Your Mid-Week Update for 11/25/15

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have my husband back.

Sexier than ever.

See, I told you: death brings people together. Saturday night, he got home late from his shift to find a steaming hot dinner, a loving and patient wife, a foot of rope, some rubber gloves, and a few knives.

What more could a man want?

We ate, we got caught up on our everyday lives; it was all very amicable. He’s been taking a lot of shifts and working closely with a few more prominent colleagues in addition to taking his usual calls (domestic disturbances, damaged property claims, all that good stuff). Apparently, he’s thinking about taking his detective’s exam. It’s going to take a lot of work and it’s obviously not a guarantee but it’s something. It’s a step forward.

Later on in the evening, James confessed that he’d done some thinking while we were separated. He wants to be more consistently present for Jason and he wants to move forward with his life. I support him 100%. Having more connections, having more consistency – having more money – it’d be really convenient. Not to mention it would make him happy. And I want him happy. Almost more than I want myself safe.

So, after dinner, we packed up the supplies and jumped in the car. We drove around for about half an hour before he parked the car in front of some random elementary school and took a leisurely stroll. It was mercifully cool – not fucking freezing cold like it usually is this time of year – so we ended up walking for two hours.

We continued to talk and laugh. It felt good. Really good. Holding hands, stealing kisses, watching the snow fall. I felt like a kid again – or at least a kid in a really sweet romance novel.

You know those moments that just feel unreal – almost magical? You want to freeze that feeling, keep it bubbling in your chest for as long as possible, being able to look back on it and just smile.

Walking arm in arm down the snowy sidewalk. Seeing a woman trying desperately to start her car and offering to help. Sneaking behind her while my husband distracted her.  Stabbing her in the neck and ducking behind the blood splatter. Watching her stumble down the street grasping at the air, unable to cry out. Letting her fall in the road while blood flows onto the clean white snow. Kissing my husband while our victim takes her last breath.

Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit seeping into my subconscious, I don’t know. But whatever got into me, it has made me sappy as fuck.

But you know what?

I had a great night.

I had a really good kill, I reconnected with my husband, and we had fantastic sex against the washing machine while our outer clothes were cleansed of evidence.

It was like when we first started dating.

It was really nice and I have just been floating on a cloud ever since this weekend.

I’m in a good place right now and…I’m satisfied.

Yeah.

Really satisfied.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/18/15

I don’t know how I expected last week to go but this was…actually what I was hoping. Not what I was thinking would happen but what I was hoping for. He’s back.

As of last night, James has moved most of his things back home. He still has a locker at work but he’s slept the last three nights in our bed and that makes me feel…very happy. To be honest, I’m ecstatic but worried.

I’ve spent 21 years of my life learning to be independent and overly cautious in my relationships. And I got really good at it. 8 years ago I met James and a year later we were married. I started dating him because it was convenient. Here was someone who didn’t have to be told my secret, who loved me and protected me. Yes, by the time he proposed I loved and protected him but it didn’t start out that way. It was easy to use him when it came to my other life: to get me information, to cover my tracks. It didn’t hurt me at all.

But some time in the last 7 years of marriage, our relationship changed. I reread my post from last week and I realized how codependent I’ve become. It shouldn’t be like this. In the old days I would have seen it as a sign of weakness – and in some ways it is – but I just don’t care.

I’ve spoken about my contention with the notion that serial killers need to be lone wolves. I think it makes them better killers to have families and secrets. It makes them careful.

At least it’s supposed to.

I don’t know what I expected out of this update. I love my husband and I’m so glad that he’s back home and that he’s agreed to work through our problems together instead of apart. Apparently my pride is getting in the way of realizing how lucky I am. I have a husband, and a son, and I haven’t been arrested for serial murder in 22 years.

What more could a girl ask for?

Although…

You know what would be a great way to get back to the way we were?

Letting James pick out the next victim. My loyal readers know how much foreplay that is for us. Hopefully it'll be an opportunity for us to work through things. If not, someone will die and then we'll have sex on kitchen floor.

Who needs couple’s therapy when you can just hang out in a dark, deserted alley waiting for some poor unfortunate soul to stumble in to your trap?

I know what I’m doing this weekend.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/11/15

Remember last week how I said James needed his own update? Apparently today is that day. If there’s time before I head to work I’ll do a brief tutorial on my experience with manual strangulation – which is a dangerous and therapeutic method.

But for now, we’re going to talk about my husband.

It’s been 6 weeks, 3 days, and 16 hours since James moved his things out of the house. He’s been by a few times and we’ve talked and fucked but I have no idea how to fix things between us. Yes, he’s called me on my bullshit and we’ve gone through all of our problems with a fine tooth comb but he won’t tell me how to resolve our problems. I’ve apologized, I’ve tried to continue my daily life without my husband at home but I can’t sleep at night.

