Chapter 27
Decisions, Planning, Action
As years passed Don was obsessive without relief about listening to
broadcasts and reading newspapers, all still in absence of information or leads
pertinent from any dictum of law regarding her death. Embedded in his brain was
a permanent impression of that rancorous day, leading to an inferior spirit
compounded by shame and guilt, and exacerbating his health to aid in
replication a slightly pale, scrawny and sickly incapacitated individual. This
condition accelerated a subtle change in his neurotic immoralities and
manifested an abstruse need for retribution in which unleashed ominous
rectifications. It was obvious now too much time had passed and those
responsible would never be held accountable, and clearly it was impossible for
Kolora to take vengeance and pursue the abominable treatment she was subjected
to, so over a period of time Don began to seek clarification in his own ability
to avenge her murder.
‘Because sentence against an evil work is not
executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them
to do evil.’
The Books of the Old Testament.
Ecclesiastes: Ch 8. 11.
It was in the year of 1976. Now twenty six, he was controlling strange
ebullient feelings towards his burdening decisions and occupied a moral
position lofty enough to impart judgment on the penalty deserved for the crimes
committed. As far as he was aware the police still had not found anything of
relevance to lead them to the people he knew to be the guilty ones; hope for a
revelation to their identity and an eventual arrest was diminishing, so after
tiresome ponder he decided he would not be concerned any more about his own
vulnerability to litigation, instead his plans would take on a manipulative and
calculating form of creativity; he would keep his promise and plan to kill them
all.
Living with the torment of inaction instead of sharing his information
burdened his soul, now he could remedy his mistakes with effusive objectives,
promising himself he would make all attempts to ingratiate himself with the
devil in memory of Kolora. He had plenty of time to reflect on his pathetic
existence, and the act of revenge acknowledged an attentive acceptance to the sound
of mind needed to plan and implement a successful conclusion. It would have
been at this moment he realized he had an abnormal, persistent fear of failure,
a personality likened to atychiphobia; this phobic disorder started him towards
a constructed lifestyle in which he mooted the possibility of failure as
inconceivable. The condition could have originated sometime in his youth or
thereafter, he could have been inadvertently influenced by traumatic events in
which he was embarrassed by the result of his failures; an event such as the
failure to tell someone of his father’s act of murder on the ship; or his
failure to protect animals from the spite of Sterge; and reinforced later by
the failure to intervene when he had the opportunity to stop the wickedness
committed against Kolora.
In order to make valid inferences from mentations he began to educate
himself by reading anything he could lay his hands on, his place of work
provided the perfect catalyst for learning and contriving suitable punishments
for the marked mob. It allowed for plenty of time to exercise one's power of
reason, make decisions, and arrive at solutions or judgments to facilitate the
results necessary for his new found pursuits. Don was working as an off-sider
to a ‘dragline’ operator. The ‘dragline’ was a pre-war machine made by ‘Rustus’. It was like a crane with an
eighty foot jib and ran on tracks like a tank. Its purpose was to release a
huge bucket and drag it through the mud to make new drains or clear the old.
Wherever it was used was boggy terrain so large wooden platforms called
‘duckboards’ were needed for it to be able to track on a solid base. Don’s job
was to sling and unhook the ‘duckboards’ so the operator could travel on a firm
path through the mud. Because the mechanical monster was so old it was
unpredictable, sometimes unwieldy and unsafe, it was intimidating because it
would at times spin on its axis uncontrollably in complete circles until the
operator managed to correct its flaws. Its track movements were slow and spasmodic
so staying well clear of its many malfunctions was completely necessary to stay
alive, hence most of the day was reserved for waste in a seated position
reading ‘Playboy’ or other fanciful material. Thus, expansion and refining of
elaborations for future intent and systematically making viable plans of action
absorbed each day. The first and foremost rule of significance was the rational
motive for anonymity in the taxing schedule of putting the now condemned four
to death. This rule would be at the forefront of his planning because he
remembered the visitations to his brother in ‘Long Bay’ jail and hated the idea
of penal servitude; he did not want to end up in there under any circumstances.
