TEARS OF A MURDERER
IN PIECES
Muhsin half-opened the car door with an expression left on his face as a legacy of the trio of fatigue, weariness, and sleeplessness, the gifts of waking up at 3 in the morning. He closed the door again after hearing the sound of the rain outside loud and clear. He followed the drops flowing on the glass with blank eyes for a while and then, he got out of the car with the unwillingness of a child having to get off the bed to make it to school – but with a difference; no child would have such stern a look in their eyes.
Muhsin was a 47-year-old chief from the homicide department, who had dedicated his years to policing. He was a tall, heavy-built man with a permanent frown on his face. His hook nose was large like a mountain dividing his face into two. He had a dark, beardless face; he thought he looked somewhat cute in the dark with his features slightly hidden, but it was the other way around here. Every flash of lightning depicted his sullen face with its entire dreadfulness.
Muhsin fastened his long topcoat and started to walk with heavy steps as if the rain would not touch him at all. All police officers took care not to cross his path, knowing how he was stern in his face as much as in his personality. Paying no attention to anyone or to his surroundings right and left, Muhsin walked on with heavy steps. A crowd had gathered in front of an old three-story building painted in a disgusting shade of green. The house had broken dry painting and plaster on its outer walls even with the iron construction showing in some parts. He thought, “It’s better to get wet in the rain than to go inside,” while taking weary steps towards the entrance. His assistant, Alper, was waiting for him, quivering. Seeing his chief arrive, Alper pulled himself together and rushed to guide the way. Without any word exchanged between them, they started to climb the stairs fenced with broken railings with Alper in the front and Chief Muhsin in the back. The interior of the building was also worn out but did not look as dire as the exterior. Muhsin relaxed a bit and followed Alper, climbing the stairs in twos. In general, Muhsin would arrive at the crime scene to check the surroundings and then receive a briefing from Alper. As he was used to this order of events, Alper had climbed the stairs without saying a word. There would not be any sense in talking and getting a slap on the wrist for nothing.
Alper learned about the benefits of silence on his first day of working with Chief Muhsin. Burning with the desire to prove himself from the get-go, Alper had selected every word to come out of his mouth carefully, even repeating them a few times in his mind. As soon as he had opened his mouth, Chief Muhsin had knitted his brows and said,” firstly, I see the crime scene, and then, if I feel the need, I ask you questions and receive your answers – no need for a briefing. Talking too much is a waste of time,” taking the wind out of his sails. Alper had understood the personality of his chief and learned to act accordingly in time.
Jumping over the last two steps, they entered the house through an open door. This silent had always felt too long for Alper, and this walk was no different. Muhsin was somewhat taken aback upon entering the house because he had expected to see an extension of the derelict exterior inside. With quite a difference from the exterior of the building, the interior looked as if its walls had been painted and plastered quite recently. Alper pointed to the room housing the victim with his hand, thereby concluding the first and probably most boring part of his task without uttering a word.
Muhsin flexed with his hands on his lower back and listen to his bones crack. Then, he started to wander around the room with his glassy eyes. The room looked quite clean and orderly with old-style furniture serving as a strain for the eyes. The room was overflowing with furniture, emitting a thick atmosphere throughout the house. In the rectangular room, there was a single large window right across the door with an old television, probably black-and-white, in front. Three rather old and ugly chairs stood on both sides of the television. Two of them were the same, but the third was a relatively larger chair adorned in a flower pattern. This chair, in fact, represented the strongest impact on the tasteless design of the room. There were white plastic chairs stacked on top of each other, waiting for surprise guests. A single blue chair positioned between these chairs did not fail to contribute to the prevailing eyesore. A large dinner table standing immediately behind Muhsin and right across the window could soften this choking room with its white color. Of course, but for the brown engraved display cabinet behind it. Muhsin’s eyes searched for a heating stove but could only spot a stove hole high on the wall. There was a trace of black soot running down from the hole, marking the seemingly only soiled spot in the room. All pieces of furniture were old but clean. On the ceiling, there was an unpretentious chandelier right in the middle with an ornamented carpet dominated by the color red immediately below. And their raison d’tetre at that moment was lying on the carpet.
