Psycho Candy

by Steven Hunter

  An hour had passed. Candy could tell by the hated grandfather clock that sat like an unwanted guest in the corner of the room.

  They had covered a lot. At first she had been careful. She hadn’t wanted to say too much, especially about the covenant, or the Goat Goddess, Shub Niggurath. This was partly for fear of reprisal, but also because she felt that they were never going to believe her.

  However, as the clinical interrogation had continued she had reasoned three things.

  Firstly, they weren’t going to believe anything she told them, anything except the fact that she was guilty of the killings. Secondly, why fear reprisals? If they didn’t believe in the covenant, they certainly weren’t going to go looking for it, what little good it would do them anyway if they did. And she was fucked! That fucking goat had come out of the mirror. If they wanted to get her, they were going to get her. And thirdly, and she could almost taste the irony of this logic. If she was ever to be believed, if she ever stood any chance at clearing her name for the murder of her two friends then she would have to tell the truth, exactly as it happened, and to the best of her recollections. Because at the end of the day, there was little else she could do.

  The only thing she had left out was the ability she now possessed; her thought voice. If they thought she believed she had it well, that was one thing. However it was quite another if they believed her. Her dream had convinced her that they were considering, somewhere down the line, whether or not to look inside her brain, with their scalpels and drills, and mirrors and fuck knew what else, and she had decided that if that were to happened then she would kill them, everyone of them, by whatever means necessary.

  However, she had had to concede that this might not be possible, and so, if not them, she would kill herself, soul be damned.

  Yet, neither of these were particularly appealing outcomes to Candy’s sensibilities, and although the thought of wiping out these sickly doctors and their staff would be fun, thinking of her soul, and the Rubiconeteka . . . Candy did not want to finish that particular thought. Because maybe she would escape. And if she could escape then maybe she could find a suitable end to the madness. Sure, she had scores to settle. And then peace. Her soul. And then- she smiled at her idea of the perfect end to the whole affair; yet disallowed it to crystallize into anything concrete, lest the winds of fate blew along that particular path and washed away her plans like rain on a chalked pavement. So she had accounted the details, omitting a few facts, and then she had smiled at the professor, the smile of a woman who was telling (almost) the entire truth.

  And the smile had worried Randolph, even unnerved him slightly.

  Because he saw in her eyes, that she believed it.

  And so he had taken his pen, and at the bottom of the page marked Conclusion: he had written – 'Classic case of schizophrenia with borderline personality disorder and mood disorder, will be often prone to hallucination, delusional thoughts and beliefs. Possesses I think a very high I.Q level (was studying to be a doctor) and a high capacity for creative delusion (she truly believes it was a God who killed her friends). Candy is highly dangerous, and it is my opinion that these abhorrent and violent tendencies come from a chemical imbalance between both temporal lobes and within the cerebral cortex, although further testing will be required to ascertain the full extent of the problem. It is of my professional will that she remain in the care of this institution under my supervision; until she is deemed fit to return to society. However, I must stress that I think it highly unlikely that this one will ever be released' - and he had signed his name at the bottom of the page and stamped it with the date, and he had looked at Candy and he had returned her smile.

  Yet, the worry did not leave him.

  Not immediately at any rate, and it was with some reluctance that he scheduled another meeting with Candy for the following week.

  The television blared non-committaly into the television area and the ears of those who sat around it, stuck to their chairs like flies to a web, waiting for the returning spider and it's toxic chemical paralysis.

  A nurse appeared with a tray of assorted sedatives and neuroleptics.

  Candy watched the scene with interest. She had been observing the drug routine of the ward for nearly a month now; who was grateful for their medication and who refused, who got what pill and who had to drink which syrup (suspension, they call it suspension) and her thought voice told her in its way, what did what to whom, and why, and she became cleverer and wiser to the ways of the institution.