Therefore he needed to think of himself as omnipotent and clever;
incomprehensible errors would not be tolerated. Every step would require
meticulous attention and planning, free of detrimental and unexpected
consequences.
He figured he would have to start his portentous journey at the origin
of the iniquitous deed and once again befriend each of the killers. Don had not
visited the Rob’s, Clay’s or Sturt’s for the purpose of bonding for years due
to his remorse and disdain, but sacrifices were essential. If he was to
exterminate the four homicidal criminals then he needed to acquaint himself
once again without fear, and this act would rely heavily on his ability to show
unfeigned enthusiasm for their friendship. He was perceptive to his reliance on
medication, and his poor eating habits and schizophrenic tendencies. All
unstable episodes could weaken his volitions, and he knew how crucially
demanding would be the mental aptitude to make positive conscious choices,
decisions, and wilful intentions. He also understood, to achieve positive
prerequisites meant he would need to change the nature of his substance abuse,
especially regarding alcohol and ‘Prozac’. A stable diet, exercise, healthy
living and a gradual decline in medication and alcohol and the like, was
mandatory to equip his self with a mentally quick, resourceful, shrewd,
devious, inventive and a skilful set of personal resources. After setting his
mind to attain a healthier lifestyle by sticking to a rigid regime of rules for
healthy living, he immersed himself more into reading, not only to educate himself
but to find an alternative to the constant thought of revenge, he read to the
point it took each and every minute of his day, but the impulsion to act and
fraternize with his enemies grew stronger; the abhorrence of such need being
pragmatic in nature.
It was difficult at first to come face to face with his patronizing
victims but continued his efforts until they tolerated him and his weekend
visits to Wirrageen became customary
and accepted. He treated them with affectionate condescension and masked his
intentions with a fraudulent and duplicitous representation of goodwill. None,
except Sterge was openly distrustful to Don, and each one of the others was
willing to confide in general chit chat. Sterge more-so than the other three
always treated Don with disrespect and contemptuousness, and on these occasions
it was to be no different. Don was appalled with their calm because not one of
the homicidal maniacs displayed a conscience, or reproach upon themselves or
each other for their acts of horror. They role-played as though their crime did
not exist, but Don could not forget, and under the pretension of friendship
would continue in preparation for a deadly betrayal.
Having gained a pass of leniency based on past reliance’s, Weepy invited
him and Sam back into his caravan for a drink and to natter about old and new
times. The invitation was probably for curiosity as to why Don was making an
effort. The latch on the door of the van was broken, and hanging down
obstructing the door from opening freely, nothing unusual because there was no
need for locks in such a remote area. Dropping from the top of the doorway was
coloured strips of plastic to keep out the flies and prying eyes. Only one
chair was available inside the van and it was reserved for Weepy; the bed was
used for extra seating. On settling his bum, Don quickly became intuitively
aware of the strained relationship by the way the reciprocal interchange of
words was subjugated to the will of covert and awkward communication. There was
little speak of themselves, or Fran or Sterge which was unusual because he knew
them for their jactitations; always claiming to be better than one another.
They did not seem as though they wanted to socialize in a normal way and
definitely had no beatific expressions about them. In fact Don did most of the
talking. He considered they were making an effort in listening because they
believed they had to carry on a charade of illusionary wit with everybody,
albeit transparent and in direct contrast to their real character. The more
laboured and artificial the exchange became, the more Don wanted to leave. He
thought; ‘This is getting me nowhere. I
need an idea to get the ball rolling.’ While talking and glancing around
the walls of the van a spark of ingenuity to assist with his contrivances
warranted a moment alone in the caravan. He purposely slithered his wallet out
off his pocket and left it ruffled in the thin disarrayed bed coverings before
saying his goodbyes. Good riddance was the overall impression he got in return,
and the three made a hasty exit out of the van. When outside he patted his
pants pockets with both hands, slapping loudly he said;
“Oh sorry. Hang on; my
wallet. It must ‘ave dropped out of my pocket.” Don turned back and stepped up
through the plastic strips into the van to retrieve it. He knew exactly what he
wanted, although not completely sure why yet; but he did not want to miss the
opportunity to steal a bottle of Weepy’s eye drops. He picked one of the many
bottles from the small cupboard top and hid it in his jacket pocket. While
holding his wallet on display in hope their attention would be distracted from
the real facts, he came out of the van waving it in the air and said;
“Got it. Thanks. I’ll see
ya’s later,” and slipped it in his trousers pocket. Then once again made his
excuses to leave and went home.
