Dortmund Hibernate

by C. J. Sutton

  Marlon drove erratically, swerving and cursing and rubbing Magnus’ sister between her legs despite his vantage point.

  “Got the stuff?” she asked, pretending to enjoy it.

  “I told you, we’re fucking going to get it.”

  They arrived outside a house with barely enough shelter to be someone’s home.

  “Wait here, little dude. It’s business time.”

  Magnus pleaded with his sister, not wanting to be stuck in the bomb alone; she didn’t listen, her eyes looked at him but they saw something else. Marlon locked his car, and Magnus couldn’t get himself free. He panicked. And then he pulled out his mobile phone, a present from his mum four days earlier, and texted his older brother.

  Magnus woke to familiar surroundings; his hotel room, untouched from the last time he’d been here, piles of books scattered about the floor, the television flashing static without sound. He tried to raise him arms, but they were strapped to the head of the bed. His legs were also tied to the opposite end, with barely enough leeway to bring his knee up an inch. The doctor lifted his head to see Carter standing with an arm on his hip, handgun holstered, staring at his captive with mockery.

  “How are the restraints? Not too tight I hope,” he smiled, “I wouldn’t want to cut off any circulation; you’ll be needing that very, very soon.”

  Despite a dry throat, he managed to return serve.

  “What the fuck is this, Carter? We’re on the same team. Cut me loose. Have you gone senile?”

  Try as he might to break the restraints, they didn’t budge; they were tied by an expert not on his first rodeo.

  “You’re supposed to be the smart one, doc. You’re the reason we’re all out here. You’re the reason I put a bullet in the head of Digits; well, one of the reasons.”

  The static caused a strange sensation in his eyes, blurring the figure before him, making Carter’s edges razor sharp.

  “You let them out?” said Magnus, slowly, not totally surprised in a way; if it had to be a guard, Carter was paying $1.01 with the bookies.

  “Of course I let them out; well I let some out, and a ripple effect kind of did the rest.”

  “But…why?”

  “As if you don’t know. But I’ll make it a little easier for you. I killed the taxi driver, I set them free, I was the teller of secrets. I am Old Man Lonie.”

  Magnus felt sick, on the verge of retching, anger and hate and rage coupling with fear and regret and dismay. He should’ve known. He should’ve avoided being in this situation. When he looked closely at the dead face of the fake Lonie, he should have understood…and warned everyone else.

  “But we saw Lonie…trampled…” he tried, still hopeful.

  “That blind mute? Ha! He didn’t deserve to carry my name for ten fucking years. That was your damn Carter. Let me tell you a story,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards, a new aura about him as though he’d pressed the switch not touched in a decade…the switch the made him worthy of imprisonment in Dortmund Asylum.

  “When Jasper arrived, there was a brief moment where we spoke. We were the first two in the hole. Stupid cops…hopeless, really. He said there was this old guard not fit to feed a rabbit in a field of hay. Sure enough, old plodder is a tad slow; I’m wise enough to play the victim, plead pain and insanity and the need for help. Help me, Carter,” he shrieked in a strange accent, imitating the man of whom he’d stolen the identity.

  “Anyway, I slit the throat of the resident doctor with a pin I’d smuggled in, stolen his keys and dragged the old bastard into my cell.”

  Magnus sensed a lie in that admission, a heightened self, claiming great prowess.

  “Now, this was a time where Dortmund Asylum was in great transition; new guards were coming in to the facility, new inmates, and Carter had been the first poor sack to arrive to deal with us loonies. Truth is, we were that grey area between totally nuts and extremely criminal. Cops patrolled, but didn’t pay a single bit of attention to the key-rattler, Mr. Carter. I thought about leaving him be…playing the ‘he’s crazy, it’s proven, I’m not a damn inmate, I’m a guard’ card, but it was too risky for our plan. Jasper suggested I…well, make the situation more…real.”

  Lonie lifted out of his seat, visibly excited, shedding the skin of the guard he’d become in such vivid detail.

