Being written on thin paper with only a piece of graphite, there are probably several spelling and grammatical errors in my story. The positive side is about the life of a serial killer. The environment in which he grew up in and the story shown through his eyes. From his friends, his love, his family, to where it all went wrong. His life takes a dramatic turn to disaster. The narrator takes you through the good to the bad and then to what pushed this ordinary man to the term serial killer. Throughout the story the narrator shows you the murders view and the detectives hunting him. You must decide who the antagonist is in this modern day story shown from all views.

The Positive Side

By Dalton J. Taylor

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Dalton J. Taylor
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-4188-4

Chapter One

The Beginning

The positive side is a story and life of murder.

He ran to her. He threw his helmet to the ground; it hit with anger then rolled. He wasn't safe but he didn't care. He only cared about reaching her. Then he arrived next to her, he grabbed her, and held her in his arms tightly. She was crying so he brought her head into his chest that pounded so hard it shook his body as a whole. He wanted to get her to a hospital. Even if he got her there it would be the doctor's job to call her time of death. She wouldn't make it there. He looked at her teary eyes and attempted to dry them by rubbing his thumb across her face gently but it was no hope. Where old ones were taken new ones formed.

"It hurts daddy," she said as the tears begin to cover her eyes again then proceeded to fall. Its not just single droplets but a continuous unstoppable stream.

He stared into the eyes of his little girl and held her as her very life quickly drained from her. Tears were shimmering in his eyes, but he didn't want one to flow. He was a proud, hardheaded man. He tried not to show how badly this hurt as only a single tear dropped from his eye, it rolled down his face, and landed on her necklace he had given her. The necklace was a symbol that represented when they shared the happiness and family togetherness that became lost forever.

"Dad will I be ok? I'll live right? The hospital can fix me right?" She cried out wondering if these were her last few words to her short precious life.

He wanted so badly to be able to tell her 800 lies. He looked at her intensely. He clenched his teeth. He wouldn't lie to his child again even though he knew it was the right thing to do. He just couldn't bring himself to say she would live, he knew where she was shot. It was a fatal shot. It was his shot. He could only utter words that didn't fit. Then the moment neared its end. He wanted so much more time with her. He wished he could trade places with her. His heart was pounding so hard, he was convinced it had an external source. She wouldn't kiss him again. He could feel his entire body throbbing with his pulse. Each throb he was changed in some manner subtlety yet in a hideous way.

Her eyes began to roll back into her head as she said with her last breath, "Daddy, I love you I'm going to go be with mommy now."

Then the tears began to fall. He had to hold his little baby girl as she bled out the rest of her life painfully, the bullet that left his gun. Control, he needed self control, he must exhibit self control. He wanted to kill the ass that did this but his identity he needed to hold on to. As if it were the only thing keeping him sane. He wanted to hold on to his humanity. Even worse, he began to think he wasn't unique at all. All people, in fact, had this darker urge within them.

"God damn it, I need your help." Yelled his partner from a distance.

He used to be good with partners, but now he wanted to work alone. Guns were firing all around him bullets were flying past his face. It was a barbaric war zone now.

"Hurry because I'll be needing your help!" Yelled his partner.

He laid down his baby girl and stood up pulling two handguns from his sides. They were his saintly .44 Remington magnums with custom grip. If these guns could speak, these were how he became the best. He was so skillful and delivered serious consequences with these and every time he pulled them out, he delivered more. Most of the time he didn't take them out because it wouldn't give his enemies a fair chance. They were last resort weapons that made him a legend. People were afraid of him because they'd find these to be too questionable of a tactic. This time he wasn't going to give these fucks the benefit of the situation. Blinking as if he was repressing the tears with exaggerated shivers that swept through him. He tried not to think of her, shaking, small, delicate, frightened, and defeated. Reluctantly he edges forward.

He turned to them. Eight of them with AK-47 Lancaster rifles. It was all expensive equipment; this showed it was a planned job. They had his partner shot and more bullets being shot trapped him behind a counter.

I hope there are a few of you following here.

The smell of gunpowder and hot lead filled the bank. The only lights were from the windows. He pulled his guns up and the mayhem began. Running towards them shooting, he realized his helmet was back on the ground. He could go back to grab it but he couldn't wait for his sweet revenge. His legs became weak and he fell to the ground because the new posture would encourage him to surrender to unspeakable urges. This he wanted due to the potential to become a murder. If only he surrenders to the yearning. His adrenaline was pumping so fast his memory started to go on and off. He ran to his partner.