While driving home and progressively muddled, he tried conjuring a valid
reason for accessing the bottle of ‘drops’. In racking his brain for ideas he
concluded: ‘What’s required is another
type of liquid solution, one which, when mixed with the eye drops causes
wounding damage. I want to transmit great physical pain and harm to all of
them; Weepy first.’ His method of choice was full strength hydrochloric
acid. He figured: ‘The colours of the
acid is the same as the drops, anyway even if it wasn’t, it would go unnoticed
in the brown shaded bottle. And when Weepy applied the contents, liberally as
he always did every night before bed, it should blind him for life.’ Don
really wanted to kill him, but was getting restless and short-tempered because
he could not devise a plan in which he was assured of success with exoneration.
This way would at least compensate for Weepy’s part in the killing. The bottle
was filled with acid and wiped clean of finger prints then the next stage was
thought out. Thinking out his plan was not without errors. He failed to take
into account so many variables, one obvious one being; when the damage to
Weepy’s eyes was administered there would be a lot of questions asked as to whom
put the acid in the bottle, but this did not enter his uniquely neotenic mind.
The only result he could focus on was revenge, so he proceeded with what he
considered to be due caution.
There was a deathly chill in the evening air alerting the morning to a
definite yield of frost. He prepared himself with gloves and warm clothes and
took the drive out to the entrance of a deserted dirt track behind Weepy’s
place. The track was unused, not maintained by the owner or any other dweller
and so well covered by thick natural vegetation it allowed him to exploit the
natural surroundings to conceal his car and disguise his entry. The moonless
night aided in concealment, but still justified was mousing a way through the
bush towards Weepy’s caravan, all the while paying great attention to each
amateurish step so as to sleuth in a quiet and secretive manner to foil
detection. When the van became visible through the cluster of trees he waited
and observed for ten minutes to take precautions against any unwanted meddling
capable of jeopardizing his next move. Gloved and armed with a long bladed slim
bread knife to jar the van door open if necessary, he crept closer and noticed
a dim light flickering through the curtains. To be sure of a vacated premise he
repeatedly applied a faint-hearted rap with his knuckles on the van door in
hope there would be no response. Once satisfied the place was empty he entered
the caravan by the unlocked door. It was warm inside on account of the small
kerosene heater burning a tiny naked flame around the element. He reached into
his pocket, held the bottle to the flame and inspected the infected eye drops,
after wiping it clean of prints again, he replaced the good one on the bedside
table with the acid filled one; guaranteeing its position was next in line of
use. Careful not to come into contact with any other material or shift things
accidently he left, ensuring to push closed the door behind him. Now all he had
to do was keep out of sight, watch and wait.
Weepy’s silhouette was barely perceptible in the distance but made
apparent by his whistling on route up the track towards his van. Don’s extreme
intensity of mixed emotions stimulated his heart into unsettling electrifying
palpitations. Voluntary abstinence from drugs and medication was now regarded
as a premature decision because as he confronted the inner crossroads to
purgatory his dependency was still rife, he desperately required just a few
more ‘Prozac’, and had a bottle on hand just in case; three temporarily lodged
in his airways as he swallowed past a dry throat. The van light switched on.
Don wanted to be a heuristic spectator for the very moment Weepy filled his
eyes with the acid. He wanted to get close enough to see him suffer pain in
such a torturous and harrowing fashion as Kolora suffered. Marked by absence of
sound from the van, Don trod softly to the window and peered through the gaps
in the diaphanous cotton curtains. He had no doubt as to the certainty of Weepy
applying the drops because it was a vital bed time ritual, as was his incessant
daily treatments.
