I watched Ashley all last night from across the street, with my binoculars. She had moved on from their love, though she still faked it. She kissed them all, but refused her husband’s sexual advances except for “their night” once a month. Ashley knew full well that her husband and children loved her. Even though I wanted to tell Ashley, simply, that professional wrestling was fake (and, by extension, that her boyfriend was not real), I knew that that would not convince her. I watched Ashley tell her professional wrestler boyfriend she loved him before going home to her husband and two children. Ashley’s motherly hips fought against her party-girl-tight slacks. Tonight’s top was elegant and white silk. Ashley was pretty and blonde, in her mid 30s, with glassy green eyes that she liked to slut up with smoky makeup. But then the lights start to burst like star-flares, as her lies build to golden crescendos in the air. It’s like everything about her is slow motion and warm, with glowing lights that float around her face. The cheating lies she tells to one, two, even three men the lies she tells to her children and to her family and to her friends. I know it’s Her the moment I lay eyes on her. I can dye my hair and don any kind of facial hair I choose. People tell me I look white, Middle Eastern, Siberian, Venezuelan. If you pass me on the street, you won’t take a second glance. No one ever notices me, which is perfect in my line of work. I’m walking down the street, or driving my car picking up groceries, or shopping at the mall.

She was my first kill - My Love - and you could say that, ever since, I’ve been trying to find her again. Or perhaps her soul went down to the Fire below. The sight of her soul pouring out her eyes and rushing up to heaven was one I’ll never forget. There was a thrill and a rush and a feeling in that blood. But it was when I raped and killed her - and that was my first kill, My Love, the love of my life - that I simply realized who I was meant to be.

I’d been meandering around the first steps of that primrose path for quite some time. It was the time 7 years ago, though, that sent me hurtling down my path of black and blood. And that was in actuality the second time I’d raped her (the first time being another 4 years prior). And my trigger had actually been building for quite some time. Not her rape, nor when I strangled her to death, 7 years ago. You could say it was the “trigger” moment for me, the moment that set me off for good.

Interviews with inmates at San Quentin Correction Facility. John Cassian is a screenwriter by training.

Killing Matt Cooper by John Cassian