by C. J. Sutton
Greyson had danced around the details for much too long for Magnus’ liking, but finally he’d reached the point of his crimes. Magnus took a deep breath.
“I offer to perform a sexual favour for the priest, but he declines. I am shocked. Honestly doctor, I thought this would be my chance to get him alone. He slaps me across the face and tells me never to talk of such horrible things. I can’t seem to pinpoint a time or place where he isn’t flocked by students, so I have to wait until he’s alone with someone else. I tell my best friend, Jeremy, the priest’s favourite, to offer himself. He’s done it many times before. I follow them, and then climb into the vent once the door is locked. I’m quiet. Father is watching over me, I want to make him proud. When I reach the vent opening in the room, I see Jeremy performing the deed…a horrible sight, doctor. It never left me. How can people do such things for pleasure? Before the priest can even turn around, I’ve slit his throat. Blood hits Jeremy like a waterfall, and he cries for the priest…so I slit his throat too. My work has begun, good doctor. My work has begun. And it went for another three decades before I reached this place. At first it was older priests preying on the young, but then my dreams became more vivid. There were others I had to send up or down, and I did so with honour. Now, there is only one mission left, one target, and he lives here. Once that is done, I retire.”
Magnus knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway.
“The name of this person?”
“The devil of course: Jasper James.”
Social Room
Nobody can ever truly know another, Magnus. Not as deeply as you know yourself. But it is our role to knock on the door anyway, holding a freshly baked cake.
“Still of the belief that you’re saving these people?”
Carter was having his Scotch-coffee cocktail with a packet of Scotch Finger biscuits, dipping each one in to ensure it was soggy enough for his old teeth to chew, and Scotch enough to satisfy his needs. He sucked loudly, making sure every drop of alcohol graced his tongue before the swallow. Magnus thought of the religious fanatic and his Bible defence, the lack of care in the deaths of many. Each additional case was like an added brick tied to his ankle, and he was about to be pushed into the deep dark waters of the unforgiving ocean.
“I have to be, Carter. How’s your morning alcohol?”
Carter smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth.
“As necessary as a morning shower.”
“But not as necessary as a morning floss?”
Brian stood between them, aware of the budding confrontation. Magnus was sure the black clothing would tear eventually. The middle-aged man had curly hair, the only blight on an otherwise intimidating frame.
“Where’s Walter?” Magnus asked, not having seen the guard since leaving the Dortmund Pub the night prior.
“Out. But he’ll be back before your next meeting.”
“Meeting,” mocked Carter. “You’re about to see Jasper James for the first time. I’d call it a fucking ceremony.”
“There you go again, talking them up, giving reason for their crimes. They have the sickness, Carter.”
“Listen, boy. Sit down. Let me tell you what you’re about to face. Because from what I’m seeing and hearing, you’re just another cocky prick about to get fucked. He’ll play chess with your head, and you’ll come out minus two balls. Me, I go in there with earphones in, blasting a bit of Bruce Springsteen. Take away the golden tongue and he’s just another spick biker without his posse. But you,” he said, pointing a shaky finger at Magnus, “you have to listen to him, don’t you? That’s your job.”
“Carter—” started Brian, but Magnus didn’t allow it.
“My job is to cure; your job is to what? Clean their shitty toilets and give them biscuits?”
Brian placed a large sweaty palm on Magnus’ white shirt. All three men stared at the gesture. But Brian was smiling.
“Doctor, please sit down. Don’t listen to this old man. We’re not here to squabble. As Walter is out, it is best Carter and I brief you on Jasper.”
“You didn’t brief me on the others.”
“No,” said Carter, removing any anger from his voice, “but they weren’t Jasper. They haven’t escaped three times.”
Magnus sat on the chair, his coffee mug empty. Brian picked it up, walked over to the sink and began refilling it with the dark substance they were all so reliant upon. He spoke.
“Jasper has been here for nearly a decade. The only person who has been locked in Dortmund Asylum longer is Old Man Lonie, an inmate you haven’t met and probably won’t need to bother with. Sure, some have been in facilities longer, but no facility is as lonely and restrictive as the one you’re sitting in now. Do you remember the case of Jasper James on the news? You would’ve been what? In your early twenties, maybe even a teenager?”
Magnus remembered the case. He had studied it at university.
“Sure…but many of the details can’t be accessed. I’ve cured his second-in-charge, and I still haven’t heard it all.”
“Better that way, boy,” said Carter, his eyes now closed, a shake of the head, his thin arms folded tightly in a self-embrace. “He’s caused men to quit, women to cry, and some…have never recovered. You can say Chaos is just a crazy nigger, and Simmonds is a snake fucker, but Jasper…Jasper is messed up. He’s the most messed up, because he knows it, and he knows how to use it. You cured The Goat, and he was side-by-side with Jasper in all the biker gang wars. But not even he would know how Jasper managed to kill four cops without a weapon when he was cornered as a young man. Not even he would know how he managed to remain on the loose and lead a notorious biker gang for three years after that without being locked away. Not even he would know his current kill count. Jasper was always in cities, riding around with his gang. He came face to face with cops hundreds of times. Had conversations with them. But such was the fear from everyone else, that the cops didn’t know it was him. I doubt Jasper James is even his real name.”
