4. ANDREW

            “My name is Ian Hurts and this is how I killed Andrew Deltorn.”

            Two years had passed since that horrible night that Mia was found dead, after being pushed from the sixth floor of Lavas University building. Ian was never accused back then. When the police found him, he simply stated that he was away on vacation at this particular time and had left his key to his dorm room to his friend Mia. Strangely enough, he found witnesses to support this statement. He was even offered medical psychiatric support to deal with the suicide of his beloved friend. The psychotherapist Lavinia Kull hired Ian as her assistant after he had finished his BA degree in Psychology.

Ian was sitting on the corner of the ridiculously white room of Berg Psychiatric Clinic. The wooden chair he was sitting on was extremely uncomfortable causing him a great deal of back pain. An attractive woman was sitting with legs crossed further away and opposite of them a young man with beards and a knife-scar on his right cheek.

            “Hi, Andrew. It’s been a long time since our last meeting. As you can see Dr. Hurts will be present in our today’s session and I would like to ask you if you feel comfortable with that,” said Dr. Kull with a calm voice.

            “Yes, no problem, Lavinia,” answered the patient giving an intense stare at Ian.

            “So…” Lavinia began to say looking at her patient directly into his eyes, “… you are hospitalized once again two days ago, and I was informed by Dr. Simmons that you have stopped your medication. Which is why you had experienced the panic attack and the incident of rage that led you in custody and then here. Am I right?”

            “Sure,” answered Andrew looking at Lavinia’s legs. She was wearing a black skirt reaching down to her knees. Ian despised Andrew from the very first minute he met him. Dr. Kull didn’t allow any notepads during session. She used to say that she wants the patients to feel like we are there for them and listening and not examining them like experiments and taking notes. So, Ian was really trying to stay focused and remember every little reaction the patient had to each of doctor’s question. Of course, with Andrew, it wasn’t that hard. He made it so much easier for a specialist to analyze him due to his inappropriate behavior.

            “Tell me, Andrew, what did you feel when you hit that man?” asked Dr. Lavinia Kull.

            “Well, he annoyed me…” he answered shortly.

            “In what way, may I ask?”

            “I’ve explained that a hundred times to your little friend Simmons.”

            “Well, yes but you refused to cooperate, and you requested me. So, would you mind telling me on last time?”

 After much huffing and puffing, he agreed to respond. “We were stuck in traffic… and he wasn’t moving… Car horns, yelling, the man could not understand. It was so hot that day… I just lost it. Don’t tell me he didn’t deserve it Lavinia. Come on.”

            “Can you describe me what do you mean by saying I lost it. What did you do?”

            “I got out of the car, really pissed. I ran and opened his door, pulled him out of his BMW and started punching him in the face.”

            “And then what happened?” asked Lavinia without changing any expression on her face or tone in her voice.

            “Well, there was a police car a few miles away, people around us… the drivers… I dunno…”

            “Do you think you deserved to be arrested for what you did?”

            “No.”

            “So, you think it’s ok to beat a man and stay unpunished for that?”

            “I had my reasons.”

Lavinia did not answer. Once again, the expression on her face was remarkably blank. Ian felt like punching the guy, so he could stop talking.

            “Why did you stop your medication?” she then asked.

            “They had side effects.”

            “What kind of side effects?”

            “Sexual…” answered Andrew and moved playfully on his chair. He gave a wicked smile to the doctor and waited for her response.

            “Then why didn’t you request from Dr. Simmons to change your prescription, Andrew?”

            “I like when you say my name,” he replied ignoring her question. Lavinia rolled her eyes and tried to remain calm. Her mind travelled one year ago, when the same words came out of Andrew’s mouth right before he attacked her and sexually assaulted her in her office. After the incident, which she didn’t report exactly as happened, she requested, even begged the medical board to continue the sessions with Andrew on a regular basis. It was a feminist issue for her. She had sworn to protect and heal her patients. She was not going to give up just because she was a woman, and such things can happen by mentally ill male patients. She couldn’t let another man take her case.

            “I think we’re done for today. We will visit again in 3 days. I would like to see some effort on your part, Andrew. I know you don’t want to stay in this clinic forever or end up behind bars. See you in a few days.” Lavinia stood up and left the room. Ian followed her in a hurry, leaving Andrew laughing alone in his room in the psychiatric clinic he was hospitalized in.

They returned to Lavinia’s office to discuss about the patient’s progress. Ian wasn’t interested in his progress, it was pretty clear anyway, but rather in what happened the day of the assault. The day Andrew Deltorn sexually and physically assaulted his own psychiatrist.