Waiting for the inevitable to occur always constituted an eternity. His
spying behold the scoffing of biscuits and a puff on a cigarette, then the moment
came, Weepy stood and reached for his ‘drops’. With the bottle in hand he bent
his neck back and held the pipette above his near horizontal head in ready for
the pressure of his fingers to squeeze the fake solution into his eyes; all
done as a matter of rule. One, two, three, four, five, six drops in the first
squeeze, the dispensing was abundant and rapid. The second eye; another
cardinal amount of drops streamed in. There was a hiatus of several seconds,
filling Don’s head with imperceptible conclusions. Simultaneously Weepy let out
a cringing scream, accompanied by a profound compulsion for both hands to
clench his eyes as he dropped the bottle. A deep utterance expressing
unfathomable pain attended his blundering search for water and swab. He faltered
blindly, banging into the bed and chair as he tried to find the door. Don acted
precariously and panicked, he did not want Weepy to leave the van and scream
for help. His tenacity to trap him stemmed from a climate of confusion and a
personal pontifical act he believed granted him special dispensation, Weepy was
not comporting himself with what Don thought to be predictable behaviour, he
expected the pain to be so severe he would have fainted or at least collapsed
into an unmovable lump. Don was not going to let him out of the van, but had no
strategy; unthinkingly he burst through the door. Weepy cried with his eyes
closed and instinctively held Don;
“Who’s there? Help? Help?
Please, my eyes are burning.” Don said nothing and struggled with him, forcing
him onto the bed. Without any idea as to the phenomenon to follow, all he could
think of was a need to keep Weepy inside. There was no relevance or common
sense to his actions, except a nervous impulsion to finish what he started. The
resistance from Weepy turned vigorously towards an all out scuffle. Don was
panic-stricken. He pulled his knife and attacked his prey with extraordinary
vehemence, each lunge of the blade missed its target, instead of stabbing him,
his bumbled attempts thrust Weepy to one side causing his disorientated body to
fall head first against the heater and knocking it over; Weepy was rendered
unconscious. The leaking kerosene ignited instantaneously the worn mat and
linoleum floor and Don, quick in wit, seized the infected bottle of eye-drops
and made a hasty escape; not stopping and in full canter until the safety of
his car. The fire spread quickly due to the combustive material used in the
construction of the old caravan, it was near burnt out by the time Don reached
his car and he thought it wise not to wait around for the results. On the drive
home whilst trying to calm his nerves he firstly criticized himself for the
plan going horribly wrong. On further thinking he was sure of the impossibility
for anyone to survive the intensity and speed of such a fire. So on further
deliberation he accepted the fact Weepy had to be burnt to his death. This news
could not be substantiated just yet, but the hint of one down and three to go
put him on a high and filled him with exuberance.
Weepy’s remains were not discovered until the next morning when his
mother discovered the charred remains of the van. His body was burnt to a
cinder as if cremated. The reports on the news told of a person whom died in a
fire and recorded it as;
‘...an accidental death with no
suspicious circumstances caused by the negligence of the owner to extinguish
the heater......’
Don realized the value of his blundering errors would have incinerated
all potential evidence. It gave him a sense of empowerment as if a divine intervention
took place. Repentance was an impertinent emotion to Don; his feelings were
exactly the opposite to what a normal human’s should be. He was apathetic to
the results, and satisfied Weepy got his just deserves. As far as he was
concerned he could not be happier with the outcome. The hidden essences
influential to Don’s successful strategy was the self-logic of persuasive
vindication for the accomplishment of his task; an invested substantiation he
could remedy the wrongs in the world with his illegitimate enactments was
construed as not tyrannical in nature but discretionary. His life had always
been marginalized, sometimes humiliated, invariably physically and mentally
drained and often abandoned by friends; now he was cognizant to what his calling
was meant to be. He knew he was lucky this time because it could have went
horribly wrong and used the twist of fate for positive energy, believing the
outcome gave divine approval for his work. An internal sense made clear an
understanding: ‘For the future the
elimination of mistakes and better design and preparation was crucial to remain
incognito.’ Another compelling lesson learnt was; the inspiration gained
for the alternative of forging intentional deaths instead of suffering the
tribulations of planning injuries. His ambition now would be to try and
accomplish perfect murders by having them resemble accidents: ‘This would be much better than sweating
over the outcomes of those injured being able to implicate me. More patience,
more care and better planning is crucial for true success.’
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