  It was Monday. Candy knew this because the nurses kept a calendar above the window of their station and marked off the days as they passed. She had been reading a book, some psychological text written by a man called Hays, (for some reason unfathomable to even her, the ward was strewn with books about the mind), when Wanda, the young nurse approached.

  Candy decided she was pretty, this nurse, in a sort of timid way, and although Candy had seen her about (She did not remember her from the incident with the mirror) she could not remember ever having spoken to this woman who now took a seat beside her.

  "Hello Candy. I kept meaning to introduce myself sooner, but you know how it gets in here. One gets into a routine, and then one just gets on, and, well it’s so busy sometimes, and anyway… my name’s Wanda by the way, and, well; I just wondered if you would like some chocolate?" said Wanda, blushing slightly as she proffered a bar of milk chocolate at Candy.

  "Shit, Wanda. Well I have been watching my weight of late, what with all the men around here and all," Candy gave a slight wink. In truth it was a mixed ward, however the only male Candy had seen around was a big fat white man who stank of piss. "However, yeah, I think I could manage a square or two," and she gently plucked the sweet from the blushing nurses hand.

  "Why I’m so glad. It’s just, well you must think we’re all monsters here wanting to keep you locked up despite what you’ve all done…" Wanda bit her tongue at this, fearing she had made a boob at what she had said, however Candy just smiled reassuringly at the nurse.

  "Wanda, if there’s a monster between the two of us, I think we both know who it really is…" Candy began, however the nurse was quick to interject.

  "Oh no, I wasn’t implying you were any kind of monster. You’ve been very unwell. And God, if I were to call you a, a monster, well it’d be my job, and I…" but Candy wasn’t listening. Not to Wanda the nurse at any rate, as she prattled on, but to her thought voice, and she began to smile (she’s a killer, she killed him, he’s buried in the yard, she killed him with the gun, tell her tell her she can get things use her use her) as the nurse finally drew her dialogue to an end.

  "Say, Wanda. You think you could score me some Crack?" a casual tone.

  "Crack. Oh right. Ha ha. I get it. I think? And some heroin while I’m at it right?" Wanda tried to smile, but the look in Candy’s eyes confused her. The lunatic was joking, surely?

  "Who’s buried in the yard Wanda? Is it your husband? Your boyfriend? Or the evil father who used to come into your room as a kid? What did they do, Wanda? Did they deserve to die? Hell, I’m no judge, not with my record,"…

  … "I don’t know what you’re talk-"…

  … "You know damned fine what I’m talking about. I don’t know who’s buried there Wanda, and to be honest I don’t really give a monkey's fuck. But someone is. And you killed them Wanda. You blew their fucking brains out, you pulled the fucking trigger and…" -

  … "Keep your voice down. Please," a hoarse whisper, barely audible, the onset of tears in Wanda’s eyes, "Please, yes, no, I don’t know. I thought you were joking. I don’t know anything about drugs. I-”-

  … "You serve drugs to people every day Wanda. It’s just a difference in what you serve and who you’ll be serving them to. Go find me some Crack, Wanda. And before you go tonight, you get me some more of that morphine shit and some of those little blue pills, the Lorazepam. Because if you don’t your secret will no longer be safe with me. And then Wanda, you are gonna be in tro
uble," replied Candy, gently with a smile.

  "And who’s going to believe a sick psychopathic fuck like you, huh, you fucking bitch? You’re in the fucking loony bin. Who are you going to tell, huh? I’ve got a good mind to press the little button on this alarm and have you sedated, and then slit your throat whilst you sleep," rallied Wanda, gamely, Candy thought. However, she could tell Wanda was just bluffing, buying for time. Her heart had cracked. Candy swore she could hear it happen.

  Wanda was defeated and they both knew it.

  “Wanda. Although I admire your bravado, one killer to another," Candy paused for a moment as Wanda visibly flinched, "I think we both know you don’t want to take the risk. I ain’t that dumb and I’m certainly not that easy to kill. So why don’t you run along like a good little girl and fetch me my pills, and my crack, and meanwhile I’ll think of anything else you can do for me, which I’m certain I can and you will."

