Hello everyone, this is my first time writing anything on here so I’ll make my introduction quite bleak. My name is Quintin Parker, and this is my story.
A couple of days after I was born, my mother left me and my father for whatever reason. I was too young to notice her absence and too young to realize how much it made my father distraught, which I figured out once I got a little bit older, of course.
So yes, I grew up motherless, but I don’t think it made too much of a difference for me growing up. My father was a great man and that was good enough. He provided for me, cared for me, and tried to spend as much time with me as possible. He worked a lot but spent enough time with me for us to grow a huge bond. We played a lot of baseball together, as it was my favorite sport.
Fast forward to now, to me, a now 26 year old journalist. Journaling was always something I was extremely passionate about and my dad did everything he could to help me pursue that dream and it worked out. So here I am, living out my dream. One I’m happy to be living, in fact. Unfortunately, I’m in quite the drought, and it sucks that this had to happen only 3 days ago.
I lived only an hour away from my father, not too far but not close enough to visit each other that much anymore, so for a few days, I decided to come by just so we could see each other again and catch up. My dad was getting a bit older so he couldn’t do as many things for himself, so I also had to help him with some basic human needs. (he was only in his late 50’s) With this being known, he also struggled to go to the store sometimes because his back was already giving out on him in his age, so he couldn’t move around for that long. I obliged to go to the store for him and pick up the groceries he needed. He said thank you and I went outside, got in my car, and started driving to the store I needed to go to.
That was the last time I ever saw him alive, as much as it pains me to say.
I came back about half an hour later, looking at my phone as I pulled into the neighborhood and drove down the hill. I turned to the street my dad’s house was and as I drove down to it and started to pull into the driveway, I had a sudden feeling that something was wrong. I didn’t know how to describe it at the time but there was a strong urge inside of me, telling me to not go inside. I didn’t listen.
I decided to leave the grocery bags in the car to make sure my dad was there and I went up to the front door. I turned the door handle. It was unlocked. Had I accidentally left it unlocked? I don’t think I did, I could’ve sworn I locked it.
I cautiously opened the door and walked in and called out; “Dad?”
No answer.
I went farther into the living room and saw no sign of my father. I turned to the kitchen to continue looking when I saw him.
My dad was in a puddle of blood, sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen, unconscious.
That’s where everything became a blur. I ran over to my father yelling, kneeled to his side and checked for his pulse but it wasn’t there. He had died before I made it home. I pulled out my phone and called the cops but that’s the last I remember of that day. I do know that the cops came by and questioned me but there wasn’t much I knew about what happened. Just that I came home and found him dead. The cops told me to get out of the house so they could investigate further so I don’t even know how he died, or who did it.
That last part was until 2 days ago.
I don’t even know how I fell asleep the prior night. I was so upset, I didn’t know how to feel, the nasty hotel room didn’t make it better either. The next morning when I was preparing to go to the coffee shop to try and get my mind off it though, I got a call from the police. I picked up almost immediately to see if anything else happened.
“Hello?”
“Hello Quintin, this is Sheriff Teagan speaking and I’m happy to tell you that we caught the man that killed your father.”
I was glad but I didn’t know what to say at the same time. “I- Thank you so much, sheriff,”
“Yep, and that means that the case is called off. We can gladly help with the funeral costs-“
“That sounds great but we can sort that out later if we can because I have a small favor I would like to ask,”
I heard the sheriff sigh on the phone. “Sure, what is it?”
“I’m a journalist and I’m interested in interviewing him and asking him a few questions, if that’s ok, sir?”
“That depends. Is the interview gonna be posted publicly?”
I think about it for a moment. I shortly decided that the interview would just be for myself and my understanding. “Probably not.”
The other end is silent for a few moments before Sheriff Teagan speaks again. “Yeah, if you really want to, it should be fine. You can come by in a minute and we’ll take him to the interrogation room for it.”
Sheriff Teagen hangs up the phone before I could say anything else.
I figured I could get ready but looked at myself. I had already showered and gotten dressed into some sort of proper wear so I told myself that I should be fine. I thought about the questions I could ask my father’s killer. I didn’t want to just ask questions, I wanted to strangle him too but I wanted to still keep it professional and I didn’t want to potentially get charged.
