Texas Chainsaw Masochist

by Markus Fredericks

  “Good morning, Mr. Waddington,” said Sal. “Yesterday, you ended up biting off and swallowing the prosecutor’s nose…”

  “Objection,” said Benjamin. “He didn’t eat my nose – he just bit the tip off and spat it out on the floor.”

  “Objection sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Bower, please rephrase your question to accurately describe yesterday’s assault on the prosecutor.”

  “I’m sorry, your honor,” said Sal before turning back to Todd… “Yesterday, you bit the prosecuting attorney’s nose. Do you remember doing that?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  “So, is it true that you remember some of your attacks on some people some of the time, but not necessarily always?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  “Can you tell the court why you bit him?”

  “Y-yeah. H-he’s an asshole.”

  “Mr. Waddington, I won’t tolerate the use of profanity in my court,” said an angry Judge Jenkins.

  Sal asked Todd to rephrase his comment…

  “C-can I say, ‘j-jerk’?” asked Todd.

  “Yes, that sounds much better,” said Sal.

  So Todd looked over at the judge and said, “I b-bit him ‘c-cause he’s a jerk.”

  “Mr. Waddington, can you explain exactly why you bit the jerk?” asked Sal.

  “Objection,” said Benjamin. “I don’t want to be referred to in such a derogatory manner.”

  “Objection sustained,” said the judge while rolling his eyes. “I want both of you to refer to the prosecuting attorney in a respectful manner. You must call him, ‘Mr. Goldwater’, from now on.”

  “OK, Mr. Waddington, why did you bite Mr. Goldwater?”

  “H-he called me a liar, and s-said I k-k-killed K-Kyle.”

  “I understand that your memory is a bit sketchy, but can you tell the court what happened that night when you, Kyle Puckett, and the Mongol biker were all at the morgue together?”

  Todd sat there quietly for a moment to try to remember the details of the night. He hesitated before saying…

  “The b-biker took the knife out of his p-pocket and s-s-stabbed K-Kyle – then h-he tried to k-kill me. He c-cut m-my hand,” said Todd as he held out his left hand to show the clearly visible, deep scar. “I t-tackled him, and I k-killed him with h-his knife.”

  Sal turned around to face the jury, “In addition to attributing the biker’s death to ‘self-defense’, I want you to make a special note that my client, Mr. Waddington, did NOT cut off a hand from neither Kyle Puckett, nor the Mongol biker. I have no further questions for the defendant.”

  “Mr. Waddington, you may step down.” Said the judge. “Mr. Bower, do you have anyone else you wish to call to the witness stand?”

  “Yes, your honor – I would like to call Dr. Agnes Porter, a psychiatrist, to the witness stand. She has performed an extensive psychiatric evaluation of the defendant, Todd Waddington.”

  Dr. Porter stood up and walked to the witness stand. As usual, she was sharply dressed in a business skirt, and immaculately groomed. As always, she maintained her perfect posture and her eyes hardly ever blinked at all.

  The bailiff asked her, “Raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the court the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I do.”

  “Very, well – you may be seated,” said the judge. “Please state your name, and give us a brief history of your credentials.”

  “My name is Dr. Agnes Porter. I’m the chief psychiatrist at the renowned, Arkansas State Institution of Mental Health. For the past eight years, I’ve operated the third floor, which houses the ward for the criminally insane. I’m originally from Chicago, and I earned my doctorate in psychology at Princeton.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Porter,” said the judge. “OK, Mr. Bower, you may now question the witness.”

  “Good morning, Dr. Porter. You certainly have an impressive set of credentials. I understand that you have spent considerable time evaluating my client, Mr. Waddington. Could you please tell us the results of his psychiatric test?”

  “I visited Mr. Waddington, who’s been held in solitary confinement, on numerous occasions during the past six months. During my first visit, the defendant was unwilling to allow me to conduct his evaluation until we had complete privately inside his cell, so I asked everyone else to leave us alone. This ended up being a mistake.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?” asked Sal.