  “I stuck the pin in his eyes, wiggled around a little, tore them straight out like cocktail olives. The tongue…well, that required more pizazz, as the French say. The scene appeared to be a brutal encounter between inmate and doctor for the shocked cops, and with fresh guard clothes on and aged approximately the same as the fucker, I greeted the team of new guards as though I’d trained for the role all my life.”

  Magnus couldn’t believe the tale, and the poor guard transition with two men rated on a scale of ten in the system, a predictor of danger not taken seriously until Walter had appeared. He couldn’t believe this man, a vicious murderer and God only knows what else, had free reign of Dortmund…and free reign of any other place he saw fit, for nobody would think to capture a man seen regularly in public enjoying freedom.

  “But if you were free so long ago…why not free Jasper before now?”

  Lonie closed one eye, shaking a finger at Magnus, licking his lips.

  “Good question, and that’s the best part; he didn’t want to be released yet. The man knew that if I sprung him free, there’d be a showdown with guards, a chase from police, and a cat and mouse that wouldn’t end until he was dead…but tonight,” he said, grin too wide, teeth further back visibly cracked, “the plan is all falling in to place. For everyone from Dortmund Asylum is out, and everyone will die, and we’ll simply play the switcheroo once more and be done with this stinking spit of shit they call a town. He may not want to part with that beard, but anything to get away from here. First, we all get to have some fun.”

  “Wait,” said Magnus, needing to buy more time to think, relying on Lonie’s release in his exploits. “Does Jasper know about this? Tying me up like an animal?”

  “No, he wants you and all the guards taken to him…but fuck that, I was a guard for ten years, I need to pillar and plunder while the town is without cops. Jasper isn’t my boss.”

  “Then why did you wait for his say-so all these years?”

  “There is wide reasoning, doc. At the beginning I urged him to leave, so we could begin our retribution. I set him free three times, but he’d play a little game with the guards and return to the cell. I was frustrated…but then, I learned to enjoy my role. Here was a ‘sick’ man, as people like you would say, yet I was catering to the sick and in presence of this unbelievable trickery. Jasper also promised me something…”

  Lonie’s mind drifted far away from the room, far away from Dortmund to a place he eagerly desired.

  “And he’ll deliver?”

  “I’m the one with the gun and the face of a guard. I’ve already purchased my freedom with a ten-year sentence. Carter…what a useless prick of a man. The last image his wife saw before her demise was my cock as I skull-fucked her to death. One child, off on some self-discovery in Africa, never returned. Why would anyone come back here, once it set an image in their rear-view? With Jasper’s expertise, it really wasn’t hard to open a new bank account; despite his role, Carter had nothing in his old account. He was a ghost before the swap, and a ghost after I stole his identity. He had this friend, a chess buddy. Met him every Tuesday for a game and a glass of sherry; his wife told me this. I went to this man’s house…the prick was blind, how ironic? He knew it wasn’t Carter though, instantaneously. The blind see other things. I made him play chess for his life. He won…but I killed him anyway. No loose ends.”

  Somebody was moving around in the bathroom; was it Walt? Shirley? Were they waiting for the right moment to strike out at this imposter and cut Magnus loose? He needed a sign, so he used names.

  “Walt…Shirley…are they…?”

  Now Lonie moved closer, testing the strength o
f the binds, nodding in approval as a twang filled their ears.

  “Last time I saw Shirley,” he said, pointing to the window, “she was being dragged through the street like a doll by my old mate Matthew Chaos, screaming for the end. Of Walt…” he said, watching Magnus’ expression closely, “I cannot say, but with many horrors still lurking the streets, I can’t confirm nor deny his existence. Jasper will want that one, alive and wriggling. You’ve got to remember, doc, none of the other inmates care for Jasper or me, they’d as likely kill us as they would kill you, unless…we give them what they want.”

  A giggle came from the bathroom, and a shiver ran down Magnus’ whole body…time…he needed time…this couldn’t be…

  “You killed the driver just to piss me off?”

  He laughed, uncontrollably, slamming the legs of Magnus with the butt of his gun he’d unsheathed during revelations. Magnus noticed there was a deep gouge on Carter’s face, likely from a recent fight.

