The Mad Quipster

NO EVIL

Inspired by an Obsession

Prologue:

It was 11:31am. Sunlight seeped into a dark cold room while something began to stir itself awake. A corpse named Peter Rip arose from a deep and peaceful sleep. He pulled himself out of bed and stumbled into his restroom. He gazed at the reflection staring back at him: smooth unruly hair as black as ink, pale skin with sunken cheeks, thin limps, and large ice blue eyes that seemed to glow an eerie light. Standing at 6’3 and weighing 130 pounds, Peter looked like an animated skeleton. After taking a long hot shower, he sat in front of his television set and flipped to the news. Immediately the news anchor began, “Just earlier this afternoon, we have received confirmation of a 15th victim in a series of murders where the assailant tears out the victim’s eyes postmortem. As a result, the killer has recently been dubbed with the nickname ‘Mizaru’ after the monkey that sees no evil. Nothing is yet known about the infamous serial killer and the identity of his latest victim is still unknown. As a precaution, we wish to remind our viewers at home: lock your doors and windows at night, and please report any suspicious activity. Now in lighter news, the story of how cheekers the dog saved a child from a nasty spill when we return after these messages.” Peter has been hearing about this murderer for months now and the police are still nowhere near catching him; he wasn’t sure whether to be more impressed by the killer’s discretion or by the incompetence of the police force. “Responsible for only 15 deaths and the city is approaching a lockdown. If only the world knew how many deaths I was responsible for, it would make this ‘Mizaru’ character look like the pope.” After a quick breakfast he was off to work.

Peter was very quiet and reserved when dealing with his coworkers, yet everyone regarded him as both polite and kindhearted. After a while they became understanding of his reclusive nature and now only share a welcoming smile and a passing “Good morning.” He even bought them doughnuts on occasion as a kind of recompense for their abstained conversations. Fortunately for Peter, his work allowed him to never be bothered while at his desk, since every phone call he answered could be the difference between life and death; because you see, Peter works at a suicide Hotline. He has worked there for 12 years which is a record in his line of business. In all those years Peter began to see a pattern, a hidden universal system of conditions that, if met, result in suicide. The way he learned of these specific conditions was through trial and error. When he received a call, he would make a mental note of the peculiarities that led them to want to commit suicide. He would then cross reference those motivations with his next call, and the next, and the next. With his efforts, he believed he could obtain the knowledge to better help those that needed it most. By his 7th year and numerous calls, his efforts finally bore fruit. However, much to Peter’s surprise, the sweet taste of new found knowledge became a curse that soured in his mouth. Like Adam and Eve that ate from the forbidden fruit, Peter became aware of a new dark truth that was his alone to bear, and with it its own sense of right and wrong. In his efforts to restore hope, he had somehow lost his own. For he had created a final list of conditions that if fulfilled by an individual, then suicide was inevitable. He knew that his list of conditions was complete because for the next 3 years it proved to be infallible. No matter how much Peter tried to help, it was in vain; if those conditions were met, then their fate was sealed. He became so certain of his list that he would give up on anyone that fulfilled its conditions. Eventually Peter’s desire to help the hopeless lead him to a solution that only he understood as humane. Peter reasoned: “If they are going to kill themselves at some point anyways, why not do it myself? I’ll save them from their inescapable hell that is their lives. I’ll be the Shepard of the lost sheep that can’t help but fumble about in the dark.” Throughout his workday he played the role of the saint. He helped those that called the Suicide Hotline and he was good at it too. Only when he was certain he had come across someone that fulfilled his list of conditions did he commit to a kill. for the last two years, Peter has now been responsible for countless deaths. Being so skilled, he challenges himself to make a kill each week. He considers it his personal quota. It is now Monday and with the start of his work week. Peter is in search of a new victim.

While at his desk waiting for the phone to ring Peter began to fantasize about taking his own life, as he normally does when overcome by boredom. This particular time he envisioned himself staring at a lilac sky with the silhouette of the Eiffel tower in the distance. Tears of snow kissing his face while a fresh stream of scarlet stained the corner of his mouth and seeped down to the base of his throat. As he traces the path of the warm red liquid with his index finger his eyes slowly drop away from the mesmerizing sky to see a six inch steel pole protruding just above his right hip. He can see the deep red saturate his white shirt. Peter parts his lips into a smile. As he opens his mouth to utter his dying words what comes forth is a sharp ringing of a bell.

