Chapter 15

                                    

                                          
AN guys i am so sorry that I made you wait this long I'm a terrible person and it's totally chill if you unfollowed me within the span of the time I've gotten back and now. I'm trying to update this, and since cal and main character aren't together rn it's not gonna be a very lovey chapter simply bc cal's in jail and shit and im srry ily guys so much thank you for your support enjoy this chapter of killer cal

                          
Calum's POV
                          
	Clifford hadn't returned after he told me that Y/N had ratted me out. I got my lawyer, but all they said was to not say anything. The AFP had enough evidence on me to get me locked away until my hearing. No bail yet. I could still escape. I always escape.
                          
	I wasn't sitting on my bed, I was on the floor. The uniform they gave me was dirty and smelled of dirt and piss. If this was their idea to get me to talk, it wasn't going to work. I knew that what I had done was wrong, but it would be completely stupid of me to take credit for absolutely everything I did.
                          
	Pleading insanity would for sure get me out of this alive, but no possible parole. Even so, I could just as easily go to jail and stay alive, since the death penalty has been abolished. The people would fear me, I'd control them just as much as I control the outside. It's not a bad alternative, but that would mean no Y/N.
                          
	The bitch ratted me out, I should've let her die under my knife the first time. But her going free and me going to jail would result in me not ever seeing her again. No waking up next to her, and obviously no sex at all. Considering I've never done it, it wouldn't be something I would miss. But that dream though, it gave me a hint at all of those pleasures. If I ever were to partake in that, it'd have to be with her.
                          
	I laid down on the ground, letting my eyes fall closed. I can't just not be with her. Or even see her. I have to try. I have to do it for her. My mind falls blank, and just before I'm drifted off to sleep, it wakes back up again. I'm reliving my childhood, all the pain it had caused me.
                          
	My mom had left me on the steps of the porch when I was a baby, that's what the orphanage told me. No one wanted me, not even the people that came to adopt. They'd go for the bright smiling kids, not for the one off to the side surrounded by something else.
                          
	There was one thing I hated more than the frequent visitors by young parents, and that was Luke Hemmings. He'd always be the one parents chose, but since the adoption process was a one week trial, he'd always get sent back and they'd pick someone new. Luke was always the first one chosen. He was deceptive, mean, and condescending, and I hated him.
                          
	We became friends once grade school had started. Being the only two kids our age who were not yet adopted, we were forced to go everywhere together. Luke made me go everywhere with him. The only advantage of him being with me was that he fought off the bullies. But he brought me everywhere. When we were seven he managed to convince me to drink a glass of his pee because he told me it was orange juice. When we were fourteen he showed me what porn was at the library. He was pretty good at computers then too.
                          
	When we were older, he had finally gained enough terror to get his own posse, leaving me alone to fend for myself, which was fine. I had the protection of Luke, and I had my own aura. No one wanted to fuck with me. Or fuck me. Which was both a blessing and a curse. 
                          
	When Luke had left me by myself, there was no telling what I would do. I started with small animals. I was 15. Then slowly their deaths meant nothing to me. I went slowly up the food chain until something finally snapped.
                          
	Someone at my school said something horrible to me, I blocked it out, and I freaked. I didn't go back to that school since then, but the kid who said it was the first of mine to die. The trail I left the police was those of who I deemed should die. When I killed Kevin, I slashed his wrists, trying to make it look like a suicide. I didn't know much about forensics then. But every kill after that, if it was someone whom I felt unworthy of human existence, I ended their life in that way. I may mutilate it, I may not, but I always did that, so the police would be thrown off, and the detectives that worked on it could only be described as lawful good. I think all police officers should have that feeling.