Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or A Modest Proposal. At all.
WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.
Chapter 3: The First
John waited about ten more extra minutes before walking downstairs again just to be sure he wouldn't be met with those heart-wrenching sobs and screams. He had no intention of being persuaded into letting them go. No…the last thing he needed was a compassionate heart. That would only slow down his mission.
And, besides. He was a butcher. Butchers killed loads of animals and hacked apart their body daily and sold them for economic gain. So, why should he have any qualms about killing kids?
But, they were human.
They were so…young.
They had so much life to look forward to.
Shaking these remorseful thoughts out of his mind, John decided to try and block all pitiful thoughts towards these kids. He could not back out now, after acquiring them.
And, to look on the bright side, these children would be so beneficial to Ireland and Kensdale. Their deaths would mark a new era of recovery and restoration that this town desperately needed. Oh, what big roles they would play!
Composing himself, John picked himself up and marched downstairs once more with his head held high. He had a purpose to fulfill, and he couldn't let pity sentiment stop him from killing these children.
He replaced the mask over his mouth and opened the door. Inside, Tommy lay slumped against his sister who had her arms wrapped around him. Both were unconscious, though.
That was good.
John ran towards them and awkwardly dragged their bodies as quickly as possible from the room and kicked the door shut. Continuing to drag them into the next room, he prayed that they wouldn't wake up.
He opened the door, allowing some cold to escape from the next room. Choice cuts of meat and large chunks of meat hung from hooks around the room, swinging when John accidentally stumbled into one.
Moving sister and brother towards the center of the room, John was grateful that despite the dragging, the O'Callaghan children remained unconscious still. Perhaps he had used too much chloroform. But, nonetheless, it made his hard task easier, as no struggling would occur.
No fighting back.
No defiance.
This was just an easy kill…an easy butchering…and it was something to be perfectly modest about.
So, the time has come. But the question is….who should he kill first?
John gazed at Anne and Tommy's unconscious bodies.
He chose Anne.
Anne was four years older than Tommy and therefore had lived more of her life than he had. When he would…kill Anne…Tommy would at least have…five…ten more minutes of peaceful life?
Then his life would be ended.
Making up his mind, John knelt down and pulled Anne's limp body towards him. Pulling out a knife, he shakily drew his knife and placed the tip of it lightly pressing her throat.
At the worst moment possible, he remembered his father's gruff voice.
John…Raise your knife, press the tip in, and quickly draw a clean line….No! That's not it, you idiot! Can't you do anything right? No you messed it up again! You idiot!
John pushed the terrible recollection from his mind and concentrated on his knife.
Press the tip in.
He pushed the tip in, and hesitantly gazed at Anne. Her body made no conscious response.
Oh my God….He was really doing this…He was really going to kill this child.
John's throat tightened, and his heart rate began to speed up as his adrenaline rushed through his veins.
…And quickly draw a clean line.
John shut his eyes, prayed for the best, and brought his knife down, making a vertical cut. He hoped for the best, and for a while, he could not open his eyes, fearing what he would see.
Cracking an eye open, he looked downwards and saw a puddle of trickling blood pooling near his pants where he sat. Cautiously opening both eyes, he continued to look downwards and allowed his eyes to follow the path the blood made to….to the body.
He had done it.
He had killed his first child…the first sacrifice needed to progress towards a better society.
For a while, he jus stared at the blood trickling out of Anne's neck and made no move to get up and avoid the blood pooling around his clothes. After a few moments of taking in the realization of what he just did, John, without standing up, dragged himself towards little Tommy, who was still sound asleep, unconscious and unknowing of the bloody knife that was hovering over his neck.
Blinking hard and taking in a deep breath, John steadied his hand and brought the tip of the knife down on Tommy's neck, though this time, he was less hesitant about it.
However, Tommy's body began moving, and panicking, John swiftly drew the blade down. He didn't close his eyes this time, and watched with grotesque fascination how his blade sunk deep into the boy's neck, ripped it open, and resurfaced after he pulled it out.
He killed another child.
Trembling, John just had to remain slumped on the floor to release the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in, and tried to calm his racing heart.
He…had just killed….two children…Two children….who were siblings, somebody's children, and human.