"Man I'm sorry but we will be next if we don't get our shit together real quick. Where the fuck is your helmet?" his partner shouted at him over the gunfire.

He looked at him and said, "Don't call back up, I want these guys."

His partner began to shout, "There's no fucking way you can take out...."

He tones him out. He's deep in thought. He knows he can take all eight. This little arrogant fuck tries to order him around. He is the best, the legend, and sorry, what the hell was that about? He doesn't know how he feels. He might as well make it nine and say this ill-bred prick was a casualty like his daughter was. Then that little uncivilized bastard would be sorry. Then his moment happens, he had somehow been keeping track of the rounds that the eight were firing and now 7 had to reload at this moment. He doesn't know how he keeps track, it's just second nature to him, like breathing. He likes his odds now. He rolls out from behind the counter leaving his partner in his little rant. He pops up with a surprise and before the man shooting can even react; he is shot twice in his arm by the magnum. He drops his weapon and almost before it hit the ground the man who shot him is there. He quickly disassembles the gun and points his magnums up to the first two guys who reloaded fastest. They too were shot in the arms and their weapons were quickly disassembled. The first of the eight gets up to get away and takes a trivial magnum bullet through the hamstring. This tears through skin and muscle leaving an enormous hole through the jackass's leg. The others don't want the same fate so they stay down on the ground like predictable floor mats. So easy to walk all over. One by one the last of the remaining five armed shared the same end as the three before. A magnum bullet ripping through their flesh and muscles like a mole on speed digging through the ground at an extreme pace. Soon all eight are disarmed on the ground begging like dogs for their lives, but when dogs beg they very rarely get what they want and so like not getting the food from their masters, they too will not get what they desire.

The magnum maniac looks at them all. He remembers when he and his partner entered. They came through an air vent into the bank. They fused their way through the ground on the second floor and into the metal vault. They dropped in and when the door opened the team of eleven men dropped to eight. They all took cover behind something. One of the men, a gawky looking fella, grabbed a hostage and used her as a human shield. The rest of the hostages released but they kept this one. A somehow miss calculated shot missed him and hit her in the chest. She was his daughter and he missed. He never missed, he was the best. As he flashed back he remembers the face of the pathetic coward that used his baby as a way to protect himself. Then he comes back to current time and sees that man laying there wanting to live like his daughter wanted to. His adrenaline pumps more now. His vision blurs then leaves him. He blacks out like he had drank too much.

He feels an urge towards normalcy. The next thing he remembers is traitors, they are all traitors. They held him until his adrenaline dropped and he began to see clearly once more. He had not kicked or yelled he just accepted he couldn't take them all. Looking back now I think he could've and it would've saved him a lot of trouble in the future.

He clung to his magnums with each hand. Clamping them tightly, not for their defensive value for they held no more bullets. He held them for the reminder of civilization. For the reminder he was still a man. He must not succumb to the temptation to cast away all his tools and knowledge in exchange for more primal pleasures and satisfactions of an animal. He was convinced that a man whose body was completely ruled by his emotions could not be a totally healthy or mentally sane man.

He stood in front of the crowd outside, his swat uniform drenched and dripping in the blood of foolish ungifted men. He was dizzy and weak in the knees. He was taken to the hospital because he had been shot three times. They weren't fatal or in any bad spots. He was in his bulletproof suit so he was mostly protected. While they were putting IV's and other tubes and wires into him he talked to his partner.

"What happened in there?" his partner asked him.

He looked at his partner, "I don't know, I honestly can't remember after I had them all disarmed. I was hoping you could fill in the details."

"Well," his partner started, "I didn't get to see all of it but you lost it. It's understandable but you really lost it. You had them all down and just sat there for a second. Then you looked down at the guy that grabbed your girl. Then you shot one of your guns into the air and grabbed the man's neck chocking him. You shoved your gun into his eye."

He remembers it as his partner refreshes his memory. Trembling and body shaking violently, as he sees himself through his mind's eye. The magnum was hot. The sight was well something that the man can't describe anymore. The ruby liquid goes everywhere but the heat from the magnum being fired sears the wound shut. He remembers thinking this man wouldn't die that way for it wasn't painful enough.

"Then he pulled a switchblade," his partner continued. "He wanted to defend himself from you. He was frantic at your frenzy. Then you took it from him and jammed it into his shoulder. Then to follow it up you shot him in his knees."

He sees it all, how he pulled the knife to defend his weak feeble life. The magnum maniac takes it from him and jams it into his clavicle. The shots at close range nearly blows the man's legs clean off. The man was bleeding grotesquely and was dying painfully. He got what was coming to him. The maniac pulls out the switchblade, a flashback hits him. Like it was déjà vu.