Brian passed the cup to Magnus, who drank greedily. He wasn’t entirely sure how to tackle Jasper. All he’d studied, all he’d heard from The Goat…was myth or Chinese whispers. The most concerning part about the whole ordeal was that he didn’t know whether he wanted to cure him, or simply wanted to learn more of the story to know what was true, and what was lie. There hadn’t been a silence in the social room, but Magnus had tuned out to his own thoughts.
“The Goat told me Jasper had a side that many found charming. But he could flick a switch when violence became part of the job; a trait he mastered. Many found themselves following Jasper just to be in his presence during the good side, and to be on his team when the bad side erupted.”
“Now who is making stories,” smirked Carter, withdrawing a flask in full view of the other men and swigging contently.
“Put that shit away, we’re at work.”
Nobody had realised that Walter Perch was in the room. They were so caught up with personal angles of Jasper James, that the feeling had resembled the vibe of Dortmund Pub. Carter, wide-eyed, shoved the flask into his black pants, spilling droplets of brown.
“My bad. All the talk of Jasper made me need a drink.”
Walter looked like he was ready to punch a wall.
“Chaos needs a new uniform. It’s basically hanging off him.”
“Ah fuck, not Chaos, send—”
“I wasn’t asking, Carter.”
The old man rose off the chair, his knees cracking in the process. He looked up at Brian.
“Wanna give me a hand, big fella?”
“Brian is busy with the daily rounds. Aren’t you Brian?”
Both men left the room, with Carter cursing under his breath and shaking his head. Brian mouthed ‘good luck’ to Magnus before exiting, having to bow his head to avoid it hitting the frame.
“I thought you weren’t the boss,” mocked Magnus, sipping his coffee.
“I’m not. I just can’t stand people drinking on the job. Esp
ecially this job. The inmates will smell it on him. Once they see weakness, they’ll take advantage. Now I’ll have to keep him away from everyone except Chaos and Lonie.”
“You do know he drinks every day, right?”
Walter shrugged.
“When I see it, I have to say something. Duty, you know?”
Magnus knew.
“So, how was Mr. Christ this morning?”
“I look like the devil, he believes he is the son of God and the brother of Jesus, and he started his missions from a young age. Fucked if I know. I’m working on Donnie’s case at the moment. And then there’s Jasper.”
They nodded in unison.
“I’ll be right outside for this one.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. Just go about your normal day.”
“You haven’t met him. I need to lock you in there, in case…well, let’s just say he’s found a way to be very persuasive to the doctors. And if you need to get out quickly, I need to be there to open the door. Jasper has escaped—”
“Three times. I’ve got it.”
Shirley burst into the room, her bleached blonde hair a mess. She was panting, hands on her knees, her gut jiggling in the strong light.
“What happened?” asked Magnus, tensed.
“I…needed…to see you before you went in.”
Her voice always ended in a grunt; a rough edge with a hollow drop.
She pulled out a camera and took a photo, which shot out of the front immediately. Shirley fanned the image in wide arcs, squinting to see if it was ready.
“What the fuck was that for?”
“I take BJ and AJ photos of all the doctors and nurses. It’s kind of a side project…I studied photography. My partner, she’s our only journalist. What a team.”
“BJ and…”
“Before Jasper and After Jasper. Good luck!”
Shirley disappeared as quickly as she had entered, her loud breathing and heavy plod the only signal of her retreat. The door slammed shut, but Walter turned the knob and pushed outward.
“Ready?”
Walter and Magnus walked down the dark hallway, the cackle of an inmate circling like a shark waiting for a feast. And in that black abyss everything Magnus had read about Jasper James formulated before his eyes. Cop killing when he’d been unarmed, the building of a vicious gang, the death stare nobody could hold for longer than two seconds, the torture of the families of his enemies…myth or truth, myth or truth. And Magnus found himself embroiled into the story, another part of the Jasper James story, when it was finally written. Other doctors had entered. Other doctors had failed. Guards used noise-cancelling techniques to perform their duties around him. How could one man evoke such fear? How could one man be the true reason for a place like this to be in operation? Magnus felt Walter inches to his right, and wondered what the guard thought about this. About the hangman’s nine nooses awaiting a neck against rope. If he was to be the sole reason Jasper James survived, he would be remembered.
He would be hated.
Jasper James
The goal is not to ascertain right and wrong. If you are to truly succeed, Magnus, the trick is to separate the sense from the nonsense.
They sat at opposite ends of the room, Magnus seated on a wooden chair with a thick screen separating him from Jasper, who was strapped to the floor in four different places; the chains tight enough to restrict all limb movement. Nobody spoke. They analysed one another in relative darkness, eyes momentarily locking before scampering away to some other body part. In their silence they conversed in a language built before time. But eventually, Magnus broke the tone.
“Tell me a story,” said Magnus, unmoving.