Muhsin became aware of the unusual nature of this murder upon his approach to the body. It was the body of a relatively handsome, large man with wide shoulders of around forty years of age. He had a well-built body. It was as if he were watching Muhsin angrily through his open eyelids. There was a five-liter water bottle right next to the head. Instead of water, it contained a dark red fluid which he considered to be blood. Muhsin bent down near the corpse to take a closer look at the cuts on the body. His hairs stood on end in the face of what he saw in close-up. The arms, legs, fingers, and toes of the body had been severed in various parts individually and then, the parts had been put together again as if they were pieces of a puzzle. The body, almost without any of its parts intact, was screened by Muhsin from head to toe. Every finger of the body was severed one by one and was then pieced together with great care. It became clear that the body would fall apart upon a single touch. As Muhsin had seen worse, it did not take him long to get himself together and positioned on its face that blank expression indicating that the scene had not had a bearing on him. However, Alper had been sick twice before his chief arrived despite all of his efforts to look unshaken. As he was not keen on experiencing the same in the presence of his chief, he was standing next to the door, meticulously avoiding the body. In fact, Muhsin did not like anyone to stand over him. Alper appeared to have benefitted greatly from this feature of his chief at that moment. Muhsin straightened himself up and started walking towards Alper to receive the briefing. At that exact moment, his eyes caught a glimpse of a piece of paper on the table. He leaned over the table to take a closer look at the paper; on it was a note written in red – probably in blood – with a bloody fingerprint. The note was concise.
“Find me.”
Muhsin seemed happy upon reading the note. A slight smile appeared on his face, although for a moment, perhaps because it had been a while since such a psychopath had crossed him. This slight smile was wiped from Muhsin’s ever-sullen face, which returned, once again, to its familiar frown. Alper caught this slight smile out of the corner of his eye but did not know what to make of it. In fact, Muhsin had secretly surrendered to a nonsensical joy for finally having met a killer that was his cup of tea. He had seen so many horrible murders that he had taken it for granted that he would not be surprised by any incident; but now, a killer stood before him, one who was either dumb enough to leave their fingerprint or cunning enough to think that their fingerprint would not give them away. Muhsin caught himself praying for the second option and hesitated for a moment and adding a beetle brow to his frown, he turned to Alper and asked him, with a confident voice:
“Yes, what have we got here?”
He then fixed his eyes on Alper’s and waited for the answers to pour. At this stage of his task, Alper would always get possessed with a sense of nervousness, which he could never put his finger on. Despite his years of service with Muhsin, he had not managed to get accustomed to such ill-humor. He tried to adjust his voice just so that he could assert himself before his chief, but failed, as per usual, to catch that tone of voice in his first word. He cleared his throat due to a non-existing frog in his throat and continued with the briefing.
“The victim’s name is Ersin YILMAZ, forty-three, living alone according to the neighbors. He had had a messy divorce.”
Muhsin did not look very content and interrupted Alper with a higher and more confident voice this time.
“Pass on the private life, give me a summary of the events!”
There was his telling-off, and he turned his gaze to Alper once more to hear more about what he wanted to hear about. Alper pulled himself together at once and focused his mind yet again on the body.
“The blood near the victim and the blood in the bottle belonged to the victim. The perp drained the blood from the whole body and severed the body with rather a sharp instrument, but it appears that they were not in a hurry. It is not much, but some blood in the bathroom, where he probably severed the body. They then brought the pieces back together with great care in the living room. Apparently, they do not care about getting caught, as they have left us a letter. The fingerprint on the paper does not belong to the victim. We are probably faced with a dumb killer.”
Muhsin interrupted him again. Everything Alper told him was true, but he was not of the opinion that the perp could be that dumb. In fact, he was almost sure that the killer they were faced with was rather smart.
“Don’t be so sure! If you ask me, the perp is no idiot; in fact, he is rather smart. I’m not expecting anything to come out of the fingerprint. If he wanted to be caught so much, he would be waiting for us standing next to the body with a dumb smile on his face. I see this as a long and difficult investigation, think about it.”
Alper did not know what to say, but if this were the case – it was as such mostly – it would be a good opportunity for him to gain more experience. Alper stopped for a moment to gage his surprise with himself; he even felt guilty. He was literally taking advantage of the body lying in front of them and was not bothered with the death of this man. His surprise grew even bigger as he realized this was how his chief had been feeling for years. He started to bite the end of the pencil in his hand in an effort to put these thoughts away. Knowing how little this absurd behavior would entertain him, he created more valid reasons. After all, this was his job; it was a good thing to shed light on death. He was able to pull himself somewhat together along with the relaxation of looking at things from a different perspective. His chief standing in waiting could, of course, be playing a more effective role in his now clear mind. Muhsin snapped:
“How longer do I have to wait for you?”
