A temporary resting place for the living.
The institution had a morgue of course, although she had only been in it once, during the mandatory tour she had been given when she first started working at Rosenhan.
However, she hadn't paid much attention that time around.
Had turned to the detective, asked where the body was, and had been led through an open door to another room, this one with one with a window, which had one way glass.
Who is watching me? She had thought.
In the room had been a table of sorts. It was flat and had a blue sheet over it. The detective had pulled back the sheet. Wanda had stared at the man.
His body had been badly burned, however his face was recognisable.
Or would have been if Wanda had known who the hell this guy was.
She turned to the detective. Nodded yes, an affirmative.
The detective had expressed his sorrow for her and despite wanting to get the hell out of there she asked if she could have a moment alone with the body; which she spent memorising as much of his face as possible lest she ever be asked any further questions on his appearance.
Afterwards the detective told her that her personal confirmation had been vital as no identification had been found on the man, it having presumably burned up in the fire.
And that, she thought, had been the end of it.
The life insurance had paid out. However with Candy's crack addiction, plus the K, the MDMA, and the soft black hashish that she would often also ask for, and her own habit to feed, Wanda wasn't sure how much longer the money would last.
Candy continued her stroll.
Her destination was close, yet she maintained a steady slow pace, enjoying the late afternoon sun and the cool breeze which accompanied it. Detective Malone had been in again last night.
She remembered how tired he had looked. Had been surprised at how much he had told her. At first his attitude had seemed odd. Malone had always appeared cautious. Their conversations could normally be compared to a card game. He would look at what was on the table and check his hand to see if it matched up; occasionally laying another card in the hope of coaxing Candy to follow suit.
This time it had been different.
It was as if the Detective had nobody other than herself to turn to, and as he continued to speak she realised that this was pretty much the way things were. The police situation had changed rapidly from a Gods and Monsters panic, to the theory that Candy either had friends on the outside or that a cult of some kind, no doubt Satanic, had been responsible for the killing of all three of the officers.
It was as if a spell had been cast over the entire force, or at least nearly the entire force. Young Jimmy for example, the rookie who had watched Xcetral feast away on the old timer, Jackson's brains, could now pretty much swear to it that it had been a man he had seen, and that come to think of it the guy was probably one of them cannibal types you heard about from time to time. In truth what Jimmy remembered was an invention of his reasoning.
The C.I.A term for it was 'slides', where the human mind was faced with something it could not accept, so simply injected a memory of its own so that the rest of the psyche didn't pack in. However Jimmy was not aware of the C.I.A term, nor was the C.I.A aware of the events which had transpired that day.
This was made certain by the mysterious disappearance of the forensic reports on the murders, which had detailed amongst other things the knife wound to officer Dale Bargemen. The report had indicated that the combination of the speed the knife had been travelling at when it pierced through the victim's skull, and the force required for such an act to be possible, was by all accounts impossible. The same could be said for the accuracy with which it had been carried out.
Forensics had set up a web of threads, some of which took into account the blood splatters, others the direction the knife had been implanted, which formulated a picture of how the murder had taken place. All agreed that the murderer had been standing still, only mere inches from the body when the murder had taken place. And all had agreed again that nothing human, even the strongest of all living creatures alive on the planet, could not have committed such the deed, even through accident or sheer fluke.
It simply was not possible.
This, along with the unidentifiable skin samples found near the torn apart body of female officer Siuna McKenzie - which when put under a microscope and a variety of other tests, did not match anything human, let alone anything known to this planet, meant the Gods and monsters theory had been practically undeniable - even to the human mind and it's 'slides' technique. Sometimes when faced with such overwhelming, if not nearly understood facts, the human mind had no choice but to try and accept what was in front of it.
This acceptance lasted four hours nine minutes to be exact.
That had been when the Rubiconeteka had taken an interest, a special interest, in precinct 17 and any possible consequences of their actions. This included the likelihood of various government bodies, some of which made the C.I.A look like a Cub Scout initiative, becoming aware of their existence.
