The Other Me, Monkwalk [100 books to read in a lifetime TXT] 📗

hear. I was going to die, die without him being punished.
Suddenly, something clicked. The face was too familiar, a face I saw every day; mine. NO! It couldn’t be, not me, never.
A short cough brought me out of it, made myself disappear. Mind thumping, I ran out the shop without another word. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.


Chapter 9
Bang! The door shut as I raced into my apartment. My head was twisting, the room bending around, spiralling out of control. I was never going to find him; my wife would never rest in her grave. I failed, just like everything else in my life. That’s why my parents ditched me, they knew I would fail, they knew I would be a good for nothing loser. Look at me; I can’t get revenge on the killer of my one love. I will never find him, I will never be happy. MY LIFE IS RUINED! Tears, rolling down my face, I screamed out, letting it all rip loose. Who cares anymore? NO ONE! Books went flying, shelves crashed down. Destroying everything, memories, future, present; it all had to go. Nothing was good anymore, so I curled up in a corner, locking everything out. Except that constant knocking. Knock, knock, knock. Never stopping, but growing louder, and voices joining.
“Help, help, help us Tom. HELP!” I jumped, it sounded like my wife, my beloved wife! Running to the door, my hopes soared, maybe all was not lost, and this was all dream, a nightmare. Ripping the door open, I grinned. There she was, standing tall and beautiful, as if it never happened. But my smile was not returned, and mine faded as I saw the other murder victims appear behind her. Faces drooping, ripped apart and bloody, no life left in those wide eyes. Looking back at my wife, her face had changed too. Depressed and in pain, never ending tears rolling, a breeze flowing through her hair.
I looked around, we were at a lake, and I remembered it from a dream. The smell of fresh water and pine trees rose up my nose. I took a step and the scene changed, I was standing in the middle of a train track. The faint whistle of the train came from the distance, lights at the side dimly lit the tracks. The scent of running factories stung my nose, blocking it so I couldn’t breathe. A bright light blinded me as the train came, I couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t scream. But when the train hit, I felt no pain, just saw her face.
A thud came, I was on my floor, back at home, my wife here too. “Help me Tom, find him, destroy him. For me, please honey, I can’t rest knowing he’s still out there” she pleaded with me for hours, but I couldn’t think. I was going mad, all this pressure, destroying my mind.
They faded, my wife was going. A scream came, from my own mouth, deafening me again. She was gone, why? Why did she leave me? She looked scared, was he in here?
IT WAS ME!
No, no, it wasn’t me. Of course not, because I’M NEXT!
I’m next on his list; it’s my turn to die. He’s after me, in my house, at my work. He won’t go away. I saw him yesterday, last week, last month, and last year. He’s always been there, following my every move. I can’t get away, my life will end.
The room spun, I felt sick. Throwing up in my toilet, my eyes went blurry. I couldn’t see, my mind was bursting. I couldn’t think, what was going on? Where was I? I had to do something, but what? I knew something, it was bursting my brain, but it was there, not going, like a pest. I tried to stand up, but my legs were so shaky, my body was numb. The heat of the room was building, higher and higher. The ceiling was falling, lower and lower. My life was closing in, I couldn’t understand. Sweat trickling down my face from every pore, soaking my eyes and clothes, like I’d been out in the rain.
The whole room became a walking, talking circus, I was going mad. I was going deaf from all the noise bursting my ear drums.
Suddenly… it all stopped. A sudden calm washed over me and everything left me. I knew nothing. No worries, no joys, no life. It was perfect, a calm peace. Then nothing. My eyes blacked out and my brain went dead. It was the best moment of my life; I was falling into a perfect sense of nothing…