Every ounce of his disposition gave away his wish to leave the scene immediately. If it were Alper’s call, they would tour the crime scene in root and branch, but Muhsin was determined to wait for the crime scene investigation report, as he did not expect any evidence to be found. A killer leaving their fingerprint! They had either not been fingerprinted by the police before or used the fingerprint of another person – the fingerprint might belong to a second victim. As these thoughts wandered around in his mind, he started to get excited like a novice police officer and felt the same smile appear on his lips. A crime evoked a sense of excitement in him for the first time in years. The chief had not been excited much with his life, his wife, his children, his friends, daily events, and murders. This fact dispirited him a bit, but he tried not to mind. The man who had climbed the stairs running now started to descend in an enclosure of great weariness. How was it possible that he had not experienced anything exciting in years? What is more painful, he had not been aware of this boring and monotonous life. He was captured by child-like happiness in the face of murder. He continued his descent on the stairs, blaming himself with occasional curse words. Somewhat later, he had a smarter idea. Why would he blame himself? He had someone much better to blame: the killer. All of these memories had awakened in his mind for nothing. Yes, it was best to blame the killer; in fact, once he caught the killer, he could vent all of this on them, as well. Descending the stairs with nonsensical dialogues in his head, he admitted how irrational it was to blame the killer. They were to blame only for killing the guy upstairs; everything else was his own life and his doing. He was just finding it difficult to admit this to himself, that was all. He paused for a moment and looked at the steps with blank eyes. Then, after a few more curse words uttered silently, he changed his mind; blaming the victim was a much better idea. Why on earth had he pulled the facts out of the darkness in his mind? He suddenly grew angry with himself and uttered a few more curse words, this time for himself. Then, he abandoned that slow and weary state and descended the steps running. Without any notice of Alper trying to keep up with him, he went out through the door and continued walking fast in the rain as if to run away from those thoughts.
*****
Davut did not dare even turn on the lights in the bathroom, knowing that he would not be able to stand seeing his own face in the mirror. His mind was wandering grounds for senses of happiness, regret, sorrow, and satisfaction arising from what he has just done. He started to undress himself with rapid movements; he wanted to get rid of all traces of the murder he has just committed. As he was getting undressed, the regret and sorrow in him grew more and more to smother his whole self. He thought he would relax a little and remove himself from what he has just done once undressed. Believing in the impossible had become quite fashionable after all. He stood naked in the middle of the bathroom for a while as if he had not known what he needed to do. His brain was giving orders to his body to walk, but his body was somehow resisting such stubbornness. After some more time of standing still, he managed to start walking towards the door. He summoned all his courage to take a few deep breaths. The sound of his breathing was as if it had been coming from a distance; it was as if he had been watching himself from the outside. Despite his hesitation, he achieved his goal of turning on the lights.
Davut never liked seeing his own body. In fact, he never liked seeing himself. He thought he was extremely ugly and was not wrong about that. He started to take slow steps towards the mirror and just stood there in front of the mirror with his chin glued to his chest. He spent perhaps five minutes before the mirror, not knowing what to do; it was as if he had faded into the small gaps in between the ceramics, crestfallen. He then raised his head involuntarily and looked at the mirror. Davut had a long, thin face with sunken cheeks. His beard was thin, and for him, this was what befitted him as all looked good on his half-measure life. His nose would not be considered too big, but it was slanted to the right due to a childhood accident and less than complemented his ill-shaped face. On his right cheek was a scar not covered by his thin beard, running down from his lower eyelid. He was a dark, dried-up man. It was as if all deformities found their way to unite in his body as a whole or he thought as such. As he was too thin, his Adam’s apple, appearing to be larger than it should be, would move up and down as he spoke. His shoulders had collapsed, and his back became a hunch as he had always walked in a cringe, crestfallen, to hide his ugliness since childhood. Davut had a skinny, frail build from head to toe; but there was one more thing inviting attention among all these deformities: his missing thumb in his left arm. Davut had lost his toe due to a childhood traffic accident, which had also gifted him the scar on his face and his broken nose – let us not forget two broken ribs which would suffer malunion later. His thinness made it impossible to hide his defects. A single crooked bone would be immediately visible within his skinny body.
The body he had just been scared to look at was now his only object of attention because this was one of his ways to hate himself. After a while, his gaze in the mirror had gone blank. Realizing this, he turned his head to the side, walked towards the shower, and placed himself immediately under cold running water. His whole body stiffened for a moment, but then, he got used to the cold water; he stood under the shower doing nothing for a while. He did not consider taking a bath, because he was preoccupied with the thoughts in his head.
He had just committed a murder, no worse, a savage act. The sense of satisfaction sprouting in him had faded quickly and left its place to immeasurable regret. The regret was such that he strained himself not to lose his mind. He was just watching the water running down on his misshapen body and hating himself. He stood motionless under the water and got lost along the curving lines on his brain. He felt fury against himself for remembering everything he had done in minute detail.
