Eric

     Oil refineries, freeways, and the Port of Long Beach set the boundaries of Eric’s home turf in south Los Angeles. Dotted around the neighbourhoods were pumpjacks, which always reminded him of giant praying mantises. When he was younger, he envied the insects’ cunning ferocity. The stink of sewage from the incineration plant in Carson City, mixed with sulphur from the refineries, made his world smell of rotten eggs. The cyanide and ammonia hanging in the air were a common cause of cancer.     

    He was a beautiful boy, perhaps too beautiful. He’d inherited his mother’s large eyes and high cheekbones. This, combined with his timid personality, made his life miserable at home and at school.

   His sensitive nature made him feel terrorized by the viciousness of his father. Jacob, or Jake as he was known, was a mean drunk. He got sadistic pleasure out of backhanding his son for little or no reason, when he least expected it. Eric learned to gauge his moods with precision, and knew when to make himself scarce. Without realising it, he learned to interpret the micro-movements of Jake’s facial muscles, a talent that would soon become key to his success. 

    The day after Eric’s tenth birthday, his older sister died of leukaemia. This had a profound effect on him because Sally had been the only source of affection in his life, and had acted as a buffer against the abuse his father enjoyed inflicting on his weak, effeminate son.

    His mother was both bipolar and alcoholic. She took a daily cocktail of lithium, Xanax, antidepressants, and bourbon. When she was feeling manic, Alice would lurch around the living room singing the latest pop diva hit, until she collapsed in tears on the couch.       

    Her condition, aggravated by her husband’s violent outbursts, which included beatings and rape, also had an extremely detrimental effect on Eric. The psychological terror of these episodes kept him wetting the bed until he was twelve. He retreated into a world of dark fantasy, reading tales that made the grim reality of his life seem normal by comparison.     

    Alice never got over the loss of her daughter, and kept her clothes and toys in boxes in the garage. On Eric’s eleventh birthday, for which his father had bought him a scale model of the truck he drove, he caught Eric playing with Sally’s old Barbie dolls. After knocking him senseless, he forced him to put on Sally’s first communion dress, and told him to mow the front lawn. Eric was humiliated at first, but despite the jeers from the passing cars, began to feel more than comfortable in it. By the time his father ordered him to take it off, he had concluded that it suited him. 

    The onset of puberty revolutionized Eric’s relationship with the world, and his mental transformation far outstripped the physical. This was partly due to the psychedelics he began using, which included PCP and acid. Although he was panic-stricken by his first trip, when one of his bullies spiked his drink in the school cafeteria, he later sought the drug out, fascinated by its mind-bending effects.

    With his father away for weeks at a time on the road, and his mother in a perpetual drug-induced haze, he found the freedom to be himself and pursue his own direction unhindered. In a few short weeks, Eric began to abandon his former self, but the newly emerging being was marred by years of neglect and abuse. As he shed his boyhood, so too, he left behind the meek demeanour of his early years.  

     This physical and emotional trauma, combined with the lack of affection, began to manifest itself in some unusually cruel and perverse pastimes. These included sadomasochistic autoerotic acts, as well as the torturing and killing of stray cats. He lured the animals into the shed in his backyard with a can of tuna, and after restraining them, used his father’s tools in ever more excruciating ways. He disposed of the felines when taking out the garbage from the family’s pale yellow, stucco bungalow.

    From a purely criminal point of view, he graduated from this to petty theft and arson. He stole C. Ds by Brittany Spears and Christina Aguilera, which he would listen to with his mother while she staggered around the house imitating the singers. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he would escape through his bedroom window and wander the streets of Wilmington to break the window of a car and set fire to it with a bottle of gasoline. The adrenaline rush from this was similar to strangling stray cats because the risk of being caught was far greater. Apart from these hobbies, he became enthralled by articles and stories about serial killers, paying particular attention to how they avoided detection or were captured. 

     At seventeen, a few months before he was due to graduate, he got expelled from high school for spiking the drink of the classmate who’d sent him on his first trip, and was sentenced to 90 days’ community service cleaning parks. This did nothing to upset his working-class father. Jake simply informed him that if he wanted to remain under his roof, he would now have to work and pay rent. Within a week, he got a job at a carwash, but remained at home to care for his mother, while his father was away on the road. She was becoming progressively worse, and less able to cope.

   His father took note of the change in Eric, and shied away from hitting him, but the verbal abuse continued. Until one evening, when Eric returned home from the carwash and found him slapping Alice around in the kitchen for not preparing him something to eat. ‘Broozer’, his father’s drinking buddy, was sitting calmly in the living room watching a football game. Eric ran into the kitchen and threw himself at his father, but was laid out cold with a single punch to the jaw. When he came to, Alice had retreated to her bedroom, while his father continued getting drunk with Broozer in front of the television. Eric went to his room, and for two hours stared at a daddy-longlegs in a corner of the ceiling. When he emerged, he found Broozer had left, and his father passed out on the couch. He removed the knife from his pocket and flipped it open. For what seemed like an eternity, he stood trembling with fury, looking down at Jake’s fat, ugly face for several minutes. Something had finally snapped in him, and he knew that his life would not be the same by the time the sun rose. 

