I Don’t Make Mistakes – A Short Story by Cg Marinelli

I know I’m a little late on this (a little late meaning a month and a half late), but I finally have something that I’ve written that I deem worthy enough to post. Be warned that I have no editor, I probably do have a couple of errors here or there, and that I’m not a professional. Please enjoy and leave me comments on what you like and what you think I can improve on; constructive criticism is extremely helpful. Thank you, CG.


I Don’t Make Mistakes


Sitting in the questioning room of the FBI headquarters with my hands cuffed to the table, I remained stoic as I faced their best, Special Agent Nathan Shaw, face to face.
“You want to know something Agent Shaw, I’ve never believed in psychology, never will. The whole idea that you can learn everything about someone by simply observing them is just a man’s fantasy. Like right now, you’re observing my actions, and deciding whether or not I’m capable of murder.”
“Mr. Mullins, or can I call you Edward? Ed? You know what, I’m actually just going to stick with Mullins. We don’t even need to decide if you’re guilty or not. There was substantial forensic evidence proving that you were at every scene of every crime, and we matched the mark burned into the victim’s flesh matched the design on your ring.” I removed the ring from my left hand middle finger and spun it on the table. It was my great grandfather’s, and had our family crest stamped into the flat top of the platinum band.
“It seems almost animalistic doesn’t it. All those people, their wrists bound to their ankles, stabbed several times, all non fatal, branded with some sort of seal, throats slit, mounted to the walls of their homes…” I looked off to the side of Agent Shaw’s head and remembered their faces as I pressed my scorching ring into their flesh, marking them permanently.
“Is that a confession Mullins?” Shaw raised an eyebrow, almost daring me to confess, and I’m not one to back down.