He had been planning this murder for a long time; he had followed him from afar for weeks and memorized his routine. He had waited for the right time with no mark of a hurry – with the patience of a lion watching its prey from between the bushes. Finally, he had decided on the right moment and taken action. He had been living a normal life every week day; he even entered and exited his apartment and went to sleep at around the same time daily. He had always stayed alone in his apartment on weekdays for three weeks. The 3 people he had chosen before were not suitable to kill; they were either not suffering from ultimate loneliness like this guy or had possible witnesses around them. Hence, he had given up on his first three targets. In fact, whom he killed was not important for Davut. There was nobody in the world that he loved; thus, he did not care about who died by his hand. What mattered was not to get caught ever regardless of whom he had killed. Suppressing his perverse feelings was enough for him. His best reward was the pleasure he derived from killing a person. Although this feeling would be replaced by murder, Davut was not able to desist from killing. In fact, he orchestrated his previous murders to look like suicides, but could not find enough satisfaction there. He wanted to put more excitement into the game. His expectation was not for people to be scared of him, to be curious about him, or to appreciate his intellect. He was merely after more thrills. That was why he had drained all blood from his last victim into a bottle and severed the body. This murder had given him more pleasure than the ones before. The fingerprint he had left for the police officers to find added more excitement to the mixture. He thought, “I wonder when – or if – they will catch me?” and curiously waited for the events to unfold.
After watching his victim for 3 weeks, Davut had prepared himself to kill him on Tuesday. His job would be even easier, as the victim lived in a house somewhat away from the city. He had paid a visit to the house when no one was around and opened the already loose door with little force to enter. He pushed the door as such once again that night approximately half an hour before the arrival of his victim in the darkness of the night; to his advantage, the door had still not been mended. Taking out a bottle and a rag from the bag in his hand, he stood behind the door in a stakeout. What the excitement already emanating from his impending murder was almost pulling his heart out; following his steps to kill the man once again in his mind, he added fuel to the fire of excitement. He finally started to hear rattling from the front of the door and opened the bottle with a smile on his face and soaked the rag with ether from the bottle and tried to keep control of his trembling hands. He would feel his excitement rise as if it were his first murder every time, but this time, he was home to a different sense of excitement; he became infuriated – even disgusted – with himself for feeling so excited and so pleased for a murder, but the killer inside him was quick to suppress these feelings. He heard the key turn in the lock and glued himself to the back of the door.
Weak with the fatigue of a whole day’s work, Ersin went through the door; he was a layman working in a construction site. His hands were callous after flinging a shovel the whole day. He had lost his only relative in life, his mother, six months ago and started then to live alone. He had an unhappy marriage and after two miscarriages, went through a hostile divorce with his wife. There was nobody behind to feel sad for him. Of course, this part did not matter one bit for Davut. In fact, he had already killed a father of two children without batting an eyelid. Ersin closed the door and took off his shoes. Taking a few steps, he was just about to touch the switch to turn on the lights when Davut sprung forward. He pressed the ether-soaked rag on Ersin’s nose and mouth with his right hand and wrapped his body with his left. Ersin was shocked and in panic in the face of this unexpected event. Then, he started to struggle to free himself, but Davut had a good grip on him with his left hand. Normally, it would be quite difficult for Davut to overpower somebody like Ersin because Ersin was large and well-built, but the whole game had changed with Ersin’s weakness of a whole day’s work, and the element of surprise Davut used to press the ether-soaked rag on his face, catching him unawares. As Ersin breathed in and out, his vision grew darker than the already dark room and then, he let himself go, lying still. Knowing how large the man in his arms was, Davut did not loosen but kept his hand around him for a while. After he had convinced himself that Ersin was completely unconscious, he pulled back his hand and watch him collapse onto the floor. He was pleased that the most difficult part of the job was behind him; now, he had a completely defenseless victim in front of him. Standing still for some time, he waited for his heartbeat to restore its normal pace or at least to slow down a bit. Then, he started to drag Ersin to the bathroom with the joy of a child united with the toy of his dreams. Once he laid his victim on the bathroom floor, he went into the kitchen to find a suitable plastic container for his purposes. After fiddling around for some time, his eyes caught a glimpse of a large plastic can on the balcony and checking the outside thoroughly, he slipped outside and took the plastic can inside with him. Nobody must see him or else, everything would run off the rails. In an effort to avoid suspicion, he maintained Ersin’s routine and turned on the lights and the TV in the living room. Then, he took his bag from the side of the door and went to the bathroom carrying it. He went through his bag and took out a saline tube and a needle. Thanks to her sister, Simge, being an M.D., he was able to access such toys quite quickly. The compelling efforts of his sister to make him give up killing had all been in vain. Simge was in a desperate situation as she also found it impossible to turn her beloved brother in to the police. Every time, she would believe that she was closer to making Davut give up this obsession, but Davut did not agree with her. He was deriving even more pleasure from every new killing. Davut put the contents of his bag to the side and started to undress his victim. Initially, it was enough for him to take off the victim’s coat, pullover, and vest. He was not keen on losing any more time; his excitement was rising, and his impatience forced him to hurry. Davut immediately pierced his victim’s arm with the needle and started to search for his artery; as he could not find it, he opened his bag again and took out a string to tie around Ersin’s arm. After hitting the vein with the needle, he placed the saline tube onto the tip of the needle and placed the other end of the tube into the plastic can. Now, it was time to wait; he started to watch his victim’s blood flow into the plastic can. The excitement in him seemed to have faded a little; he watched the flow of blood without any meaning in his mind. Then, pondering about what he was about to do, he tried to boost his excitement, and he succeeded.
