Earl started killing when he was in grade school—first frogs, then rabbits and cats; then later, raccoons, coyotes and stray dogs, always seeking out targets on which to vent his frustrations. His classmates sometimes questioned his cruelty, and Earl sensed he was different. He was never able to muster a normal ability to feel compassion for others and failed to see the value of the sanctity of life—human or otherwise.

Any feelings of regret were only fleeting and self-serving. Remorse was outside his realm of emotions. Earl never thought, “Why did I do that?” but sometimes he wondered, “What have I got myself into now?” He depersonalized and objectified the victims he sought to control and found that any action could be justified. He became so adept at rationalizing and compartmentalizing that killing grew to be second nature; he could do it in his sleep. The problem with being so proficient at taking and possessing another’s life is that he got to where he couldn’t seem to not do it. For him, it was addictive.

Seized by a frenzied desire, each new project was all-consuming. A successful kill would only temporarily satiate the urge to possess—to have total control over something. His propensity toward violence was at first latent, then active, growing finally into his central preoccupation—his obsession. Yet he was able to fit into society by forming a façade, a mask that allowed him to blend in wherever he went. He watched how people reacted to things and acquired by rote the social skills he did not come by naturally.

One of Earl’s proudest moments was the day his father first asked him to join him for a hunt. As they lay in wait for their quarry, Earl was nearly overwhelmed with anticipation, feeling surges of excitement like he’d never known before. A powerful sense of adventure had been building all morning, starting well before dawn, when they loaded their rifles, ammo, hack saw, butcher knives and body bags into the truck. On the drive to the kill site, they chattered about the 4-point buck they were going to blast and bring home and where they would mount his head. Earl’s state of high arousal grew to an almost frenzied desire to kill. He knew that when he did, the reward would be sweet fulfillment of the kind of deep gratification that he sought. When they spotted “their” deer, his father told him not to feel sorry for it. But the pep talk was unnecessary–Earl felt nothing for the deer in his sights.

All he knew was an irresistible urge to possess it, body and spirit. To physically possess its remains and be the master and owner of all it ever was or will be. Pulling the trigger and taking its life was the ultimate possession; as satisfying as he always knew it would be.

Earl made his first human kill at age 15. He was an angry teenager and she was a ten year old neighbor girl in the wrong place at the wrong time…
________________________________________________________

The preceding was an excerpt from a novel in progress I’m working on—a piece of fiction based-on-fact…

Text and Wildlife Photography ©Jim Robertson, 2013. All Rights Reserved