That’s been a real struggle. I didn’t realize how much I relied on my husband to fall asleep at night until he wasn’t there. When he sleeps on his back, he does this little snort every 30 seconds. It’s only cute because I miss it – it used to drive me nuts. And if you pull the covers up too high he’ll claw at the blanket. That one’s actually adorable. He’s like a puppy.

We thought about getting a dog, once. When the kids first joined us, we thought giving them some sort of companionship would help the transition. We ultimately decided against it because of costs but I sometimes wonder what having a pet would be like. In a house as crazy and dramatic as ours, maybe having an animal to care for would have mellowed us out. Oh well.

I don’t…know what to do. I keep saying that but-

Ugh… marriage is frustrating. And communication is very important.

He’s the first person I’ve ever trusted completely and…

I can’t lose him.

I’m going to confront him. I’m going to his work and I won’t leave until we work things out. I’m not going to give up.

Wish me luck, dear readers, I’m getting my husband back.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

P.S. Shoot, I forgot to do the tutorial on asphyxiation. Here's a blog post I found that'll get you started. Feel free to comment with questions and I'll address them at a later date: http://madamewriterofwrongs.blogspot.com/2013/06/forensic-fridays-part-4-asphyxiation.html 

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/04/15

I’ve killed six people in the last seven days. It’s been…really therapeutic actually. All that red, hot, sticky blood. I really enjoy cutting into flesh and watching blood pour against their skin. And watching the light as it leave their eyes – that last spark of life; it’s practically orgasmic. Speaking of orgasms…

No. I’m not going to talk about James today. He needs his own update and I just don’t have the energy to write one that long.

I sometimes wonder why I’m telling perfect strangers about my love life. I mean, you didn’t ask to hear about my failing marriage and it’s rarely beneficial to tell others about my comings and goings – I’m not usually big on unsolicited advice (see: My Mother).

I don’t know. There’s something oddly comforting in sending my troubles out into the universe. Maybe they’ll come back as solutions. Or they won’t come back at all.

Anyways.

I haven’t been sleeping much lately – for reasons you know so I’m not going to discuss them now – which means I’m restless and unpredictable. On Friday I went for a walk which is usually a bit of a hit and miss kind of night. Late night walks are a great way to kill and have it blamed on gang violence or let it go unsolved but Halloween is filled with people who are anonymous and hyperaware of their surroundings when they’re on the street. In other words: unreliable targets. But nevertheless, I found myself wandering around a neighbourhood not my own in the wee hours of the morning, my only mood music the sounds of dwindling house parties and left over decorations.

Lucky me, I found myself walking down a dark alleyway, drawn in by the sounds of a drunken couple sloppily getting off in the backyard of one of those slutty celebrations of the wiccan holiday. On a whim, I pretended to be an annoyed neighbour asking them to keep the noise down. I was told to fuck off – this is a shouting match over a fence, remember – so I opened the back gate and asked the couple to step away so we could talk. Once we were out of the light, I slit the girl’s throat and knocked the boy unconscious with the butt of my knife before stabbing him five times around his heart – in the shape of a pentagram because I can.

I know a lot of people think you want to kill the male of the couple first because he’s the one most likely to fight back (if we’re embracing stereotypes) but sometimes it’s actually easier to take out the girl who looks like she’s a screamer. I’ll tell you this: if your kill is playing out like a scene in a horror movie, kill the slut first. She’s likely to scream and attract attention whereas the jock is more likely the strong silent type.

Second rule of murder: know your audience. Know who you’re killing – not by name, but by personality type – and know who’s going to find the body. Is it going to be a random person on the street, a parks and rec worker, a neighbour, an annoyed home owner?

The people who know their city the best are the active serial killers in the country. They’re tuned in to the pulse of the city, they know all the inner workings of the municipal system because they can’t get caught by it. If you’re planning on making the career switch, do your research.

Admittedly I learned a lot by trial and error but I don’t want you to take 20 years to get as good as I am. That’s why I’m imparting some of my wisdom. Of course I’ll never tell you all my secrets. There’s a reason I’m the most successful active serial killer in the continent – and that’s not just a boast; I checked. Of course it’s hard to compare when I’ve never officially been labeled a serial killer.

Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the story of the time in the early 2000s I was called the “White Chapel Double”. I killed a prostitute and one news station compared it to the Jack the Ripper killings so I thought I would indulge them. Ove the course of three months, I played a prank on the city by killing 16 prostitutes before suddenly stopping. I took two weeks off after that to let the dust settle before I went back to my normal programming. It was kind of fun to see all the police and reporters speculate on who I was and why I was doing it.

No one came close.

That was the most satisfying part. No one had a clue. I rarely worry about my secret being found out and when I do it’s easily alleviated.

So I can do things like kill 6 people in 7 days with little to no stress on myself.

That’s what my personal life is for.

I need coffee.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe