one may ask? I will tell you. Willy O’Neil murdered my daughter Caroline 11 years ago. When the lord takes me home, in my final moments, my life with be a slide show of important images and faint cherished memories. The night I saw my daughter’s body at the coroner, however, will play as clear as polished window glass in one long uninterrupted scene. Caroline had been missing for a few days before they found her. Coroner said she was left in a dumpster a town or two over. I remember it well, it didn’t rain that night, the lord should have let it rain for her. I should not have had to cry alone in the dark over my dead child’s body. The lord should not have let it happen.
“Jerry? This is pretty bad, are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” The coroner, who was my cousin, asked me.
“I’m sure… are you p- positive it’s her?” I asked him, trying to keep my composure and my studder on leash.
“We ran the blood… it’s Caroline,”
I didn’t hear what he said next as the cloth was uncovered. What I saw will haunt me forever. I had never imagined a person could look so… horrible. Her face was so swelled with purple, blue, and green welts that I could barely recognize my baby girl. Her brunette hair, or what little she had left, was covered in dry blood and dumpster filth. Most of it was missing, leaving chunks of exposed flesh hanging off her scalp. Her breasts were dark maroon and purple, covered in extreme bruises, with cuts and gashes from knives. Her chest was uneven; it looked like she’d been emptied and stuffed with random garbage. I asked about it later, coroner said that was a combination of things: extreme bruising, the swelling of her body caused by decomposition, and the fact that her ribs had been broken in so many different places that it all distorted her. Her fingers were all broken, twisted, cracked like sticks that still clung together at the joints. Her legs had the same maroon hue color as her chest. Only my daughters feet were left untouched. They were covered in dirt and grime, however, they were hers. The same little piggies I used to take to the market.
I didn’t cry then. I cried later, but not then. It was anger and regret that took precedence. I thought about how I never gave my girl the life she deserved. Her mother and I got along until we made her, then things fell apart and I won’t give her the attention she would receive by dragging her through the mud. That woman doesn’t deserve to be thought of or remembered. Let’s just say my ex-wife wasn’t the person I thought she was. She spent my daughter’s entire childhood keeping her away from me out of spite.
Caroline and I got closer when she moved out of her mother’s. We were never as close as we could have been. Nothing could change the fact that I lost years with my child. The coroner called us both that night, I was the only one who showed up. I thought it was ironic. She had spent 18 years keeping her from me, and now I was the only one left in the end. I blame her for my daughter’s drug problem. If she was only mature about the whole divorce, maybe our Caroline would be alive. And wouldn’t have ended up dating Willy Ray O’Neil.
“Listen Jerry, I’m going to tell you who did this, but I need you to keep your mouth shut about it. We’re close, I’m ye first cousin, so that’s why I’m telling you. This can’t come back to me but I want you to have closure. A buddy at the station said it’s tied to Willy O’Neil, not sure if he did it himself or had a buddy do it. I don’t want to see you do anything stupid and end up like… Caroline.” He was serious and quiet, looking around occasionally checking, as if Willy were lurking around some dark corner in the room listening to us.
“I’m gonna give ye a minute, by ye-self, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Caroline had her problems but was a good one.” My cousin patted me on the back and left the room. A loud metallic thud let me know that I was now completely alone in the world. I had no other children, Caroline was it. The future only got worse believe it or not. The grief caused me to lose my job as a teacher. I didn’t ever try to get my career going again. I don’t have the passion I had anymore. I have to hustle and cut grass to make ends meet. Lost my house, moved into a beaten up trailer. I have nothing, except for the knowledge of who did this.
I don’t know what compelled me to start following Willy or to look into his past. I just kind of did. Before, I knew him as a local rough neck who would deal meth and pills to addicts who wanted to go get high for awhile. During the opioid crisis however, Willy came into a lot of money by investing in a few pill mills right when oxycontin came out. He was a millionaire in just a few months. His first purchase was that platinum belt buckle which blinded my binoculars the first time I looked at it. I watched him quickly go from a trailer trash Scarface, all the way up to a “legal” business tycoon.
Now a days, Willy is a successful entrepreneur, pillar of the community who owns a grocery store, hardware store, an entire apartment complex, ironically a few methadone clinics, a pharmacy, and over 5,000 acres which he’s logged once. Oh, and a large house in a neighborhood full of doctors us poor’s in Hazard call snob knob. He’s done well for himself… the bastard. Now, like I said he’s a real bad boy. I found most of his record on the internet. Willy’s list includes drug possession, copper wire theft of over 10,000 dollars, smuggling animals, human trafficking, making meth, assault, attempted murder, fraud, actual murder which was acquitted a few times, and running a prostitution ring across state lines.
Why’s he not locked up? Oh how could I forget the best part, his younger brother, Sheriff O’Neil, won office a few years back. Last year his cousin won office too, Judge O’Neil, and finally. Mayor Smith, a childhood friend of his, who promised a new road. To be built by a company Willy owned part of. All that filthy blood money flowed into our little Podunk town. Now he’s the greatest guy who ever lived. I considered following him until he screwed up. Where I would be with a camera to turn it into the police. No chance of that now.
My grandma used to say that the devil takes care of his own, God almighty she was right. Willy hurt so many and nothing happened. There is no justice, I am bald, I live in a trailer, I have nothing in the world to show for my life and he lives like a king. I don’t know exactly how Willy O’Neil and my daughter got together. I just knew she lived with him for a few years before she died. It was the drugs she was after. She’d give him her body, he’d give her pills. It seems selfish now, but I was most worried she’d end up pregnant by him. Would you believe it? That was the worst thing I could imagine. Looking back I would have loved a grandbaby, even if he or she was a bastard sired by Willy O’Neil.
9 years I have watched a devil succeed in every way while I rot. Today I’m going to do something I should have done years ago. Before he was too big to fail; before he became powerful and I much less so. There’s another problem I didn’t outright state. I’m getting older. There was a time, even just until a year ago. If I were to fight him, man to man, even ground. I could kill him if I got lucky. Willy’s strong but so was I. I could have strangled him to death or at least shot him. Who am I kidding? That’s my pride talking, he’s a pure brute, it’s why I never tried. Willy had vulnerable moments, just as we all do. Smoke breaks, bathroom time, sleeping. I could have gotten alone with him if I really tried… it’s just. I’m afraid of him. He’s so… he’s a fucking monster. I was afraid. I’m not now, but I’ve missed that chance. I’m going to the one person who I know could butcher Willy O’Neil like a dog. My best friend.
