Psycho Candy

by Steven Hunter

  And she was coming for Candy. "What do you want? You put me here. I. . . I. . .I-"

  Again Candy opened her mouth in a yawning semblance, yet still the scream would not come. Time had slowed, each second lengthened to an indeterminable age, space itself overwhelmed perhaps by the eternal presence the room now occupied. And still Candy tried to scream and she held up her hands, a fearful gesture to ward off the evil which now approached, yet even then, in the silence of her screams she realised the futility of such an act and withdrew her hands should they be found by the sharp rows of teeth which protruded from Shub's mouth.

  In her clawed hands she carried one of her young, a mottled looking kid whose eyes held the unmistakable look of love. Shub Niggurath looked down upon her child and tore the front of its face off with a fierce bite; Candy could hear the crunch of bone and a splatter of blood landed on the floor beside her.

  Shub had hoofed feet, but walked with a grace that even the best catwalk model or ballet dancer would never achieve.

  In her fright Candy did not notice that her cigarette had burned down to the butt and moments later she jerked as the glowing stub burned her fingers. She dropped the cigarette without properly registering the pain. Her mind was turned to other things.

  “Candy. Candy, my sweet. I love you, you see, and love is not permitted in our ranks. I have another who fights for me and if he knew he would be jealous, just as if the others in my ranks knew I was here they would be angry. But I come to make you an offer. I can take you now, away from here, to Dizor, where we can be free Candy, you at my side, and in my bed, suckling my teats and pleasuring me, licking at me. Come suckle at my teat and taste the sweetness of my blood, my milk, my mother’s milk. We can go to my world, where I rule supreme. We can go to Dizor, two queens in the heavens, and we can feast upon my thousand awful young, my children, their meat, so tender, and you can love me Candy, love me and eat me in the way he does also...”

  Still the scream would not come, the time had slowed and Candy, frantic, turned to the glass window, brushing aside the net curtain, and she banged with all her might upon the pane.

  Belinda was outside, dishing out medication to the patients on the ward, and she turned and looked in Candy’s direction, as the hammering on the window increased.

  "Help me, please help me…" a bare whisper turned whimper.

  However Belinda merely smiled and waved, then continued with her work. Candy turned again towards the foul goat that was approaching and she felt sickened by its intent, and the goat was smiling, it’s infinite rows of needle-like teeth formed into an attempt at kindness,

  “Come with me my sweet, it is I, Shub Niggurath, come feel in the torture of my love, my sweet eternal pain.”

  Finally the scream took form and she herself was shaken by the cutting fear that emitted from within her, and the door to the room was opening just as time was once again at normal speed and as quickly as they had arrived, the goat and mirror disappeared. The scream however continued, and within moments Belinda was by Candy’s side.

  "Did you see it? Did you see it? Did you see it?" Candy screamed hysterically, before emitting a low moaning sound as she cradled her head within her palms.

  "It’s okay, it’s okay." replied Belinda as she pressed the alarm button on the small black box that was clasped to the outside of her pocket.

  Within seconds, another two nurses, one male, one female, were beside the broken figure of Candy, and the seemingly kindly Belinda. A syringe was gotten, filled with the sedative that Candy had come to enjoy, however it was with struggle that it was administered, a stab to the thigh, then Candy was lulled from within and the nurses had no trouble in leading her to her single bed, where she slept for nearly two days.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RANDOLPH MUSES AS PSYCHIATRISTS DO

  "So a goat. Came out of a eh…," Randolph the portly professor glanced again at the notes in front of him, for what must have been the hundredth time that day, then focused his attention back onto the row of unsmiling faces that sat (some standing) before him, "...Eh, yes. The goat came out of the mirror." He paused, again surveying the faces before him, settling his gaze on a young nurse, who stood some way to the back of the pack.

