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The Last Scar

 

 

 

One

 

The first year he resided in Rolling Hills, Home for the Criminally Insane, he was heavily drugged due to the unpredictable violent episodes that regularly took him.

Breaking through the drug cloud had been strenuous, but the evil living in his head insisted he do so. With help from his demons, he managed to impress the doctors with some calm and rational behavior.

Finally the drug dosage had been cut back. After more effort from him, and time, the drugs were eliminated.

It had taken another hideously long year to convince the doctors he was sane, completely cured, free of his madness.

Now they were turning him loose.

Being free to once again indulge in the pleasures of the female body brought a smile to his narrow face as he pulled his golden hair into a short ponytail.

Although his individual features weren't actually attractive; his nose was a bit too wide, his cheekbones a little severe, his bottom teeth twisted this way and that, everything came together to form a charismatic face. Women couldn't seem to resist his tall, sinewy build, his shining amber eyes, or his easy charm.

With a scarred duffel clenched in one long and veiny hand, he left the repulsive room for the last time. Like a rat searching for the cheese prize, he hurried through the maze of hallways that made up the stinking asylum.

His first team of doctors believed his problems started at the tender age of seven, when he caught his father having sex. Had his father been with a woman it might not have affected him as deeply as it had. However, his father hadn't been with a woman. The doctors claimed the trauma of witnessing that shocking scene infected his young mind with an angry virus that slowly festered throughout the course of his life.

The dumb-ass doctors actually believed his problems revolved around his kind and always patient father. His controlling, demanding, bitch of a mother didn't factor into his sorry state of sanity at all. What a fucking joke.

Four years after seeing his father with a man, he caught his dad in another compromising position. Apparently his old man couldn't handle the pressure, or the guilt, of being a closet homosexual with a nagging wife and a child he only wanted to spoil and never discipline. He chose to suck on the end of a sawed-off shot gun rather than face the screwed up life he'd created for himself.

Despite the years that had passed, he could still see the scene his father left behind; the pattern his red and gray brains made across the bright, white wall of his office, his staring, dull eyes, his gaping mouth blackened by blood that had bubbled within it, the unnatural shape of his half-empty head.

He suffered over the death of his father. He'd truly loved the old man, faggot or not. In the end, though, he overcame the tragedy. And flourished. Once he hit his teens he excelled in school, in his various part-time jobs, and in his zealous pursuit of the opposite sex.

He went to college, then fulfilled his lifelong dream of becoming a cop. He was happy--at least content--with his world.

A weird string of 'incidents' stripped him of his badge--even though he deserved no blame in any of the events.

He picked himself up, dusted off, talked his way into a manager's position in a chain of comedy clubs. Because he'd been blessed with a quick and powerful brain, he excelled in his new career.

Then, something in his mind snapped. And quickly disintegrated into uncontroable madness. His behavior became so frightening he'd been thrown into a padded cell to undergo psychiatric evaluation. He flunked each of the various tests and was held over for ÔtreatmentÕ.

During his twelve month stay in the vile institution in Indiana, an unstoppable thirst for revenge had been born within him to get the person who, in his splintered mind, had landed him in that hellhole. The person who had simply walked away from him in his most desperate hour.

Employing his superior intelligence, he manipulated and deceived the doctors in Indiana until they patted each other on their flabby backs for being able to stitch his shattered psyche back together.

Soon after his release from that whacko-ward, he came close to gaining his revenge. Oh, so very close. He maneuvered the wretched one into his clutches and was just about to savor the sweetness of getting even with her. She'd been more resourceful than he anticipated, however, and managed to escape. Amazingly enough, a lame brain cop captured him before he even knew his bitch had gotten away.

Because of the wicked wench, he'd lived two awful years with demons bouncing around in his head. They scolded and taunted him for letting her get away and demanded that he avenge what she'd done to him.

Finally, he hit the lobby of the hospital and gained the front doors.

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend. He didn't notice the bright sunshine or the eruption of spring on the Minnesota landscape. He didn't give a damn about any of it. All he cared about was getting the fuck out of hell. He concentrated on projecting calmness, sanity, as he climbed into the van waiting for him just outside the arched front doors.

His sharp gaze remained fixed out the windshield, anxious to spot the gate that kept society safe from insane and dangerous people--the gate leading to his freedom. And, ultimately, to his revenge. He resisted the compulsion to tap his foot, which he did when he felt tension or excitement. He didn't want anyone to know he still had that nervous habit out of fear they might think he was crazy. However, he did allow himself to pull at the long whiskers on his chin again and again. And again.

With a flash of his most charming smile, he declined the driver's offer of a ten mile ride to the nearest town and jumped out of the van. A moment later he shot through the opening in the gate, which had just begun to part.

Fearful he'd be stopped from leaving, he set off down the gravel road. The gate closed behind him. A second later, the ominous lock clanged into place.

Sweet Jesus, he'd made it!

He stopped to absorb the sights and sounds of his environment.

Majestic maples with fresh, lime green leaves lined one side of the country lane. On the other side a field as far as he could see danced with lush grasses and an occasional burst of purple and yellow weeds he'd heard referred to as wild flowers. Birds cheerfully flirted with each other and constantly moved from branch to branch with a gentle flutter of wings.

No doubt about it, freedom was beautiful.

Happiness descended upon him with an audible swish and pushed him down the road. He ran as fast as he could, stretching his long legs and filling his lungs with air that was free of the awful stench emitted by crazy people.

Laughter crackled from deep inside his body and burst through his lips in a harsh, hacking sound.

He laughed because he was free.

He laughed because he'd fooled the pompous-ass doctors who thought they were so damn smart.

He laughed because now he could find the evil witch who had caused him so much misery.

He laughed because he was so completely insane.

He continued to laugh and run, and run and laugh, until tears squirted from his eyes and raced down his cheeks and he couldn't catch his breath.

Dropping to his knees in the middle of the road, he hugged his sides and gasped at the gloriously fresh air.

He was free! Finally, he could clench his revenge and satisfy the demons that drove him. Controlled him.

And this time absolutely nothing would stop him from feeding his vengeful need.

Absolutely nothing.