Like the C.I.A, they also understood the human mind and it's 'slides' technique, understood it extensively in fact, and would have had no trouble whatsoever believing the Gods and monsters theory.
And that would only be the start.
So, rather than be revealed to an authority where only 3% of government officials knew of their existence, none of whom worked for any of the said agencies and all of whom knew to keep the secret of the Rubiconeteka secret, on penalty of a fate worse than death, they instead used their powers of mental domination on the inhabitants of precinct 17, changing the minds of over a hundred cops.
However, perhaps by divine providence, or maybe just unconnected serendipity, Malone had not been in the vicinity when the mind changing spell had been cast. After leaving the institution he had driven back at full pelt in his rusty old ford.
Despite the absurdity of what had been suggested to him over the telephone, Malone hadn't gotten where he was by closing his mind up. To him it was about balance.
One thing was for sure.
The James woman... Malone found himself sighing at this.
For all intents and purposes she was really still only a girl.
Sure by state laws she would have been tried as an adult, but his own daughter was only a year younger and he still thought of her as a girl. Hell, this Candy was only... what... twenty two if she was a day.
He wiped his face and tried to regain his train of thought.
Yes, he was not going to go down the same path she had. Her belief in this whole thing had made her not just a killer, but crazy. Sure the two were connected, but still... but then again, wasn't that like saying that madness was catching?
And what if there was some weight to her story?
What if it was true?
But he could not fully allow himself to believe this.
Not until he had had a chance to go through the evidence, see all the gathered data about these creatures inhuman, with his own eyes, would he be able to fit it together with his reason.
Hell, with regard to logic, it did actually make sense.
But could he really believe that this was all the work of Gods and their feminine equivalent? Malone had a hard enough time believing in one God, let alone a number of them, without adding Goddesses' to the equation.
And if it was true, what did it all mean?
So it was that he arrived at the precinct with the full intention of getting the relevant answers to his questions.
Instead however it was as if nothing had ever happened.
The way those bastards had been going on about it you would have thought they had gotten affirmative prints for the devil himself, Malone had thought to himself later that day.
After nearly an hour of trying to get something, anything, out of anyone, he had given up completely and driven home in a rage, more convinced of Candy's story than ever, and there hadn't been a
day since where he didn't stop by.
As she walked in the grounds she realised this was the first.
There had still been no sight of the covenant, despite Candy’s directions and his best intentions. He had even tried to arrange for Candy to accompany him in his Ford; however it had been vetoed straight away.
She was glad of his visits though.
So long as she had someone on the outside checking in on her she was safe; for as much as she hated to admit it, if she ended up a vegetable, it would be one less problem for Wanda to worry about.
As she strolled across the well manicured green, she came to the small rock garden she would often frequent, the fresh air a treat and a place to smoke joints or take some MDMA.
She would sometimes sit for hours, staring out at the stars, just wondering. Sometimes she would wonder where the hell these creatures that ruled the games came from. And what kind of weapon she would need to reach that place.
The voice of the person behind her startled her.
“Lovely day isn’t it?”
Candy turned to be faced by a man dressed in long flowing robes, made of a deep red material she did not recognise. She studied the man's face intently. His hair was a golden brown. She fought to see into his eyes; however the heat of the afternoon sun blinded her efforts.
He looked normal enough.
Must be off a different ward, though can’t be too harmless otherwise he wouldn’t be in here.
"I like your robes."
"Thank you," the man smiled cheerily.
Candy had never seen whiter teeth.
"It’s not every day I get to meet a famous serial killer. Do you know what the media has dubbed you?"
"What?" said Candy, intrigue taking precedence over the annoyance she felt at having to postpone her high.
“Psycho Candy. Shub though likes to call you her sweet.”
Candy froze. "Who are you?"
The man smiled sweetly. “A prophet. My name is Horus.”
Candy watched in awe and terror as the human face before her extended and contorted.
Where there had been a nose there protruded a large green beak. She could see clearly now the pupils of his eyes, colourful flickers like dancing flames of orange and red, against a background which held all the darkness and vastness of space.
“It’s okay. I just came to bring you news. More specifically for you to watch it. Tonight at six.”