I got in my car and started driving to the police station and along the way, the road and sky just started becoming a void as I started having the realization that I would have to live with no parents and be face to face with the man that killed one of them. I felt angry but I also felt regretful about doing this. I’d rather live knowing the motive then just assuming he did it for no reason though.
I parked into the driveway as neatly as I could and when I walked into the station, Sheriff Teagan was there to greet me. We shook hands upon seeing one another.
“Hey there Quintin. You don’t have that much time, so make it quick. He’s in the interrogation room, I’ll take you there.”
He starts walking and I follow him, reaching for my notepad in my pocket where I wrote some questions in before I left.
It wasn’t a long walk down the hallway, just a few steps when we made it to a door with a couple of windows attached to it. I wasn’t able to look in before Sheriff Teagan opened the door for me.
“He’s in there and all yours. Make it quick. He’s handcuffed to the chair so he won’t be able to do anything to you.”
I just nodded my head and walked in, not expecting who I was gonna see in there.
I walked in and saw a middle-aged man handcuffed to a chair facing a table, staring right at me. He had a messy goatee, a white tee on, black jeans, and a small scar to the side of his left eye. He was giving me a death stare, I could tell. I saw another chair across from him as I heard the door shut behind me. I took a deep breath and took a seat across from this man.
The man smirked at me. “And who are you?”
I cleared my throat and tried to keep my cool. “My name is Quintin Parker and I’m here to interview you today.” I look at him in the eyes. “And you are the man who killed my father.”
The man chuckled for a second but didn’t say anything else. “I would first like to ask you what your name is so I know what I should properly call you.”
“My name is Roger Hill, who was your father, kid?”
“Man in his 50’s, you killed him in his kitchen, that ring a bell?”
“So the last person I killed?”
“I guess so.”
“Yeah, I remember him,”
“Good,”
I take a look at my notepad for the next question, eyeing Roger as I do so. There was already so much impetuousness in his voice and I was hesitant to continue.
“So, Roger, did you know my father personally?”
“Nope,” Roger laughed at me.
“Why did you decide to break into his house?”
“I didn’t break into his house,”
“So how did you get in then?”
“He let me in,”
“Why?”
“I went up to the door, knocked, and said that I needed to use the bathroom, that my car broke down. He believed me and told me to come in and use it real quick. He walked into his kitchen and I pulled out the long, nice knife I had in my back pocket, walked up behind him, and started stabbing him, penetrating his skin as the edge of the knife dug deeper into his body, letting blood ooze out of the wounds… Man, it was great, I will tell you that much.”
I was horrified. Horrified at the fact that he retold how he killed my father without a care, no emotion whatsoever in his voice or face. I was disgusted, for that matter. I wanted to cry but I wasn’t there to make a fool out of myself.
“…Ok, um, why do you kill? Have you killed anyone before?”
“Hmmm, I think I’ve killed maybe only 3 people before your dad? Hard to say because I kill on such a rare occasion, really only when I’m stressed and bored, which, I guess isn’t that often,” he chuckles a bit. I was surprised at how casual he was being and it was horrifying.
“Why do you get stressed?”
“When bills are high, when works a hassle, takes a toll on me, I guess. Dunno what else to say,”
“Say, Roger, what was your job?”
“A hotel receptionist,”
“Did you enjoy your job?”
“Yes, very much so,”
“Do you suffer from any mental illnesses that you know of?”
“Maybe ADHD but that’s about it,” Roger starts trying to fumble with the chains of the handcuffs.
“Roger, do you think it’s okay to kill? Do you think there are warranted reasons for murder?”
Roger takes a minute before speaking again. “I like to think that murdering is like a game. Like, take Duck Hunt for example. In that game, you need to shoot the birds to get points. You need to be in a mood to play that game. Finding people when you’re in that mood and taking their lives away is like getting points and it’s fun in that sense.”
“But do you think it’s okay, that’s what I’m fucking asking you,”
“That’s like saying what’s better? Homicide or Genocide?”
“What? No Roger that’s not what I’m asking you, what the fuck are you on about-“
“I think homicide is okay but genocide isn’t, I didn’t kill your dad because he was old, or because he was white-“
“Okay Roger, I didn’t ask if you did it because he was a certain person, but I guess you did answer the question, so I’m moving on,” I flip through my notepad, shaking my head. This guy was delusional, I could not break him down.
