Obscured (Book 1 of Psychics and Psychopaths)

I stood there watching as the life slowly bled out of him, the light gradually dimming from his bulging downturned eyes as the writhing of his body changed from convulsing to twitching until it finally went limp. Denaro Berlusconi. Age 42. Underboss of the notorious gang ‘Nero’. A 200-pound heavy and 176cm tall monster. A necrophiliac with a disgusting fetish for children under the age of twelve. Five confirmed and three alleged victims. If that wasn't enough there was a whole list of other minor and major crimes he had committed, from stealing to drug dealing to r**e and of course murder. He wasn't alone in this there were many people who had a hand in the crimes he committed but he was the leading figure, hopefully, with him dead they would take a hint and quiet down for a while if not much. I scrunched up my nose trying and failing to stop the stench of blood and piss from infiltrating my senses. Disgusting piece of s**t. Now, I was in no way a heroic vigilante here to grant justice for the poor souls that had lost their lives at the hands of this insufferable creature, no, in fact, I was here for my own personal and probably selfish reasons. To placate the raging storm inside of me and even though the smell was almost unbearable, it was nothing next to the horrible and excruciating pain my body had been experiencing since last night. Of course, it knew. It was muscle memory by now, it knew it was time for its medication. And as horrible as it sounds the screams that had exploded from his mouth were the perfect anesthesia to calm that raging storm. At least for a while. Time to clean up. Yay. I rolled my eyes. The worst part of this job. I hated wet work. It would take me at least two hours to dispose of his body and any remaining evidence of me being here and I needed to be somewhere in two hours. Not exactly sure where though. My mind was incapable of storing information I thought useless, so the meeting was probably not so important. Surprisingly in only an hour, I had successfully cut his body into small enough pieces to fit three big garbage bags. This battery-powered saw was actually pretty good. No wonder Kenji fawns over it like it's a damn pet. Maybe I should get one too. I was wearing gloves and proper equipment to make sure not to leave any DNA evidence, but of course, I still had to clean up the bloody mess on the ground. After fifteen more minutes of tedious hosing down and bleaching the surroundings as well as the equipment used, the place was clean. Still wet, but clean. It would dry up soon though. Shoving the three garbage bags inside the humongous cooler in our ford transit. Or as we called it, the ‘Murder Van’. I stepped back, stripping out of the hoodie and jeans I was wearing, shoving them inside a new garbage bag along with my gloves and mask, though not before giving one last longing look at the only jeans that fit me perfectly and were actually comfortable. You'd think being a millionaire meant that you'd have uncountable amounts of clothes and a closet as huge as Barbie's dream house, but you need to actually go out and shop for that to be possible and shopping for me was a chore. I could hire someone to do it for me but I was too lazy for that as well. One would wonder how a person as lazy as you could be the CEO of such a huge corporation as ‘Cypher’. Well, that one could keep on wondering because I have no idea. The job was a last-minute one so I didn't exactly get time to get all dressed up for the occasion. Dante had a flight in the morning and with his history of running away, we couldn't wait any longer. The police couldn't do anything about him. One, they had no evidence. Two even if they did, Nero was too influential for him to actually get convicted. We knew it was now or never since once he was out of the country even we couldn't get to him. After putting on the only T-shirt and jeans that were there in the glove compartment, I opened the driver's seat and hopped inside, blasting the radio as I drove out of the half-built building and onto the dark, empty highway. An incoming call snapped me out of my empty daze and seeing the caller ID, I instantly jab the green button. “I’m done with cleaning up and I’ve already disposed of the garbage. Threw it right down the cliff and into the ocean.” I said. “Good work. I'll let the client know. You know what to do next right?” Of course, I did. It was the same routine each time. “Yep, I'll send you the pic in a sec.” “Perfect. Oh and Keir?” “Yeah, Vi?” I asked. “Nevermind,” she mumbled and cut the call. I looked down at my phone with a perplexed expression. What was that all about? For as long as I had known Vi, she never sounded unsure. There was always confidence in her tone. Well, everyone has a bad day or two. Although It's the only thing I knew about her as well. Her voice and the fact that she was a hacker, who could get me any information I wanted. I was pretty sure her name was fake, I mean Vi isn't really a name, is it? I park the murder van in the puny garage of the tiny house. Well, it wasn't much a house, more like a square-shaped building made of baked bricks with a wooden door. Inside was only one big room and a small bathroom. A doorless one at that, with only a WC and a sink. In the main room was a big wooden table and two chairs. Though as useless and out of place as the house looked in front of me, it fit perfectly within the surrounding area of Sredo. The slum of Evrouver city. I could never understand why dad had gone through the trouble to have a house built here in the slums when we had our own very huge and very sophisticated mansion on the other side of the city. It could have been for a place to park the murder van, of course, we couldn't bring such a conspicuous-looking van to such a dignified household. That would scream suspicious. But was that really the only reason? Maybe he had built something underground? Why else would he have had it specifically built, why not just buy one? I wanted to ask. I would. If I remembered that is. Which was highly unlikely since according to my brothers I had the memory of a gerbil. They weren't wrong, like I said before, my mind was incapable of storing stuff that I found useless or uninteresting. Before I knew it, I had already sat inside my own dad’s BMW M3 and drove out of Sredo. On my way to my usual cafe which opened at 4 am in the morning. Perfect timing since it just hit 4:01 am, it had been two hours since I killed the underboss and I knew I was forgetting something, there was an uncomfortable itch inside of me and I pulled out my calendar app to check my schedule. But there was nothing mentioned. It must not have been too important then. After parking the car, I jog out and make my way to the cafe