You Only Die Twice

Chapter NINE





Kenneth and Ted met three years ago when Ted posted a message on Craigslist that asked if anyone else believed that the whores of the world should be eliminated from the face of it in the name of Jesus Christ Lord God Almighty.

Most of the replies were what he expected from that liberal playground of sinners, many of whom used the site to troll for sex. They joked about the post. Many told him to go to hell, which made him smile at the absurdity of the statement. Some said that they only agreed if their ex-wives could be put on the list, which he replied he’d be pleased to put them on it if they provided their addresses. Others posted photographs of naked women in response, and he said shame on them for sharing photographs of their mothers and grandmothers. No one took Ted seriously. But then, before the people behind Craigslist removed the post from their site, Kenneth himself saw it and replied.

An email correspondence began between the two men.

Ted lived in Denver. Kenneth lived in Los Angeles, the City of Angels, which he always viewed as the beginning of his divine calling regardless of the ironic, sheer amount of sin that occurred there.

Each went to an Abundant Love church, which they agreed was a sign of some sort. Out of all the churches in the world, they chose Abundant Love. It was uncanny to them. More over, each was active as aggressive anti-abortion activists, another sign that couldn’t go ignored.

They talked about the evils allowed to thrive in the world and the responsibility of men like themselves to take actions to stop them. Obviously, they couldn’t stop everything―it was just two against an army of many―but through certain actions neither discussed for several weeks, perhaps they could send a message to the world about the whores that defaced it. When the news stories struck, maybe the world would hear their call.

Soon, they were talking by telephone. Their Sundays no longer were spent at their respective churches, but instead, each took turns either reading their favorite passages from the Bible aloud to each other or, in some cases, delivering a passionately delivered sermon to each other. They talked about their private lives and how each, because of their “radical beliefs,” had been ostracized by their families and friends.

“I haven’t seen my mother in eleven years,” Ted said one day on the phone. “Eleven years. Won’t have anything to do with me. Said she couldn’t do anything more for me and that I needed help. She actually said she’d pray for me, which made me laugh. I told her I’d pray for her. I told her I’d pray for the whole f*cking family because the family was going to hell. Not me.”

“They always say that,” Kenneth said. “They always say they’ll pray, which is a joke because all they ever pray for is more money, a better house, material things. In my family, I know all of them are praying for me, whatever that means. Let them waste their time. Let them pray and pray and pray. They’ll never get it. They’ll never understand the reason behind prayer, the reasons why you pray, or the importance of both.”

“You’re right. They won’t.”

“You know what? My mother called me a con. She said how can someone like me stand on the street corner with my abortion posters and my Bible, and also own pornography? Does she not get it? Looking at porn isn’t the sin. It’s simply the evidence of sin, something that needs to be noted and called out. It’s the whores posing naked for the photographs who are the sinners. Am I missing something here?”

“Not a thing, my friend.”

“And sex,” Kenneth said. “When I f*ck a woman, I f*ck her hard. I want her to hurt. I do it because I know it hurts. I do it because if I can pick her up at a bar, without us even knowing each other, then she’s nothing but some slut who needs to be dealt with. So, I pound the shit out of her. Slap her around. Sometimes―and I’m gonna be honest with you here, Ted―sometimes I want it all to end with my hands around their throats while I squeeze the life out of them.”

A silence passed.

“You feel that way, too?” Ted asked.

“I feel that way all the time. I’m never not thinking about it.”

“Ever do anything about it?”

This time, the silence stretched.

“Kenneth? Have you?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Maybe once.”

“Just maybe?”

“Once.”

“Just the once?”

“No.”

“How did it feel?”

“It felt right. It felt clean.”

“Each time?”

“More than each time.”

“How many times?”

“Eight times.”

“Ever fear of getting caught?”

“Is that even a question? You know He has our backs. I’ll never get caught. He has charged me with this and He will see me through on my mission.”

“I asked because I’ve done it, too.”

“You have?”

“I have. And I enjoyed it.”

“How many?”

“I’m proud to say that I’ve sent fourteen to Hell. And just like you, I’ll never get caught for the same reason. He believes in me. He will carry me through the brightest of days, and through my darkest hours.”

A week later, Kenneth Berkowitz was in Denver to meet Ted Carpenter for the first time. Though at twenty-six, Kenneth was sixteen years younger than Ted, it wasn’t just a meeting of the minds when they finally came face-to-face―each felt as if he had just met his long-lost brother.

Their killing spree began six weeks later in Nevada. Since then, they had murdered sixty-eight women, all deemed worthless whores by two men who believed in their souls that cleansing the world of these women was their divine right and purpose. And though once they nearly were caught in Austin, the law had yet to touch them even though the FBI and police forces all over the country knew about them. What those organizations didn’t have was anything that could link the killings to them. Ted and Kenneth were too careful. They were pros.

Jesus, after all, had their backs.