Fanatic, page 10
I sat on the sofa staring at the bags of Anthrax that Joseph had been so kind to send to me. I had visited the dark net to study up on the chemical and knew that the American chemist had in fact sent me a very generous amount, maybe not enough to kill a herd of cows as he had joked, but certainly enough for my intensions. I wore rubber gloves and a wet towel covered my mouth and nose as I tipped half of the Anthrax into a plastic-lined, stamped, brown envelope, then slipped in a printed and ‘Hammer’ signed picture of Joseph, that I had managed to track down on the internet. I sealed the package with tape, stuck on a label with Joseph’s address in the states and then put it to one side.
‘Sorry, Joseph,’ I said to myself, as I sent him a private anonymous message
TO MY FAVOURITE CHEMIST,
THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT
I’VE GOT TO DISAPPEAR FOR A WHILE – DON’T TRY TO CONTACT ME
I’M SENDING YOU A SIGNED PHOTO OF MY NEXT VICTIM
YOU’VE BEEN A GOOD FRIEND
THE HAMMER
I then blocked all the contact address’ Joseph had previously used as although I knew I had no choice but to terminate the risk he carried, I wasn’t feeling completely guilt free, I didn’t want to have to face him. Killing Joseph was a sacrifice that had to be made, no matter how much it felt wrong at times. I quickly took the envelope and posted it before I could change my mind.
Chapter 31
I left the flat way earlier than I usually would before heading to work as I had a chore that needed doing. I had packed up my limited personal possessions such as my clothes and computer equipment and filled the back seat of my car. Then, for over an hour I drove around the city, in and out of the car parks until eventually I found a car that matched the model, year and colour of mine. I noted down the registration plate details then proceeded to an industrial area and found a car body shop that produced the accessory I needed. The front and back number plates I had made up cost me just ten quid each and were easy for me to swap over with the real license plates once I’d arrived at the staff car park behind Broadmoor. It meant that at a passing glance, the car of Martin Day no longer existed, if for any reason his vehicle was being looked for. I smoked a cigarette to calm my nerves before heading into the hospital.
Devon was early as well that day, and I feigned interest as I listened to him make football result predictions for the next weekend, and other miscellaneous observations he would make about the short and narrow world he lived in. Devon was a nice guy. Not the brightest, but he was one of the few people that didn’t judge me. I had wondered why on several occasions, and came to the conclusion that working in a dead-end job and living with his parents as he was, that he and I weren’t that different, before my radical change, that is. We were just two guys that wanted to be treated normally. I knew I’d miss Devon, for a bit at least. On the new path that I would soon be venturing down I wouldn’t have someone like Devon by my side, cracking childish jokes as we were both covered in someone’s vomit or shit. I wouldn’t have anyone by my side after Devon. But that was the way it had to be.
As usual, Devon and I started with the most disgusting of our responsibilities, which was passing quickly through the sleeping quarters of the patients, changing soiled sheets, hosing down the showers that often had faeces decorating the walls and emptying the urine-filled bins on occasion. Better to get the dirtiest of chores out of the way first was our logic, instead of having them hang over our heads for the entire day. This was when Devon would be at his funniest, if that’s what you could call it. He’d tell the same old jokes, pull the same childlike faces and pretend to gag when we were dealing with the shit and piss of the inmates. And so we would leave bedrooms clean, at least until the patients would make their way back from the common room or the various therapies they partook in.
As usual, on what I hoped would turn out to be my last day in the corridors and grey rooms of Broadmoor Hospital, we arrived at the common room not long before lunchtime, to find the staff grouped in one corner, talking amongst themselves, the majority of the patients staring lifelessly towards the television set. At the back of the room, no doubt attending the dark and twisted world of her inner mind, sat Lily Green.
I ventured towards the back of the room, letting Devon start from the front as always, and at first I tried to see the look in Lily’s eye in the hope she wouldn’t notice I was there. It was strange, I knew, that after all we had been through together, that now I couldn’t bring myself to be seen by her, as if I had been caught being disloyal by cheating on her or she had discovered I had stolen a twenty pound note from her purse. Of course, none of these bizarre comparisons were anywhere near the reality of the matter for the truth was she had rejected me and my keenness to shy away from her was due to the fact I was planning on killing her, and I truly believed she had the power to recognize that just by looking in my eyes, seeing through to my thoughts and reading my mind as only a true great like her could do.
I stood to the side of her, a few meters away, and a list of things I wanted to say to her flowed through my conscience.
‘It’s not too late, Lily, just say you want me and we’ll do this together.’
‘Come on, Mrs. Green, I’ve earnt a chance to work with you. Can’t you recognize all that I have done for you?’
‘I won’t let you down, Phantom, I was born to carry on your work. I am worthy and I will spend the rest of life proving that to you.’
But then she slowly turned her head toward me. Her eyes catching mine for what seemed like an eternity, before just as the first time I had told her of my intentions to continue her legacy, she rolled her eyes and turned away.
Ok, Mrs. Green, I thought.
I left the common room without saying a word to Lily. As I passed Devon, I told him I’d left my mobile phone in one of the bedrooms and I’d be back in a moment, knowing that it wasn’t true.