Lavinia opened her big dossier with Andrew’s name on it. She put on her glassed and examined the facts one more time.

“Regarding the incident of the last week, I believe our patient…”

“What happened that day, Lavinia?” Ian interrupted her. Lavinia rolled her eyes, stomped by Ian’s question.

“Ian, please…” she hesitated.

“I want to know. I need to know all the information about this patient, otherwise we cannot move on.”

“This is a private matter.”

“It’s no longer private.” Ian raised his voice. Lavinia blinked and lowered her head, unable to find any more excuses to avoid the subject. She was sitting on her side of the desk, but she felt like a patient herself, or even worse like an offender being interrogating.

“Okay Ian….” She took a deep breath and started describing the most horrifying day of her life. Ian crossed his hands, sat comfortably on the big leather armchair, and listened carefully.

“We were here… in this room. I was sitting here and he… exactly where is you now sitting. It was just another session; I could definitely see more progress on his part. Now, I would be lying if I didn’t say that I hadn’t seen some flirting on his behalf. You know… the way he looked at me, some inappropriate jokes every now and then… But I just… I didn’t…”

“You just what?”

“I’m not a woman when I’m in a session. Or a man for that matter. I am a psychiatrist. It’s so unfair for me to have to…” she stopped. She left a weak giggle and exhaled slowly. Ian stayed silent. He listened patiently without interrupting this time.

“It was a few minutes before the session was over. He was my last patient that Friday afternoon. He got up and approached… He came near me. I tried standing up, but he forced me down. Before I even realized what he was trying… what he wanted… Lavinia’s eyes were soaked. Ian was moving uncomfortably on his chair. He wanted to hug her, tell her that everything was okay but that would be inappropriate, at the very least.

“I kept looking at the door, hoping that someone will enter. Another patient or…” she shifted her gaze and changed the tone in her voice. “…You know, Ian, I never cried. Unhealthy as it sounds, I kept it all in. As a patient and a psychiatrist of my own self, I think I did a horrible job in treating me.”

“Lavinia, did he…”

She gave him angry look, forbidding him to say the words…

            “You didn’t tell anyone? You just let him walk free on the streets like a sane man? Like an innocent man?” screamed Ian.

            “Ian! You said you wanted the truth. There you go. But mark my words… this stays between us. We continue our sessions with him. We treat him. You’ve seen many incidents, maybe you have experienced one back in the days when you were practicing in university. Patients attack all the time to…”

            “Lavinia, we’re not talking about a scratch by a mentally ill person hospitalized in a clinic. Cause this is what I have experienced so far. We are talking about a man attacking, beating, and raping a woman in her office.

            “That’s enough. I’m asking you to cooperate and respect my wish to keep this quiet. If you cannot, I’m gonna request your transfer due to your inability to carry out the case. Ian felt like he was framed. He did ask for the truth, but he couldn’t let such a man get away with it only with some anti-depressing pills. He thought what was going on inside Lavinia’s head. Was she feeling embarrassed about what happened? Did she feel weaker, and her pride didn’t let her play the victim? Was it a feminist issue? Whatever the reason, this man deserved a punishment and Ian knew exactly how to perform his own kind of justice to people like him. But he had to wait… patiently until Andrew was out of the clinic.

That day came surprisingly quickly. After they finished their session with Andrew, on yet another Friday afternoon, the two doctors chatted briefly.

            “I don’t understand why you keep defending him. He could be in jail by now if it wasn’t for you. After his wife death – God knows what happened to her, I really doubt it was just a suicide – he started his sessions with you. And then the incident in your office happened and now he beats a man almost to death and… what? He gets to walk happily back to his home, looking for the next victim?”

            “He doesn’t deserve to be in jail. We are doctors of the mind and soul. If we were to send every person who goes astray in jail, then.”

            “You’ve got to be kidding me. There is a fucking limit…” Ian screamed.

            “He can be fixed,” she replied with a calm voice.

            “No, Lavinia. He can’t be fixed. People like him cannot be fixed. I’ve seen it before. There is only one cure.”

            “Jail?” muttered Lavinia. Ian avoided eye contact and stayed quiet. Lavinia looked at him wondering what was on that man’s mind.

“So, what happened that night, Ian?” The whole court was sitting at the edge of their sit, including me, waiting to hear Ian’s fourth statement.