Davut had always been prone to violence since his childhood; at the early age of eight, he took quite a beating from his father for beating a puppy to death. On that day, he had sworn to kill his father, but his father had died of cancer one year later. This death represented the beginning of tough times for him; he realized how important his father, the man he had once wanted to kill, was to him. He was not angry at his father for that beating but prayed to Allah to take the same beating just once more just so that his father would be beside him. He had turned further in onto himself, escorted by such impossible dreams, and became closer to violence. He would beat all children he could capture in the neighborhood and kill any animal on his path. In fact, when he was 10 years old, he caused one of the neighboring children to fall from a building in construction and broke his leg as a result. This aggressive attitude had left Davut with no friends, which made him even more aggressive. He was unknowingly drifting into this vicious circle further with his every step. His mother had remarried six months after his father’s death. He always hated his mother his whole life for that. His stepfather would not care about Davut and even ignore him unless he was in trouble. He would only touch him to give him a beating after every complaint from the neighbors. He had turned his life into an unbearable mess. After his traffic accident at the age of 10, he had calmed down a bit – for about 3 years. Then, he had taken up violence and his pleasure from it yet again.
After draining all blood from his victim’s body, Davut removed the needle and checked his victim’s pulse. There was no motion – Ersin had died of blood loss. He placed the needle and the saline tube back into the bag, out of which he took out a hacksaw and plastic gloves this time. He then proceeded to take off the remaining clothes of his victim; now, Ersin was waiting for him totally naked. He put on the gloves in a hurry and approached his victim with the hacksaw. At that moment, he came to the realization that he had not considered where to begin with the sawing. Deciding to leave the fun part, the victim’s head, to the end, he moved closer to the victim’s toes. He held the left foot, which was closer to him, and started to severe it from the wrist with the saw. There was not much blood shed from his victim owing to the almost total draining of the body. The sound of bone being cut, the sound of the friction between the saw and the bone, titillated him. Davut both liked this sound a lot and felt goose bumps because of it. He put the severed foot onto the ground as if he had been afraid to hurt it. Meanwhile, he thought, “Why am I acting like this? It is not as if he would be able to use this foot again,” and found the situation strange. Breaking himself away from the thought in his mind, he realized that he had already severed the other foot. Voicing his anger towards himself, he said “Concentrate, Davut!” and moved towards the knee area of the victim. He started working on the spot immediately above the kneecap. The thickened bone prolonged the completion of his task, but also added more pleasure to it; but, he knew that the next bone was thicker and would, therefore, require more time. On the one hand, he was rejoicing at the thought of his prolonged pleasure, but on the other, he felt angry at himself for not having strengthened his arm muscles. He then considered that if he had worked out for this, he would have been the first person to work out just to be able to severe somebody’s limbs more easily. He laughed at himself. If somebody spotted him now with a saw in his hand and a smile on his face, cutting a man into pieces, they would probably call a mental hospital rather than the police, but he did not consider himself to be sick. For him, this was a game, a funny game; and today, he would change the rules of the game for the first time.
Once he was done with the legs, finally, he started on the trunk. He was about to approach the man’s abdomen but abandoned the idea – having eviscerated remains around would spoil everything. He left the upper body intact and glanced through the arms and the hands – they were goners. Then, his eyes stopped at the man’s fingers. He thought, “Yes, the fingers for the trunk. 1 to 10 is a good odds ratio,” and smiled. He took out a smaller saw from his bag, which he had actually brought with him just in case; but now, he enjoyed the thought of using different implements for different parts of the body just like a surgeon.