Those poor children! And, they didn't even have a chance to fight back and die honorably…John killed them while they slept on, unaware of the danger they were previously in.
What type of a person did that make him?
A murderer?
Perhaps.
A soulless monster?
Probably.
A hero?
Absolutely.
He had done it….He had done it…John had began the first steps of Kensdales' recovery. When no one else realized this town's problem and when no one else acted, John did, and he felt…an odd sense of pride despite a twinge of guilt he felt when he gazed upon his dirtied and bloodied hands.
John stayed there, sitting in silence reflecting on what he had just done while surrounded by hanging meat and two dead bodies. Exhaling slowly, he stood up and walked towards the sink and washed off his hands.
Hm. That actually was not too bad.
In the end, John realized, aren't humans just like animals lined up for slaughter? Both humans and animals could die in the same manner. Both are beneficial to the human race. Both, if conscious, would fight back the same way before succumbing to the knife.
Animals and Humans…
In the end, they are not so different.
What a sad realization…
After, John walked back to the limp bodies and picked up the remains of Anne. Her blood stained his shirt, but he didn't mind. He got animal blood on him all the time, so what was the difference?
Walking up the stairs and out of his butchery, John moved towards his truck. Looking around to make sure no one was looking, he placed Anne's body into the back of the truck and laid a blanket from his trunk on top of her. Turning around to come back for Tommy, he…saw Mrs. O'Callaghan?
Oh no…
Tears streaked down her face as she frantically ran around calling her children's names. When she saw the blue ball they had been kicking earlier near the back of the butchery, her bloodshot eyes widened and she called to John.
"John! Oh dear God…John! Have you seen Anne and Tommy? I told them to come back ages ago, but they haven't come home yet. Have you seen them? This is their ball…Were they here?" she said, picking up the ball.
Fighting to steady his increasingly racing heartbeat, John took several deep breaths before answering. "Mrs. O'Callaghan, I did see them earlier playing outside at lunch break. I came back inside after, and when I came back out again, they were gone. Why? Do you think they wandered off somewhere?"
Okay…That wasn't too big of a lie.
Mrs. O'Callaghan threw her hands up in the air, dropping the ball. "I don't know! I DON'T KNOW! My children…oh…Is that…fresh blood on your shirt? John?"
John attempted to speak calmly. "Mrs. O'Callaghan, I am a butcher. This is normal, isn't it?"
She smoothed back her hair and rubbed her eyes. "…Of course…How silly of me…But, if you see them anywhere, please bring them home! This is not okay…"
John promised and waved good-bye as Mrs. O'Callaghan picked up her children's ball and walked off, still heart-wrenchingly calling her children's name.
That was close. Yes, the town did need to discover the bodies and see that they had two less mouths to feed, but now was not the time, and John still needed to move Tommy. He went back inside his butchery to get Tommy, and walked back outside with him.
John removed the blanket over Anne's body and placed Tommy next to her. Sighing, he placed the blanket once more on them, carefully covering sister and brother.
Then, he got into his truck after closing his butchery for the day, and drove off. He was going to dump the O'Callaghan kids now…People needed to see them and he supposed that their parents needed to have their bodies back.
Driving to an empty park where the O'Callaghans loved to play in, John looked around to make sure no one was watching. At this hour, a bit late in the day, no one was here, so for now, he was safe.
Quickly, he got out of his truck and tore the blanket off of the bodies. Swiftly, he picked up Anne, ran towards a large tree near the outskirts of the park, and laid her there before moving to get Tommy.
After placing him next to his sister, John couldn't help but stare at their motionless bodies.
People said that the dead look as if they were sleeping. If you looked at Anne's…and Tommy's bodies…that was the farthest thing away from the truth. Their bodies, true enough, lied on the dirty ground, motionless, but no. Never did they once cast the illusion of slumber. Drying blood caked their skin, and those large, gaping lacerations on their throats was too noticeable, contrasting, from their pale skin. Filth and a small, lingering smell of increasing decomposition lingered in the air. And, their bodies lied so still and so…dead.
That was it.
They were not sleeping.
They were dead.
Because…How can the dead sleep with their eyes cracked open, staring mindlessly into nowhere? How can they depict innocent sleep with blood all over their bodies?
