“Then why do you feel it’s your responsibility to get involved?”
Seth became a little agitated. “In due time, all will be revealed. If you keep on interrupting I will see how far I can stretch your tongue. Andrew the molester over there currently holds the record of twelve inches, but I’ll do my best in making sure you beat him.”
A man who was being grotesquely suspended by fishing string inside of a large cage moaned out loudly as he stared at Seth. Seth nodded towards him. “Yeah, that’s right. I haven’t forgotten about ya.”
The suspended man looked down.
Seth looked back at Dicky. “Most of the lowlifes that I bring in here are the ones where our judicial system failed to punish them because they were either let off from a technicality or some other bullshit reason.”
Seth looked back over at the man being suspended. “Or by a crooked judge.”
The man cut his eyes towards Seth for a few seconds, then looked down.
Seth looked back at Dicky. “Politics, fame, wealth, and family influence play a large role as well. In some cases, a jury will be led to believe the criminal is mentally ill. And don’t even get me started on lawyers. If I had my way, all the murderers, abusers, rapists and child molesters that were in prison would be in this chamber, but all I get is the table scraps that have fallen through the cracks.”
Seth was getting a little tired, so he sat in a chair next to the stockade and propped his feet up on Brian’s back. “I learned about this scumbag from an online news site. He lived in California, which was a twenty-nine-hour drive, so my initial research was done over the Internet. Once I decided to move forward I used a private detective to get me copies of Brian’s case file and court records. The evidence was overwhelmingly against him. Forensic science had proved he had suffocated four elderly people, and DNA testing linked him to a rape.
During his trial, some of the folks that had been living at the Country Trail Retirement Home had come forward and testified against him. Their testimony basically showed Brian was very good at being a wolf in sheep’s clothes. Most of the residents at the home felt he was the most giving and trusting man they had ever met. But he had a hidden agenda and dark side. The residents that trusted him were treated well, but they were also taken advantage of. Brian would spend hours listening to stories about their life. He would bring them gifts, which of course were stolen from the ones that didn’t trust him. He was simply preying on lonely elderly people who had no family, or the ones who did but were left there to rot, befriending them in hopes they would add him to their will, or where he could get close enough to find out personal information about them, like credit card and savings account pin numbers. In some cases, they would let him use their ATM card so he could run errands for them. The con artist was smart—he wouldn’t touch a cent of their money until they passed away, then he would steal their ATM card and withdraw the maximum daily amount from their savings until it was depleted, or until their family closed the account.
Over the ten-year period that he worked at the nursing home he had been willed two houses, a vacant lot, three vehicles and about fifteen-thousand dollars, and it was estimated he stole approximately twenty-five thousand from ATM accounts. He had used false information on his employment application so he wouldn’t be linked back to working in the home when he was willed something, which in most cases would be considered a conflict of interest and possibly investigated.
Taking advantage of the ones who trusted him was bad enough, but he was extremely abusive and cruel to the elderly folks that weren’t deceived by him. It was common for him to steal or destroy their personal belongings. He would do real mischievous and ruthless things like modify a walker so it would break or come apart, causing the person to fall, or purposely applying a slippery substance on the floor to create a slip hazard. On some occasions, he would push them out of their bed when they were asleep, causing injuries. He also did sneaky things like catch wasps and hornets and stick them under their bed sheets so they would get stung.
Towards the last few years of his employment, some of the elderly people had caught onto what he was doing, and that’s why he suffocated them. Three of the deaths were originally considered death due to natural causes and weren’t investigated, but the family of the last one ordered an autopsy, which revealed signs of asphyxiation. After the police exhumed a dozen bodies, the medical examiner found three more that had signs of asphyxiation. The medical examiner also found bruising on their faces and necks that took the shape and size of Brian’s fingers. His index finger on his right hand had been cut in half and his pinky was bent from an old injury. One of the victims had the same bruising on her legs and arms, and she also had evidence of being raped. Brian’s DNA had been found on her body as well. The police found two of the victim’s personal belongings, such as pin numbers and ATM cards, in his locker, and when they dug in deeper, that’s when they learned about his false employment information.
Two of the witnesses testified they had seen Brian murder someone. Another confessed she had been raped by him. They all stated they had been too terrified of him to come forward. Brian’s defense knew the evidence was overwhelming and they didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, so they claimed he was mentally retarded and his IQ was that of a child. The defense showed he had failed the sixth grade twice, then he dropped out of school because of his learning disability. His defense also said he had been influenced by video games, music and television. His lawyer had a box filled with such items that came from Brian’s house, and he showed in detail which of them had influenced him to behave the way he did. His lawyer swayed the jury into feeling sympathy towards Brian when they were shown pictures of his living conditions, which was a condemned shack with no utilities. The jury bought into the defense’s strategy and sentenced him to be placed into a home for the mentally ill.