“I left Dr. Kull’s office a few minutes after our last session with Andrew. I felt like walking that day. My apartment wasn’t that far away from the office. I was halfway between the two places, until I realized I had forgotten my phone. Without second thought, I ran back hoping that Lavinia was still there.” Ian took a long pause. He glanced everyone in the courtroom and then he stared at me. I was frozen for a moment, I must admit, but I didn’t look away.

“When I arrived, I saw something really strange. I saw him. Andrew. He was on the other side of the road, smoking a cigarette looking at the office’s window. The light was still on, so the doctor was still there. I knew he was waiting for her. I remember Lavinia’s words: everyone deserves a second chance; you have to give the benefit of the doubt; you can condemn everyone; were doctors of the mind and the soul. Well, screw that. I had to act immediately. Cause I know that if I weren’t there that day, that man would have repeated the same action and probably still be unpunished. What do you think about that? Especially you, the women…”

Ian’s directed to the court and to all women. No one replied. After one minute of silence, the attorney asked,

            “How exactly did you take act, Mr. Hurts? Did you call the police?”

            “I took my pocket knife out and approached him. He recognized me and turned to leave. I didn’t let him. I dragged him in the nearby alley and it him until he was unconscious. Then, I slit his throat and threw his dead body in one of the empty trash cans in the alley. I returned a few minutes later with gasoline and matches and set the whole thing on fire. I was careful although upset. Nobody saw me. I never returned to get my phone that day.”

            “No further questions, your Honor.”         

3. MIA

Ian had been struggling for many days after Matthew’s death. This particular death was supposed to bring Mia one step closer to the salvation she needed, however, it only made matters worse. A drug addict, a worthless junkie who was in love with her abusive drug dealer. Ian thought that she would have moved on by then, but she didn’t. She was suffering from drug withdrawal symptoms as well as the loss of a loved one. She had lost ten pounds in less than a week, and her figure now looked like a fade shadow. Vomiting, sweating, and fainting were a constant companion in her daily routine, and it was the third night sleepless.

            “We need to go to a clinic.” Said Ian for the millionth time. Mia had no strength left to argue again. She was sitting on the floor against his bed, unable to move a muscle. She was holding a wet napkin, with which she would touch her cheeks and forehead every now and then, for a chance to feel refreshed. Every time Ian tried to touch her, she would scream, scratch or even bite him like a wild animal.

            Ian wanted to help her but on his terms. She wasn’t allowed to get out of the room, and of course, no one was allowed to enter either. He didn’t want anyone seeing her or touching her. He would commit her to a clinic for as long as it needed and then they would leave together; far away from everything and everyone and leave happily ever after. At least, that was his initial plan. See, Ian had it all figured out with Mia’s best interest in heart. However, he never considered one major factor that could ruin – as it did – even the greatest of plans. And that factor was no other than Mia.

            It was the fourth sleepless night in a row for both of them. Ian used to lock Mia in his dorm room and leave off to a hotel, so he could get some sleep. He was lucky that he didn’t have a roommate in the campus. Mia exhausted as she was, found what was left of her strength that night and confronted Ian.

            “Did you do it?” she asked with wet eyes looking directly into his. He hadn’t heard her voice for a very long time, and he felt his heart pounding when he finally did. However, as if he just heard the voice but not the question he answered with tenderness,

“Are you feeling all right? Do you want to eat or drink something?”

He slowly touched her pale cheek, and she distanced herself with great fear, almost fell from the chair she was sitting on.

            “Mia? It’s me. Come here”, Ian walked closer to her. She didn’t scream this time.

            “Just give me an answer. Did you do it?” she insisted.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Did you kill Matty?” a tear ran down her face, something that would otherwise make Ian run next to her, hug her, maybe even kiss her forehead and tell her that everything will be ok okay. That was not one of those times. Hearing Mia calling Matthew with a caring nickname drove him over the edge. She had never called him with a tender nickname, except from “hey dude” and “come on man.”

            “Why do you even care? Have you forgotten how he treated you? All the nights you crawled here begging me for help?”

            “Did you kill him?” she repeated with a steady voice.

            “Whoever killed him made you and every other girl a favor.”

            “Every other girl?” Mia rolled her eyes. Ian hit the jackpot. He found her weak spot. That was the way, he thought, to make her see the real Matthew and hate him once and for all.

            “Of course, there were other girls, Mia. You meant nothing to him.”     Mia stood up with difficulty, struggling to balance her weight to her two skinny legs. She walked slowly towards the exit and touched the doorknob. She didn’t turn it, however. The idea that it would be locked again, sent her shivers all over her restless body. She turned and glanced at Ian. He stared with disapproval.