but quickly take a selfie and send it to Vi before entering and taking my usual seat at the very back. The waitress there already knew my usual orders. It was always either an Americano or an iced latte. I signaled two from my hands which meant an iced latte and she nodded. The desserts or snacks were always a surprise to me. I liked it that way. I could never choose from such a vast menu, just told her to bring whatever was the day's special. The cafe was empty except for me and another old man that had just entered so it would have obviously been quiet but it wasn't just that, the atmosphere seemed solemn. That's when I realized the waitress hadn't smiled or said ‘hi’ like usual when I entered, and the TV was off. How unusual. I didn't say anything when she brought over my iced latte and Russian honey cake. She looked at me with a solemn expression, patted my shoulders, and turned around. Weird. “Can you turn the TV on?” I ask. The silence was by now unbearable for me and the uneasy feeling in my heart just kept on increasing. She stiffened for a second, then turned to the table to pick up the remote and turn the TV on. I sighed in relief, sinking my fork into the soft creamy cake as the sound of the anchor women filled the air. There was nothing new, all the usual political crap, as I take a sip of the coffee, my phone pings and I pick it up, scrolling through the hundreds of notifications I had. Opening my i********: I clicked on the newest picture, the one I had taken just a few minutes ago outside the cafe. Vi had already posted it with a caption saying, ‘I'm fueled by happy thoughts and coffee’ I snorted unknowingly. Yeah, happy thoughts. I scrolled down to the picture she had posted an hour ago of me in my bed with a sleepy smile. Of course, it was an old one she had used. I was nowhere near my bed an hour ago, but that was her job too. Giving us an alibi. I read the caption of the picture. ‘Leave the bad memories behind and have faith in a better tomorrow.’ My eyebrow angled up slowly as I clicked on the comments. —‘I wish you a good day.’ —‘That's right, you're strong. You've made it this far, don't let the past affect your future.’ “What in the world—” I stop mid-whisper as my gaze lands on the set of numbers in the corner of the picture. I freeze briefly before swiping down the screen to look at the date. 30th October. Of course, that was it, that's the reason everyone was acting weird today. Almost like on cue, the video of a building on fire appears on the screen as the Newscaster reminded everyone watching what day it was today. The building had erupted into furious flames that threatened to swallow the surrounding houses and forests, but it didn't. The firefighters arrived just in time to put the fire out before it spread. But of course, the building was already scorched, the insides a mess. Each and everyone was presumed dead due to the ferocity of the raging flames. No survivors except for the four seemingly normal and pitiable creatures. One man, a visiting investor, and three kids who looked gaunt and too malnourished for their age. One nine-year-old girl, two young boys, one eleven, and the other twelve years old. The same footage repeated every year for the past 9 years on this same day. 30th October. In honor of the heroes who had tried to shelter and protect orphaned, homeless, and vulnerable kids but died in that horrible accident. Accident. Right for them it was an accident. One which had taken the lives of all the doctors and children that once lived and supposedly ‘thrived’ in said establishment. The place was called, the House of Persephone. When people hear of the name they probably think it symbolizes the ‘goddess of spring.’ But that wasn't it. Just like they had ignored the strange appearance of the kids, they ignored the most common meaning which was ‘bringer of death’. For them, it was a horrible accident and poor kids probably suffered PTSD. Which we did of course but not because of the fire. It was because of the place that was caught in it. It was because of the wretchedness we had to endure day in and day out living in that hell hole, praying for the day to be over just so we could sleep the six hours we were allowed and could afford to before it was morning and we had to get back to ‘work’ after only two pieces of bread and a glass of milk as a whole day meal. I would have loved to say that those were the worst days of my life but sadly that would be a lie. We had gone through worse, way worse and I knew if it was any other normal human being they wouldn't have survived so long. I wasn't bragging, it was the truth. I took the last sip of my coffee before getting up and placing a twenty-dollar note on the counter. I didn't smile, just nodded to the cashier who replied with the usual ‘Thank you and have a nice day.’ On a normal day, I would have replied ‘Thankyou’ or ‘you too’ but all I gave was a small, probably inaudible hum before pulling back the glass door and stepping out into the still lifeless street. I plugged in my ear pods, blasting Haunted by Isabel Larosa as I walked. If dad had witnessed me being so rude I would probably have been reprimanded, and my pocket money cut in half. He was like that, a stickler for rules, and very strict, but of course raising three abnormal, out-of-control, and psychic, psychotic kids was tough, so that was to be expected. We didn't understand how society worked like normal people, we needed to be taught. Taught when to smile and when not to. When to compliment and how. When to get up, when to sit down. To not look completely phlegmatic and threatening. My phone buzzing in my hand brought me back to reality as I opened the car door and answered the call before looking at the caller ID. “Are you almost there?” The familiar voice chirped. It was Vi again. As I took my seat and put the phone on speaker I asked, “Where?” There was a long pause as I closed the car door and buckled my seat belt. “Keir. Please, tell me you didn't forget to pick up your brother from the airport.” Shit. So that's what I was forgetting. “Of course, I didn't. But I still don't understand, why can't he just Uber? You know he's an adult.” “You know your Dad is a stickler for appearances.” “Yeah. Yeah. Hey Vi?” “Yes?” “Can you maybe send his flight details to me? You know just to make sure I have it right.” “Kay, just a sec.” A smile spread across my face. I was already starting to forget the suffocating feeling I had a few moments ago. Lorcan was coming and I would be late since the airport was on the other side of town. I missed seeing him get angry and annoyed. Just hoped it was the actual ‘Lorcan’ and not the other one considering the fact that it wasn’t quite a morning just yet. “Thanks, you're the best,” I said. “Oh, I know,” Vi responded.