    Eric contained the urge to rip into him as he lay snoring on the couch. Instead, he went to his bedroom and dressed entirely in black, including a black cap to cover his sandy blonde hair. He knew his father would be leaving shortly for the warehouse depot to begin his cross-country haul in an eighteen-wheeler. Clutching a 12-inch kitchen knife, he snuck out of the house through his bedroom window and lay down on the floor in front of the rear seat.

    As soon as his father parked next to the warehouse and turned off the engine, he flung open the door and leapt out, scanning the street in both directions. Before Jake could finish saying, “What the fu–”, in rapid succession he struck twice, thrusting the knife into his throat, severing his vocal cords. The feeling in his hand and the sound of the blade as it perforated his neck was an exquisite moment for Eric. He opened the door, pulled him out onto the asphalt, and removed his wallet, watching him gasp as he choked on the blood filling his oesophagus. The horrified, bulging eyes of his father provoked a feeling of omnipotent control, endlessly more thrilling than the faces of the cats he had strangled, or the flames bursting from the cars he had set alight. He stood over him with the urge to continue stabbing, but had read enough newspaper speculation about crime scenes to know that overkill was a sign the victim had been murdered out of personal hatred. With a sense of wonder, he stood watching him with an ecstatic, almost erotic sensation pulsating within, until the final light of life left his eyes.

   With the first faint rays of dawn streaking across the dirty, yellow sky, he entered the backyard of their bungalow, hid from view behind the shed, and stripped down to his underwear. He placed all his clothes in a metal bucket and poured gasoline on them, staring as they incinerated, and then sprayed out the residue. Entering through the rear door, he showered and got into bed. He was surprised how good he felt, without the slightest feeling of remorse. Instead, he was filled with a euphoric sense of victory and supreme invincibility. It was by far better than any drug he had ever tried.     

***      

    He had reached a turning point, where he could have pulled back from the edge and tried to set a different course. But the high he had experienced shortly before, during, and after watching his father’s horror-stricken eyes was something that could only be replicated by killing again. It had become an incessant urge that was difficult to suppress.  

    Eric’s build and facial structure were perfect for crossdressing. His limbs were lightly muscled, long and almost devoid of hair; what little there was disappeared with a bit of hair removal cream. He had already grown out his sandy-blonde hair to shoulder length, and his large, doe-like eyes were skirted with long eyelashes. These were nicely complemented by his cheekbones, which protruded high upon his face. The bodysuit cost him nearly 400 dollars, but after putting on his makeup and black, high-necked tube dress, his appearance was that of a drop-dead gorgeous college freshman.

     He crushed up a 100mg tablet of Benadryl and 50mg of Ketamine along with 2 Xanax and put the mixture in a small bottle, placing it in his silver, low-slung, cocktail purse, along with pepper spray and a telescopic baton. He practiced removing the baton; flicking it out, and striking with it in both standing and seated positions. 

     Lying on the bed, the sound of his mother’s voice spewing vitriol at herself grew more distant as his whole body began to tingle with anticipation. Tomorrow he would still be one more anonymous peon cleaning and polishing cars, but soon, he would strike terror into the hearts of millions.                                     

***                  

    When Friday night finally arrived, Eric made the short drive east to Long Beach. At the first club he tried to enter on Ocean Boulevard, the bouncer asked him for I.D. Pretending to be offended, he left in a huff. He headed slowly inland looking for any bar without a doorman, till he saw the flashing neon lights of ‘Twisters Lounge’, just off of Cherry Avenue. He parked in an alley around the corner between two dumpsters, and got out through the passenger side door. Entering the dimly lit bar, he found mostly men in suits and a few women, older than himself. He thought the clientele, in their thirties and forties, were probably regulars, given the size and location of the bar, and because his presence caused a small stir. He sat in a booth in the corner near the restroom and ordered a wine spritzer. There was a large aquarium with tropical fish built into the wall opposite the bar, with photographs around it of Long Beach in the 1920s, alongside more recent ones taken in the same places. A man in his mid-thirties was chatting with the bartender, but periodically stole a glance at him. When the man finished his drink, he approached; “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.” Eric gently motioned for him to sit, thinking he was handsome enough, though a bit short.  

“What’s a good-looking girl like you doing alone on a Friday night?”

    Eric thought, ‘What a lame line’, which sparked his inventiveness.  

“My date got drunk and started a fight with the waiter, so I left him to it.”

“Ha-ha, good for you.”

    Eric quickly thought of a line to maintain the rhythm of their conversation; “He’s a lawyer; you’d think he’d know better. What do you do?”

