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MY RESIDENCE INFO:
City: Springdale
State/Country: Arkansas/USA
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BOOKS PUBLISHED:
Hell Is Where The Heart Is
Prologue
In a world filled with so much hate, death, and destruction, it’s but ignorant to believe that we don’t already reside in a living Hell. Just take a look around. Proof of our place in the Devil’s domain is undoubtedly apparent in all the crimes and countless lives that are lost each and every year. The apparent proof of the undeniable truth is obviously seen in all the adultery, poverty, famine, disease, and terrorism. Not to mention in every vandalism, arson, robbery, assault, abduction, and rape. But most importantly, proof of Hell on Earth can be clearly seen at work in the deadliest sins of all: Luxuria (Lust), Gula (Gluttony), Avaritia (Greed), Acedia (Sloth), Ira (Wrath or Anger), Invidia (Envy), and Superbia (Pride). The simple fact that free will allows us to carry Evil in our hearts should be all the proof you need. This alone will prove that it is truly Hell with which all our lives intertwine. But evil intentions, though any act of both Man and God may have, there exists no other act of pure Evil that is more sinister, wicked, savage, or cruel then that of murder.
Every year our hellish World witnesses an estimated 520,000 people parish at the hands of a cold-blooded murderer. The possibilities as to a reason for murdering are endless, but easily classified under any one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Truly a classic case of cause and effect. But if for some reason you are either unable or ignorant to see all the sin happening every day, you would be wise to know that sinning unto others can and will get you killed. It can happen to anyone, anywhere, at anytime. None can escape it’s deadly wrath. However, regardless of any specifics on how it all went down, murder is still murder; something I’m most familiar with. But unlike all other serial killers, my reason for killing is much more complex then that of a simple sin.
Make no mistake about it, the real Andrew Jones would never take that precious thing we call life away from any other living creature…even if it really is Hell that we live in. No, something deep within me dwells, addictively seeking the rush one gets by taking the life of another human being. With every breath I take in every passing hour It torments me so.
I used to think of myself as being a very strong willed person, but to my amazement, I’ve recently learned that I am anything but. Don’t get me wrong, I fight the need to kill for as long as possible, but sooner or later even I can no longer fight the unrelenting, insatiable hunger to kill again. And that’s just the half of it.
I’m more then certain that you feel no remorse for my unwanted affliction. Although, try as I may, I can’t say that I blame you. I agree, no killer deserves even the slightest bit of compassion for their atrocities. However, in my defense and the shoe on the other foot, perhaps you’d understand why it is that I must go on killing. Then and only then would you understand that Hell is not a place of fiction. Nor is it a place where only dreams are made. Not only is Hell a living reality, but Hell is also the one and only place we all call home. So, if home is where the heart is, then we’ve already pulled up a chair, ate our dinner, brushed our teeth, and went to bed, truly making ourselves feel right at home. Indeed, Hell is where the heart is.
Chapter One
My name is Andrew Jones. If you and I were to meet on a street somewhere, your first impression might be that I’m just your ordinary, “Average Joe.” But be fooled not, for looks can be most deceiving. Perhaps due to the fact that most books are often judged by their cover first, and their contents second. Based on looks alone, you can never know what secrets there may be locked away in the depths of a beating heart.
Everyone in the World has at least one skeleton hiding somewhere in their closet. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you do, or even where you come from. It doesn’t matter if you’re ten years old or sixty years old, holy or unholy, spiritual or otherwise. Those claiming to not have any secrets at all, have just been caught in the middle of a lie. A liar, I am not. Kept under lock and key in the very depths of my own heart is a burden upon myself that I can no longer keep secret. For the first time in my life, only those reading this will learn my deepest, darkest secret of all.
Over the past four years of my life, I’ve brutally murdered and mutilated 66 men, women and children: 22 men, 22 women, 22 children. Don’t be so disgusted! You may not believe me right now, but I assure you that I never chose to take this many lives in the first place. I swear to you and your God above, my hands were unwillingly forced to commit these especially heinous acts of pure Evil!
