KILLER ADDICTION: When Murder Becomes A Habit

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

SALLY AND I WALKED together along the shores of the Potomac River in West Potomac Park, Washington, D.C. The late afternoon sun was shining on us as bright as the love we had for each other. We passed the memorials of Thomas Jefferson, FDR, and Martin Luther King Jr., then stopped in sight of the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument in the distance. In another time I might have paid attention to these heroes and icons of the USA’s history, but right at this moment I was oblivious. My sole attention was on my darling Sally and the anticipation of what was to come.

Sally was a glorious vision of colour in her splendiferous ensemble of a bright pink tank top, lurid yellow skirt, purple knee-high boots and green hair that she had been showing off for the past week. I looked down at her as we walked side-by-side, enjoying the closeness we loved to share. Ever since we met a little more than a year ago, we had been inseparable, together every day. I had never felt such an intense and desperate love for anyone in my life, and I knew Sally felt the same for me.

I took off my backpack and pulled out two picnic blankets. I laid one out on the soft grass of the riverbank and we sat down, looking across the Potomac to the Lady Bird Johnson Park. We laid back on the blanket and Sally rested full stretch on top of me, reached up to my cheeks and kissed me long and hard on the lips, her tongue flickering and exploring inside my mouth. I responded with an urgency of my own, looked deep into her eyes, felt her breath panting on my face and sensed her longing. I could tell she was ready. She rolled off me; we lounged back on the grassy slope and covered ourselves under the second blanket. Now safely out of view of the prying eyes of passers-by, I removed my belt, excited with anticipation. Sally did the same.

Then I laid out our works on the blanket in a nice neat line—belts, alcohol swabs, cotton ball, water, citric acid, spoon, lighter, syringe, and finally, my baggie of h****n.

Sally’s eyes widened, and her lips parted even more while she eyed the works laid out between us. I prepared the gear, lightly heated the h****n solution, careful not to let it burn and smoke because it wasted the precious d**g. I prepared one hit each—our his-and-her ticket to paradise. Today’s choice was to mainline between the toes, since all our available arm veins had collapsed. We each pricked our needle under the skin between the toes, looked with love at each other, kissed longingly and then simultaneously drove home the plunger of each of our syringes.

As the h****n started coursing through my wasted, tired veins, I laid my head down on the soft blanket and the rush hit me like a sledgehammer. I gazed crookedly into Sally's d**g-hazed eyes and she said, ‘See you on the other side, Simon. Love you, babe.’

It was the last time I would ever hear her voice.