then I drained the tub and showered and…went on. what do humans do, after all, once they’ve done something immoral or inconceivable? they go on. there’s no other choice if you’ve slipped past the grasp of the law.

so I went about My life and then those feelings of shame and guilt went away. I thought they’d linger forever. but they didn’t.

and I remember thinking, it can’t be this simple. but it was. and pretty soon, more out of curiosity than anything, I killed someone else. and it felt, well, nice. calming. the way a cold glass of beer must feel to an alcoholic coming off a dry spell. the way the first night of sexual intercourse must feel to lovers who’ve been kept apart.

taking another life is a lot like sex actually. sometimes its a transcendent, orgasmic act. other times, it’s just a so-so, okay, no big deal, but what’re you going to do? sort of sensation. but it’s never less than interesting. it’s something you remember.

I’m not sure why I’m writing you, patrick. who I am as I write this isn’t who I am during My day job, nor who I am when I kill. I wear a lot of faces, and some you’ll never see, and some you’d never want to. I’ve seen a few of your faces—a pretty one, a violent one, a reflective one, some others—and I wonder which you’ll wear if we ever meet with carrion between us. I do wonder.

all guiltless, I’ve heard, will meet reproach. maybe so. and so be it. I’m not sure the worthy victims are worth all the trouble actually.

I dreamed once that I was stranded on a planet of the whitest sand. and the sky was white. that’s all there was—Me, spilling drifts of white sand as wide as oceans, and a burning white sky. I was alone. and small. after days of wandering, I could smell My own rot, and I knew I’d die in these drifts of white under a hot sky, and I prayed for shade. and eventually it came. and it had a voice and a name. “Come,” Darkness said, “come with me.” but I was weak, I was rotting, I couldn’t rise to My knees. “Darkness,” I said, “take My hand. Take Me away from this place.” and Darkness did.

so you see what I’m teaching you, patrick?

best,
The Father

“Oh,” Angie said, tossing the letter on her dining room table, “this is good. This guy sounds sane.” She scowled at the letter. “Jesus.”

“I know.”

“People like this,” she said, “exist.”

I nodded. In and of itself that was horrifying. There’s enough evil in the average person who gets up every day, goes to work, thinks of himself as good as much as possible. But maybe he cheats on his wife, maybe he fucks over a co-worker, maybe, in his heart of hearts, he thinks there’s a race or two of people who are inferior to him.