Every one of my astonishing 66 murders have been carried out with absolute perfection. I can’t screw up because I never leave myself any room for error. And, unlike most serial killers, my methods have never evolved. Every method that I use to take a life has been exactly the same since day one. They will never change, because I will never change. It’s just like the saying goes, “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”
Obviously, my own subtleness and secrecy are of the utmost importance. If I don’t focus 100% of the time, it will only be easier for me to fall victim to one of the many hazards of my deadly job. To help prevent my identity from being discovered, I take a rather painful shower in a chemical solution of certain hair-removing products. I like to use the fragrance free kind, as this works best in assuring that I not give my presence away. I’m aware that not everybody has such a sensitive nose, but I’d simply rather not take the chance.
The hair removal procedure is by no means cheap, but in my opinion, well worth it in the long run. Sure, I could just shave my entire body, but again, I’d rather not take the chance. Besides, the chemical shower is far more effective in assuring that no hair is unintentionally left at the scene of the crime. After that, my only other concern in protecting my identity is the arduous task of not leaving any fingerprints for others to find.
To help combat the rather annoying problem of naturally leaving oily fingerprints on everything I touch, I’ve taken drastic steps severely burning the tips of my fingers to unrecognizable conditions, thus eliminating the need to wear gloves. Just one more painful procedure that is a must. Yet unlike the regularity of my hair-removing showers, removing my fingerprints was thankfully a more permanent procedure. My reasons for going through with both of these painful procedures should be quite obvious. Had I not gone to these lengths of self-mutilation to protect my identity, I’d most likely either already be dead, or sentenced to soon die via the death penalty. Seeing as there are no flaws in these painful methods of mine, I won’t be fixing them any time soon. After all is said and done, Death and I are then ready for our blind date with a victim who’ll never live to see another day.
When I do finally make the kill, I think of myself much like that of a silent assassin. Making the kill without ever being noticed is obviously a very important task. But a matter of much more importance to me is the fact that I’m too uncomfortable in locking eyes with my victims just before their unknown and untimely death. If in the unlikely chance that our eyes do happen to meet before their death, I feel a burden upon me to take their emotions with me all the way to my grave. Which is exactly why I do everything in my power to prevent this from happening. If the need arises, certain gasses can be deployed, rendering the victim unconscious, leaving me with plenty of time to do what it is I do best. I’m the best there is around, because it is I who embodies the essence of what a perfect crime really is.
Helping me to pull off the perfect crime are four of my favorite tools for the bloody job at hand: An 8 inch curved blade for slashing and slicing, a bone-saw for obvious reasons, a heavy duty nylon rope and anchor to hang the body from, and a bucket to store excess blood and the heart in. It’s these very tools, and the methods in which I use them, that ultimately label me as a serial killer. And because of my rather devilish reputation as a serial killer, society has aptly given me the Latin name of the Devil himself, Lucifer.
Each and every one of my kills begins and ends the very same way, with a quick slash across the throat. It may not be the cleanest way to end a life, but it’s surely the quietest. After all, it’s kind of hard to scream with blood pouring out of one’s own neck. Needless to say, I never leave home without a fresh change of clothes. Then, after a very painful yet quiet death, and with the use of my trusty nylon rope and anchor, the body is then hung feet first to drain any remaining blood into my handy bucket. Hanging the body also helps when removing the heart. Next, with my trusty blade in hand, all that’s needed is a bone-deep incision right down the center of the chest. Then, depending on my mood, I either cut the skin away altogether, or simply pull the skin back a couple of inches. After cutting through the ribcage with a surgical bone-saw, each half is then separated with the use of my bare hands, revealing the heart and lungs. Then, after a few more precise cuts around the heart (pericardium and all), the heart is easily removed and ready to burn.
In today’s deadly world, comfort from it all is often found in the many temples of various religions scattered throughout all four of Earth’s corners. Comfort in religion however, only goes so far. Regardless of how long you stay, and no matter how much faithful praying you actually do, the hellishness of Earth will always be there when you get back. Our earthly Hell will always still be there, because all prayers regarding a change to the World that we live in will always go unheeded. Even God himself will never intervene, for living our lives as we do in this Hell-hole is but the true and ultimate test of tests of our faith in Him.
Living in the depths of every human heart resides a soul, separating us from every other creature living in the same hellish realm as us. Whereas these soulless animals are only lead by their natural born instinct to survive, we humans are lead by both our own survival instincts, as well as our soft-spoken conscience that is our soul. And if our souls wish to ever escape from this fiery domain that we live in, we must live a life of faithful goodness to the lord above. If we fail to do so by the time Death arrives for us, our souls will end up being recycled back into a new body every time we die for the rest of eternity. There will be no second chances. That’s why it’s so important that we do things right the first time around. Recently however, for those lucky enough to have once lived with a pair of wings fixed to their back, God has given these particular individuals a second chance to join Him once again in His house of Heaven.