  A single tear escaped from Wanda’s left eye, and from the look in those eyes, Candy could see that Wanda would love for nothing more that to tear Candy limb from limb. However, Wanda wiped the tear away and within two minutes she was back with a pethidine injection, two Lorazepam, and a small measure of orange diluting juice.

  “Come on, I can't give you this here, you'll have to come through to your room,” stated Wanda in a numb tone which gave Candy the impression the nurse had gone into some kind of shock.

  She did not look at Candy as she swallowed the pills nor as she administered the injection, however before she left she knelt beside her.

  "How, how did you know?" she had asked with jagged breath and fearful tone.

  "I’m crazy. The voices told me. You work it out," Candy had replied, although not unkindly.

  And Wanda had left. Gone back to the nurses’ station, where she had complained of painful cramps in her stomach, and she had taken the rest of her shift off, gone home early, and cried for over an hour.

  Crack? Where the hell did you buy crack? She wasn’t even sure what crack was.

  She had toyed with the idea of suicide. There was a gun in the locked drawer of her bedside dresser. It had been the one she had shot her husband with, after he had tried to beat her for the last time. However, she felt she had been justified in killing that bastard, and now this… no, she did not deserve to die.

  It occurred to her then that she could have loaded the barrel with enough pure morphine to kill the bitch. Further still, Wanda realised that she had probably missed her only chance to nip this in the bud before it could flower into a series of blackmail threats. Yet then again; she could get this crack, whatever, and she would give it to Candy, and maybe she could use it to poison her, and then- but then the voices. What if they told on her? What if Candy already knew that she had thought of poisoning her? No. She would get the Crack, and she would do nothing to it, do nothing but deliver it.

  However, the previous notion of suicide suddenly became slightly more appealing.

  Again, Wanda began to cry.

  A week had passed, and Candy had not seen any sign of Wanda, but her thought voice had whispered to her (Wanda faking they think she's ill) and she had grown restless, not because she believed that Wanda would not come through on the deal, yet because she wanted the crack, wanted it so badly, the touch and taste and smell of it. She had no idea how she was going to smoke it mind you. She was in an institution for Christ’s sake however; she would cross that bridge when it came to it.

  The other thing that had been on Candy’s mind was killing.

  She had not killed a single person since she had been a resident of the institution, and she had no idea what would happen if she did, although from her past experience with the professor she had an idea that it would not be pleasant.

  Still, she had her soul to think about, the game had not stopped just because she had been incarcerated, and like her aching for crack she was developing a need to once again practice the thing she had come to think of as her only contribution to a society which had scorned her...

  …L.A DOCUMENT#79

  ...Candy is growing restless in the institution. Drugs have begun to no longer be a problem for her, as she has a nurse who is bringing them in from the outside. She has also began again to crave violence; she lives in the shadow of a former person and that person no longer wishes escape. It wishes to be free. She will mix passion with destiny in alchemical release, and drain the potion, for better or for worse. I don’t think it will be much longer before the blood hits the fan…

  … however, it would all take careful planning. If she was to kill, then maybe that would give the boys the push they so desired to drill a hole in her temple or cut away a section of her grey matter. No it would have to be… perfect.

  She inhaled deeply on her cigarette, before grinding it out into the ashtray that rested on the table beside her. She had come to enjoy smoking, never switching from the Lucky Strikes that the nurse had afforded her that day, savouring the warmth of the smoke as it entered her lungs. Her reverie was cut short however as a young woman entered the room. It took Candy a moment to place her as the one who had been newly admitted and had been causing the commotion while she, Candy, had been confronted with Shub Niggurath. Candy gazed at the woman for a second then turned her attention back to her book.