“You know what, I’m just going to ask you what I’ve been wanting to know now. Why did you kill my dad?”
Roger gives me a cold stare for a few seconds before turning it into a grin, still not saying anything. It was like he was looking directly into my soul, purposely trying to freak me out. He wasn’t opening his mouth to say anything and I shivered.
“Answer me, you piece of shit!” I tried to say while being intimidated, but I came off timid instead.
It takes him a minute for responding, but he eventually does. “Listen, kid. If you want me to tell you some big motive or whatever, you’re not getting it, because it was just like a game to me, I play it, I complete the goal, and I’m done. I was gonna do it again anyway most likely, your dad was just another person I beat, or, I guess, killed,” Roger yawns.
I wanted to punch Roger in the face so badly but I kept my composure and tried to move on to another question.
“What did you do after you murdered him?”
“Ooh, I like this one. I just analyzed his blood on my knife, tasted it a bit, just a bit curious on how it was, tasted awful, I spit it back into the sink, his blood tasted like shit. I also cut off one of his fingers to feed to birds in the forest, I did it before and they seemed to like it.”
I wanted to cry just hearing how he was describing the death of my father, how he was speaking of him. “Uh, ok-“
“Quintin, what’s your favorite movie of all time?”
“What?”
“What’s your favorite movie of all time?”
“I guess Star Wars, I don’t-“
“Lame, my favorite movie of all time is Psycho. Great movie, I was rooting for Norman, would be better if he won, but it was still a good movie anyway,”
“Roger, how does that relate to what I’m asking you here? I’m asking about my father, not about movies, do you understand that?”
“Alright, fine. Geez, you’re no fun.” Roger looks at the floor.
“Dodo, ti piti, manman…” Roger mumbles.
I look up at him. “What’s that?”
“Dodo, ti piti, manman…” He mumbles the same exact saying again.
I look around awkwardly, then back at Roger. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Roger looks at me again. “Dodo, ti piti, manman…” Roger says again, but this time louder for me to hear, and this time around it sounded much more familiar.
It was a lullaby that I recognized from somewhere but I couldn’t put my finger on where I heard it from.
“Roger, I don’t know what you’re saying, if we can just move on…”
“That lullaby,” Roger starts saying, looking at me with no expression in his eyes. “That was a lullaby your father used to sing to you when you were just a baby, before you went to sleep,”
At first I didn’t get it, I go to ask what he meant before it all comes back to me and I could discreetly remember my father singing that to me before when I was just a little boy, that exact lullaby, with that exact melody. I didn’t know what to say or think, I was just still.
“What the fuck…” I whisper, staring at Roger. Roger smiles at me and looks back down.
“I feel bad that you didn’t have a mother growing up. It’s hard missing 1 parent figure when you’re a kid, believe me.” Roger continues looking at the floor but I keep staring at him, I’ve been trying to get stuff out of him but this isn’t what I wanted. I was creeped the fuck out.
“How did you know that?” I say.
Roger didn’t reply. “I remember when you hit your first baseball, such a great moment for you, and your dad was so proud of you too…”
I continue staring at him as I back my seat up a bit away from the table. “How… How do you know this?”
“And to look at you now, I mean, you’re a journalist now, Quintin.” He smiles that same damn smile.
“HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?”
“Oh, believe me, I know a lot of stuff, Quintin,” Roger says. He stops smiling and leans forward towards me. “Lots of things.”
I stand up from my seat right as Sheriff Teagan opens the door to the room. He looks at me as I continue staring at Roger.
“You get anything you wanted out of him?” The sheriff says. I shake my head.
“No. Not at all.”
“I figured you wouldn’t, this guy’s a maniac. Sorry bud, you gotta go now.”
I finally look away from Roger as I hear him start to laugh as I walk towards the door, freaked out and wanting to leave. Teagan looked a little uneasy too. It was a mistake doing this ‘interview.’ I didn’t get any answers and was instead left with more questions and with the horrible realization that Roger Hill, the man that killed my father, was nothing more then a cold, remorseless and insane human being.
Before I was able to walk out the door though, I hear Roger say my name. I turn around and look at him in the eyes, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.
“Sleep with one eye open tonight, Quintin. One eye open.”
I took his word.