He thought, “I wish Simge were here now to see how meticulous I am at her job. It is not as if she were the only doctor around”. Simge was the only person in this life that he loved and cared about. Davut that beat up, killed or tortured everyone around him throughout his life would become an angel when Simge was concerned. He would always protect and support her. It was almost like he had preserved the last crumb of humanity in him for Simge. Being appreciated by her was quite important for Davut, but he knew it for the fact that he would not be able to gain Simge’s appreciation by killing people. Simge had endeavored greatly and preached incessantly and even threatened to abandon him to make him remove himself from this evil side of his. Davut had managed to hide his murders from her for a while as he knew he would not be able to bear the absence of his sister. When Simge found him out, this had upset her dearly, but she had not been able to abandon his older brother, as she had known how much he cared for her. She had always felt strangely safe beside this man, who had the habit of torturing and killing people without batting an eyelid. He was her older brother despite everything, her only living relative in the world. Davut knew that Simge was acting with such a feeling because this was exactly how he felt.
Davut finally set the ideas in his mind aside and approached the fingers, humming a song stuck in his mind as a legacy from his childhood: “Oh, my thumb! Oh, my thumb! Where are you?” He was reordering every severed finger on the side. He then severed the legs into three pieces like the legs and reordered them on the side again. The body was being broken apart on one side and being brought back together on the other; he had turned this into a game of puzzles for himself. He had never derived such pleasure from any murder before. From now on, he was never going to make any murder look like a suicide, this was much more fun! Yes, he had changed the rules of the game; after all, it was his game. He then congratulated himself for this decision; he was talking to himself as all lonely people would. For him, a person talking to himself was a case of loneliness rather than madness. Saying, “But I am not that lonely, I have Simge,” he chased away the thoughts in his mind and concentrated on the task at hand once again.
It was now time for the most exciting part of the job: the beheading. He was just about to approach the head when his eyes became fixed on the man’s privates. He said, “I can’t miss that part,” and taking out the small saw, he severed the penis with a swift move and left it on the ground in the middle of the two non-existent legs. Then, he took the large saw to the head; he paused and waited for his excitement to fade a little. He kneeled down, took the man’s head between his legs, and pulled it towards him from the forehead. Now, he had a clear vision of his throat. His Adam’s apple created a protrusion. When he placed the saw at the intersection between the neck and the head, he was as happy as or even happier than a bride cutting her wedding cake; but, as the saw started to cut the flesh, he realized that this task was too titillating and even frustrating. The beheading was nothing like cutting the trunk; it did not provide him with the pleasure he had expected. Perhaps, this feeling was the product of the man’s open left eye, who knew? Davut positioned a false sense of satisfaction and a frail smile on his face and continued to saw. Having severed the head completely, he pulled it a little upwards and let it fall to the ground. Ersin was looking at him with his only open eye as if to call him to account for what he had done and with all of his hatred.
Davut realized that he had been shivering under running cold water in the shower. He had been so deep in is thoughts that he had forgotten that he was in the shower. In fact, where he was at that moment was no longer significant for him. Trying to stop his shivering, he turned on the hot water. He had not been able to think of leaving the shower and continued to shiver until the water turned warm. Finally, the water started to reach warmth and Davut’s tense body slowly relaxed. After a while, he recomposed himself completely and pushed his thoughts aside, starting to lather his whole body as if to cleanse it of his evil doing. Trying hard not to think about the head he had severed or the body he had cut into pieces, he cleaned himself from head to toe. The cleaning was completely physical contrary to his initial expectations; he had not been able to cleanse himself of any bad memory one slight bit. Quite the reverse, the sense of regret and disgust inside him had grown further. During his childhood, everybody had known that he had been killing cats and dogs, but nobody had known that he would cry for hours in secrets after every animal he had slaughtered. He needed somebody to save him from this dump. Simge would not be able to do it, because she loved her brother so much. Only a person who would be ready to use force on Davut when needed could change him. Was this at all possible? Even Davut did not know the answer to this question.
