Jameson Johnson Davidson Robertson Kennedy III has one of the most alliterate names and it is something that has haunted him throughout his life, it was never a brutal insult that waged away at his pride, neither was it some form of witty remark on his name. It was a simple built-in shame that he had formed within the crevices of his pride. Jameson Johnson Davidson Robertson Kennedy III thought it would save himself and others the trouble by referring to himself as "James" or "Dave" although not "Jamie", God forbid a grown man was to be called by the name of someone who would spend their days thriving within ineptitude and taking part in the ungodly acts of "stroking" to "tasteful" entertainment. Although, Jameson Johnson Davidson Robertson Kennedy III could never reach the level of familiarity with someone to be called "James" or "Dave" This might have been due to the fact that The Lord had a profound awakening in his heart; which by all accounts may be described as "The fear of the Lord", Jameson Johnson Davidson Robertson Kennedy III received said "fear" at the age of ten, where he was tortured with the reading of events of hellfire and brimstone as well as the blaring of trumpets by his Aunt Meredith, who saw it be a fitting and just that a child should know that his existence is a sin and sin is not of the Lord.
Thus Jameson Johnson Davidson Robertson Kennedy III had never reached a level of intimacy because in his mind to be born a sinner is one thing, but to bathe yourself in sin with other sinners who by no means repent 'til their knees are bruised are not fitting for his life. Jameson Johnson Davidson Robertson Kennedy III is henceforth known as "James" knew that his love for the Lord was like no other and nor should it be. A 30-year old man, unmarried, gilded with a white button-down shirt and brown slacks and his weaponry of choice was the Lord's name on his lips and the Word of God in hand is no life worth living at least for most. "Repent you fiends!" came to mind when he opened his door to the world of sinners, heretics, harlots and heathens. Now you may think that James was one fitting for the role of beating a passerby with boards and would have used a megaphone as the method of evangelizing the Lord's word, you would think such a thing, but by no means was James one for crowds and nor was he one for forcing his beliefs on others. "Heaven would be too full" James would say to himself.
James had a strict daily routine which comprised of waking up at 4 am to pray 'til 6 am, where he would do the necessaries to be ready for the day to come which also included listening to his favourite preacher Johnny Westwood, who hosted "Praise! With Johnny Westwood" from, 7 am to 8 am. Only Johnny Westwood and Aunt Meredith understood the Lord the way he did, James would then spend most of his day reflecting and studying the Word of God all the while the TV was left on to stave away at the feeling solitude. Although his religion was the most important aspect of his life, James had the compulsion of collecting stamps, the detailed images that were placed on such fragments to just symbolize something so important yet so menial was wondrous to James. He flicked through his stamp collection paying close attention to every piece as his slender fingers paced their way through the plastic film.
The doorbell along with two knocks disturbing his amazement, James who was filled with the sense of annoyance and possibilities had crossed his mind to risk a dishonest act and let the person think that he was not at home, but the Lord watches all. James stood up and walked in reluctance towards the door to be met with the appearance of a sinner, a smiling sinner, a harlot if you will. Her name was Sandra Jenkins, a harlot, vile creature who was in the need of the grace of the Lord which resided in the devil's abode next door. Her red crinkled hair thrown down over her ivory shoulders that were speckled up to the basin of her chest. Sandra had an unnerving smile that came as a constant that she was not aware of; the other matters she was not aware of was that vegans did not have superpowers, menstruation was not something to be celebrated but rather to just be what it is and that the man who lived next door to her was to not be disturbed. All of which was not apparent and for the most part to a 14-year old girl who considered less than the world that revolved around her. There she stood a blatant sinner in front of a bruised kneed man after God's own heart.
"E-excuse me, sir, I was –" said Sandra
"You are excused, thank you very much," said James who proceeded to close the door.
"My ball is in your backyard!" yelled Sandra
The door came to a halt and creaked open.
"And…"
"Could I please go get it, p-please?"
"Fine. Well then make it snappy!"
"Thank you, mister…"
"James. You can call me James"
"Thank you, Mr James," she said as she let herself in.
