ARIZONA

MOON

PART ONE: THE COMFORT OF INSANITY

His name was Collin. He was a quiet boy whom no one wanted to talk to. He didn’t care. He didn’t mind the whispers that preceded his steps. It meant that he was feared. And that always made him feel good.

There was no reason for the fear however, at least not one that any person could place their finger on.

His hair was black and spiked. His eyes were a december blue, cold and dangerously intelligent. His skin was pale and flawless, an attractive boy. Though the girls liked to stare in admiration, none had the courage to let their desires be known to him. Even if they did, Collin wouldn’t have responded to them. He despised their frailty, their willowy demeanor. His teachers thought him the ideal student, though they were secretly terrified of him.

“Collin could grow up to be one of two types of people,” said one of his high school teachers, “A genius artist with demons as his muse, or a sociopath killer.”

They were right on both accounts.

* * * * * * * * * *

THE BIRTH OF COLE

The palm trees tapped his window, like fumbling thieves in the night. The chaotic swirl of stars shone brightly and Collin attempted the impossible task of counting them. He laced his fingers together and laid his head on the fist. The blankets were thrown off him and his naked body was awash in cold blowing from the air vents. His Tabby-Calico kitten, Neko, alighted on the bed, soft paws scarcely making a sound. Collin didn’t pet Neko as he usually would. He was still as the kitten climbed on his slim stomach and rested into a furry ball of white and black. The only sound in the world was of this cat purring contentedly.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Collin said acidly. Neko roused and stared at his master oddly. Collin shooed him off and the cat, not knowing anything of harsh words, padded away into his bed of old blankets. Collin looked at his body, at the blue tinge of light that the moon shining through the window lent him. He liked the creases of his lithe muscles, the stiff mounds of his biceps. He only worked out his arms. For the rest of his body he only desired a small build. But he needed the strength in his arms if he wanted to go through with his plans. Everything he did beyond this point was critical. He swept the room with his eyes and nodded at its bareness. His clothes and other teenage paraphernalia was stowed in the car that his parents had given him for his seventeenth birthday only two months ago. He planned to be gone of this house and his identity by three a.m. tonight. It was one o’clock now.

It was time to start.

Collin got up from his bed, testicles tingling with anticipation. His shoved his toes in the soft fabric of the carpet. He realized now how convenient a carpet was for his purposes. Collin stretched his muscles and yawned. He tried to act more casual than how he felt. He reached for something under his pillow. It was long and slender and glinted in the moonlight. He felt his stomach clench. He took in a large lungful of air and proceeded to stealthily exit his room. Neko, unaware of the calamity soon to occur, meowed softly and licked his paws.

Collin, pale as a ghost, tip-toed down the hallway. The carpet muffled his footsteps. He peered over the railing and saw an orange glow coming from his father’s study. Just as well. His parents room was at the end of the hallway. He reached the door and his hand lingered at the knob.

“Collin, if you do this, nothing will ever be the same for you,” he whispered. Then he thought of all the betrayals in his life, all the disappointments. This fanned the flames of his resolve.

He turned the knob.

His mother, Colleen, was slumbering peacefully in the large kind sized bed. Thick and plush covers protected her from the cold. Her breast rose and fell with inhalation. Collin made sure the windows were closed, the curtains drawn. They were.

Collin moved slowly around to the side on which his mother slept. She was smiling as if with pleasant dreams.

“Time for a harsh awakening,” he said under his breath.

Colleen was attractive for her forty years. Her brown hair showed no signs of gray. She wore no make up and was more beautiful than most her age and younger. All this Collin didn’t consider as he pounced upon her. She sprang awake, eyes dulled with sleep. Evident surprise then occupied her brown eyes. Collin smothered her with a pillow. He lifted his other hand and plunged his knife into her face. Her scream came muffled through the pillow, strangled as her teeth broke into her gaping mouth. Collin slashed furiously. Colleen thrashed and clawed. She almost threw her son off but his muscled arm took hold of one arm as he tore into her face again with the blade. Blood was spraying into his chest and Collin was vaguely aware of his penis stiffening in arousal. Her bucking body and chorus of torment was sensual to him. It satisfied him better than any lover could have. One hand scraped the skin off his arm. Collin barely noticed the pain for the euphoria he felt. At short length Colleen’s struggling weakened as her life poured out and around her son. It was not long after until she was completely still. Steaming blood tickled his thighs. He let out a short, staccato laugh as he removed the shredded pillow. He didn’t even recognize her anymore.

Collin was wild, his blue eyes frantic and searching for no particular thing. His hand ached with so much effort. His handle on the knife became slick with his mother’s life. Suddenly, Collin felt a release in his bowels. He turned and vomited. The bile burned his throat and his eyes swelled with tears.