  She worked on the ward on which Candy now resided, had been the second nurse to come to Candy‘s aid when the commotion had begun, and had been summoned in amongst the institution’s medical elite to give account. She timidly met the gaze of the professor, whom she was slightly afraid of, and more than that severely disliked. He had a habit of brushing against her in the ward rounds, and the way he did it was a little too intimate to be accidental.

  However she found the courage to meet his eyes, only hoping that whatever fear he saw their concealed her loathing for him.

  "Tell me Wendy," (Her name was Wanda), "are there any mirrors in the eh… smoking quarters?"

  "No sir," replied Wanda.

  "And can you tell me the state of the patient when you found her?"

  "Screaming hysterically sir. She asked repeatedly, 'if we had seen it'?"

  "The goat and mirror, presumably. And tell me, eh… yes, Wendy. Did you see… it?"

  This brought fresh laughter from the room’s inhabitants.

  Wanda wanted die. "No sir. There was nothing to see sir. But the girl sir, Candy… she was hysterical sir. I truly believe she had seen something. The way she was clawing at herself… I -"

  Randolph held up his left hand in a dismissive gesture that cut Wanda off from speaking any further. "My dear girl, I’m sure you have the best nursing intentions at heart. And I’m sure the poor thing probably was seeing something. However why, don’t you continue doing what we all feel to be a priceless invaluable job, and leave the rest up to us doctors? After all, it is what we’re paid for. Right?"

  Randolph turned to the rest of the room, and was rewarded with a few smirks and one hearty, "hear hear!"

  Wanda, nodded politely, and left the room, grateful to be away from its occupants. What an overbearing smug prick that professor was. She had heard all about Candy’s confrontation with Randolph the wonder oink, and she smiled at the recollection of what she had heard. She would keep an eye on Candy; maybe bring her some cigarettes, or some chocolates.

  Of course she wouldn’t get too close. After all, Candy was a psychopath.

  After the majority of consultants Randolph had requested join him during the meeting had left the room, he sat with the remaining one, a small yet stocky man, who’s dishevelled dark hair fell onto a cruel and uneven face that left no room for the kind smiles the Randolph himself permitted. The man was dressed in a purple corduroy jacket, which enveloped a plaid white shirt without tie.

  This man’s name was Fortune McKenna, and he was the professor’s right hand man and most trusted of allies.

  Fortune had climbed the ranks of Psychiatry like a steel train bearing its weight on the tracks. With speed and power he had risen up, to first equal those above him, then leave them where they lay as he again climbed higher and higher, stepping mercilessly on his peers and predecessors.

  He had been around in Leary’s days in Berkeley, and although he had no time for those God awful fucking hippies, he had seen results, gotten in quick, and gotten back out again before the scandal had hit. He possessed a mind for chemicals, a sure knowledge of the states of delusion possessed by the wholly psychotic and a sure working knowledge of the human brain.

  Hell. He had seen it in action, whilst dissecting those very cells of a poor woman, who had, quite unfortunately (Fortune smiled at the memory) died as a result.

  A small slip of the scalpel and another hopeless case gone to the grave.

  The whole affair, despite being one of many, had been hushed over, the woman a five time killer, a hopeless lunatic, and in no way (at least not to Fortune’s mind) a real human being.

  And that was the beauty of it all. These people were crazy, for Christ sakes. Serial killers.

  Had they not come to them, to the insti
tution, they almost certainly would have got the chair. So it was just supplementing one end for another. God knew no one missed any of the insane fucks. Maybe a few officials had come to check up on things. Make sure everything was above board.

  But officials, they were a different kettle of fish. They were human. And every one had a price. So it was not difficult to lay on a few back-handers and find the matter dropped.

  Because, if truth be told, the officials, well, they didn’t really care. Some thought they did. At first. But in the end, madness is a dirty word, and sane people don’t want a part in it, for the fear that it really might be contagious.

  Yes it was true what they said, thought Fortune, the mad really aren’t locked up because they are suffering, but because they are insufferable.

  So the committee of three men and two women who had been assigned the role of investigating and overseeing procedures had taken their bag of silver and that had been the last inspection the institution had had the pleasure of having undertaken.