  “Things were heating up, I needed to get stuff done…so I made everyone focus on a murder…on you, specifically. But I also read something suggesting he was watching you for other reasons, and we couldn’t have our Rockstar compromised in any way. Oh, you’ve played your part beautifully, now I have a gift for us to celebrate.”

  He opened the bathroom door, and there stood Astrid Ellen wearing a tight black dress, a colour matching the raven of her hair, which started inches above her thighs and ended half way up her breasts. Her head was tilted, and she moved her eyes over Magnus as though selecting a fine cut of meat in the local butcher, smacking lips. Old Man Lonie held out his arm and she looped hers through, and for a woman confined to a cell in Dortmund Asylum for so long she appeared fit to feature at a booming nightclub in the middle of the big city. Make-up had been applied to her eyes, a dark inviting shadow curving at the furthest points, while a red lipstick added to the sizing of her lips. Any other man would pray for such a sight, such an opportunity…but Magnus felt his heart racing him to a flutter.

  “Hello doc,” she said in her seductive tone, “I’m here to see if you can do what so many others failed to achieve…and the game hasn’t changed.”

  High Stakes

  The insane mind talks to itself before it talks to you, Magnus.

  “Out you get, deal complete,” said Astrid in a dismissive tone learned from the classroom, pushing Lonie towards the locked door. He went to speak, to protest, to offer something in exchange for a viewing of whatever may occur in this hotel room, but Astrid didn’t let him open his mouth. The man who had set the night of anarchy into motion soon evacuated the setting, and Astrid made sure to re-lock the door behind him, breathing an elongated sigh of relief.

  “Remember our first meeting,” she said, walking over to the bed, enjoying the feel of the tight velvet dress on her skin, no blood to speak of other than the slight flush in her cheeks, “when I kneeled and offered myself to you. I know why you declined; I was a criminally insane patient in a dirty cell, and you were a doctor on duty. But now, we’re in your hotel room with nobody to walk in on us and nobody to call it ‘unprofessional’. We can play our game in peace.”

  Astrid lifted onto the bed, straddling Magnus, hiking up her dress slightly to allow for the split in legs, accommodating for his girth. She placed her hands above his shoulders and leaned in for a kiss, soft and slow, the tip of her tongue finding his, and Magnus had to close his eyes to think of something that didn’t arouse; his brother wielding the broken glass, his sister receiving it in the throat. But these were interchanging memories, while the seduction of a woman thriving on the art form slithered above him in the present.

  “Relax, doctor. Please,” she said, moving her hand lower and feeling what she longed for, “I think he’s happy to see me.”

  The binds were too tight, he couldn’t resist. Would anyone hold it against him, to succumb to the pleasures of Astrid Ellen, and then plea for release? She had no interest vested in Lonie and Jasper and Dortmund…for if she achieved her goal, was there need for bloodshed?

  “Look, Astrid, if I give you what you want, will you set me free?”

  She closed one eye, pretending to think, her puffed lips pursed.

  “If you give me what I want, I promise to cut you free,” she said, high pitched, “but, if you fail to give me what I want, I’ll cut your throat.”

  From the back of her dress she withdrew a kitchen knife, the blade glistening in the moonlight which found a way through curtain.

  “And you know exactly what I want, Dr. Paul, yet I’m nice enough to spell it out for you. If you get me off, you’ll be on the streets a minute later without a gash. If you release before I do…well, Mr. Knife goes from one side of Mr. Throat to the other. I’m decent with a blade,” she said, tossing the knife upward, the blade flashing before she caught the handle cleanly above Magnus’ chest.

  “Astrid,” he started, but the Doctor of Psychology had no rebuttal. A life made off words, and nothing of substance would form; no theory to have the only woman of Dortmund Asylum not place him into a trap of certain death. Any diseases she harboured mattered little when a slit throat was the consequence of failure. Astrid didn’t remove her dress, and Magnus guessed she wasn’t wearing underwear. With the knife pressed lightly against his throat, she undid his pants with her free hand and reached within, skin coming into contact with skin, warm on warmth and ready for more. Magnus winced and closed his eyes so hard on impact that a strange pressure built up in his ears. His manhood, instantly stiff, was guided into the moist crevice.