"Then you took out the blade and slashed at the already dying man." His partner told the story as if he still didn't believe it. "It was devastating."

He remembers it happened though, when getting his throat cut it was like he couldn't breathe. It was like he was drowning in his own blood only looked more painful. It was the one this one had to die. How the other seven would die.

His partner kept going, "One by one you walked around cutting the throats of people begging for mercy and to spare them. The sight was so gruesome."

He sees them all, begging was right, doing everything they could to get mercy. Blind rage and savage strength had been to work here. Walking from one to the other there was a splash from the amount of scarlet puddles on the ground. Like running through the streets on a rainy day. Just one puddle after another. The air reeked of the scent of blood. Though the fragrance was almost too much for him to withstand, he was scared by his response to it. Like the blood in his veins seemed to grow colder as his pleasure in the biological stench grew more intensely. The room steamed from how warm it was when it exited their bodies. They were squirming in the life that left them, holding their necks until their body would twitch and then nothing. Like a fish out of water, a man out of air and blood was an unmanly and sickly sight.

"Then as you came to the last one," his partner hesitated to explain, "You brought the blade up for another irrational cut."

He didn't need to listen he remembered all of it now. As he attempted to cut him two arms wrapped around him that attempted to pull him back. These arms were quickly thrown off and he returned to his last victim. More arms wrapped around his arms and legs. Then around his waist and neck. He counted 10. Then the knife was taken from his hand and four more arms grabbed him to finally pull him back as no longer an unstoppable force. They ripped him out of the bank. They were all swat officers too. They were the traitors. He stopped his partner as he saw his boss walking by. He knew he was in trouble even though he got the job done in a sensible way like he always does or did he. He questioned himself in his head. He walked in with a controversial look in his eyes.

"Get out!" his chief yelled to his partner.

"If it's all the same to you ..." His partner tried.

"Now!" he ordered.

As his partner left his chief looked back to him in his hospital bed and asked, "Man what the hell were you thinking?"

He answered in a soft voice, still a little confused of what he did and why, "They killed my daughter sir." he said it as if he was trying to convince himself more than his superior.

His chief started with the friend position, "You must look at the positive side in these situations. Your daughter is in a better place now, with your wife, and the living man will have to answer to the law. However, it was your bullet. Your partner has already filled out the police report. We all make mistakes, but those men in there. You brutally killed them. We can't have you going around killing men especially in such a barbaric way. For gods sake it took seven men to get you off the last guy and calm you down." the friend was gone now.

He defensibly shot back, "They were in bullet proof vests. I couldn't just shoot them in the chest. I wasn't going to let those baby murders live. I couldn't, you're a fucking parent. Imagine it was your little kid they fucking murdered in cold blood. What the fuck would you do?" The sadness was the first incidence of humanity since the savagery bloodbath in the bank.

His chief was calm when he explained, "You have to go see a doctor before you can return and that's only because you are the best swat officer on my force and you've gone through this before. You should've stopped when they were all down. Then if killing them was your only option, which is more than arguable, then you can shoot accurately enough for their heads. You for some reason chose savagely torturing them. You need to see the doctor again."

His chief was right but he wouldn't admit it. "I think he is behind this. I don't know how behind bars but we were friends. I know he is behind it. I won't do the doctor thing again," said the man, "I'm not crazy, and I wasn't wrong in my actions. Those insignificant, dishonorable, godless heathens got what they had coming." trying to describe them as horribly as he could so he could convince himself that his statement was true.

"Then you're off swat" replied the chief.

Death is such a funny thing. Not the actual act but the concept of all of it. Many say it is horrid and diabolic. Then others make it holy and a religious thing. Rule #1, in this book I don't want you to relate to me. I just want you to think of me as the narrator. I want you to connect with the characters anyone that you can. I want you to decide who the protagonist and antagonist are. Now this is easier said than done because with me telling the story, you only get my perspective of the story so naturally you'll agree with me and that's breaking rule #1. Don't let yourself do that or you might as well stop reading now.

If I still have you good and good we lost those others. They were probably baby killers anyway. Maybe that was harsh, yes but I can't reword or erase the past. Rule#2 don't take me seriously to every word. Rule #3 do as I say. So back to death. I want you to stop reading for a second and think of someone or something really close to you that you lost to death.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Positive Sideby Dalton J. Taylor Copyright © 2011 by Dalton J. Taylor. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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