EMPATHY WITHIN

PROLOGUE

"IMAGINE EMPATHY"

"Who am I? What am I? Two questions I frequently ask myself in devout hope I can rid myself of this darkness. It hasn't always been like this, I have a loving mother, a successful sister and a sense of family most monsters like me don't have the luxury of ever having.

So you might ask yourself, why is a twenty one year old college student standing fearlessly above another man's corpse. Well that answer is simple, as cliché as it is these days I kill people. But you might ask why? My urges to inflict pain on the human body were not born with me as some "experts" might suggest. No, I inherited this nearly four years ago to the day.

I remember it like it was yesterday, because in my rattled mind it is. Now you might be thinking, wait I bet it stemmed from an abusive mother and father? Maybe a case of childhood bullying? But I'm afraid my crossing point isn't as tragic as others you've heard.

Julie Matthews, the girl who literally turned my world upside down. Before she came along I was stable, happy to engage in the many romantics that beckon in our teenage years but after I met her everything.. changed.

After effortlessly clouding my mind I fell in love too early, you know that love a man feels when he proposes to his wife? That inner most need to settle down with one person who you believe is your soul mate? I felt that emotionality at age seventeen and despite numerous therapy sessions and interventions I feel I'll never love anyone the same way again.

"Son-of-a." I hear him murmur, the man who just ten minutes ago thought a fifteen year old boy was coming to his house. Unfortunately for him someone else did ME. The man on the floors name is Bill Collins, a registered Sex Offender who seemed to slip through the system too many times.

Well that's the Irish courts for you, prosecute a teenager smoking cannabis while a rapist gets out in eight months. I never understood that.

"You cut my ear off you bastard! Who the fuck

are you?."

He mutters again while crawling towards me unknowingly I pierced his spleen with a deep cut, something he won't feel as the anasteha still courses through his body. He's fading, the least I can do is let him know why I'm here.

"Bill Collins, a serial Sex Offender who's molested over twelve women andchildren all around cork city and still walks the streets thanks to our wonderful government. They thought rehabilitation was even an option? Wow, they clearly must of thought you fixed yourself Bill but you didn't did you? Otherwise your chat log wouldn't suggest tonight you were going to meet a fifteen year old unaware and vulnerable boy, but instead you get me."

His eyes gleaming of fear as I pick my blade up. I take a deep breath, serotonin levels sky high now and after I finish him. It feels good, fulfilling if you will. I hold the blade tightly as I position it above his mouth. A mouth he conveniently used to free himself of the bonds an laws our society deemed just. Poetic if you will.

I force the blade through his mouth , blood spatters everywhere, it also begins trickling down his body. I sit down, enjoy my work as I clench my fists with satisfaction, an inner need I've fulfilled or atleast for now, I begin my normal routine of clean up making sure a shred of evidence cannot be a located back to me.

Let's face it though in this country serial killers are the one thing the media doesn't talk about and for now that strikes me as an advantage I cannot squander, my name is Darren Dempsey, and I am EMPTY WITHIN.

Morning After

I hear the birds chirping as I awaken from my slumber. Last night's theatrics no longer at the forefront of my mind I cook breakfast. It's 8 am, I have to make my lecture for 9 shouldn't be be a problem. I pick up my phone to see if anyone has bothered to message me, but as usual nothing. I find it rather degrading, I can't find a friend or lover to embrace me yet my victims are able to manipulate women for their own satisfaction.

Am I ugly? Inside yes, there is no deflecting that truth but outside I'd have to say I'm pretty alright. I'm not Keith Duffy or that muscle bound freak you see at your local gym but I'm rather handsome. And please don't call me vein, if I start believing I'm not good looking murder counts will double, and let's face it I'm too pretty for prison.

All in all I guess killing pedophiles and rapists is is a good thing in hindsight, certainly it has its perks. For instance very vocal mothers have now begun to support the "Inner City Butcher." Page on Facebook. Ironic, I now have a nickname to live up to. I don't own the page myself, but it seems a large quantity of Irish citizens want to see more of my work and who am I to displease them? Darren Dempsey a hero for the people, I can see the posters now!

Enough of the self validation, I got a bus to catch. Soon enough I find myself sitting at the head of the bus, alone as usual but I've gotten used to it. Glancing outside I see glimpses of what could be.. a boy and girl my age standing by the fountain, embracing passionately I can tell he loves her. That simple moment, that moment when two minds connect on the same level that's all I've ever craved, a relationship.

I've never had one, not really. I feel it's because the women I've dated after one or two dates they see it.. the darkness in my soul, the pain in my eyes and they know, they know in that moment I'm damaged and let's face it who wants to settle down with someone as fucked up as me? Nobody.

The bus stops off at its usual location, I grab my bag walk towards the college. Passers by always glance either to the side, or past me. I'm never the object of anyone's attention and for now it needs to stay that way. I think of my mother and suddenly I feel again.

My father and her have always looked out for me, whether it be my numerous suicide attempts or my aftermath with Julie, they stood by me. They thought my heartbreak was due to losing her, but in essence it was to do with "why" I had lost her.

If this was an ordinary break up I doubt my hands would be covered in blood.. I remember when she told me the truth, at that moment I lost all sense of who I was and the hate in my soul would be forever longing for closure.

Moment of Truth: FOUR YEARS EARLIER

I remember it so vividly, I was out with her and all of our friends. We were drinking, partaking in the obvious get togethers rebellious teenagers do. But her face told me a different story, she was suffering inside. "Julie, let's go somewhere we can talk." I asked her curiously trying to find out why she was so saddened.

"Okay." She's muttered softly, a sense of anguish in her voice. We went to a secure area area of the park and then she hit me with it. "My Dad, he's been-he's been touching me." She's could barely finish the sentence as she burst into tears, I held her close. My whole body was shaking abnormally, thoughts of her Father lying in a pile of his own blood soon began to cloud my mind and that moment is where I lost her. But more importantly, where I lost myself.

TBC IN CHAPTER ONE