She followed James through the hallway that cast its walls a pale blue along with a wooden floor; waxed and varnished to an immaculate state. The crucifixes that stared down upon her as her mind cast a blank in a nervous degree. She was led to the backyard where the sun beamed down upon a green pasted lawn that festooned with rose bushes of luxuriant colours. Her eyes caught the sight of the tattered soccer ball that would cause more injury than the passions of fun but she wanted it regardless, she thanked James and rushed back home with the ball under her arm. Now it goes to say that Sandra Jenkins was the type of girl who garnered most of her information on current events, politics, philosophy and celebrity news from social media, posts of people that came up on her feed would guide her through life. It would be posts that said, "A man is not a man if his woman has tears in her eyes." Which would trigger a sense of agreement, instant passion and disdain for men who make their significant others cry?
She would spend her time after school in her uniform receiving her fix from the cold glare of her phone screen but on this much dreaded day her phone was confiscated by her teacher, Mrs Gordons who had been quite envious that Sandra was receiving her education from a phone which was placed under her desk and not from her math lesson. Mrs Gordons was also Sandra's math tutor who taught her at 4 pm; Sandra had been met with the boredom that cracked her mind and forced her into the madness of playing outside with a ball which had now caused actual enjoyment in her heart and in a swift unbounded leap of the ball into Mr James' yard was when her joy faded.
Mrs Gordons like most math teachers was in absolute awe with the level of idiotic tendencies her class managed to bring forth although she saw promise within them and felt it was her duty as an educator to do her utmost to get her students to work hard and understand the importance of education. That's why she drove up the drive-way of the Jenkin's household in her red '95 Audi Sedan, with a tinge of regret but with an overwhelming sense of fulfilment, at least that's what she made herself ought to believe. She had caught a glimpse of her reflection exiting her car, her eyes were dyed with fatigue and her hair thinning at her roots as she wore a dress that was bland and forgettable as much as she was. She was welcomed in with reluctance by Sandra; the two went through the lesson and Mrs Gordons reminded herself to be patient but she asked herself how could she better the understanding of the child before her, Sandra had her mind on when she would receive her phone from Mrs Gordons. The two hours came to a close and Mrs Gordons handed Sandra's phone to her and she was paid by Mrs Jenkins for her services, Mrs Jenkins who for the most part was more concerned about watching television and leaving the pains of working a job from 9-to-5, five days a week, entwined with colleagues who would not think twice to trample upon her well-being for a promotion.
Sandra rushed up the stairs and entered her room, which was modelled after a post she had seen a year ago, the bed was adorned with a white comforter and several pillows which bore sequences that glistened under the overhead lights; glowing in amber. Sandra laid across the bed; her eyes held to focus on the cold white light imbued by her phone; she felt a rush of excitement and curious entanglement through the 'likes' and 'notifications', her mind fleeted into hopes of having a house that appeared on her feed, then shifted to wanting to be more fit like the girl she follows or maybe she could be more artistic like the poet who writes such inspirational work, or maybe she could follow this new trend or something lesser-known. Her mind was filled with possibilities that entered and fleeted, not a second thought on what she tapped her screen twice for. It had seemed all was well with her; the only trouble that entered her mind was entering the almost horrifying immaculate home of Mr James. She clutched onto her phone as her eyes glazed over and she swam in the depths of her sleep.
James had woken up in a cold sweat and a fear that left his heart deafening him and his own voice inaudible to him. His eyes felt as if they would bulge and excrete from its sockets; his face ran cold and his hands jerked and shook; he managed to calm himself down and peered out the window and saw it was still dark out. He had wondered why he had seen such a thing in his dreams, a man of God such as himself knew the only thing he should do in this time of fear is to pray. He prayed and pleaded to God to guide him, protect him and his mind, he clutched on to his Bible and fell asleep. James awoke but this time it was light out and it was 6 am, he sat up thinking about his dream; filled with confusion and a pang of desperation for answers, he prayed once again and went about his day as he would. It came to a point where he fell asleep on his chair and that's when he felt her warm lips being rubbed to a rush of bright pink. Her smooth milk-like skin and the warmth beneath the cold touch; her eyes flickered with a moan of her voice and as her warmth expanded; enveloping him—James startled and awoke by the sound of the doorbell and two knocks.