Unknown to the rest of the World, God is allowing Fallen Angels another chance to choose which lord they really want to serve. If an angel chooses to serve God this time instead of the Devil (After proving to be worthy enough, of course), the gates of Heaven will open once again. Try as they may, the path to redemption will not be an easy one. In order for our fallen comrades to God that they are truly worthy, each angel is born again with no knowledge of their previous life in either Heaven or Hell. In doing so, they have become no different then you or I.
This rigged game of chance God has created for his amusement also makes it much more difficult for the Devil to figure out which one of us soul-harboring humans is indeed a Fallen Angel. It would seem as though God really does work in mysterious ways. Still, the very cunning Devil seems to have an uncanny talent for picking them out with no problems at all. But because the Devil is unable to physically interact with any of us humans, only by manipulating someone such as myself can he take back the souls that are rightfully his own.
I guess you could say that I’m the Devil’s right-hand man. I must be if I’m the only one carrying out his deadliest plan of all. You see, the Devil has personally appointed me with the very deadly task of helping him take back every last, undeserving Fallen Angel soul. My orders are to kill a total of 72 reincarnated Fallen Angels who are not quite living up to their part of the unknown deal with God. With help from the Devil, it’s actually a fairly simple task. First, the Devil attempts to manipulate the Fallen Angels to break any one of the 10 Commandments. If they take the bait, I can then go in for the kill. After taking the life of my victim, I am to burn the heart, as this is the only way to insure that there will be no “third time is a charm” deals with God. And because each Fallen Angel is really no different then from you or I, this means that I must take the lives of otherwise seemingly innocent people.
As it turns out, I to was once a Fallen Angel. But because I’ve already not proven myself worthy to God, my eternal lifetime will be spent being reborn into the endless cycle of our living Hell. Only in my case, it won’t be so bad. I will still be reborn every time that I die, but the Devil has made me the promise of rebirth into wealth and power beyond my wildest dreams every time. Six more souls to capture and life for me won’t seem so hellish anymore.
Chapter Two
There she is yet once again, sitting at the same table, drinking the only coffee she ever orders; a grande, white-chocolate mocha with extra whipped topping. Tasty, I’m sure, but a little overboard in my opinion. Her name is Shelly Mitchell. She doesn’t know it yet, but Shelly is about to officially become my 67th victim. After her, I’ll only need 5 more.
Shelly, along with two of her best friends, is a regular at a coffee bar in Baltimore called Joe’s Coffee Shack. I find their regularity to be most methodical. The drinks, as well as the seating arrangement, never stray far from their original comfort. I know this more then anyone, because I’ve been watching Shelly’s every move for the past three weeks now. And because I’m a stickler for detail, I haven’t missed a single step.
Sitting to Shelly’s left at a four-sided table is her scantily dressed friend, Tabitha Nichols. God must have certainly taken his time with this one. Her beauty can be summed up by with the following description: blonde hair, blue eyes, great legs, an even better stomach, big tits, and the greatest ass you’ve ever seen. An instant hard-on for any guy walking past her, without a doubt. I’d even go as far to say that It would be impossible to count how many minds have raped her with every passing glance. It’s just too bad she couldn’t have been one of my many victims. Although, I could deviate a bit and officially make Tabitha my unofficial 68th victim. Maybe, just maybe I can take myself up on that offer later on.
Sitting directly in front of Shelly at the same table is her friend, Lacey Stone. As far as Lacey’s looks go, she’s what you might consider to be a “brown bag special.” Or, if you like, on a scale from 1 to 10, Lacey would rank somewhere around 5. As for the other girls, Tabitha would most definitely be a perfect 10, whereas Shelly would rank around an 8. However, unlike her companions Tabitha and Shelly, Lacey would most likely be the only one to remain faithful in any relationship. A definite keeper for those who aren’t shallow…something I know nothing about.
Today, I happen to be sitting with the girls in the otherwise normally empty chair to the right of Shelly.
“It was only the polite thing to do, seeing as I’m at Joe’s Coffee Shack just as often as us,” as Shelly so eloquently put it.