            “I want to go out,” she said calmly. Ian left a chuckle but didn’t answer. When he realized how serious her face looked, he replied by walking slowly towards her.

            “It’s not healthy. You need to rest.”

            “I want to leave,” she screamed.

            “And go where? I mean… look at you.” Ian’s face revealed a repellent, almost nauseating expression. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as she realized her attempt for escape was a failure.

            A blur of darkness against the window was Mia’s only company that night. It would be morning soon. The sun would rise, but Mia will not have the chance to see it. She will not enjoy the warm ray of sunlight on her face. Her chaotic mind and dark thoughts didn’t allow her to cry that night. Ian was fast asleep on the floor. His snoring was indicative of how much tired he was. Mia was lying face down on the bed and thinking of the one thing that ever made her happy and alive. The white powdery substance. A little taste of it and she would be able to deal with everyone, especially Ian. She could claim back the freedom that he so unjustly deprived her – her right to live again.

“It all happened in a moment. It felt like a second for what seemed like an eternity. The sound of Mia trying to open the window woke me up. She was on the desk, barefoot, bouncing against the window. We were on the sixth floor. I tried to calm her down. She was sick. She was still recovering.” Ian stopped for a second and then he continued. “I grabbed her arms and tried to put her back to bed. She was punching and kicking me like a wild animal. Not once did she call for help. Never. All those days that I was supposedly keeping her as my prisoner, she had never screamed for help. I guess she knew that I was trying to protect her. But that night… Her face, her eyes… She was no longer the Mia I knew and… She was gone.”

“Please, tell us what happened next, Mr. Hurts.”

“She snatched the desk lamp, throwing a few books on the floor and hit me hard on the head. I fell on the floor, but I didn’t lose my senses. Mia managed to break the window. I saw her looking outside. There weren’t other windows or balconies, so there was no escape. She must have realized it when she turned and looked at me. I stood up when she murmured something. It must have been the word please or something like that. She was crying and then I knew what I had to do. I gave her the freedom she begged for so eagerly. The only freedom she could have without hurting herself or anyone else. I pushed her out the window, and she accepted the push without uncertainty. Without resistance.”

Ian stopped his testimony. Was that a tear? Was he crying? I stopped the recorder hidden in my purse. I took a quick look inside the court room. People, the jury, the lawyers, everyone – they started felling sympathy for this man. I could see it in their eyes. A man who killed, murdered in cold blood not only random people, but people he claimed he loved. If a person like that id capable of love… I remember his last words to me,

“No one is going to declare they like Ian Hurts, a murderer. They may feel it, but they will never say it.”

Did he know about this?

Did he plan this from the beginning?

I left the courtroom frustrated. He didn’t even look at me. Of course, when an actor is on stage during the performance, he cannot break character, can he?

2. MATTHEW

“My name is Ian Hurts and this is how I killed Matthew Brown.”

It was the third night in a row that Mia was visiting Ian’s dorm room shaking and crying.

            “You need to stop, Mia. Do you understand me? Look at me.”

Ian’s loud and scary voice shook Mia to her own core. She sat on his bed crying, while blook was coming out of her nose. Against her pale skin, the fade, red lipstick, and the ruined, black mascara created an unattractive image to look at. Ian helped her take her clothes off and led her in the shower. While bathing her, Mia was standing still, trying to keep her senses. She felt cold and weak. The endless nights with cocaine overdose were a reality she wanted to escape from – a bad memory that would eventually fade away – a crossroad, hoping she would choose the right path.

She met Ian in ‘Introductions to Developmental Psychology’ class on their first semester in college and they had been inseparable ever since.

            “Just friends, Ian. Let’s not ruin the perfect friendship we’ve got. Okay?”

Ian was attracted to her from the very first day, but he respected her wish to stay just friends with him. Although inseparable, Mia found another kind of interest in their third year in college. She always felt confident about her beauty and for a good reason. She was considered the most beautiful girl in the entire campus. Beauty attracts everyone, but not always the right one. “There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.” Egdar Allan Poe once wrote. Mia met Matthew Brown on his graduation party in the campus and that day was meant to be the beginning of her end.