“What makes you think I have one?”
The voice was clear, articulate, absorbing.
“Everybody has a story. Could be about a day at school. A tussle with a sibling. Catching daddy sucking off the milkman. I’ve heard them all.”
“Excuse me?”
“A story, Mr. James. Do you have one?”
Jasper smiled. He had straight teeth. Their colour couldn’t be determined. A thick, matted beard reached downward in a point, an arrow to his thin stomach. Shoulder muscles strained against his black issued uniform, tattoos crawling across his forearms and neck, pulsating, warning the onlooker. His eyes, the palest blue, were an invitation; a Venus flytrap. Magnus looked over his shoulder to see Walter standing side-on, an ear to the door which had a viewing box. No earphones, but a distant glaze. Jasper was on his rear, arms behind, feet ahead.
“Welcome, doctor. How long have you been here?”
“Today is my third day…but enough about me.”
“Why?”
Jasper tilted his head into a light projected by a small lamp outside the cell. Magnus was surprised. The Goat had been battle-scarred from all the wars they’d waged as a gang, the notorious Chill Squad. Jasper’s face looked like it had never received a punch, let alone anything from a gang fight. Skin as smooth as silk, and a coat Claude Simmonds would have been proud of.
“Because I’m here for you, to help you.”
“Help,” said Jasper, smiling. “Perfect.”
He looked toward the source of the light, revelling in its existence, breathing in its strength.
“A story for a story, then?” he said, never happier.
“Sure. You first. How did you escape that building when four cops had you cornered?”
“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that one, buddy.”
Magnus pleaded with his eyes. Jasper took it as a concession. It was a power play. It was always a power play. Magnus knew he had to keep his professionalism in tact if progress was to be made; if his ultimate goals were to be achieved.
“I was cornered, as you said, and they entered cautiously. That’s the thing about cops; they’re too cautious. They come in with their guns out, but why? If they kill a threat, they’re condemned. You can’t even shoot a damn intruder in your own home anymore. Someone breaks in, threatens your kid and throttles your wife, but if you take matters into your own hands, there’s a trial. I watched them come in. I feigned weakness. One got too close, and I disarmed him, held the pistol to his forehead. It was dark,” said Jasper, squinting to see the name tag on Magnus’ shirt, “Dr. Paul. They don’t know darkness. I do. I tell the other three to put their guns on the floor, or I end the life of their comrade. They listen. Now, you see, if I were one of those cops, I’d have shot me the moment I moved. I still wonder; why did they listen? They could’ve ended all this, right there. Three holes in my head. All it needed was a little sacrifice.”
“How does that solve anything?”
“If they shoot me there and then, it would’ve saved four lives, for one life,” he said, grinning widely. “They kill me, and I’m not here, you’re not there and they have dinner with their families. And a fair few more people survive after that.”
“Do you regret it, killing them?”
“No. Dr. Paul, it was me or them. If you were in that situation, you would’ve done the same. The only part that would’ve stopped you is not having the ability to execute the plan. Trust me; that’s the only thing that stops people. It’s not about obeying laws. It’s about ability in a given situation.”
Magnus tried to match the stare for longer than two seconds. He succeeded.
“Pretty boy, aren’t you,” said Jasper, creases forming on his forehead. Magnus looked away.
“Continue.”
“Well, the second their guns were out of reach I shot them all in the head. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. No pain. And out I went; four guns heavier. The Chill Squad existed before that night, but it was like the maturity into adulthood; the rise of a leader. We all have those moments, don’t we Dr. Paul.”
Magnus thought of his sister, and his own fateful night. He knew exactly what Jasper meant.
“Your turn,” he said softly, lowering, thriving on the passing of the baton. Magnus looked to Walter outside the room; he was mouthin
g something to a guard, and nothing could be heard.
“Don’t worry,” said Jasper, reading the doctor’s trotting mind. “He can’t hear a thing. I promise.”
“So if I tell a story, you’ll go next?”
“Dr. Paul, I’m all yours. I play by the rules when I invent the game.”
Magnus stalled, because he didn’t want to reveal details about himself. Jasper was fishing for information he could use against the doctor, to rattle his cage. A classic move, one tried by The Goat; which resulted in a failure. But Jasper seemed genuinely interested. A look that didn’t push, that didn’t pull. It was a look of serenity that welcomed confession. Magnus decided to roll the dice with the devil.
“I had this patient, right? They called him The Goat.”
Nothing from Jasper, not even a flinch of recognition at his 2IC. Magnus continued.
“He was the second-in-charge of a biker outfit, so you can understand. He pleaded insanity, because of all he’d seen and done. He told me everything, in the end. Gave up his boss so quickly I couldn’t write everything down. When I first saw him, he was the tough guy. After a few weeks he crumbled, cried, apologised and was admitted to a prison. A normal prison, where you can mingle with other criminals, see the sunshine, eat in a cafeteria, even watch movies. I wanted this patient, because I knew I could make a difference. I understood his case, I knew the trigger points and I knew that inside his act there was a sane man influenced by a monster.”