  The professor had been true to his word and she had received the items she had asked for, the private television and games console although they sat largely untouched Candy preferring instead to escape into the world of fiction, especially as Wanda was yet to produce her other more preferred form of escape.

  The woman sat firstly in a chair in the same row as Candy then seemed to change her mind and stalked across the room to the chairs on the other side where she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged her arms around them. Candy looked up again and saw the woman was looking directly at her.

  "You got some problem?" Candy asked.

  "Yes. I'm being held here against my will for a crime I did not commit and I just happen to be out of cigarettes."

  Candy considered this, then threw her packet of Lucky Strikes across to the woman.

  “Here. You can have these. The nurses should really supply you with some, but I don't mind."

  The woman nodded, as if this made perfect sense to her then again stared at Candy.

  "Is there something else I can help you with?"

  "Yes. I don't appear to have a lighter."

  Candy sighed and instead of tossing the lighter through the air she slid it across the tiled floor where it landed at the woman's feet. The woman reached and picked it up and then lit a cigarette.

  Minutes later tears formed in her eyes. "This is the most awful place. I didn't murder Mark, no matter what they say. I just can't remember anything, that's all, and they found me holding the knife, but I'd found him like that you see, I'm sure of it, It's the only thing that makes sense; but they say because of my illness that I must be guilty. Does that make sense to you?"

  Candy nodded. "The justice system is fucked, that's for sure. Do you have a lawyer taking on your case?"

  The woman dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper and shook her head. "They gave me this card. Apparently I'm entitled to legal assistance but I haven't gotten around to it yet. To be honest I only awoke an hour ago. They drugged me when I came in and I must have slept for. . . well I'm not really sure to be honest. But it must have been a while."

  Candy suddenly liked this woman. She was obviously seriously upper-class. Her accent held the tones of the wealthy, spoke of old money. Candy, who's parents themselves were well-to-do and certainly did not pay mortgages on the twelve bedroom mansion they lived in or the summer house in Hawaii, had spent a lot of time as a child mingling in the kind of polite society where accents such this one was common place. She tried to think of a time recently when she had conversed with a person whose voice spoke of such privilege and immediately Randolph Nowes came to mind.

  She pushed his ugly piggy eyed face away from her immediately
as she did not want to make any cross over mental association.

  "My advice to you is to call the number on the card. I think that when you're in a place like this, no matter if you're the Sultan of Brunei or some hobo from off the street you're entitled to legal aid. We're kinda short on rights in this place, so I would make the most of the one right you do have."

  The woman smiled kindly at this and stubbed out her cigarette. "Daddy has some of the best lawyers in the world working on my case. Although I'm not sure it will make the blind bit of difference. You see I was found not guilty on the basis of temporary insanity. However, because I happen to be Bi-polar they have to keep me in for tests to make sure that the chance of me murdering my fiancé are unlikely and-" the woman burst into sobs again at this.

  Candy took another this time unopened pack of cigarettes from her pocket and began to unwrap the cellophane. "Well I've got to tell you, you're a damned sight better off than I am. You see I'm here because of temporary insanity, but I got caught sticking a knife into a cop’s head so there's no two ways about it-"

  "I know who you are. You're Candy Stevens the most notorious serial killer ever to hit Calm Bay since no one, never."

  "Well there you go then. See. Things could be a lot worse, eh... I didn't catch your name?"

  "Cassie. Cassie Dell. It's short for Cassandra, but I always thought that name was such a drag. I was a bit nervous when I came in here. I thought that-"

  "You thought what? That I was going to leap out my seat and bite the throat off you?"

  "No. . . It's. . . well, you see I did have cigarettes, but the other woman on the ward took them from me. Them and other things, precious things and I-" tears started streaming from Cassie's eyes and she found herself unable to continue.

  Candy felt a violent rage swell up inside her. The woman here were scum. Okay, Candy was a killer but hell she suffered for it. What the hell did these woman get apart from free television, three squares a day and their own packets of cigarettes.