  “Yes – we actually had a rather amicable meeting, and Mr. Waddington was fully cooperating by answering all of my questions. However, with no apparent warning, the defendant suddenly attacked me. I immediately called for the guards to rescue me. I was only slightly bruised, but he managed to tear off one of my blouse’s sleeves.”

  “Dr. Porter – you mentioned you had subsequent visits to his cell. Did Mr. Waddington apologize to you the next time you came to visit him?”

  “No. The second time I visited his jail cell was only three days later. Oddly enough, he seemed happy to see me – and he even remembered my name. However, he had absolutely no recollection of attacking me the time before.”

  “So, Dr. Porter – apparently my client suffers from sporadic memory loss. Can you give us your official diagnosis for Mr. Todd Waddington?”

  “My extensive studies show that Mr. Waddington is a schizophrenic psychopath. He is very dangerous to society, as well as dangerous to himself. He was born that way, although many events in his life have contributed to his violent responses, dating back to the time he was abused while in juvenile detention. Since Mr. Waddington suffers from memory loss, it is impossible to tell whether or not his collection of severed hands came from personal victims he allegedly tortured to death, or whether the hands he obtained merely came from dead bodies slated for cremation. My conclusion is that he belongs in my asylum’s ward for the criminally insane. I‘d also like to point out to the court that Mr. Waddington has already signed a ‘consent form’ to allow his brain to be used for scientific research upon his death.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Porter, for your evaluation,” said Sal. “I have no further questions for the witness.”

  “Mr. Goldwater, would you like to cross-examine the witness?”

  “Yes, your honor,” replied Benjamin as he approached the witness stand.

  “Dr. Porter, I have already demonstrated that Mr. Waddington is capable of lying – even while under oath. What makes you so sure that he didn’t just try to deceive you by acting crazy during his psychiatric evaluation?”

  “People try to feign insanity all the time – and a good actor can deceive most people during a casual meeting. That’s precisely why I chose to visit him on numerous occasions to delve deeply into the inner workings of his mind. I’m well aware that polygraph tests are not admissible in court, but in my expert opinion, Mr. Waddington has answered every question during my evaluation in a truthful manner – given the parameters of his brain’s partially missing memory. My final diagnosis is that Mr. Waddington is indeed a schizophrenic psychopath. Mr. Goldwater, if you don’t believe me – just take a look at your face in the mirror.”

  “I have no further questions for this witness, your honor,” said an embarrassed looking prosecuting attorney. “The prosecution rests.”

  “Thank you for your analysis, Dr. Porter – you may step down,” said the judge. “After a brief recess, we’ll be ready to hear closing statements from both the prosecution and defense.”

  “Excuse me, your honor – council would like to approach the bench,” said Benjamin while he wiped a spot of blood which appeared from the bottom of the bandage on his nose.

  “Your honor – I’m willing to drop the people’s case against Todd Waddington if you can have him admitted to Dr. Porter’s asylum. I’m convinced that he’s a dangerous psychopath.”

  “I certainly agree that he is insane,” said the judge. “Mr. Bower, could you please ask Dr. Porter to come up front?”

  Sal quickly re
turned with Dr. Porter at this side. They all spoke in hushed voices off the record…

  “Dr. Porter, we are willing to dismiss this case if you are willing to have Mr. Waddington admitted to your asylum’s ward for the criminally insane. If we transport him to Rogers, Arkansas, will you accept him to be your patient?”

  “It would be my pleasure to do so, Judge Jenkins,” said Dr. Porter with a smile – a big, evil, sinister smile.

  “Ladies and gentlemen – may I have your attention,” announced the judge. “The court has determined that Mr. Todd Waddington is legally insane, and he is to be housed at Dr. Porter’s facility in Rogers, Arkansas. The case of the people of the State of Texas versus the defendant, Todd Waddington is dismissed.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Todd had a misconception that life at the asylum was all fun and games. As the police transport pulled into the facility’s parking lot, Todd gazed up at the three-story tall, old, brick building. If not for the iron grates covering all the windows, the place looked more like an old school building than a place for the criminally insane. Todd felt more worried about his future now, than when he enjoyed Dr. Porter’s previous social visits.