Sandra had left for school and she went about her day as she would with her phone being confiscated once again, one would assume that she would have been "once bitten twice shy" but in her case "twice bitten none the shy". In all accounts, she was met with the mundane calamity that is school life, most kids happy in their delusions and the few in disdain of their realities. She found herself in the backyard once again, playing with the tattered ball; she bounced it and kicked it up high and caught it. This seemed to be the least predictable thing of her day, she was neither good at catching a ball or kicking it but it didn't matter to her, all that mattered is if she could get better at catching and kicking the ball, the ball would block out the sun; a momentary eclipse then a sudden glare even though she was blinded for a second she tried catching the ball. She did this over and over again; her focus grew as did her proficiency. She then made the slightest miscalculation on the trajectory that she worked to hone and the ball leapt over the wall and into Mr James' backyard again. She felt a sense of failure blanket the excitement she had kept with her past achievements.
James sauntered down the hallway to the door, his stomach had fallen into a stew of entrails and a cold emptiness as he opened the door to see Sandra standing before him…
"Hey… H-Hi Mr James, I kinda hit my –"
"The ball? Again?!" James asked
"U-uh y-yeah, I'm really sorry, sir. I didn't mean to trouble you," said Sandra
"Come on now…. Go get it!" said James
"T-Thank you"
She made her way back into the immaculate house, a place where the daylight comes to die and the smell of disinfectant and cologne plagued the air and tinged at her nose. She passed through the living room and saw the television was on and nearby a Bible laid open on a glass coffee table. She had thought that Mr James had to be a Virgo, there was no other way he would not be a Virgo.
James walked behind her and visions kept coming to mind, her lips, her skin, her warmth, her glistening red hair that shone as he grabbed a fistful of it. It all entered into his mind, horror for a Christian man to be faced with the castration of lust, he knew; the person before him was at fault for this, she had brought upon curses, she had brought on an unwanted lust, she had brought on the desire he had never had nor did he seek. She was a sinner, she made him a sinner beyond his knowing, The Lord would not protect him or guide him and this was all her fault.
Sandra felt a broad grip on her shoulder and then a cold hand that wrapped around her throat. Her confusion did not take put until her head slammed against the zinc cupboard door, her legs toiled about as she held on to the massive wrist, banging it with her palm; her mind wondered in the bouts of confusion, "Why?", "What did I do wrong?!", "Do I deserve this?!", "What's wrong with him?!" The grip tightening on to her neck; spittle building up in her mouth and foaming at the back of her throat which buckled under the crushing grip; darkness strayed over her vision as the pain of suffocation faded, her arms grew numb and her legs fell to the ground.
James had watched Sandra's body slide down the zinc cupboard and she completed her descent with the dull thump of her head against the cold tiled kitchen floor. James paid close attention to her the basin of her pale cheeks, the calm of her closed eyes and her fragile lips, even now the harlot is straying him into sinful thoughts. His mind was clustered with suggestions of tasting her, consuming her whole and to feel no shame in it at all, but James was a man of God, his faith was much stronger than any sinful suggestion. He looked up at the crucifix that hung over the kitchen doorway and an idea had occurred to him.
Mrs Gordons rumbled up the Jenkin's drive-way once again, her feeling of disdain for teaching was becoming ever-present at this point. It was as she knew that the children were not the issue when it came to learning, it was her that was the problem. She felt as if she was at fault for the stagnant overgrowth of stupidity that filled her classroom from day-to-day. She had been teaching for more than twenty years, her beauty had all but faded; there was no point in going further out and exploring her dreams of being a writer, which she dabbled in from mystery novels as well as erotica, no she was trapped but she did care for her students much more than any of her books. That's why when she had knocked on the door of Jenkin's household and heard no answer. She knocked again and again, she was concerned and none of it added up mainly due to the fact that Mrs Gordons held Sandra's prized possession which was her phone, so Mrs. Gordons in much reluctance decided to call Mrs. Jenkins.
One might ask what are the struggles of an administrator, there could be a variety of answers such as the overwhelming pressure of organizing work that comes in, the organization of several appointments and meetings. Those are all valid answers but in the case of the Mrs Jenkins the true struggle of being an administrator was acknowledging that your fellow administrators are not your friends or your colleagues, they are your enemies and it would do you well to understand this matter and fixate upon it to an unhealthy proportion. Every move is recorded, every set of progress is seen and judged, this was not a place where one could be themselves nor was it one where you could hang their head in self-pity. So when her cell phone rang at 4:15 that blistering afternoon, she felt a sense of danger that ensnared her by her throat. She looked in horror at her phone and saw Mrs. Gordons was calling, she felt the sudden urge to hang up the phone but it had occurred to her that Mrs Gordons almost never calls her.