  Astrid Ellen moaned above, rocking the bed despite her small frame, slapping Magnus back to the hotel room with a quick flick of the wrist. He tried to detract feeling from his lower regions to his upper, trying to break the bed posts with any strength left in his arms. She began slurping at his neck while giving small, involuntary shrieks…and Magnus thought he could keep in this state for a while longer…but with a click her black dress fell away, breasts bouncing above him, and her momentum rose with each push downward…the knife pressed deeper as though expecting his failure…and they locked eyes, doctor and freed inmate, the room a heating oven reaching top degree…the bed spinning like a basketball on the finger of a globetrotter…

  “Not…yet…please…” she growled, “almost…c’mon…”

  He felt it rise and crash like a tidal wave of hope that tickled every nerve ending and tightened every muscle…and he took a deep breath for the final time, as a crazed and horrific expression dawned on Astrid’s face, eyes that awakened from a deep slumber, a veil of readied massacre.

  “Too bad,” she breathed, taxed from the effort, but a knock at the door froze her hand. A knock Magnus thought he’d heard a minute ago which was now accompanied with a voice.

  “I can hear you in there, open the damn door. Don’t be rude, Magnus.”

  The smile reappeared on Astrid’s face, the former ego returned.

  “Little girlfriend come to check on the doc?” she chirped, rising off him and reapplying her dress. “It’s only fair you watch her die before I kill you, after your failure. I’m so disappointed…but this could be fun.”

  Knock…

  Knock…

  Knock…

  “Do you have a girl in there? I heard her voice…I’m sorry…it’s my job, but I want to quit…I didn’t know how. Let me in, let’s talk.”

  Magnus couldn’t find his voice.

  “This one doesn’t shut up,” said Astrid, walking over to the door like the Grinch before Christmas, knife in hand now an extension of the body. She unclicked the lock and moved behind the door, rising the knife up to her mouth in a symbol resembling a hush. Lee streamed in, eyes streaked with mascara, before noticing the binds on Magnus’ bed…and his manhood in full view, turning limp.

  “Oh,” she said, glancing into the bathroom to find a culprit, “kinky…”

  “Lee, run, now…just go,” he pleaded, too late; Astrid slammed the door shut and locked it in multiple places be
fore Lee knew what she’d entered into. Her eyes rested on the knife, and she put her hands out, backing away until her foot hit the bed and she fell backwards, on top of Magnus.

  “I wouldn’t bother, he won’t get you off,” teased Astrid, tongue swishing back and forth, crouched like the beast, ready to spring. Lee made a dash towards the bathroom as Astrid chopped downward; she missed her target, but sliced one of Magnus’ leg binds in half. Lee closed the bathroom door shut, her panting as clear as the throbbing inside his head.

  “Lee, was it? Oh wait…you’re the whore? Very pretty for a whore, isn’t she?”

  Astrid turned to Magnus, placing the knife atop his pants to re-zip her dress; not an outfit fit for assassination. In her focus on Lee she didn’t notice the cutting of the bind. With a free foot Magnus kicked Astrid in the jaw, the knife slipping between his legs and the former inmate crashing into a wall on the other side of the room. Lee reappeared, grabbed the knife and charged at Astrid with eyes wild, the teacher dazed on the floor and trying to shake back into reality. The knife drove through Astrid’s shoulder, drawing out a piercing squeal that soon transformed into a war cry. Astrid ripped it out, a fountain of crimson splashing Lee in the face, and began slashing horizontally, cutting Lee’s red dress and narrowly missing the skin on her stomach.

  “Astrid,” said Magnus, “just go, leave, we won’t chase you. What’s the point of this?”

  “The point,” she growled through gritted teeth, “is that you failed, and you need to die.”

  With her right arm hampered by the shoulder wound, Astrid was reliant on left arm swings that threw her off balance. Magnus kicked at the bed post with might, smashing wood away in chunks that flew about the room. But Lee was cornered, and the antagonist drove the knife through an exposed thigh with ease.