My parents asked me what was going on, but it was more or less the truth, or something close to it. They just didn't want me to stay with them. They wanted me to leave, because they thought that would be better for me. They wanted me to move back in with my sister, but she didn't want me, and my mother was really mad at me, and she didn't even want to let me talk to her. And my father said if I didn't move back in with them I'd go to jail, so I didn't have much of a choice.
So I went back to my sister's, and it was still hard. I just didn't think she would let me live in her house, though. I had to find an apartment, and I thought I might move in with a friend of my sister's, an actor. We got along okay, and she was very understanding. I just had to wait until I got all my stuff together, because I was moving in late, and I was going to have a lot of stuff with me.
And when I was ready, I went back to my parents' house, and they were so happy to see me. I stayed for a few days, and I was so tired. I had been really worried about how they would feel, and I was afraid they wouldn't like me anymore. They were just so glad to see me. And I knew they were. They'd been kind of afraid of me, as though I was going to be around all the time, all the time, with no breaks, like the last time. But I'm sure they realized I didn't mean to be that way. I just didn't realize it was going to be that way this time. I mean, the last time I was just coming back, and they couldn't get through to me. But this time I knew I was safe, and they wouldn't do anything to me. And I was glad that I could finally be with them. I hadn't known that would happen, either, but it did.
My sister and I agreed that I could move in, because it would be like my first time back in the house. I would never have to live there again, so it wouldn't be that much. And the worst thing about it was, I wanted to live there. I liked living there. I didn't know why I wanted to live there, but I did. I liked the house, and the people. I liked the cats, and the dog. I missed my house, and it's hard for me to live anywhere but there.
And I guess I got used to the house, because I'm not used to anyplace else. I liked it there. I would go back to my own house sometimes, after my parents were in bed, and I would think, "Oh, that's home."
And I didn't know that it would be like this, but it was like this. I liked my parents. I felt good when I was with them. I enjoyed doing my homework with them. I felt good with them. I couldn't even imagine them doing anything wrong, or doing anything to hurt me.
I thought that I would never have to do what I had to do now, never have to go out on a mission and pick someone to kill. I figured I was going to be safe, with them, forever. I was really, really surprised when I found out I had to go out there, all by myself.
I started out when I was fifteen. I just didn't know any better. I figured, I'll be eighteen in about four months, so I'm in for about eight years. But that was wrong. I started out when I was fifteen, and I just kept going.
I did a lot of work on the streets. I would go out on my own, or with a partner, and I'd stay with him until I found someone I liked. And we'd wait for a couple of days, and then we'd go out and find someplace that was quiet, and watch for someone who we could convince to come out with us, so we could ask them if they'd do it. The first couple of times, we'd get the numbers of people we were after, and tell them the place we were going. The first time I killed, I was twenty, and my partner was twenty-one, and the first time I was really scared.
I used to know all these people's faces. I used to have to pick people out of a crowd, and say, "That's him, that's him." I knew I had to do what I was doing. I knew that I could get hurt, that I could kill someone, that I could kill someone for money. I didn't know how, but I knew that I would have to.
But I never planned it. I didn't know I was going to die. I thought that I was going to be killed, but I never thought that I'd die. I just didn't think that would ever happen to me. I just didn't think anyone would ever know me, or recognize me. I thought, I have a name, and I have a face, but I have no identification. And I never planned to do it. I planned to go out and try to find someplace quiet, and watch for someone, and if I found someone who looked interesting, and had time, I would get with him. If he wanted me to do something, he would ask me.
It was fun. It was like a game. I had no idea how I was going to get killed, and I never imagined that I would be, but I knew what I was doing, and I knew it was dangerous, and I was careful. And I knew that someone might kill me. I could always be a prisoner of war, I figured, and that's okay. I always told them I was an American, or something. I always knew that they had no choice. They always told me that I had to go.
It was like an adventure. I wasn't afraid to die, really. I knew there was a reason for it, and that I had to die. I knew I was going to die, but I wasn't afraid. I mean, I knew I had to die. I knew I was going to die for doing what I did, and I knew why, but I wasn't afraid. I knew that I'd get a chance to go to heaven, and so I didn't worry about it. I just wondered how it would happen, and when it would happen. I was afraid I was going to get hurt, but I knew that I wasn't going to get hurt.
It wasn't easy. The first time I killed, the partner and I had worked out what we were going to do, and we decided where we were going to go and when we were going to go, and we just kind of got up to the city, to my parents' house, and got in the house and waited for the time to come. We hadn't planned what we were going to do, or where we were going to go. We just didn't know what was going to happen.
We watched for somebody, and somebody came up, and the person we wanted was in there, and we walked over to him and told him he was wanted for murder. He was really frightened, and we told him to get with us, and we took him out to the street and we killed him.