James was not a handy-man like The Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ was, although he did have a set of tools, which he kept in a plastic toolbox that was a bright orange and of those tools, James had a hammer and various sizes of nails. He made the effort of carrying the unconscious body of Sandra Jenkins, to the living and laid her across the smooth wooden floor. So when he had stuffed the little mouth of the unconscious Sandra Jenkins with a cloth and taped over it, he had the more Christian idea of crucifying Sandra for her sinful behaviour. Now the problem with crucifying a person and not making look like a murder scene is quite a conundrum, but not for James who was in all accounts blessed with the Lord's wisdom. James took a piece of chalk and drew the outline of a crucifix around Sandra's body he then took a step back to admire his craftsmanship. The Lord would have been proud to know that a sinner would be expelled of all sin and all evil, James thought to himself as he pressed the cold steel tip of the 9-inch nail on the little hand of Sandra he took aim and made sure the nail rested on the delicate soft hand, he held the hammer firm and with a dead thud of the head of the nail against the hammer a wince and struggle flowed out of Sandra.
Sandra felt a cold rush through her hand and a pang that felt as if needles were being sewn through her fingers and pained into a constriction. The rough cloth slated at her tongue as she muffled her cries, it was as if her body was begging to cry but not a tear or a sound could be made, her legs kicked and flailed about as her chest grew by arching her back upwards in some method to mitigate the pain. The nail was not driven deep enough. James kept hammering away at the nail with each pound tearing a tendon, ripping a vein and stewing blood on the floorboards. Sandra's face was painted in horror, her tear-filled eyes bulged with fear and pain.
Mrs Jenkins received the news that her daughter was not home from Mrs Gordons, although Mrs Jenkins cared about her job and it was what her pride that was set deep within, her child was the very love and pride that built her to be the person she could slave herself away at work for with no complaint and no shame. Mrs Jenkins sped down the highway as fast as an entitled child would when having a luxurious car, the number of possibilities built in her head, which went with furious worry that her daughter had been kidnapped or she had fallen and died, Mrs Jenkins had the ability to over-exaggerate thoughts to mere impossible proportions and she knew this was a trait she had but she could not help but think the worst was happening. She drove up to the drive-way to see Mrs Gordons's car parked out front.
"Hi… I just called because I was worried that something might have happened?" said Mrs Gordons
"Y-Yeah yeah, I'm sure e'rythin' is ok, maybe she didn't hear you, let's check inside," said Mrs Jenkins
"Alright, yeah I'm sure all is fine but you can never be too sure," said Mrs Gordons.
Mrs Jenkins unlocked the front door and walked in with Mrs Gordons walking behind as they peer in with worry in their hearts which they would only wish to be settled by the appearance of Sandra.
"Sandra! Sandy!" Mrs Jenkins yelled out as she walked up the stairs.
"Sandra! Sandra!" Mrs. Gordons chorused in.
Mrs Jenkins entered Sandra's room and saw her school uniform strewn across the floor and her black school shoes across either side of the room with her bed unmade, Mrs Jenkins at least knew that she had gotten home but the question stood, where was she now?
Mrs Gordons had walked through the living room and kitchen calling out for Sandra but her calls made come with no avail, worry pained her heart and concern for Mrs. Jenkins came along with that worry as she watched her walk down the stairs, she watched the blank expression that painted the face of her, she had wondered what Mrs Jenkins was thinking but in this time it was no cause for concern about who was around you but rather for who was missing.
"Maybe she went to a friend's house?" Mrs Gordons said
"Come on! You and I both know that child's only friend is her cell phone which you have. At least we know she made it home but maybe we should ask around, m-maybe the neighbours saw something?" said Mrs. Jenkins
"Maybe… I think we should call the police for good measure" Mrs. Gordons said
Mrs Gordons dialled for the police as Mrs Jenkins sat down on the stairs, her thoughts fluttered through whether this is reality or a sadistic dream, she wondered through the possibilities of where Sandra had might have been. Sandra did not have any friends and neither did she leave the house so nothing added up in the mind of Mrs Jenkins as one may find, when nothing makes sense fear seems to construct its own fantasies of what could be.
James watched as the blood-splattered with each hammer and her fingers wriggled, her body twitched and shook but James kept his mind on the Lord, the Lord who loved him, the Lord who cared and protected him. He looked up to see a blood-covered crucifix and he began to pray as the spots of blood ran down his face into the deep wrinkles of passionate expression. Sandra's winces and attempts at screaming came to disrupt his prayer to the Lord, the one true saviour who would guide this sorrowful child to the path of heaven and abstain her from all sin.
