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.
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