I just wish our meeting in person could have been under different circumstances. Had everything gone according to my original plan, I wouldn’t be sitting here looking into the eyes of my victim just before her horrible death. I don’t like it one damn bit, but it’s nothing to loose my head over. No harm done, all that’s needed is a slight adjustment to my timeline. Instead of killing Shelly in another 3 days as previously planned, I guess I’ll just have to do it tonight.
When I first took up my position at this damned table, it was I who was the topic of discussion. I was asked everything from whether or not I went to college, whether or not I live alone or perhaps married with children, and whether or not…blah, blah, blah. Then, before I knew it, I was no longer the center of attention. The questioning pretty much turned into a female talk-off about anything having to do with fashion and reputation destroying celebrity gossip. After 5 minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing as I had to pee anyways, I politely excused myself from the table for just a few minutes.
I have to admit, while taking a piss all I could think about was killing all three of those annoying bitches at the same time. I’d then have my way with their lifeless, yet still warm dead bodies after their “unfortunate” deaths. A horrible thought, I know. But I personally find it hard to believe that I’m the only guy to ever think such horrible thoughts. If any other guy in the World would take just one second to be brutally honest with himself, he would also admit that sometimes he’d just rather fuck a dead bitch. Sure, you may not be able to hear her moan, but at least she won’t be asking you to cuddle afterwards. Although I was merely joking (I‘d never really be interested in trying out necrophilia), sexual images of me and a dead Tabitha began to flood my mind. I could then feel something poking around in my pants.
Ordinarily, the thought of jerking off in a public bathroom would never cross mind. It that dwells within me however, had other plans. I fought the immense urge with everything had, but as usual, I was forced to give in. When I attempted to change the image of myself fucking a dead Tabitha into fucking an alive Tabitha, I immediately started to go limp. But as soon as I thought that I could just stop right there and head back to the girls, the same necrophilia image assaulted my mind. It then became quite clear to me that I wouldn’t be going anywhere until I finished what I started. I just hope the girls don’t suspect anything.
Upon my return from the restroom, sure enough, I was once again listening to the same babbling bullshit being broadcasted by bimbo bitches! Thank God Shelly ended it their conversation by asking me if I‘d like to join them for some “real” drinks over at Tabitha’s place. I of course said yes, finding it hard to refuse the chance of maybe being able to slide in bed with Tabitha. Not to mention, as any other guy would also do in my position, the thought of a foursome had crossed my mind. With that being said, we were then off and running. To top things off, Shelly would be riding with me in my brand new BMW M6.
As we drove away, It was becoming quite obvious that Shelly was growing very fond of me…or so was the impression I was getting. Flattering, but mostly maddening! Going along with all this nonsense was taking me further away from the job at hand, killing Shelly. Be that as it may, I can’t kill her now anyways. It would immediately raise suspicion among her best friends. Shelly will live, for now.
On the drive over to Tabitha’s apartment, Shelly wouldn’t shut up about her rich and wonderful life. Shelly was born into a wealthy family in upstate New York. I believe she mentioned something about her going to a private school, and she basically had her way with everything thanks to a father who spoiled her rotten. After that, I don’t really remember what she went rambling on about. It’s in my nature to simply treat a lot of things people as nothing more then white noise to me. That, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off that wonderful low-cut blouse she was wearing. It really brings out her eyes, if I may say so myself. Not to mention those superb, perky tits.
For the record, any girl wearing a shirt like that obviously wants to be ogled at. But they would of course deny that as being the shirt’s intent. Personally, I don’t see a problem with flaunting what you got, if you got it. But if this was not Shelly’s true intent in wearing her shirt, then perhaps she should have never worn it in the first place. At any rate, it didn’t take long at all for us to reach our destination. The beginning of the end was just beginning.
If there’s two things that I’ve learned over the past four years of my killing spree, it’s to never let your guard down while you wait for the moment of absolute opportunity. Timing is of the utmost importance! There are no second chances, giving me only one window of opportunity to strike. So if I’m to remain undiscovered as a serial killer, I expect myself to perform with nothing less then perfect perfection. At last, that most perfect and opportune moment has finally arrived. Only now can my hidden talents can be showcased.