Davut was starving, but he needed to put away his clothes before he could eat. Nobody would stop him on the way and ask for his fingerprints, but it would not fare well for him if he was seen in the same clothes somewhere. That said, he had actually considered everything in minute detail and acted quite carefully. He did not think there to be somebody who had seen him, and anyone who had would not pay attention to him anyway. Who would pay attention to passers-by? Even if somebody did, how well would they notice them? In any case, he was not ready to leave it to chance; he filled a large bag with all of the clothes and shoes he had just taken off. As his apartment had central heating, it was difficult for him to destroy these at home. Putting old cardboards and newspapers into the bag, he went down to the boiler room. The caretaker was not to be seen, which was good for him since he was one curious man. Losing no time, he threw the bag in his hand into the boiler and waited for his clothes to burn for a while. He wondered if such measures were actually necessary, but yes, they were. The only reason why he had not been caught until then was his principle of acting cautiously and upon careful thinking. Once he was finally sure that all of his clothes had caught fire, he took fast steps to go back up. He did not want the caretaker to see him one bit; in fact, he was not a talkative person and did not enjoy the company of the caretaker, who definitely was. In fact, he even thought about killing him once, but he gave up on this idea quickly. Davut had rules which he never lost sight of, and one of these was: “Never kill somebody you know.” If you had killed somebody you did not know at all, somebody you did not have even the slightest ties with, nobody would suspect you. But if you had killed somebody you knew or more importantly, somebody you had a feud with, then you became a suspect in the eyes of the police. In this case, your chances of making a mistake or panicking increased. He had disguised 5 murders as suicides until then and had no problems, and there was no chance of a problem with his last murder, either. If not for the rules, he would have been caught a long time ago. Ascending the stairs, he got lost in thought and murmured to himself: “I cannot afford to make any mistakes now.” This was actually the exact case. Before now, he had always made his murders look like suicides and left no evidence behind. Even if he had been caught red-handed, he would have been tried for a single murder. But now, he had left a fingerprint at the crime scene. If he got caught with his next murder, it would mean being tried and convicted for his current murder. From now on, every new murder would increase his sentence, which required him to act much more carefully. Davut secretly enjoyed this succession; now, murders would be not at all ordinary, but much more exciting. He would take every step with great care and cause the police officers to lose their heads. He now needed to do his research more thoroughly, to prolong his observation periods, and to choose easier targets in order not to get caught. What mattered for him was to be able to commit as many murders as possible without getting caught, this was his fun. He did not care about the age, sex, wealth or status of his victims. The part that excited him the most was the part where he killed the victim – every breathing person would die eventually. Yes, one man was all he needed, and the rest was in his hands; he could torture and kill in any way of his choosing.
He went through his pocket and found the key. Opening the door, he came to a painful realization. His internal sense of regret was entirely gone. He felt guilty yet again upon entering his apartment, but this time, it was not because of the murder he had committed, but his anger with himself for having forgotten about the situation so quickly.
These fluctuations in Davut’s state of mind caused further damage to his psychological condition. This situation was affecting Simge, as well. She would always hesitate when approaching her brother as she would not be able to understand his state of mind at that moment in time. After he had taken a few steps in the living room, the power went out. Every time two drops of water fell from the sky, they would cause an immediate blackout. Taking this opportunity, Davut decided to sleep also to relieve his mind of his thoughts. He had to wait for Simge to come home before he could eat. He was not in the habit of cooking unless he absolutely had to, and he was not known for his cooking skills. He did not feel like going to the bedroom. He lay down on the triple sofa that was close to the radiator and fell fast asleep in a short while. Despite the numerous murders he had committed, he would not have any difficulty in falling asleep. Simge had always been astonished by this fact. If she had killed someone, she would suffer from restlessness for weeks, months or even years and would find it rather difficult to sleep, she was sure of that. Such cold blood on Davut’s side was a sickness in her eyes; she could explain her brother’s condition only with this perspective. The fact was that it was more difficult for Davut to fall asleep on days when he did not commit murder; his impatience to kill would chase away his sleep.
Davut had been asleep merely for half an hour, the power came back on, and since he had not turned off the light, the whole room and Davut’s sleep were smothered in the light. Davut turned his back and tried to get back to sleep by putting his arm over his face as a cover against the light.
Simge was very careful about fashion trends and the harmony of colors; therefore, she had decorated the apartment with a chic, but simple design. The apartment had a modern feel that did not burden the eyes. The L-shaped living room had walls painted in two different colors, lilac, and white, with two forms of harmoniously colored lighting fixtures. The flooring was in dark grey parquet. Quite a chic bamboo curtain was hanging on the large window right across the entrance. Right in front of it was the couch in shades of crème, which Davut was now trying to sleep on, and it was patterned in a purple patchwork of squares of various sizes. The same patchwork was also used with the dark grey seat standing to the left. The white bookcase behind the seat was full of figurines rather than books. Three pictures in white frames were hung on this wall and two others on the opposite wall. There were magazines scattered on the square coffee table standing on the large carpet adorned with a pattern of concentric circles. A sizeable television furnished the sumptuous unit in front of the right wall. The other part of the L-shaped room had been designed as a dining room. To the left of the dinner table and chairs was a grand clock covering the entire wall and to their right, the kitchen. The kitchen and the dining area were separated by a chic bar table. With white-painted walls, black cupboards, and red home appliances, the kitchen reflected “the harmony of transverse colors” in Simge’s words. Simge would say so to her friends, smiling. She loved to entertain and thus, would be quite attentive to the design of her apartment. As Davut disliked crowds and people, whenever Simge expected her friends over, he would either escape from the apartment or shut himself in his room with strict cautions to Simge for her guests not to disturb him. The two opposite siblings were able to live in the same apartment without any issues despite their disharmony. This situation was a source of both astonishment and joy for Simge.