Collin got off his mother and stood away from the gory scene. He didn’t look back as he left the room.

His body was shaking, trembling so bad with excitement that he almost lost his equilibrium. He held onto the banister as he descended the stairs. His father’s study was open. Charlie, his father, was in a comfortable leather chair. He faced away from his bloody son. Large headphones blasting classical music had spared Charlie from hearing his wife’s dying screams.

Collin stood there for long moments, staring at the premature balding circle on the back of his father’s head. Collin wanted more of a struggle this time. His mother had been far too easy to dispatch. The boy snarled and approached his next victim. He shot out his leg, sending the chair and Charlie to the floor. The headphones dragged the expensive radio equipment crashing on top of him.

“God damn it!” Charlie cursed. He looked up at his son, covered in blood. His blue eyes held incomprehension. Then, understanding spiked with fear. “Colleen! Dear God no!”

Charlie scrambled beneath the heavy equipment but Collin was lifting the chair over his head. His father got on his belly and was just about to be free when the chair came smashing upon his back. Charlie cried out. Collin had dropped the blade when he picked up the chair. His father turned around and used the back of the chair as a shield. Collin was about to get the knife when Charlie’s foot caught in his ankles. There was a snap! as Collin’s ankle twisted. He fell away from the knife.

“What the hell is going on with you, Collin?!” “I hate you!” Collin screeched like a banshee. His voice hurt his throat but he didn’t care. The truth was out in the most obvious of ways. Everything that Collin had kept bubbling under was erupting with vehement force. All the anger, all the hurt, all the beatings were coming back on them tenfold. “You ruined my life!”

Collin pounced on him like a panther, his hands like claws. They reached Charlie’s neck and squeezed with startling strength. Charlie pounded Collin with his fists but Collin had been used to his father’s knuckles. Now there was no pain. Only numbness. Terrifying numbness. Charlie’s face was tinted blue with lack of oxygen.

Eventually Charlie knocked Collin off him. He sprawled on the floor, his own mouth filling with blood. Stars were busting before his eyes. His face was burning with pain. But cutting through all sensations was an urgency: The knife!

Charlie was freeing himself. He reached his desk and was dialing 911. “I cut the cords, Dad.” Collin laughed. His laugh was hollow and frightening. Charlie looked at his son as though for the first time. “Who are you? You‘re not my son.”

“Not the best time to be disowning anyone, Dad.” Collin said. His bare feet touched something hard. The knife.

He pushed the knife with his toes and it slid to his hand. He hurled the blade at his father. The metal pierced the flesh of his hip and drank deep of his blood. Charlie grunted and dropped to the floor.

“Collin! Stop this!” “NO!”

Collin retrieved a chair leg that splintered off the chair and struck his father’s head with it. He swung hard and heard the skull crack. Collin could imagine the splinters of bone driving deep into the brain. Charlie began to shudder uncontrollably. Blood rushed from his fractured skull, running in a thick and dark stream.

Collin looked at the bloody fruits of his labor. He rocked back and forth on his heels. The smell of blood and the sight of his father’s ruined cerebrum was making him sick. Collin got up on unsteady legs and walked to the bathroom. He went into the tub and turned on the shower.

The hot torrents buffeted him deliciously. The thrum of the water was therapeutic. He stared absently as the steam rose like wispy spirits straining to reach heaven. He was in there for a while and almost got out due to an old fear of wasting too much water. He stopped himself.

“Wait, no one’s going to tell me shit.” He nodded and laid down in the tub to be completely suffocated under steam and water.

After the hour long shower, Collin dressed in black shorts and a black shirt; stains didn’t come out so boldly on black fabric. He went upstairs past his mother’s corpse and into his room. Neko was snoring softly. Collin picked him up and carried him into the garage. He secured the tabby in the passenger’s seat. Then he went back upstairs and with an electric lighter and lit his mother’s comforters on fire. He hurried downstairs even as the flaming orange demon devoured his mother. He then lit his father’s hair and clothes on fire. The smell of burning flesh, that harsh stale odor, nearly choked Collin. He didn’t need to set any other part of the small house on fire because the carpet would carry the flames nicely.

He rushed into the garage, opened the automatic door, and got into his car. The key was already there. He turned on the ignition and backed out of there. The El Camino screamed down the street as Collin snapped the last strings of his old identity. He wouldn’t be using his name anymore. He would have to change it. He looked in the rear view mirror and smiled as he saw the house being engulfed in bright red and yellow fire. Then, with that vision, the perfect alias came to him: “Cole.”

Cole looked to the clock and smiled again. It was three a.m.

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