Page 106 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

And we can paint.

We can live.

And breathe.

And smile.

And then.

Leave the world a better place,

for the next generation of the human race.”

He paused, and then, as he started to manoeuvre himself onto the gurney to lie down, he said,

“Arran was a broken soul.

But his demons roamed the earth.

And the voices of those that are left behind,

will pity him over what they find.

But don’t feel sorry for Arran.

No.

He lived his life as the star of the show.

He always had the last word.

And on the day he died,

he did so with pride.

From the depths of hell...

He made his life a story worthy to tell.”

I jumped as the flatline sound he’d been wheeled in with blared loudly across the warehouse. The two men in the shadows stepped forward, as S.K.A.M. slumped backwards. Then they zipped the body bag up and slowly pushed the gurney back through the crowd as everyone stood to the side and watched in stunned silence as he was slowly carried away.

The screen went black as the recording came to an end, but my heart still beat wildly out of my chest and nausea swirled inside me, making me feel sick to my stomach. I felt dizzy as I panted, panic setting in. I thought that was the worst of it, but as I minimised the video on the screen, I saw another window was open, hiding behind it. A window that filled me with repulsion.

I guessed it was a police report because the images were explicit, and the write-up of events included more details than a newspaper report would give.

The photos showed a single horse from a fairground carousel that’d been fixed to the floor of a warehouse. The naked body of the male victim was on the horse, but brutally impaled on the pole that was used to hold on during the ride. The pole ran through his whole body, protruding out of his neck, his head snapped back at an unnatural angle that was sickening to see. It was clear his neck was broken, and blood soaked the victim’s body from the vicious wounds that’d been inflicted from multiple cuts and stabs.

On the floor, there were streamers and balloons scattered amongst the pools of blood, along with a sash embroidered with the words ‘Finish Line’.

Pinned to the horse’s bridle was a golden rosette with the number one on it. The victim’s hands also appeared to be glued to either side of a golden winner’s trophy. And on the wall, behind the macabre scene, were the words ‘Nice Guys Finish Last’ spray-painted in red paint.

The attacker clearly thought this guy wasn’t nice, the staging of his murder scene showing him as the winner highlighted that. And I knew exactly who that murderer was.

With a heavy heart and an unsteady mind, reeling from the fact that he was still out there, still active, still able to come and find me, I tapped onto the last file. The written report.

In the early hours of Friday morning, the body of forty-two-year-old Alonso Silver was found in an abandoned warehouse not far from his home in Milan. The initial cause of death has been recorded as strangulation.

Following strangulation, the attacker then proceeded to break the victim’s neck and impale him on a metal pole. The pole was initially impaled through the victim’s anus and exited via his neck.