The truth was I had seen and heard all I needed from Lily Green, and given her numerous chances to understand the fantastic opportunity I had been inviting her to accept. But she refused, and by doing so, with all the information that she had accrued on my recent behaviour, I had no choice but to end it all for her. Lily’s reluctance to accept me was the same as signing her own death warrant.
I made my way back to Mrs. Green’s bedroom, and walked to the bed that Devon had recently freshened up with changed bed linen. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the remaining Anthrax donated to me from Joseph, and smiled as I realized that before the package I had sent to him arrived in America and took his life, that there was a small chance he would get to hear the news about Lily Green, The Phantom, and realize that he had in fact played a part in the murder of someone, and that at least one of his lifetime fantasies had come to fruition. I emptied the highly hazardous powder into the pillowcase, either side of the pillow and gently placed it back down on the bed, then carefully pulled the duvet back into position.
‘Sleep tight, Mrs. Green.’
Chapter 32
I watched Lily Green being lowered into her grave on the plot next to the graves of her deceased family members. There was a vicar, and the graveyard workers, but that was it. It was a sad end to what was a brilliant life, but to this day, I know that she didn’t have to die alone. She could have had me by her side, instead of electing me to be the one to administer the poison.
That night after I had left the anthrax within the fabric of Lily’s pillow, she lay her head down and inhaled the toxic powder for hours and hours, the spores would have migrated down to lymph glands in her chest, where they would proliferate and produce deadly toxins. Even her face would have shown a reaction to the chemical, perhaps a rash, but that wouldn’t have been as harmful as the bacteria inside of her. As with Joseph, there was a big enough dosage to get to work in my victims in as short a space a time as possible, limiting the chances of effective antibiotic treatment. With Lily, as I had witnessed her being buried, I knew this was the case. An elderly lady, no matter what her reputation as a psychopathic killer, just didn’t have the fight left in her immune system to win that battle. Her lungs would have been damaged beyond repair, and the infection would have drained every last drop of life from her soul. How did I know? Because when pouring the anthrax into her pillowcase, it seems I wasn’t as careful as I needed to be, looking back, perhaps the excitement of the situation got the better of me.
The dosage of anthrax spores weren’t enough to take me down as quickly as that of The Phantom, but after days of being in hiding, not being able to see a doctor as I hadn’t yet received my new identification card, and of course by that time I was a wanted man, I fell too ill to carry on without seeking medical attention.
‘What have you taken?’ the doctor asked as I lay collapsed on the floor of the hospital accident and emergency department.
‘Anthrax,’ I told her, ‘It’s anthrax.’
Days later, when I woke up, a respirator aiding my breathing and both arms fixed to the bed, I realized my game was up. I was soon moved to a prison hospital where I would remain until my health improved enough for me to be moved into solitary confinement in Woodhill Prison, not far from the city where I had claimed the lives of many.
Detectives linked my anthrax poisoning to the death of Lily Green, which led them to link me to Summers, her friend, and then of course it didn’t take much to pin me down for the other Hammer murders. That was it. The game was over. I didn’t need my lawyer to explain that I wouldn’t be blessed with any kind of freedom for the rest of my life, and in fact I told him, through the tears rolling down my face, that I wish I had died from the anthrax.
‘Too late for that,’ he said, absolutely zero sympathy in his voice.
But the final twist in this tale, one that no matter how absurd it may be for you to hear is the place where I was ordered to spend the rest of my days. Of course, I was insane, who could have done what I did and not be insane? Criminally insane, in fact, which meant the only place within the vicinity I could be held, and treated for my illness, was Broadmoor Hospital.
It was rather poetic, I thought, that although I had lost my freedom, I would get to spend several hours a day sitting at the back of the common room, on that very same chair that my one time heroine, Mrs. Lily Green, aka The Phantom, spent many an hour herself. I had not only met my idol, I had emulated her to the point that I had in fact replaced her. There was a certain comfort in that. And although I have spent my time ever since this incredible adventure pretty much on my own, I have had the time to reflect on life and what it means to me, and take comfort in the fact that at least I did something, I achieved something, rather than being a faceless nobody in a warehouse forever. And I do have one friend, of course, one person who says hello and tells me a joke almost every day. In fact, he is the reason I’m getting to share this story with you.
Devon agreed, as a friend and ex colleague, to take my letters, the notes that I would spend much of my free time writing, sitting in Lily’s old chair, and upload them to the web, the dark web as I had explained to him how to find, in order that I might one day become the praised serial killer that myself, Joseph, Steven and many others were admirers of. Devon was fast becoming interested in why I did what I did, how I became who I became, and I wanted my story to be heard by as many others in similar situations around the globe.
Who knows, maybe one day I’ll have a fan of my own.
THE END
A word from James Ross...
Thank you for taking the time to finish this book. I hope you enjoyed the reading as much as I did the writing. On the following pages are details of the full collection of titles up to the time of printing, I hope you find something that peaks your interest.
I am an independent author, and my only hope of success in this business is by news of my work spreading by word of mouth. A short, positive review left wherever you bought this title would help me immensely, and would be truly appreciated.
Thank you.
James Ross, Fanatic