Mrs Gordons and Mrs Jenkins split up in search down the street, Mrs Jenkins asked Mr Peterson from across the street who was notorious for watching over the happenings of the neighbourhood although, on this day he was too preoccupied with the growth of his tomatoes in his backyard, he did not get his daily fix of the happens of people's lives. Mrs Gordons made her way down to Mr James' house, she heard the sound of hammering and thought he was busy, but she decided to ring the bell regardless.
The doorbell rang disturbing James' prayer he became overwhelmed with a fear that siphoned the entire Lord's passion and set him back into reality, a reality that he was committing a murder and regardless of what he might say to justify this action it was not going by with ease. His mind flustered and his entrails collapsed to an empty pit of disgust as he watched the sinner hum a muffled cry. He heard the doorbell sound off once again, this time it was louder than sang like a high pitched buzz in his ears as his heartbeat grew louder and louder. James walked to the bathroom and washed off his bloodied hands and his red spotted face. He tried to breathe slower and slower in some attempt to calm himself, the bell rang again, this time it was not as loud or painstaking. He changed his shirt and opened the door to see Mrs Gordon in all her average glory.
"Hi, good day sir, I don't mean to bother but did you happen to see a little girl, she's about ye tall goes by the name of Sandra?" Mrs. Gordons asked
"N-no, I have not seen any little girls" James said
"Are you sure? Do you mind if I show you a picture?"
"I really don't have time for this, I'm quite busy."
"Ah-yeah, I'm sorry about I heard some hammering, I thought it was wrong for me to disturb but this girl is missing."
"Ya ya, I understand but I have not seen any girl. I'm sorry I can't help you."
"Alright thank you. Good luck on whatever you're building."
Sandra hears the voice of Mrs. Gordons, she tries to cry out for help but only a muffled hum can be heard. She looks at her hand that nailed to the floor; she watches the blood from her wound trickle down the steel nail and cascade on the floor forming a crimson puddle that warms the back of her hand. She grabbed her nailed down hand and took a deep breath, her tears began to flood her eyes as she began to lift her hand; she watched as the skin began to curl into a crimson pulp of flesh as the bone ground against the steel nail a cold pain shot down her arm with her flesh piled into a heated pound at the head of the nail and her hand struggled through. She cried as she sat up to see the hole in her hand but for the most part she was free. She kept hearing the voice of Mrs. Gordons, the one saving grace she had at this moment in time.
"Goodbye, sir, please let me know if you see anything."
"Will do"
Sandra stood up made an unsteady walk towards the hallway to hear the clutch and seize of a lock that ended all her hope, she had nothing left, She had struggled all for nothing to get out, but this all means is null. She ripped off the tape from her mouth…
Mrs Jenkins met with Mrs Gordons in the front yard of James' house, as her fear built and worry for her child grew evermore, she caught the slightest glimpse of a tattered ball that seemed to have landed astray in the backyard of Mr. James, her mind fluctuated through thoughts as her eyes never took sight off the ball…
Sandra took the coldest breath in and screamed to the top of her lungs, a high pitched scream that came with pain and horror, the very suffering of everything she had. She could take it no longer her bloodied hand dripped on the floor as did her tears; they mixed into crimson pearls.
Scientists have been in the wonder of the matters of an "adrenaline rush", it's quite incredible what someone would do in the case of such a rush, many scientists tend to believe an adrenaline rush is your fight or flight sequence kicking in and this would depend on how endangered you are. Although there have been recordings of parents or loved ones doing extraordinary acts such as lifting a car, where does this miraculous strength come? One may never know but at this moment when Mrs. Jenkins heard the high pitched scream of terror and had seen that old tattered white ball, she had a rush which by James' account would be the work of the devil.
Mrs Jenkins ran with a great stride up the stairs of the porch and rammed the down the door of James' house; the slam of the door ripping off its hinges as the light entered reflecting the flickers of dust. There James stood in shock, stilled to a mind that was in confusion, awe and most of all fear. Sandra stood in the hallway, droplets of her blood reflected and she saw her mother, the one person she did not expect to see when all hope had faded from her mind. James stood in absolute awe, his mind centred his nerves into a chilling shrill…