“I’m an accountant with Epson.”

    His dead-end comments began to irritate Eric, but he stayed in character; “The one that makes printers?”

“Yup, exciting, no?”; he laughed again. “And you?” 

“I just started an MBA at UCLA, but I’m not sure it’s for me.”

    He smiled and leaned in towards Eric; “And what do you think is for you?”

“Acting, but my dad doesn’t agree.”  

“You should go for it anyway; I regret studying accounting.”

“Well, I would, except he pays the bills.”

“I’m sure you could charm him if you put your mind to it.”

    His suitor’s lack of originality was becoming unbearable; “You’re the charmer.” Eric smiled coquettishly, tilting his head down and to the side.

    He presented his hand. “Jason.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason. I’m Kylie Taylor,” he giggled softly.

    Jason noticed Eric’s glass was almost empty. “Well, Kylie, would you like another drink?”

“Alright.”

“The same?”

“Yes, please.”

    Jason went to the bar to order, returned to the booth, and said, “I’ll be right back”. As he headed for the toilet, Eric went to the bar and took a swivel stick and a napkin from the stack holder. Then he sat down in Jason’s spot, with a direct view of the men’s room, and removed the bottle from his purse. He smiled at the girl who brought him the drinks, picked up Jason’s gin and tonic, and took a sip. The bartender caught him in the act. Eric raised his shoulders slightly and gave him an impish smile. The bartender smiled back and turned to serve a customer. Eric covered the bottle with the napkin, and pretending to remove his lipstick from the edge, poured the contents into the glass, and gave it a quick stir. All the while, he kept an eye on the toilet door. He slid round in the booth, but only enough so that when Jason returned, he would be closer to him. Jason emerged in a state of nervous excitement, and took a long pull on his drink to calm himself. Eric placed his hand on his forearm, and like a girl asking permission from her father, asked, “Could we go for a walk along Seal Beach after this one?”   

“OK, but I left my car at home; I always do on Fridays.” 

“It’s OK, my car’s in the alley; actually, it’s at the mechanic’s. I borrowed my uncle’s van tonight.” 

“What’s up with your car?”

    Eric feigned embarrassment, “I don’t know, something to do with the alternator, whatever that is.”

“Ah yeah, it controls the electrics.”

“Well now I know”; he giggled again. He raised his glass towards Jason’s; they clinked and drank. There was a pause, and Eric took a long sip from his spritzer before asking, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, but I’ve got an ex-wife.” He slurred the last part of his sentence slightly, which alarmed Eric, making him wonder if his concoction was too strong.

    Eric tutted; “Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be, I’m better off now; not financially, of course, ha-ha.” Again, he faltered on the word ‘financially’.  

‘Where do you live?”

“I used to live in a house in San Pedro with my wife and son; now I’ve got an apartment in Bellflower.” He was drawing long breaths, and his speech was slowing. Eric finished his drink, so Jason downed the last of his. He stood up, swaying slightly, and paid the bill. When the bartender gave him his change, he leaned in towards him and whispered something in his ear, making Jason throw his head back, laughing. Returning to the table, he stretched his hand out to Eric and asked, “You ready?” Eric was careful not to pull on his hand when he got up. As they moved to the exit, he saw Jason wave to the bartender in the mirror behind the bar. The bartender nodded, smiling, and then, after checking out Eric’s ass, looked back at Jason and raised his eyebrows.

     Outside, in short steps with a wide gait, Jason teetered with his head and shoulders down. Eric held him by the bicep and guided him to the van. He unlocked the passenger-side door, got in, and slid over the console behind the wheel. As Jason was trying to get up onto the seat, he lost his balance and almost fell backwards before steadying himself by grabbing the door. He settled in, closed the door, and looked behind him. “Huh; hey baby, there’s a bathtub in your van,” he said, chuckling. Turning back towards his escort, expecting a response, Eric struck him hard with the baton on his right temple. He slumped forward, banging his head on the glove compartment with both his arms dangling to the floor; out cold.  

     Now it was Eric who was excited, flying into action with enormous zeal. He donned a plastic poncho, hairnet, and a pair of surgical gloves, and crawled through the gap between the seats. Pulling on Jason’s left arm until he was able to get a grip under both, he dragged him into the back. He leaned him against the outer wall of the Jacuzzi, got in, and pulled him up, over, and into it. He stripped him naked and dressed him in the plaid skirt, blouse, and socks. Then he turned him around, and propped him up on the seat ledge facing the rear doors. He handcuffed his wrists and fastened the chains to the rings on the van’s frame struts with the carabiners, before repeating the process with his ankles. After arranging the blonde wig on him and making up his face, he paused to admire his handiwork and proudly took a Polaroid shot of his first victim. He did not consider the murder of his father as part of his professional portfolio. Finally, he strapped a mouth-ball gag around his head, removed his gloves, hairnet, and poncho, and headed for Whittier Narrows.