I take references from Hannibal Lecter, Jack the Ripper and several others..
He looked at the obituary and laughed. His sharp, aristocratic nose flared as he did that. The laugh came almost involuntarily and it was loud. His eyes with immaculately shaped eyebrows glanced once more at the pictorial of the couple who had been advertised by their kith & kin as 'demised'. Such exhibitionism of death, he suppressed his laughter again. Such advertisement, such celebration, such an inherent need to let people know of one's existence or otherwise. The day we are born, the day we ace a test, the day we graduate, the day we fall in love, the day we marry, the day we have kids and the day we die, we let ourselves be exhibited to the world. We are all exhibits of this amusement park, he thought. Trivial, petty people. What is with an obituary anyway? Somebody left this world to proceed towards another- Why make a big deal out of it? Who the fuck wants to be treated early in the morning with the information about people who no longer existed. Let all those people, whose souls departed to heaven, go to hell! He smiled as he flicked ash from the burning joint in his hand.
The newspaper that now lay on the exquisitely decorated teapoy spoke about a couple in their late twenties who had apparently killed each other. An early mid-life crisis, a psychiatrist explaining the manic incident, wrote in an article adjacent to the obituary. Mid-life crisis, sure.
His eerily enigmatic eyes went back to the newspaper. And it brought back memories from that night. How it had left him wanting more. They had killed each other, was the story. He had liberated them by making them kill each other ritualistically, was the truth. The ritual. The almost romantic ritual. The ritual, that no religion had taught him. It was his duty to liberate the souls who were being suppressed by the pain of existence. Nobody had anointed him to do the same, he regarded it as his duty. He chose his victims and he liberated them. They never asked of him, but like the King Siddhartha who had left home, unable to handle a mid-life crisis and found solace in meditating over an abstractionism of the 'Aum', he had chosen to do what he was supposed to do.
His ritual began with a string of voyeuristic encounters. Slyly observing people who enjoyed the indulgence of love-making. The body was transient and subject to decay, he wondered why people went behind spoiling it with mundane luxuries. But, the Buddha had taught, accept - don't judge, so accept he did. Then, he went befriending them. One look at his delicate features and people would trust him immediately. Understanding their Dukha, their pain was his next step, life is a sorrow, the Buddha had expounded. Everybody seemed happy, but in reality nobody was. And then, the final step of enticing them into his web of intricately woven plans.
He remembered the male from the obituary, a well built man of average height with dense chest hair as if he were a direct descendant of the Neanderthal. His perfectly carved derriere, his strong legs and his uncircumcised member. How they brought back memories! The female wasn't bad either. A perfect female, he thought, ought to have good mammaries and a bad memory, it was his private joke. He smiled as he envisioned her. Her blunt jaw, her collar bones, her womanhood. And then, he remembered sitting with them naked, as nascent as the first man to have existed on the planet. In the midst of the entropy, their mescaline induced thoughts no longer being able to process any of it that was happening to them. Their clumsy love making laced with intermittent shrieks and finally his orchestrating them to kill each other. It wasn't perfect, expectation of the perfect always brought further misery, the Buddha taught. The chanting sounds of Aum in the background not allowing the rest of the world to disturb their journey towards Nirvana. The male for once came back to his senses, but it was too late. Shannon had liberated them. Without their permission. Another of Buddha's teaching, give and forgive. Give without expectation. Give without questioning.
As he lit the fourth joint of the session, he knew as a sharp pain surged through his veins toward his cerebrum that he needed another hit. Another fix before he could lie low for a while and it had to be bigger and better than the obituary couple. The anticipation, the suspense, the pulsating moment of truth, the titillating shiver that his system went through, were way better than all the drugs that he had ever tried. And he had almost tried them all, including the highly philosophical bullshit drug called Buddhism.
He knew it would be risky, but his brain pleaded him otherwise. He sniffed mescaline from his manicured finger nails and took a swig from the brandy bottle to calm himself. The concoction agitated him further. He stood up and walked towards his bathroom. He opened the closet to bring out the innerwear that the couple had last worn. The cops would never notice the essential essentials missing! He held them close to his face and he thought they came back. He shuddered, an ecstatic shudder. Drain out the negativity, bring in the positivity, the instructor at first few sessions of the Buddhist soiree had taught Sharon. He took the couple's innerwear and looked at them for a second, with an almost childlike curiosity. He took the man's V-cut briefs and the woman's brassiere and wore them. He stared at the mirror. His delicate body ensured nobody would be able to guess his age. Only he knew he was on the wrong side of forties. And now, this. The perfect human, a conflux between man and woman. The origin of all species. Equality, the Buddha taught. His reflection in the mirror caused his member to grow to its maximum. He couldn't hold it any longer. In his chemical stupor, it wasn't even clear to him what enthralled him more - the brassiere or the briefs. He couldn't take it any longer. His intense eyes looked at the mirror for one long time and they rolled in ecstasy. His hands moved towards his member as they helped him pleasure himself. After a while, it was an exhilarating release. He slowly descended to the bathroom floor and curled into sleep as psychedelic nightmares that he was the most afraid of, took over.
He woke up. He knew not of how many hours he had been sleeping. He wasn't even sure what day of the week was it. He didn't even care. It surely wasn't night, he figured, as the sun blared at him. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. Most people looked like shit when they woke up from sleep, but surprisingly, he didn't. He looked like royalty as usual. The only regret he had, he thought as he looked at his reflection, was the absence of facial hair. It was his biggest handicap, yet his greatest strength. As he eased himself, the desire came back. This time, it was only stronger. He was being driven towards uncertain. He felt godlike whenever he thought of the rituals and his accomplishments in the past and that made him cringe sometimes. Gods were too perfect, those men-threatening bastards. He wanted to be just the epitome of humanity, to be forsaken by the Buddha when his time would come. Death was certain, only fools believed they lived for ever.
He needed another fix desperately. He had to find another couple soon. Some one again, easily gullible, easily fool-able He had to target a rich couple, who were over-educated in Ivy league schools, those who were the most intelligent, yet the most stupidest. These were the intelligent idiots. Like a game of chess it was. He grinned at the prospect and it suddenly struck him. The couple he had met at a bar. The brunette guy and the blonde girl. Working in a bank, gifted with all the gifts of the material world, with the sole exception of commonsense! He had sized both of them. The guy was in a way- cute, the girl was bespectacled and stunning. The only problem, Shannon remembered, was that he had befriended them as Sharon - a female!