“You tell me, Agent Shaw. You were the one to tell me that I was present at every murder, and that my ring is responsible for branding the victims.”
“That’s true, and we’ve discovered something else. The actual murder weapon, a small little pocket knife used to slit their throats, was found in a hidden compartment of your desk drawer.”
“Is that so? Hmm, then why am I here Agent Shaw? Why haven’t you just thrown me into the slammer like you do your other suspects?”
“Because, now that we have the murder weapon, we have the proof, I want to know your motive. Why’d you do it Mullins? There has to be some kind of explanation.”
“Look at me Agent Shaw, what do you see?”
“I see a young man with a brilliant mind who’s wasted all of his potential.”
“No, you see a small, frail, seemingly weak man, who looks like the kid all the bullies beat up at lunch.” At this, Shaw remained silent, observing me, so I continued. “I never fit in anywhere, you know. Not with the jocks, not with the goths, the hippies, the theater kids, not even with the nerds! No, to be seen with me was social suicide. The first time I killed someone I was fifteen. Only fifteen. And it was an accident. I was in the parking lot after hours, my mom had forgotten to pick me up again. My bully at the time, Buzz Jackson, saw me all alone sitting on a bench and decided to give me some company. As soon as I saw him headed towards me I got up off the bench and sprinted away, but Buzz, being the all star track athlete he is, oh forgive me, I mean was, caught up in no time. I looked behind me and saw that he was only an arm’s length away, so I shoved him back, very lightly, but it was enough to do the trick. He fell back, and conked his head on the hard concrete ground. Buzz never got back up.  I began to panic, although underneath my outward projection of panic, I felt a sense of power and pride. I ran from the school, all the way to my home, which was several miles away, and stayed there faking sickness for several days. Luckily, because my school was so dirt poor there were no security cameras to prove that I was there, and no witnesses to recount what happened, so Buzz’s death was deemed an accident. It wasn’t like anyone would believe that I, a weak little looser, would have the guts or power to take in Buzz. Killing Buzz showed me that having control over another’s life makes the normally powerless feel powerful. I’ve discovered that I like that feeling very much. And I didn’t feel any remorse for killing Buzz, the same way I didn’t feel any remorse for any single one of my ‘victims’. Every single one of them committed a crime much worse than I. Infidelity, adultery, and several others. You name it and I can guarantee that one of my ‘victims’ has done it.” Agent Shaw just sat across from me contemplating everything I’d just told him.
“How? How can you go through your daily life like you’ve done nothing, when in reality you killed thirteen people that I know of? Just talking to your sick psychotic ass for the past half hour I get the feeling that there are more that we haven’t even discovered.” At this comment, I started laughing my “sick psychotic ass” off.
“The reason, Agent Shaw, I can go around my daily life acting like I’ve done nothing wrong, is because I truly haven’t. If you think that ridding the world of terrible people is a crime, then I believe that you are the one in the wrong here. I’ve done more to help the world in my mere twenty three years of life than you ever will Agent Shaw.”
“Those people had families, Mullins. People who loved them. People who will miss them.” I just scoffed in response. Not a single person I killed deserved to be here, to breathe the same air as us decent people. No, they all deserved to burn in hell; exactly where I put them.
From under the table he brought out a thick, two inch file, filled to the brim with what I believed to be information from the Crenshaw Falls murders case. He plucked three photographs from the file, and laid them face down on the table before I could catch a full glimpse to see who they are of.
“Well Mullins, I think you’ll remember this guy.” Shaw flipped over one of the photographs to reveal a picture of the CEO of Bankers International, Jack Knox.
“Oh yes, Jack. I remember his very well. Cried the whole time if  I remember correctly, or at least cried until I slit his throat and spilled his blood all over the floor.” Shaw visibly cringed at my comment. I knew I was starting to get to him.
“What exactly did Mr. Knox do to qualify to be one of your victims?”
“Oh, you don’t know? I would assume the FBI would be all over this case?
“Just shut up and answer my questions Mullins.”
“This year alone, he’s stolen over five million dollars from account holders of Bankers International. That more than qualifies him to be one of my victims.” I rolled my eyes. I know they’re just playing with me now. I’ve already confessed and everything. Now all I need is for them to print it in the news, and I’ll get all the credit I deserve. For the people to appreciate what I’ve done for them; the sacrifices I’ve made.
“What about him.” He flips over the second photograph to a young boy, merely twelve years old.
“Oh look, it’s little Johnny.”
“Are you telling me that this kid, this innocent little boy, has somehow wronged the world already?”
“He’s done more wrong than many full grown adults, Agent Shaw. Abandoned by his parents at age six, Johnny hopped from foster home to foster home, until he made a run for it a few months ago. That’s when he made the mistake of trying to pick-pocket me. I was just minding my own business, waiting for my bus at the stop, when I felt someone reach into my back pocket, and try to take my wallet. Now, agent Shaw, I can be a very tolerant guy, especially when it comes to kids, so I let him off with a warning. I told him that if I ever caught him again, he’d pay for it, and lo and behold, not even a month later, I catch him trying to sneak his hand back into my back pocket.  This made me very mad. And what made me even more mad was seeing sweet, little Johnny beating up some poor, tiny kid in front of the bus stop. I understand that he was an orphaned foster kid and all, but the kid had to learn that sometimes you have to pay the price for the things you do. So the next time I saw him waiting outside the bus stop, I offered to pay him fifty dollars if he helped me move some furniture from my apartment to my mom’s house. Poor kid just wanted to make a few bucks, and ended up choking on his own severed tongue.”
“You murdered a young, orphaned boy who just wanted to get by because he tried to steal a couple dollars from you?”
“Why yes, I believe that’s a very justified reason.”
“You are one sick bastard Mullin: a psychotic serial killer and a child murderer.”
“This topic really seems to hit a nerve with you Agent Shaw, got any kids of your own?” I knew asking this would piss him off, but I just couldn’t resist.
This seemed to set Shaw off. He grabbed me by my collar and pulled me very close to him.
“Now you listen to me you little punk. Sarah has nothing to do with this, so let’s just get back on topic.” He released me and I fell back into my chair.
“Ooohhh, so I did guess correctly.” Shaw didn’t respond, instead he flipped over the last picture left on the table.
“Mullins, what if I told you that, once, you got it wrong.” He slid the picture across the table. It was of a beautiful, middle aged woman with warm, hazel eyes and long, chestnut locks.
“Oh I remember her; she was lots of fun. She was one of my first. Her name was Nancy, Nancy Stewart. The whole time she was screaming for a man named George.” I paused to laugh. “Not even at death did she want her husband.”
“Are you sure? Because our squints back at the lab checked her dental records. They belonged to a Mrs. Sally Jensen.” I stopped laughing.
“Then your “squints” must’ve gotten it wrong.” I said forcefully. “Her name was Nancy Stewart, and she was a worthless whore that didn’t deserve to live. That is my job, you see. To purge this world of the evil which makes it impure. To be the savior of the people.”
Agent Shaw slowly leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “My squints don’t make mistakes. She was Sally Jensen. Mother of two, wife to George Walter Jensen, and she has never stolen, never slept with a man other than her husband, and never did anything that would give her the same qualities as your other victims. She was clean and pure, and you took her life away, and when we print it in the paper and broadcast it to the news that Edward Mullins was the psychotic killer responsible for the Crenshaw Fall’s murders the people won’t view you as their savior. No, they’ll view you as some crazy ass bastard who went off on a killing spree.” Hearing this enraged me. I do not make mistakes, and I will not be known as the crazy guy who killed a couple of people.
With all the strength I could muster up, I tilted my head back, and drove it straight into Shaw’s nose with as much force as I could. Blood began spurting from his nostrils, and I knew it would only be seconds before officers would be on me. I stood up and pulled at my hands, still cuffed to the table, in an effort to get them out. Five officers burst into the room, and one of them hit me in the lower back with his baton. I dropped to my knees and arched my back in pain. While I was on the floor, they uncuffed my hands from the table, only to re-cuff them behind my back. They began to drag me out, but I thrashed and wiggled. There was no way they were taking me without a struggle.
I looked over my shoulder back towards Shaw who was in the back left hand corner of the room clutching his nose. I stopped my struggling to say one last thing to Shaw before I was locked up for the rest of eternity, “I AM THE MESSIAH! I AM THE PROTECTOR OF THE PEOPLE, AND THEY WILL SEE THAT! I DO NOT MAKE MISTAKES! MY SOLE PURPOSE IS TO RID THE WORLD OF THE EVIL THAT POLLUTES IT, AND THAT EVIL IS PEOPLE LIKE YOU, AGENT SHAW.”

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