Matthew Brown, a self-disciplined, diligent straight-A student, with a remarkable personality and the life of every party as told by many. He was selected social chair all four years he was studying Psychology and planned the greatest parties and extracurricular activities of all time, without a doubt. At least that was the CV – cover he tried to promote. That was the real monstrous nature of that creature,

Matthew Brown, a sadistic, loathsome drug dealer with a rotten personality, taking the life from every weak, young kid. He was the perfect choice for a moment of fun and experimentation led to a lifetime of annihilation. Every boy wanted to be like him, and every girl wanted to be with him. Mia was no exception to that rule. He was an egoistic monster who had no respect of other people’s life, but his own.

Ian noticed the bruises on Mia’s skinny body. It wasn’t the first time, but he knew it was going to be the last one. He dried and combed her long, brown hair. He was patient and calm, without any trace of anger or temper. He watched Mia falling asleep the minute she lied down, and just for a second he dreamt of how life would be if she had actually wanted to be with him.

            “Let’s not ruin what we’ve got.”

Isn’t it already ruined? He thought to himself. Ian was sitting on a wooden chair, watching Mia snoring. Behind the pale face, he could no longer see the beauty and innocence that once adored. He got up and put his black jacket on. His mind was blurred, but he had made his decision. After locking the door in his room, he headed to the parking lot. He hesitated for a few seconds thinking of a phrase he once read,

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge dig two graves…”

and after two minutes, he started the car.

On the second day of Ian’s trial, all they asked him was how he managed to kill the victim. Without fear or hesitation this time, he replied:

            “It was Monday midnight. I drove all the way from college to his house. I found the backdoor in the garden open, and I entered. There was complete darkness, so I figured he was either out or sleeping. Lucky for me…”

Yes, that was the expression he used while testifying…

“… I remember walking in the living room and seeing the TV on but muted. I stood in front of the couch, where Matthew was sleeping. I looked at his ugly face and… At that point, I would like to clarify that there was no hesitation at the moment. I had no self-doubt or second thoughts. I wanted to kill him. But I also wanted to look at his ugly face one last time. The face that made Mia, my dear Mia, lose her life to drugs. The face that made her suffer physical assaults and sexual abuse – her and so many other girls…”

            “Objection, your Honor. The offender was asked how he killed the victim. The part about what he thinks or feels about the victim is irrelevant.”

            “Sustained. Mr. Hurts, please, proceed with the description of your act.”

Ian smiled and stared intensely at the lawyer who objected. After almost one minute – a minute that made that particular lawyer’s heart beat faster than it would beat if he had just run a marathon – he continued:

            “I grabbed the pillow from the armchair next to me and covered his face. There was no resistance from his part. It took exactly four minutes, until I uncover his face. I checked his pulse and then his heartbeat. I got my ear near his mouth, so I could see if he was breathing or not. I waited for almost an hour and then I checked again. I wasn’t completely certain until I heard it on the news the next day.”

On the second day of Ian’s trial, all they asked him, was how he killed the innocent victim. I wanted to stand up and ask only one question:

            “What were you thinking during those four minutes?”

1. JONATHAN

“My name is Ian Hurts and this is how I killed Jonathan Martinez.”

Those were the first words I heard coming out of Ian’s mouth. Words uncovering a disturbed mind, revealing a psychopath, a serial killer. However, there was something in Ian’s voice, a quality that could carry away and convince even the hardest of minds, the coldest of hearts. Ian, a 35-year-old psychiatrist, sitting comfortably in court in a tasteless, black suit, describing each murder he had committed with shocking details, was a spectacle of horror. Especially, the ending of each statement… oh, those endings…

The young boys were riding their bikes down the hill with tremendous speed. Ian was first, screaming his head off of excitement, followed by Jordan and Michael. Last, at a short distance was Paul riding his electric wheelchair, lifting his hands up in the sky. The four friends were inseparable since kindergarten, having gone through countless adventures and incredible mischiefs. Their favorite habit was exploring the forest, which was why, almost every day, after school, they would roam the streets with one and only destination; their magical and beloved place.

Like every kid at their age their imagination was running wild. Their idea of building a treehouse in the middle of the woods was carried out with great success. It took almost a month to finish their masterpiece. Jordan, the smartest of the four, had managed to sneak out valuable supplies they could use for the construction part of the treehouse. Handsome Paul was in charge of the decoration. Carpets, picture frames, even paintings. His ability in drawing was exceptional as he had managed to transform the wooden construction into a medieval castle. Chubby Michael was the only member of the food committee. His mother always prepared extra snacks and candies for him and his friends. And then, it was Ian. Blonde, skinny-tall Ian. He was the leader of the group and the mastermind behind everything. He had built the entire thing all by himself. Before his father’s death, the two used to spend a lot of time together, building and destroying little crafts around the house. His father, a civil engineer, loved sharing his passion with his little son and Ian, the 9-year-old rebel, enjoyed listening and challenging his own father with his questions and ideas.

