Page 8 of The Eraser

"Do you genuinely believe that there is?" I ask, not that I give a fuck if there isn't. I am who I am and that's never going to change.

"No, I don't believe so. Killers are born. Very seldom are they made. And you, my boy, are a natural born killer. There’s a darkness inside you and I just realized how dark it gets. Seeing you today, no matter that this was an accident, you were born to kill. Soon you'll want to do more, and when that urge comes, you will come to me, and I'll help you tunnel it into a healthier outcome. The last thing I want is for you to become a serial killer."

"Alright, Jer. When the urge comes, you'll be the first person I go to."

He nods, seemingly satisfied with what I've said. "Then it's time to leave. I'll have someone clean this shit up. We'll make it so that your father's left town and hasn’t come back."

I breathe out a deep breath. "How do you get rid of this energy?" I ask. I feel antsy, almost as though I've run a marathon.

Jer grins at me. "I fuck it out of me."

I nod. I guess that's something I could do. It's not as though I haven’t done it before. But fuck, I'm not sure it's safe to do so with the way I'm feeling.

"Kid, you're not doing that, so go home, change, and hit the gym. Box it out of you or run it out of you."

I laugh. He really does underestimate me.

"Get in the car," he sighs. "You're a pain in the ass, boy. I'll make a phone call and then get you home."

I nod. Sounds good, but I think he's right. Hitting the gym will be the best thing for me.

I don't trust myself right now.

I'm a killer and I'm in bloodlust.

There's no easy way to get rid of this energy.

I'm curious as to when the urge will hit me now that I've killed once.

ChapterTwo

JESSICA

Sixteen years later

"Jessie,"Mam greets me as I enter the kitchen. "How are you feeling?"

I sigh as I slump onto the kitchen chair. "Rotten," I tell her. "I feel sick, Mam. My stomach's rolling at the smell of your coffee. I don't think I can eat anything."

She gives me a soft look as she steps away from the stove. She pulls me into her arms and holds me, her hand going to my forehead. "You're burning up. Have you thrown up this morning?"

I shake my head. "I doubt there's anything left inside of me, to be honest." I was up all night throwing up. Mam spent the night with me, even though I told her to go back to sleep. She wouldn't listen. Instead, she made sure I was okay.

"I know, so have a slice of toast and sip on some water. You need to replenish your energy. You're weak from vomiting all night. Once you've done that, go on upstairs and lie down. Rest is what's needed today."

"What about school?" I ask, knowing Dad will be angry if I'm not there.

"Don't you worry about that. Now, will you try some toast?" she asks as she releases me and reaches for a slice from the toast rack in the center of the table. "It's not too hot. It's the perfect temperature. I know you'd prefer it slathered with butter, but with how sick your stomach is, I'd rather you ate it dry."

I turn my nose up. God, dry toast—I can't think of anything worse.

"I know," Mam says softly. "But try at least, please?"

I nod as I take the slice of toast from her. My stomach is already protesting at the thought of eating it, but Mam's right, I need to replenish. I don't have anything left in my body.

"Where's Dad?" I ask as I take a small bite.

"He's on the phone with your uncle. They're sorting out something," she says as she goes back to the stove. "He'll be home with you today. I have to do some shopping. I'll pick you up some medicine from the store."