  The grandfather clock in the room struck a quarter to twelve.

  Soon the patients would be taking lunch, and Fortune thought again about the quality of the food those lunatics would be eating. Better to serve them slop. However, rules were rules, and to be fair, he was sure whatever was on today’s menu wouldn’t be anything compared to what was on his own. He could almost taste the fine vintage red, as he tried again to remember what the good professor had been saying to him.

  Something about lobotomy? Ah yes, that had been it.

  "It’s a little early in the day to be considering such things… in my own humble opinion of course," said Fortune, "however, such things must be considered. She is of course experiencing hallucinations, this whole smoking room, goat and mirror thing. But then again it could all just be a case of smoke and mirrors, if you’ll pardon my pun."

  Randolph eased himself back into his comfortable chair, and stroked lightly at his chin.

  "You are saying that perhaps she made the whole thing up? Pray tell, what that would achieve?" asked Randolph, a trifle confused.

  "Well, if she was found to be sane. Sane enough to stand trial that is, we know that she would be convicted. I mean she’s confessed to the killings herself. And in this state, a conviction of her sort would certainly mean the death penalty. So maybe play crazy, good defence is a good offence, that sort of thing," Fortune lit one of his noxious cigars. "I’m not saying she’s not mad, Randolph. I’m just covering all the bases so to speak."

  "So you think she's putting us all on, eh? Well old chap, you know I always value your opinion, and we’re going to have all the time in the world to catch her at her little game if she is, as you say, playing crazy. However, we must also consider that this woman may also be completely delusional, I think quite acutely schizophrenic, and it may be that it has been her illness that has driven her to commit these, eh, atrocities. For one thing I am sure. She is quite dangerous. And rather rude to boot. But we shall see, we shall see. I am due to meet with her again in the morning, to get a full account of her time before her stay here and of the incident with the eh, yes, goat and mirror. After that, I propose that we share the care of this Candy girl. Two heads and all that. And if it does come to the unfortunate conclusion that we may have to operate, and go ahead with lobotomising the murderous wretch then it will be you old man who will carry out the procedure. Of course, a while to go yet. Right, pip pip old man. I think it’s time for lunch."

  Fortune smiled as he put on his jacket and lit another of his noxious cigars, whilst the professor busied himself putting away paperwork on his desk. So, it might just be that the Stevens woman would need a one way operation.

  He knew that this discussion had been little more than a formality.

  With these things, it was always just a matter of time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  OPPORTUNITY PRESENTS ITSELF IN THE FORM OF PRESENTS

  Daylight filtered through the barred window of Candy’s room and onto her bedside table, creating a shadowy reminder of the imprisoning steel cylinders which lay beyond the glass.

  They themselves were still only precautionary as the glass itself had been heated in a way which left it unbreakable; bulletproof even. Above the bedroom door, which Candy had locked from the inside hung a clock, yet it was a cheap plastic affair with no alarm.

  However, when Candy awoke suddenly it was as if a bell had sounded, not from outside, but inside her head. She had been dreaming. The professor, the fat one, yes, Randolph, that was his name, had been discussing something with another man, a seedy fucker in a purple jacket. In the dream, Candy had appeared with a tray laden with knives and a large gleaming silver drill. The men had taken great delight in painting crude dots around her forehead with large magic markers, and when they had asked Candy to remove her hair she had found to her astonishment that she had been wearing a wig, a wig identical to her hair, and that she was completely bald underneath. The two men had started drawing diagrams on her head, and Candy had felt quite powerless to stop them, as they continued their artwork, laughing and patting one another on the back. So she had taken a knife from the tray and had slashed violently at the two men, causing lacerations over their smiling faces. In one instance, with gleaming razor precession, she had taken Randolph's left eye. However, the men had continued to laugh, seemingly impervious to both the pain and her horror, and so instead she had turned the knife to her left arm upon which she had drawn a Roman incision with the sharp blade, downward from inner elbow to wrist, severing veins and arteries, the blood running into sticky rivulets of draining life.

