KILLER ADDICTION: When Murder Becomes A Habit

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

EVERYTHING WAS IN PLACE. Ryan had been scoping The Smoker’s place for the past week, as outlined by Leonard in his letter. He had all his supplies; he was all set. He knew the man’s routine and that of his wife, who was working hard tonight packing shelves in the local supermarket while her lazy bastard of a husband hung around the house watching TV and smoking out on the back deck.

Ryan waited long after the children were in bed and fast asleep—he didn’t want any collateral damage. He crept around the backyard and onto the deck, avoiding the light from the kitchen window that cast a faint glow on the decking boards. After a few minutes, The Smoker came out to light up yet another cigarette. He put the cancer stick in his mouth and reached into his pocket for his lighter. Ryan stealthily stepped up behind him, clamped his hand like a trap over his victim’s mouth, then flicked out a switchblade in front of the man’s eyes and pressed it hard against his throat.

‘Not a sound, not one sound, or I’ll slice you from ear to ear. Got it?’ whispered Ryan in an ominous tone, right in the man’s ear.

The Smoker slowly nodded. Ryan continued holding the knife to his victim’s throat, then reached down into his pocket and pulled out an ominous looking muzzle and strapped it around the man’s head. The muzzle had a hard, plastic tube mounted on the inside that forced The Smoker’s teeth apart, leaving his mouth slightly open, but with a heavy cover tightened with Velcro fasteners over the top of the muzzle. With his prey silenced, Ryan ushered him across to the rocking chair on the deck and sat him down, knife still held firmly to throat. ‘Remember, any struggle and you won’t have a windpipe anymore,’ said Ryan, enforcing his control.

With his victim safely seated, Ryan pulled a handful of large plastic zip-ties out of his pocket, handed one to The Smoker and instructed, ‘Okay, nice and slow, strap your left wrist to the arm of the chair using your right hand.’

Understanding that he was in severe danger, The Smoker decided it was time to resist. He violently rocked his head and struggled in the chair but instantly felt how serious Ryan was when he felt the switchblade press into his neck and slice across his throat from right to left, the knife cutting through the skin over his Adam’s apple. As he felt the blood streaming down his neck, he stopped struggling, hoping that somehow tonight wouldn’t end with his death, but knowing that if he continued to fight that he would be dead for sure right now.

Ryan felt the man go slack, eased off the pressure on the knife and said, ‘That’s better. Now tie your wrist like I said.’ This time, The Smoker cooperated and zip-tied his wrist to the arm of the heavy rocking chair.

‘Okay, now place your right wrist on the other arm,’ instructed Ryan, then grabbed another of the heavy zip-ties and expertly pinned his victim’s arm to the chair, pulling the clasp tightly closed. ‘Now the legs,’ said Ryan, and repeated the process, pinning the man’s four limbs to the heavy rocking chair. Ryan went back and checked on the first zip-tie that The Smoker had applied to himself, tightening it up hard.

The last step was to immobilise the head. Ryan joined two zip-ties together end to end for added length, then pulled The Smoker’s head hard against the back of the chair. He weaved the long zip-tie around the man’s neck and through the gaps in the chair back, ratcheting the zip-ties tight to hold the head firmly in place. The man had enough slack to breathe, but his head and neck were locked firmly in position, with no hope of movement.

The Smoker felt the tightness around his limbs and throat and now feared the worst. He had been hoping this would somehow end with just some punishment or a theft, perhaps. But he knew deep down this was the end and was losing all hope of survival. With his head locked in position facing forward, the slightest turn of his head caused the sharp edges of the zip-ties to cut into his neck, slicing new wounds in the already b****y skin. He turned his eyes sideways as far as possible to see what was going on, hating not knowing what his attacker was doing behind him. Then he saw a black shape come around from behind the chair and his attacker stopped in front then leaned in, gazing deep into his own terrified eyes.

Ryan smiled a wolfish grin and licked his lips, eyes dancing with delight. Then he raised his right hand and placed it on the pinned forehead and gave it a gentle push, setting the rocker back and forth. The man was at one with the chair, moving like he was a part of it, rocking back and forth in unison.

The rocking motion somehow soothed The Smoker’s fear, for he had rocked so many nights away in his smoking chair, it had a calming effect on him. Still silenced by the strong, tight muzzle strapped around his head, the man could do nothing except watch and wait. Ryan reached into The Smoker’s top pocket and pulled out the packet of cigarettes and well-worn lighter. Ryan extracted a cigarette from the pack, gave it a practiced tap-tap on the pack, and then lit it up. After a big drawback, he leaned right in close to The Smoker, pulled back the Velcro flap of the muzzle and breathed the full exhalation of smoke right into the man’s mouth, then shut the muzzle flap again. The man in the rocking chair responded by breathing in a deep lungful of air long and hard through his nose, driving the glorious smoke down into his lungs. After a brief pause, a long and lingering breath escaped slowly out through the man’s nostrils, the smoke swirling up in front of his eyes.

‘You really are an addict, aren’t you, man?’ Ryan said with a smile. ‘You really got off on that, didn’t you? But you realise your habit is bad for you, right? Come on, you’ve seen all those ads on TV—“Smoking Kills”. Well tonight, it sure does, dude.’

The Smoker’s stomach dropped as he confirmed his worst fear; tonight would be his last night alive. He struggled again against the zip-ties binding him to the chair and grunted and groaned into the muzzle. But it was hopeless.