Davut had been able to fall asleep immediately before, but now, he was beaten by the light. As he had been too lazy to get up and turn off the light, he lost his sleep. He murmured, “Davut, you prepare for months for murder, but are too lazy to turn off the lights!” and became angry with himself or, in his words, he was giving himself a telling-off. Hearing the door clatter, he shielded his face with his arm once again and stood motionless. Simge had come home; seeing as he was asleep, she could turn off the lights again. Simge entered through the door and took of her shoes and hung her coat onto the coat rack. She had had warm clothes on but was still cold. Rubbing her cheeks with her hands, she tried to feel herself again. She called out:
“I am home, brother.”
Receiving no response from Davut, she dragged her feet towards the living room. She opened the door and seeing his brother lying on the couch, she called out again:
“Get up, you sleepy head. I am as hungry as a horse. Come and help me a little or I could die of hunger before I finish cooking.”
Simge was impatiently waiting for Davut to wake up in front of the door. Her cheeks were pink with cold. Simge had a round face; her nose was quite small, which allowed her to look as cute as she was beautiful. She had well-maintained black straight hair extending down to her waist. Her large, black eyes were adorned with a unique look when she smiled. For Davut, the most favorite thing in the world was his sister’s smile. Simge was already beautiful, but her beauty exceeded itself when she smiled. A smile could befit a person only as much as hers did her. Simge was not thin but could not be considered fat. She had a slightly plump, but well-proportioned build. Her height was around 1.72, and Simge was light-skinned by contrast with her brother. It was as if Allah had spared everything He cut down on with Davut for Simge; there was quite a difference between the two siblings. Davut was quite pleased with this contrast because the one who deserved such beauty between them was his sister, not him. According to him, his own face had been designed quite accurately for his personality. Simge was not intent on waiting longer; she went to her brother’s side, lifted his arm shielding his eyes and complained:
“I know you aren’t sleeping, brother. Come on, don’t be so lazy and get up and help me.”
Having accepted the fact that his sister would not turn off the lights, Davut stood up unwillingly.
“Alright, alright. I am up. I am not mad enough to pick a fight with you. Let me just wash my face.”
Simge called out to him while Davut was making his way to the bathroom:
“My smart brother would not enter any argument he knows he will lose. Come on, get a move on or else you will find me dead of hunger when you do.”
Davut never liked to hear the word ‘death’ from his sister, losing her was the scariest thought for him. As Simge knew this quite well, she would get on her brother’s nerves by repeating the word. Once Davut had entered the bathroom, Simge went to her room to change.
Despite her relatively relaxed working day, Simge felt extremely tired that day. She wanted to have dinner and go to bed immediately. She undressed to her underwear and approached the wardrobe to fetch her clothes, seeing herself in the mirror. She was really a beautiful woman. She had a plump and lively body despite her 37 years of age. Watching herself in the mirror was not a good idea at that moment. The pressure from her hunger took her away from the mirror, and she started to search for her comfortable track suit in the wardrobe.
Despite approaching forty years of age, Simge had never married. She actually had a deep desire to get married and start a family; she had been on the verge of marriage twice. For some reason, she could never meet somebody whom she would be able to get along with or perhaps, she was too picky, who knew? She would always approach a new relationship with care. The good-for-nothings that had crossed her path before forced him to be extremely cautious. She must have drawn this habit from her brother; she would go over everything with a fine comb. Every passing day diminished her desire to get married and have a child. In fact, she was an idealistic medical doctor dedicated to her patients. Her life always boiled down to her work and her brother.
Davut returned to the living room after washing up, looked around, but Simge was not around. He held his head out the door and shouted:
“Hey! Simge, you’ve disturbed my sleep, and now you’ve disappeared! Come back here this instant!”
Simge had actually heard his brother but did not make a sound. Davut then called out on her again, this time with a scornful voice:
“Hey! Have you really died of hunger, you chubby cheeks?”
These words would be enough for Simge to appear next to him and as he guessed, they were. Simge was right beside him, akimbo, with an expression of half anger and half menace.
“Was it you talking to me? I couldn’t hear you!”
Knowing he would end up a loser in this argument, Davut immediately retreated.
“I said, ‘I am hungry, where have you been?’”
Simge put on a mischievous smile with the joy of having won.
“Yes, just as I thought.”
Two siblings started for the kitchen, it was time for dinner.

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Tears Of A Murderer

Life of a Serial Murderer

Psychological war of Davut committing inconceivable murders with deep remorse and guilty conscience following a burning passion and pleasure.

Will Simge, his sister, the only beauty in his life, cure him? Or will he be caught by the chasing police inspector, Muhsin? What end Davut awaits?

Appalling, alluring, fascinating and absorbing history

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