  After being registered at the ground floor, his police escort left him in the custody of two, well-built asylum security men who were both dressed in white pants and white t-shirt. One was a blond man originally from Germany, and the other one was a dark-skinned Latino. They each carried a wooden Billy Club, and both were equipped with Tasers.

  The blond security man enthusiastically stepped forward and said, “Velcome to our facility, Mr. Vaddington. Ve are all so excited to have a new, famous patient admitted to our facility. I am ze chief of security here. My name is Jurgen, und zis is my assistant, Hector. You must change out of your orange prison uniform, and put on one of ze grey jumpsuits ve vear over here. This one is triple, extra-large. I hope it fits you. After you change, ve will take ze elevator up to ze third floor. Dr. Porter is vaiting for you.”

  As big and tough as Todd was, he was a bit intimidated by his hostile surroundings. There was a check point right when they exited the elevator on the top floor, which had a steel-bar wall, and heavy, security door separating the elevator foyer from the ward for the criminally insane. Hector punched in a secret code on a keypad, and the sturdy, security door opened up.

  Todd heard eerie, crazy cries coming from way down the hallway. Jurgen explained about the cries, “One of ze patients had to be disciplined zis morning vhen he exposed himself to Dr. Porter. Now, he vants out of his straight jacket. I am sure you vill meet him soon.”

  As they walked down the hallway, Todd saw several other, locked up inmates. Jurgen said, “Ve are honored to have you join us, Mr. Waddington, but we also have a few other celebrities you may have heard of… Allow me to introduce you to some of the more notorious neighbors you vill have. The man to your right is known as, ‘Eddie the Butcher’. He used to vork in a sausage factory. He used to make ze best Knockwurst – very delicious, but don’t ask vhat his secret ingredient vas. He is a very dangerous man. Never let him grab any part of you. He vill bite it right off und swallow it.”

  Jurgen pointed at the cell to the left and said, “Zhis man is the famous, Dr. Jon Thorton.”

  Todd rarely spoke, but he wondered, “Why is there a doctor living in here?”

  “Many years ago, he used to be a successful ophthalmologist, but his fascination with ze eyeballs developed into a strange fetish. Vhen they captured him, he had collected und preserved over 40 human eyeballs he had scooped out of his live victims. He did all his damage vith nothing more than a silver teaspoon.”

  Todd gazed at Dr. Thorton, Eddie the Butcher, and several patients as he was led down the hallway to his cell. Todd suddenly felt relatively normal in comparison to some veritable nut-cakes who lived at the facility.

  About two-thirds of the way down the hallway, Jurgen and Hector stopped. Jurgen said, “Velcome to your new home, Mr. Waddington. This is your cell. All ze inmates have zer very own cells. Enter now, und I vill bring Dr. Porter to visit you.”

  Before entering the room, Todd noticed a wall-mounted, plastic container with his name already appearing on a nameplate. Inside the plastic box was a manila folder with a brief file, which also included a list of prescribed medications. The steel-bar wall extended the full width of each cell. There was a narrow, steel-bar door in the center of the bar wall, to allow for full viewing by the security men. Each door was locked electronically, and every door had its own keypad on the hallway side – well beyond the reach of the inmates.

  Todd entered his tiny room. It was slightly smaller than the solitary confinement cell in Texas. Todd’s room was only five feet wide by eight feet deep. It had a small, bare mattress, so short that his feet would hang over the edge when he slept.

  “Dr. Porter vas very nice to give you ze biggest cell ve have. You have all the comforts of home, minus any personal belongings.”

  The room was almost completely empty, since almost anything can be turned into a weapon. Other than the small bed, the only other item was a sturdy, stainless steel toilet at the rear corner of the room.

  “Mr. Vaddington, ve take every precaution ve can think of to prevent suicides. Even ze light bulb in ze ceiling is secured by a bolted, steel grill to prevent anyone from trying to electrocute himself in ze socket. Make yourself at home. Dr. Porter vill visit you shortly.”

  The steel door made an unpleasant sound of clanging when it shut. Todd had absolutely nothing to keep himself occupied with. All he could do was to sit and wait.