The winter wind was blowing, and the black clouds surrounded the sky were like a bad omen for that particular day. The weather was cold enough to make their bodies shiver, but rain or snow, hurricane or tornado, when it was play-time, nothing else mattered. When the boys arrived at their secret spot, a big surprise was awaiting.       

A group of 7th-graders was vandalizing their fortress. Broken pieces of wood, ripped carpets, graffiti all over the wooden walls with the gang’s symbol, a big black circle and on the inside a trident with every spear looking like the letter J – a manifestation of their atrocities. At the view of the horrible disaster, Ian pushed his bike on the ground and run toward the evil group. His friends followed him in rush.

            “What the hell, do you think you’re doing?” Ian shouted.

The five, young savages started laughing. Jonathan, the leader of their group, walked slowly and stood at a very short distance from Ian’s face.

            “Oh, I’m sorry. Was is it yours?” Jonathan said sarcastically, holding a ripped, white piece of cloth of what seemed to be a bedsheet.

            “This is our place now, so get the hell out of here,” screamed with pride one of the 7th-graders.

            “No way!” shouted Jordan and Michael at the same time.

            “I think the little dwarfs need a lesson,” the evil boys were ready to pick up a fight.

            “Come on guys, let it go. Stop acting stupid,” said Paul.

            “Did you just call me, stupid?” Jonathan looked at him with rage and with a nod to his friends, everyone jumped into a fight. There is no place for argument and conversation when it comes to young boys. It is easier to kick and punch than confront through dialogue. Jonathan, however, avoiding any kind of violence at that point, walked towards Paul. He looked at him with despise. Paul tried to move his way around with his wheelchair in an attempt to help his friends. A friend of Jonathan tried to grab the wheelchair, but Jonathan looked at him angrily.

            “He’s mine,” he said with eyes sparkled, and a face depicting all kinds of pain and anger existing in his soul.

Ian, Jordan and Michael were lying on the ground filled with blood. The barbarian gang was forcing them to stay down, unable to react, and just stare at what Jonathan was doing to little Paul.

Paul’s wheelchair was on the ground, his body lying in the mud. The rain, falling down his face, was covering his tears. He was crying but not because of pain. Either way, he couldn’t feel a thing, could he? Jonathan was kicking and stepping hard on the boy’s paralyzed legs with all the strength he could possess. The anger in his eyes was the one’s of a wild animal devouring its prey.

Ian blacked out for a few minutes during the whole atrocious act of violence. His eyes remained wide open, but he was unable to see anything. He could only listen to the drumming sound of the rain falling from the black sky. Rain, the form of weather that cleanses, washes away everything and brings new life again. And that was exactly what happened at that moment, the events of that day would change Ian’s life forever.

            “Ian? Ian? Can you hear me?” Come on, man get up.” Michael’s voice brought Ian back to reality. He wiped his tears away with his muddy fingers and without saying a word, stood up and started running like he was chased by a rabid dog. The rest of the boys stayed behind, helping Paul get back on his wheelchair. After almost three minutes of what had seemed like the longest time of his life, Ian found the evil gang. They were chased by some men in a nearby farm. They had probably caused more trouble. Ian noticed Jonathan separating from the group running in another direction and followed him. The rain kept falling hard, one could barely see anything around.

As strong as the body may be the power of the mind can be stronger. Ian could never fully remember his first victim – the way he murdered Jonathan at the age of nine. The way he made his heart stopped from beating. That was his statement in the court room, on the first day of his trial:

            “I remember looking at my hands, full of scratches, trembling. It was as if my soul had been separated from my body and there I was… a witness to my own acts. I remember his eyes turning red and wet. I can’t remember his voice. Maybe he was screaming, maybe not. His neck was red. When he was no longer moving, I started running. And that was it.”

Jonathan Martinez was found two days later strangled in the woods and half-eaten by wild animals.

  

My Life as A Murderer

This is the story of Ian Hurts. A young man, a serial killer, who murdered his first victim at the age of 9 and killed countless people since then – people who, according to many, deserved to die. Ian managed to get away with every single murder until the last and only unsuccessful one which led him in court, facing the death penalty. What will be the verdict of this man’s life? Can the act of murder be perceived as an act of justice?

Stay Tuned for a brand new episode every Sunday!!!