Halfway through their dancing, Tabitha had stopped for a moment to pick up a bong. As you can see for yourself, the secrets have been most revealing. These blown cover-ups only further the fact that everyone has skeletons hiding somewhere in their closet. As the party started to die down, the marijuana smoke began to fill the room. When the girls asked if I’d like to join them in their smoking festivities, I simply stated that I’d rather not because work awaited me in the morning. After the girls got their high on and munched some food, Tabitha and Lacey began to talk amongst themselves. Shelly and I then proceeded to have a conversation of our own. In our conversation, Shelly revealed to me her immense attractiveness towards me. And perhaps because of her altered mind, the conversation managed to transform into a steamy game of “21 Questions.” As the questions grew hotter and heavier, Shelly and I both had the idea to sneak off to a bedroom in the back.
Until now, I’ve never had a reason to carry a condom with me. And even though I assured Shelly that I was the “pull out master,” Shelly was only offering oral, which was fine by me. As I sat on the end of bed covered with scarlet sheets, Shelly swiftly removed my pants and boxer briefs. Signs of previous experiences shined through. Unfortunately, It was over quicker then I had hoped it to be. Perhaps most likely due to a lack of similar events happening in my own life. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks, time to get back to work.
As Shelly pulled her mouth (Still filled with my bodily fluids) away from my crotch, I locked her head between my knees, snapping her neck as I violently twisted my legs to the right. Surprisingly, her neck snapped with ease, requiring only the slightest bit of force. Other then Shelly, none of my previous 67 kills ever involved me breaking a neck to end life. Then again, I’ve also never found myself in the situation of having my victim pleasure me before I kill them. I will say this though, number 68 was by far one of my best kills yet.
The amazing rush I received after killing Shelly was great! But I needed to calm down, for more of my services were required. As I left the room to go grab my tools from the trunk of my car, I completely forgot that Tabitha and Lacey were still in the living room, completely unaware that their best friend had just lost her life less then 20 feet from where they sat and discussed an unequivocal things.
My solo emergence from the bedroom had both Tabitha and Lacey wondering about their friend, Shelly. My explanation regarding Shelly’s non-appearance, was that she had just fallen asleep. Had they not been in their inebriated state of mind at the time, I assume that they would have pursued the matter even further. I then noticed that neither Tabitha or Lacey had a drink in their hand. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered to get them another one.
As the drinks came faster and faster, the conversation between Tabitha, Lacey and I became more and more philosophical. We discussed such things as God and the Devil, Heaven and Hell, and the reason neither of them can be proven. While both of the girls shared the same closed-minded opinion brought to life by the early Christians, I of course shared my very different point of view. Those stupid bitches wholeheartedly disagreed with everything I had to say. I was outraged as my murderous thoughts began to run rampant! I would like nothing more then to slit both of their throats right here, right the fuck now! I began rubbing my bald head from the front to the back…front to back…front to back...front to back…
…I pulled the curved knife from behind my back and slashed both throats with one fell swoop of it’s blade. It was magnificent! Blood gushed from their throats, seeming to hang about the air as it flew effortlessly onto the floor and a white, suede couch in the living room. A few droplets even managed to find my mouth in the midst of their “Matrix” like dance. I could taste the iron-rich blood as it began to bathe my tongue. I dare not spit it out, for that would leave too much of myself behind for others to find. Now, where was I? That’s right, I still need my tools.
The average American female, ages 20 - 29, weighs around 132 pounds. Therefore, in order to lift Shelly’s dead body up off the floor, I must apply no less then an equal amount of force. After that, I can only hope that the sturdy rope and anchor does it’s job. Then comes the removing of the heart it’s sacrificial burning. Also, before I forget, I need to take Shelly’s head with me. After all, she still has too much of myself I’m willing to leave behind.
Just as one is able to pray to God, one is also free to pray to the Devil if he or she wishes to. The ritual sacrifice that I must complete every time begins with just such a prayer.
“These very words I speak have been granted the power of manifestation. I hereby claim this trapped soul as my own. With it, I knowingly gift my claimed soul to He who wants it most.”
After this short yet efficient prayer, the heart can be burned. After the heart’s transformation into ashes, the remaining blood I drained earlier into my bucket is poured onto the fire, extinguishing it’s flame. And that’s that. It really is just that simple. But simplicity does not mean that just anybody can easily do what it is I do. No, only a surgeon such as myself could possibly be used in such an evil manner.
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