  Todd quickly came to the conclusion, “If anyone arriving here isn’t totally insane when they first arrive, it won’t be long before they become completely crazy.”

  A couple of hours later, Dr. Porter finally stopped by Todd’s cell to visit her new patient. She said, “I’m glad to have you join us at our facility. Normally, we serve rather basic, bland meals – but on special occasions, a patient can have a steak dinner. Tonight’s a cause for celebration, so tell Jurgen how you like your meat cooked.”

  “I like it b-blood r-rare,” answered Todd.

  “Zhat’s just ze vay I like mine too,” replied Jurgen with enthusiasm. “Red meat protein for a real man – vunderbar. Tonight you vill devour a Porterhouse Steak – no pun intended.”

  “D-Doctor – you p-promised to play g-games. When d-do we p-play?”

  “Normally, bedtime for all the patients happens at 9:00 PM,” said Dr. Porter, “but tonight you get to stay up late to play one of your favorite games – ‘Simon Says’. I think you’ll like that.”

  “Yeah – that sounds l-like f-fun.”

  Before Dr. Porter left to tend to other matters, she peeked at his medical file hanging on the wall. She took the file with her and asked Jurgen and Hector to join her in her office…

  After they entered her private chambers, Dr. Porter closed her office door for privacy. She spoke to her security men…

  “You can forget about giving the Texas Chainsaw Masochist the typical blend of Prozac and other anti-depressant and anxiety medications. I have direct orders from the CIA that we will begin experiments with a new, secret pill specifically designed to create ‘super soldiers’, for certain, dangerous black ops missions. The pill is supposed to create an extremely aggressive soldier, impervious to pain – even while being tortured. The pill also is supposed to increase physical strength, while at the same time the ‘super soldier’ experiences an enhanced sensation of intense loyalty to his supervisors. They won’t even tell me the ingredients of this little, harmless looking pill, but the CIA has hired me to test it on some of our patients. Todd Waddington will be the first person we use this experimental drug on. It will be interesting to see what he does to Mr. Charlton, our ‘indecent exposure’ patient we have strapped up in a strait jacket.”

  “I think ve vill be in for a vunderbar show tonight, Dr. Porter,” said Jurgen. “Vhen can ve give him ze secret medication?”

  “Give it at
meal time. Tell him this medicine is going to make him feel happy – and that really is the truth anyway, since he seems to feel his happiest when he is torturing someone to death. Just make sure that he eats the pill.”

  “I don’t know if I really like the experimental drug,” said Hector. “I thought we were supposed to help our patients get better – and not administer them some weird drug that makes them extra dangerous.”

  “Well, Hector – I’m sorry if you disapprove, but it’s important that we serve the best interests of our country. When I grew up, I gave my pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States – and I’m sure you did the same as well when you became an American citizen, so I recommend that you perform your patriotic duty and help me with tonight’s experiment.”

  “Yes, Dr. Porter,” said a hesitant Hector. “I will not let you down.”

  “That’s more like it. For a minute, I thought you might defy my order. I’m glad to see you have a good head on top of your shoulders. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Hector simply nodded in agreement, although secretly he loathed the idea of administering the new experimental drug on their new patient, Todd Waddington.

  Todd was famished when Jurgen and Hector delivered his dinner. A large, Porterhouse Steak was pre-cut into cubes. The meat was so rare that the chunks of steak were swimming in a lake of bloody juice. A generous scoop of mashed potatoes accompanying the steak was stained by a ring of the bloody juice around its base.

  Since knives and forks make good weapons, a small spoon was the only eating utensil provided. A stainless steel cup of drinking water sat on the edge of the tray, with a little, white pill sitting on top of a napkin. Hector slid the tray of food beneath a five inch gap at the base of the door.

  A smiling Jurgen said, “Oh my – doesn’t zhis meat look absolutely delicious, but before you begin eating, you must eat ze medicine Dr. Porter prescribed. She calls it a ‘happy pill’. After you ingest ze pill, you may eat your dinner.”

  Todd gulped down the medicine first, and Jurgen said, “Very vell done, Mr. Vaddington – ve vill leave you alone to enjoy your dinner.”