Eleven years later he was released from the institution. It was a couple of years later when I finally had the time to drive to California. He was living in Glendale, but I went to Highland Park first, which is where he grew up, to dig into his past. During my investigation, I found out a lot of interesting stuff his attorneys failed to mention and the prosecuting team was too incompetent to find out. His school records indicated the reason he had failed the sixth grade twice was because he never showed up at school, and when he did he was in detention for various things. His criminal background, which wasn’t mentioned during his trial either, showed he had been continually in trouble since he was a young teenager for numerous reasons such as shoplifting, drugs, auto theft, burglary, robbery and assault.
I needed to get even closer to his past, so I disguised myself as a thug and over the next couple of days I snooped around his old neighborhood and hangouts. During this time, I found out even more information about him from some of his old running buddies who were living in his old neighborhood. Brian apparently dropped out of school because he had been hanging out with a local gang, and often he was quoted saying, ‘an education is for suckas’. Most who knew him said he was a thug who caused a lot of trouble. His permanent address was listed at a run-down shack on the ghetto side of town, which was where he grew up, but he hadn’t lived there for years. His mother had died a long time ago and the house was left to rot. Over the course of two decades with a leaking roof, the house became uninhabitable and was eventually condemned by the city. Brian had been too lazy to change his address after he had left home back when he was a teenager, which was a big score for his sorry lawyer. After my research, I concluded Brian was a lowlife piece of shit and his defense lawyers were as sorry as he was. The prosecuting team was so incompetent they should have been flipping patties instead of trying a murder case.
A couple of years had passed since he had been released, and when I found him he was living with some elderly woman in Glendale. I needed to get an understanding of the situation, so I cased the house for a short period of time. He didn’t have a job so his routine was sporadic. He would either leave w
ith his friends or take the old woman’s car at any given time, usually after 2 PM when he got his ass out of bed, and he usually didn’t come back until midnight or later. I never saw him in the morning. In fact, the whole damn neighborhood was a ghost town in the morning—everyone slept their lazy asses in until noon or later.
Over the next week or so I followed him on a few occasions to see what he was up to, and most of the time he would just hang out at different friends’ cribs, or just cruise around with them and smoke weed and drink Mad Dog. Now that I knew his routine, I parked down the street a little after noon and waited for him to leave. Around 3 PM he was picked up by some thugs in an old raggedy, eight-hundred dollar Cadillac with five-thousand dollar rims. I had disguised myself as a social security worker, so I drove up to the woman’s house and walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell as if it was a routine task. When she opened the door and asked what I needed, I identified myself and told her I would like to ask her some questions. She invited me in, and after we sat on a couch she looked at me and laughed. “Lordy, Lordy…. In all my years, no government worker has given me the time of day.”
“Yes ma’am, I agree. The government is pretty worthless. Fortunately, I am doing a survey for them as a third-party contractor.”
She laughed. “Call me Cootie.”
The first thing I noticed was she had a lot of bruising on her arms, and some faded ones on her neck. She was around eighty-five years old, and at that age people bruise easily, but the bruising went around her arms and neck, which indicated they weren’t from bumping into things but more likely from being tightly grabbed. I could sense she was uncomfortable with me being there, so I had a chat about her life. Like most people of her age, they lived in a time that is very different from the younger generation, and I always enjoy hearing their stories, which she had quite a few to tell. When she started feeling comfortable, I asked some general questions I felt would be the norm, and when I finally inquired about the person living with her she froze up. I could sense she had some fear discussing it, but she finally came around and said, “Brian was a friend of my deceased son… He died around eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that ma’am.”
“Yeah, it’s been hard.”
“Has Brian been helping you?”
“I… He just showed up out of the blue one day and moved in. I never really had a say so in the matter.”
“It must be nice to have someone here to take care of you.”
She started crying. “I’ve been taking care of him.”
I knew he didn’t just come from out of the blue. This was the same timeframe he had been released from the mental institution. Suddenly, I heard a car door slam shut, then the woman quickly wiped her tears and went to the front door. I heard some laughing coming from the outside, then shortly after Brian walked in. He was a big bastard. I had seen him come and go, but I didn’t realize how big he was until he was standing across from me. I knew I was probably going to have my hands full when it was time to take him down.
He quickly noticed me staring at him. “Who da fuck is dis?”
I could see the woman was trembling a little, and when she started to speak I blurted out, “I’m Richard Head. Just doing a survey for the Social Security Service.”
He sat in a recliner across from me, then he looked at the woman with a hateful look. “You can sit yo ass down. You actin’ all paranoid and shit.” He looked at me with a death stare. “What kinda shit you been axin?”
I stood up. “Just making sure that her checks are large enough to cover the both of you. I am planning on making her living arrangements a lot more comfortable.”
When I started to walk towards the door he blurted out in a cheerful voice as he smiled like a possum eating shit, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about… ‘Bout time!”
She opened the door for me. “Come see me again. I enjoyed the visit.”
The woman seemed a little relieved now that the asshole was excited, so I grabbed her shoulder. “Yes, Ma’am, I will. … And the both of you are going to get what’s deserving.”
Brian yelled out as I walked out, “Big ass flat screen! That’s what’s deserving! Shit, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Heeeeell yeahhhh!!!”