They. Were. Dead.
John quirked his lips at these thoughts, but then bent down, pulled a small card from his pocket, and placed it between them.
"I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious number of children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present deplorable state of the kingdom a very great additional grievance…"
Previously, he had gotten out his old typewriter and typed up a portion of Swift's essay. He thought that people should know about the literary work that would save their town.
Pleased with the start of his work, John trudged back to his truck, mulling over the realization of what acts he had just committed.
He got into his truck, and just backed up a bit, withdrawing into the shade of a nearby tree. It was time for the children to be found.
Whipping out his phone, he dialed Mrs. Callaghan. In two rings, she picked up.
"Hello? John? Is that you? Have you found them yet?" her frantic voice betraying deep anxiety.
"No…but I'm driving now, and I'm just about to pass that park they used to go to. Would you like me to take a look there?" he calmly said.
"Oh, yes please! I'm near there, so perhaps I'll see you there? I think they should be there…They love that park…Thanks, John." She hung up.
Oh. She was close? John couldn't let her see him here! He drove away and circled around the park quite a few times before parking again, this time in a more noticeable parking spot.
Climbing out of his truck, he squinted in the distance to make sure that the children were still there. They were, but a hovering figure bent over them.
Oh. It was Mrs. O'Callaghan. She got here before him…
Cautiously, he walked towards her, and immediately, his ears were bombarded with saddening sounds of sobbing and crying. As he approached her, Mrs. O'Callaghan had knelt down upon the ground with tears running down her face. Hearing him approach, she called out to him. "John!...Oh, John…My children…My babies….NO…."
Putting on a mask of fake concern and sorrow, he contorted his face into a frown.
"Oh My God…That can't be them…They were only alive…at least three hours ago!" he said.
She sobbed. "I know…Who could have done such a thing."
John denied everything. "I don't know…We have to get them home now, though. They shouldn't stay out here any longer. Come on…You can deal with this at home….and somehow tell your husband…"
John denied this knowledge not only because he did not want to be caught, but also because he remembered what Swift's essay was titled.
A Modest Proposal.
So, naturally, John thought that he should be humble about these modest killings. Nobody should know yet that he had been the one to save them. Where's the modesty in revealing the hero? No…John was modest about the acts he had just committed and stayed silent.
But, Mrs. O'Callaghan, after a few more moments of succumbing to raw emotion, stood up and picked up Tommy, cradling him in her arms.
"No, John…" she tried to speak. "…I think it would be best to…to l-leave them here…until the police come…Yes. I want to find out who did this to them and kill them, and so messing up this would interfere with their investigation. Yes. There is going to be an investigation."
In her hands, she held up the crumpled up card. Oh. She read it already. But, she should share the message with the other people, shouldn't she?
John cleared his throat. "I understand that this is…so incredibly hard, Mrs. O'Callaghan, but…if you want the police to investigate, then shouldn't you bring them that card, too? Was that from here?"
Mrs. O'Callghan slowly nodded and relaxed her grip on the card. "I suppose you're right…And, thank you….John….I suppose now I have to go tell my husband…somehow…And then go to the police."
"Take care of yourself, and…I am sorry." John said.
It was absolutely heartbreaking to see a mother react to seeing her children's dead bodies, but nonetheless, the bodies had been discovered, and so, here comes blissful change!
John cheerfully drove off, expecting to see a dramatic change with Kensdales' denizens.
However, as he passed by the streets, there simply was no noticeable change…Beggars still littered the streets, asking for money from people who couldn't afford to give any. Tired looking adults walked into markets holding large jars of change.
No…
No.
John watched and observed the passing scenes with growing frustration. No! What happened to Kensdales' salvation? Were two children not even enough to spark a new age of recovery?
Fine.
If two children were not enough to cause a change, then more children would have to be needed.
A/N: Unfortunately, this not the most horrific thing that will happen, so keep that in mind, all you tender-hearted and compassionate readers...But, thanks for the reviews! :) Oh! And this is a reminder that there's still time to vote for my first fic, Inside the Minds: Jeremy Sayer in the Profiler's Choice CM Awards, so if you thoroughly and truly enjoyed it, then you should go vote for it!