  Still they laughed as they finished their diagrams, and the one in purple had picked up the drill and switched it on, pressing the whirring mechanism with its cylindrical sharpness until the tip found purchase on her denuded scalp. Hot metal, whisking up blood as it tunnelled through bone.

  The pain, so much of it, too much to bear.

  So, she had taken the blade and deftly plunged it through her temple and deep, deep, into her brain. Then she had seen herself, the way that you sometimes can in dreams, as if her consciousness was across the room staring at her. She had seen the blood running down her arm which was bent in a saluting posture; except instead of her fingers being extended they were wrapped around the handle of the knife, which protruded from her right temple, and it was as if both body and it's separated consciousness were screaming at once.

  She had felt such pain in her dream, and the screaming was so loud she thought it would bring the foundations of the room upon all three of them. And then she had awoken to a cold sweat, scared and screaming still, for she thought she had understood the meaning of this particular dream, (they think you mad maybe they think you may be playing they think they want to cut your brain to see inside to see if you are mad).

  Vomit rose in Candy’s throat, and somewhere in her memory she tasted the whiskey that had also risen, whilst she had undertaken the walk. It seemed so long ago. Sick splattered to the floor, and Candy retched for what seemed an eternity.

  Yet, her mind was clear. Cut me, the fucks, she thought. It seems I have more than one enemy to contend with.

  And for the moment, she couldn’t decide which one was worse.

  Randolph’s office looked the same to Candy, as it had the first time she had had the dubious pleasure of gracing its interior, save for a few slight changes. She noticed with gleeful satisfaction that the lock had been removed from the inside of the door, although, whether this was a temporary measure for her benefit she couldn’t be sure. Another difference was the two large orderlies who lurked at the back of the room. One thing was for sure. They weren’t taking second chances.

  Randolph was seated in his comfortable leather chair, head bent over a small stack of papers as Candy walked slowly towards his desk. The orderlies watched her every move, scared the lunatic might once again cause harm to the man who signed their pay checks. That kind of thing just would not do. Not to them. Not while they were on dut
y. One orderly stepped forward, just as Candy reached the chair, and he coughed meaningfully, hoping to alert the professor to Candy’s close proximity.

  However the professor kept his head bowed, and instead said "Take a seat, Candy. Take a seat. I won’t keep you a moment," as he flourished a signature, then quickly assigned the paperwork to a drawer beneath his desk.

  "Now then young lady, let us get down to brass tacks, eh," said Randolph, a grin spreading across his face. "I have read the police reports taken when you were apprehended, and I have the notes taken by the nurses who so diligently observe you on the ward. However, aside from filling in a few blanks, well, I’d like to hear your side of the story."

  Randolph looked towards Candy, awaiting her answer. "Well Randolph. For starters it’s not a fucking story, it’s the truth, and if I was to tell you, it’d take quite a considerable amount of time. I’d hate for you and the apes back there to get bored," replied Candy, delicately unravelling a loose stitch on her pullover.

  "The apes, as you so delicately put it, are of no consequence. We have all the time in the world. So why don’t we just start afresh, eh? A clean slate for you and I? I am on your side, Candy. And you can’t really say that about many."

  The apes are here to see that there aren’t any more incidents, thought Candy, and I’m sure you’ll be on my side when you're drilling a fucking hole in my skull.

  However, Candy smiled back at the man. "Sure. Let’s start a fresh. Where do I begin?"

  "Let’s start with the night you killed your two friends, eh… Rich and Sarah wasn’t it?"

  Candy wanted to reach across the desk and rip Randolph’s eyes straight from their socket, apes be damned.

  Her? Her kill Rich and Sarah? This man had no idea what he was dealing with.

  However, instead she looked him clearly in the eyes. "I didn’t kill Rich and I didn’t kill Sarah. The killing did start then. But my killing didn’t start until later."