Before I drove off I could hear him through the screen door yelling out to the old woman to go get him a fuckin’ sandwich and a beer. My original thoughts were accurate. The lowlife was staying in her house and living off her social security checks, and I could sense he was knocking her around and threatening her if she didn’t do what he said. This piece of shit was still abusing and taking advantage of helpless people.
Several days later, I sent a letter to the old woman’s house. The letter said I had found her purse and I didn’t want to mail it because there was a lot of money in it. I told her I was up in age and didn’t drive, so she would have to pick it up herself. I left my number so she could schedule a time to come by and pick it up.
Sure enough, two days later I received a call from some guy, which I recognized as Brian, stating he was the lady’s son and he would come pick it up for her. I gave him an address of a house in Eagle Rock I had been casing out and knew would be vacant. I told him he needed to come by at 10 AM sharp the next morning because I was leaving town for a bingo tournament. The house was on a dead-end street with a lot of vacant and condemned structures, which was perfect because there wouldn’t be many witnesses around, especially at 10 AM in that neighborhood. I wanted him to come alone, so I told him to bring a friend because I had some heavy appliances that needed to be moved.
Around 7 AM I got ready as I waited in my hotel room. I disguised my face using prosthetics, foundations, texturing, shadowing and highlighting to create wrinkles, sagging skin and aging. I wore a thinned out, gray wig, thick bifocals and outdated clothes to give myself the appearance of being a 90-year-old man. I went to the house a little early so I would be prepared in case Brian showed up. As I waited, I practiced walking, standing and talking like a weak, fragile elderly person.
A few minutes after ten a man pulled up into the driveway in the old lady’s car. When he was standing at the front door knocking I recognized it was Brian. I made him stand on the porch for a minute or so just to mess with him. When I finally opened the door, I could tell he was agitated.
Before I had a chance to speak he hatefully blurted out, “About time you answered, old timer.”
“Can I help you, young’un?” I replied in a fragile and weak sounding voice.
He didn’t wait for an invitation, he just walked on in. “You gots da purse?”
My first impression of him was he didn’t seem to be mentally challenged at all, and he actually came across very normal in an asshole kind of way.
He was acting a little strange as he looked around the living room. I had a gut feeling he was up to no good. I told him he could wait on the couch while I went and retrieved the purse, and as I hobbled out of the room using a cane he asked if I lived with anyone or was anyone else here, but I pretended as if I was hard of hearing and didn’t respond. When I came back he wasn’t there, but I could hear some noise coming from the kitchen. A few seconds later, he came walking out of the kitchen with a puzzled look. “Yo, old timer. Yo fridge is empty and da power is off.”
“That old thing has been acting up for some spell now. She’s as old as I am. Sadly enough, I had to put her down last week.”
He quickly forgot about the refrigerator and zoned in on the purse I was holding in my hand. “Dat’s my mom’s purse.”
I wanted to get a reaction out of him, and I wanted to see what he would do if I put him on the spot, so as he walked over to take it I pulled it back. “If ya don’t mind, young’un, tell me why there ain’t no pictures of you in this here purse?”
“Just give me da damn thing. I don’t have time for yo games, old man.”
Without hesitating, he aggressively grabbed the purse out of my hand and started digging through it, then emptied the
contents on the floor. He became very agitated when he didn’t find any money. He tossed the purse at my feet. “Where’s da wad, ol’ man? You said there was fuckin’ money in dis purse!”
While he stood in front of me looking as if he wanted to kill me I softly spoke, “I bought you a surprise.”
He stepped forward, grabbed my shoulders tightly. “Stop messin’ around and give me dat money before I hurt yo’ ass!”
I made a few agonizing sounds as if he was hurting me. “Okay, okay. You want it, here it is,” and as he stood in front of me gritting his teeth I shoved a custom made, seven-hundred-thousand-volt stun gun into his crotch and pulled the trigger. The gun made a loud arcing sound as his body was shaking from head to toe. A few seconds later he fell backwards onto his ass, and, as he sat on the floor stunned, slobber ran out of his mouth and dripped to his crotch. Surprisingly, he was able to shake it off fairly quickly, and as he stood up, screaming out I was a dead man, I knocked him over the head with my cane so hard that it broke into three pieces. The impact had left a three-inch long gash in the top of his head and it was bleeding profusely. I needed to stop the bleeding and the only thing I could find around the house was a can of roofing patch, so I covered the top of his head with the thick tar until I could get him back to the chamber and fix it correctly. This guy was heavy. He probably weighed over three hundred pounds. Dragging him to my car was a real workout and I had to use some 2x6 boards I had found in a storage building as a ramp to roll his big ass up and into my trunk. To prevent him from thrashing around inside of my car in the event he awoke on the way home, I tied his arms behind his back and tied his legs together, then tied one end of another rope around his neck and the other end to the rope at his ankles. I could have used tape to keep him from yelling out for help, but I decided to use a needle and some thread to sew his mouth shut. It would be more painful to tear the stitches than the tape. The dude was so big the trunk lid bent slightly when I shut it. The big bastard was as snug as a bug in a rug.
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 5