Peter picks up the telephone at his desk instantly, similar to the instinctive jerk of pushing the snooze button on one’s morning alarm. Proceeding by habit Peter recites the opening line of every suicide operator:

“What is your emergency?”

At first all he can hear is someone choking back tears; so far things are proceeding as usual. A woman at last answers him, “If you really want to help me then you can start by getting me a noose, that way you can save yourself the trouble of having to talk me out of killing myself.”

Peter cracked a smile, “I’m sorry to tell you ma’am but I don’t know how to tie a noose, but if you really want to make this easy for me, I do have a gun.”

The woman burst into a laugh, “That’s funny, so do I! Are all you operators this dark?”

“Just the ones that have been doing this for a while ma’am.”

“My name is Heather by the way. Well in that case Mr. Suicide Hotline veteran, you think you can help me?”

“It’s very nice to meet you Heather, and that depends on you; I’ll need to ask you a series of questions.”

“Ok shoot,” she said eagerly.

Peter asked completely ignoring her joke, “first off, what seems to be the problem?”

Heather responded as though reciting a practiced answer, “It’s a bunch of things: my family causes me nothing but trouble, I don’t have any really friends, I work at a dead end job that I hate, and the list goes on.”

Peter’s smile finally broke. she’s just complaining about her life, nothing to go and killing yourself over. “Is this the first time you felt this way?” he asked.

“Yes . . . well, no. I mean I’ve first started thinking about it a few weeks ago but this is the first time I felt so strongly about it that I needed to do something; that’s why I’ve called today.”

“Okay, now Heather I want you to really think about this next question: Why do you want to keep living?”

“Well I don’t really know if I do, that’s why I’m calling you remember?” she replied incredulously.

Peter held up his head by cupping his forehead in his hand; his first impression of the woman turned from intrigue to boredom. Such lack of self examination and so quick to consider suicide. Maybe I should be impressed that she’s managed to last this long. Peter then asked, “You calling is proof that you do want to live Heather. How about I say it more bluntly: why is it that you haven’t already killed yourself?”

After a pause, Heather responded, “Oh. . . umm, well, that is indeed a tad blunter.”

Peter took her hesitance as an opportunity to move on to a more likely victim. “I’m sorry for being so forward, if you would like I can dispatch you to someone more qualified who can. . .”

She interrupted, “No it’s quite alright, just give me a moment to think. . .

Peter’s hand hovered over his phone, ready to transfer the women to someone else.

. . .I’m so pathetic, the only thing I can think of is my boyfriend. We’ve been together for a few months now but to think he’s my only reason for living. I’m pathetic.”

Now fiddling with a pencil, Peter knew the conversation would continue until he put her mind at ease. He responded, “There is nothing wrong with that Heather, I’m sure your boyfriend would be very touched to know you fell so much for him.”

“Yes well, how about we stick to the suicide prevention advice rather than the dating advice there Peter.”

Peter cracked a brief smile again, “Right, my mistake, now the last question you need to consider is as follows: if you went to sleep and woke up tomorrow to find one thing about your life magically fixed, what would it be?”

“I’m going to need another minute,” she replied.

“Take your time.” He said, while trying to balance his pencil upright on his desk.

After a momentary pause she answered, “I guess what I would enjoy most is having friends to talk with.”

The pencil fell over on Peter’s desk to which he exclaimed “Excellent Heather!” in an attempt to cover up the noise, “You strike me as a kind hearted women who just happened to be feeling as though the world has come crashing down on top of you, but it isn’t; what you’re feeling is pressure from your social spheres: family, friends and work. You have no place to relax or de-stress. What I suggest is you begin by focusing on what you want most: focus on your sphere of friends, try and meet new people, maybe people from work or get closer to your boyfriend’s friends.”

“. . . Well . . . that’s an idea. Thank you.”

“Of course, is there anything else that may be bothering you?” He crossed his fingers.

“Umm, no, thank you. I think I’ll start there.”

“Great to hear it, now I am required to ask if you would like me to provide you with contact information for psychiatric centers, hospitals and/or psychologists near you.”

“No, no, you were more than enough help” after a short pause, she continued, “well, I do have one more question.”

“Yes?” Peter asked curiously.

“Umm. . . Peter, will you be my friend?”