Ryan moved away and got to work. He strode off the deck to the yard and picked up an ominous black bag, then moved back onto the deck over to his victim’s pride and joy—his enormous Texas smoker barbecue. Ryan lifted the lid and poured a bag of charcoal into the firebox along with some paper, followed by a very generous splashing of lighter fluid. He then pulled the still-smoking cigarette out of his mouth and casually tossed it onto the drenched charcoal, which instantly exploded in a mini-fireball four feet high out of the smoker box. Ryan waited and watched, making sure the large load of charcoal was well alight, then closed the firebox and the lid of the barbecue.

The Smoker continued to watch silently from his rocking chair, helpless and immovable. He really did not understand what was going on—was this psycho going to kill him or cook him a f*****g steak?

Ryan reached down into his bag and extracted a steel funnel, some heavy gaffer tape and a pair of tin snips. He cut the chimney cap off the Texas Smoker, then upended the funnel and placed it on top of the chimney pipe, which was already belching out a healthy dose of smoke. He gaffer taped the funnel to the chimney, making an effective seal that pushed the smoke faster out of the narrow nozzle. He reached into his bag again and pulled out a length of large diameter rubber hose, then looked at The Smoker with a chilling smile. It did not look good for the man in the chair.

Ryan placed one end of the thick rubber hose over the nozzle of the inverted funnel and taped around it, fixing it firmly in place. He brought the other end of the hose up and studied it with a fascinated look on his face as the smoke puffed out. He moved over to The Smoker and laid the hose down on the deck at the man’s feet, still puffing away.

Ryan reached down into his bag once more and extracted a big, mean-looking industrial stapler. The Smoker did not like where this was headed at all and struggled and thrashed against his bonds, oblivious to the searing pain it caused. He groaned and strained at the muzzle, trying to scream for help, but unable to make a sound audible beyond their private little circle of two.

Ryan moved close to The Smoker until their faces were only inches apart and stared deep into his eyes. The Smoker squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tears streamed out the sides as the horror of what was coming finally gripped him completely. His stomach dropped yet again and this time he lost control of his bladder, feeling the warm piss running down between his legs. His struggling eased as the hopelessness of his situation took over and he flopped back down into the seat, now wet with urine.

The helpless man opened his eyes to see impassive, unfeeling eyes staring back at him, deep into his soul. ‘You brought this on yourself, it’s your own fault,’ said Ryan. ‘All you had to do was give up smoking and not be such a f*****g asshole. But you couldn’t, could you? You were such a prick at that Quit Smoking meeting, you made my choice easy—it was no contest. Goddamn addict!’ he snapped in disgust. Quick as a flash, he shot out his hand, pinched The Smoker’s nose with his fingers and then clamped the big stapler tight over the nostrils and squeezed. Hard.

The Smoker howled in pain into the muzzle and thrashed around in a new struggle against his restraints, but they held him tightly immobilised. Ryan reached out again with the stapler and bang, bang, bang, drove three more big, needle-sharp staples through the nostrils, sealing them shut tight. The Smoker almost passed out through the pain and fear, but unfortunately for him, remained conscious.

Ryan bent down and picked up the thick rubber hose, then quickly peeled back the Velcro flap on the muzzle and jammed the hose through into his victim’s mouth. More gaffer tape finished the job, completing the seal so nothing but smoke could drive its way into the lungs of The Smoker. Ryan stood back and admired his handiwork. His hapless victim was gasping for air and his chest was heaving, desperately fighting against the putrid fumes that were invading his body so completely. After just a few minutes of pointless struggle, it was all over. The addict was dead, his fate sealed by smoke, to which he was so addicted.

‘Stick that in your pipe and smoke it,’ said Ryan, with a satisfied smirk.

‘Cool plan, Leonard, thanks for the help “imagining” this little display,’ Ryan finished with a chuckle. He hoped Leonard wouldn’t find out about this murder, just like he had missed the news about The Junkie.

As planned, Ryan left everything in place, staging the scene for the discovery. There was nothing there that could tie him to the crime. All the items he’d used were commonly available and purchased from several hardware stores in various parts of town. He was wearing gloves, so there would be no fingerprints. The cigarette he had smoked was long burnt in the firebox. He was clean.

Ryan retreated to the back of the garden to wait for The Smoker’s wife to return home. Half an hour later, waiting in the still night amidst the silence of suburbia, Ryan’s pulse quickened as he heard a car out front. He could feel his d**k getting hard as the anticipation built up. After a couple more minutes, he heard the wife angrily call out, ‘You better not be smoking out there, you bastard!’ It was all Ryan could do not to burst out laughing at the irony of it all. His pulse racing, Ryan saw the woman at the screen door, angry face illuminated by the kitchen light as she looked from behind at the figure in the rocking chair with smoke wisps rising from his mouth.

‘Goddamn it, that’s the last straw, I’ve had enough of this s**t!’ she cried out and stormed through the screen door. She grabbed the back of the rocking chair and set it rocking wildly back and forth and then came around to confront her husband. Then the full force hit as she absorbed the horrific scene.

Her scream pierced the night air, the sound waves travelling down the yard to Ryan’s eagerly awaiting ears. She went crazy, pulling the hose out of her husband’s mouth and ripping the muzzle off him as she tried desperately to save him. But she soon calmed down as she realised there was no hope—her husband was long dead. His cheeks were sunken and his face was puckered and drawn like an old prune, dehydrated from the drying effects of the insidious smoke. Understanding the truth, she collapsed on the deck, sobbing her heart out at the cruelty of the act.

Ryan was in heaven, absorbing the glory of the scene he had created and the anguish it brought.

The upstairs light came on and jarred the poor woman back to awareness as she understood she had to protect her children from this horror. She got to her feet and rushed inside to tend to her children, phone already in hand, calling the police.

Excitement over, Ryan exited through the back of the property and walked to his motorbike, jumped aboard, gunned the engine to life and raced off down the street, out of the suburban nightmare.