Chapter 11
He will know. I will make him see everything. He hunts me, but I’m here right in front of him. Watching. Waiting. He will know what I have done, what I can do. I stood looking in the mirror smiling at myself, proud. 6 women are dead, rotting in hell where they belong. They had it coming to them, if I hadn’t done it someone else would have. I did them a favour, I made it quick, painless. Anyone else would have made it slow and torturous. I almost wish I had. The charms were clues. My signature.
I looked at myself in the mirror, the change in my face was unbelievable, it looked like I hadn’t slept in a month. I contemplated going to starbucks to get a coffee; maybe the sweet smell of cinnamon would help me think. The familiar surrounding always seemed to make everything clearer, give me a better perspective. Something was holding me here, looking in the mirror staring at my own reflection that seemed so unrecognisable to me. I thought about Tara, my beautiful, amazing wife. I still find it hard to believe that she is gone, I see her every where I look, in the sky, in the water, in every women that I saw. Suddenly the faces of all the suicide victims flew through my mind. There was something I wasn’t seeing. But what?
The dark, devious shadows were slowly creeping into the room. They surrounded me. I smiled. I watched as they desperately reached out to me; begging me to do it again. To kill another undeserving women. Selfish like Susie, ignorant like Alice, agitating like Melanie or a cheat like Tara. Cheating on her husband, someone very close to me. Very close. She got what she deserved. She cheated. She was with someone else. I wouldn’t allow it. She is better off dead.
The room was considerably darker. Every cruel, sinister thought I had ever had crept through my mind. I felt a smooth slither of pleasure rush through my veins. I stopped for a moment. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t me. The shadows slithered through the room, suffocating me. The sensation was new but familiar. I liked it. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to the last of my sanity.
I watched as he struggled, slipping into the darkness. I saw the pleasure in his eyes, he tried to hide it but I could see it. I was going to win. He was weak, emotional. I was strong. Stronger than him. I could crush him if I wanted to but I’d rather watch him destroy himself. I laughed and sat back to watch the show.


Chapter 12
I snapped my eyes open suddenly. What happened? Had I fallen asleep again? I looked at my self in the mirror but it was covered in something red. What was it? My hand raised automatically to feel the red substance. It was wet and slightly warm. I recognised the smell . It was the same thing I smelt that day I found my dear wife. It was blood. Only then did I realise that there was a warm liquid trickling down my arm. It was my blood, but how I hadn’t cut myself. My eyes wondered back to the mirror, there wasn’t just blood there were pictures of all the women. The smell was overwhelming, I had to look down. In the sink there was all of the charms I found along side a bill. I looked closer it was something I had discarded a week or so ago. I looked at the name Thomas Morgan, Morgan was Tara maiden name. It was a bill for charms. The same charms that were found with the women. Tom Jackson. Thomas Morgan. Then I realised. I was Thomas. I was the killer.


Epilogue
Tom Jackson born January 26th 1982 to Molly and John Jackson grew up a normal young boy happy and charming as a child but acting strange at times. Soon he was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 9 after violently attacking a class mate and later not remembering it. By his 11th birthday, both Molly and John Jackson had come to realise the extent of his condition, and by his 12th ,they decided they could no longer care for their son. He was put into a special care home who were qualified to look after him and manage his medical requirements. For various reasons Tom was never fostered or adopted by a family, perhaps because of his unique medical condition.
When he reached the age of 18 he enrolled into collage and later university becoming a journalist for The Times newspaper. Tom tried many different medications to help control the schizophrenia, but at 21 he fully recovered and stopped taking the medication. At 22 he married Tara Morgan and they lived their lives as a happily married couple. On the 8th of March 2011, Tom tragically lost his wife, she committed suicide in the early hours of the morning while he was at work. Tom worked on the case of his wife’s suicide alongside 4 other suicides before, and 1 after. Tom was well liked by all and was very involved in his work; some might say too involved. Once he started working on a case he was obsessed, he didn’t eat, sleep, or rest until he finished the piece. During this time he became antisocial and uncharacteristically irrational this lead to…
…The discovery that he was suffering from severe schizophrenia, but by the time this was discovered, it was too late. On April 8th Tom Jackson was found dead lying beside his wife’s grave exactly 1 month after her supposed suicide.
A note book was found in his hand, this note book revealed everything he had learnt about the cases that he had been working on for the last 4 months. He had believed that the suicides were linked; some people thought he was searching for a non existent killer, but the notes revealed that there indeed was a murderer, but he was much closer than anyone thought.
It was Thomas Jackson; you may say it was his alternate personality that he named Thomas Morgan, using his wife’s maiden name. He had murdered 6 women then gave them charm bracelets with their initials which spell out his name
Tara Jackson – T
Hannah Fielding - H
Olivia Johnson - O
Melanie Jones - M
Alice Hybri - A
Susie Jack – S
He had murdered all of these women without realising it, while he hunted himself, searching for revenge. Once he realised he was the murderer, he killed himself by his wife’s grave, clutching the note book telling us the tragic story of the 7 victims of one illness.