Then he was gone. To be replaced by the sight of Brekin running as fast as he could towards her.
Hawk face! Son of a bitch! Killed my wife!
The thought nearly knocked Candy of her feet; its ferocity was so great. The giant bear of a man sat down heavily, his dreads knocking against each other, and Candy could sense the pain in his heart like a bad tooth, and like a bad tooth she found it equally hard to stop touching it, and soon both their hearts were mingled, their pain conjoined freely while their brains searched for ways to make it stop.
Finally Brekin looked up and said, "Ganja. I need it now."
Twenty minutes later both Candy and Brekin were floating on the dope.
Brekin held her tight, tears streaming down his long dark face. "It's like I told you Candy. He sucked her clean. Den the beast show up right after and thinking I strangle her to death. I’m a schizophrenic mind to Babylon, Candy. I heard dem voices when I was a young boy, didn’t know it was just a gift. They sent me here when it was him, Horus, who had killed Bess. Then last night I dreamt. A Red Indian with a Mohawk came to me and he told me how you were to escape but the timing would have to be perfect. But he said something bad, something terrible was going to happen this very day and you gonna go through hell before you get out of here. He said when the chips were down then dip them in the taste of revenge and it'll make them sweet like Candy. That's what he said."
"Did he say what the... terrible thing was? Did he say that we get hurt or something?"
"He said a bad time was coming but do not despair because it'll all be good in the end. Can we forget for now, talk of other tings? You know you have nice eyes, Candy? You are a very beautiful woman."
Candy could feel, just like all that time ago with Beano, the longing in the big man’s heart. Except this time she felt it too. Without a word she took his hand and led him behind a collection of bushes.
"Candy... I..."
"Shhh."
Detective Malone was at a loose end. In fact he was at several. Every possible lead, had in effect, led nowhere. Although, owing to the amount of times it had lead nowhere, he was beginning to suspect that nowhere was actually a place, and if that was the case then maybe...
What the hell are you thinking, James?
Nowhere – a place?
He had noticed he his thoughts had been filled with this irregular sort of junk. Nonsense thoughts that in no way whatsoever benefited him or his investigation. Not that there really was an investigation.
Not really. So far as the precinct was concerned it was a satanic cannibal with a penchant for fetish wear. Nobody could really be bothered to even discuss it any more.
Cops had been killed for Christ's sake.
He opened the stair door that led the four flights to his two bedroom apartment. The key turned in the lock easily enough; despite the four double whiskeys he'd allowed himself on the way home.
He had stopped at a bar, unfamiliar to him.
This in itself surprised him as he thought he was familiar with all the bars in the neighbourhood. He had propped himself up on the wooden counter, head down, eyes screwed almost shut in weary contemplation.
To his left sat two women, both attractive. Both out of your league, he had thought at the time. To his right sat a gentleman, older than him, and to be fair the guy looked it. But he also looked a damned sight healthier, so what that told him, he didn't know. He had snorted contemptuously at this thought. The whiskey was clouding most of what he called thought anyway.
The gentleman to his right had offered to buy him another. This had been fine with Malone. He was two swallows in to what was his third whiskey before he realised, with some trepidation and a very minute amount of flattery that he would never ever admit, that the gentleman on his left was chatting him up.
Not that he had anything against fags in general.
He had politely sipped his drink, fielding the fag's advances with half smiles and shakes of the head.
Then all of a sudden he felt like shit.This was it. This was the sum of his day. Being chatted up by a fucking queer.
Now he did slightly admit the flattery he had allowed himself to feel, slightly sickened with himself. In his whiskey soaked brain, his ego had taken a bruising.
Two ladies on one side. A fag on the other. And he gets chatted up by the fucking queen himself.
Malone had ordered another whiskey, which was to be his last in that particular establishment, and ignoring the fag completely now, he had turned round to the two ladies at the bar, hoping, somewhere, that there was in fact a merciful God.
“Hi,” he had attempted a smile.
The ladies had smiled back. That had been something. But he had recognised the smile. It was a smile that spoke volumes. It was a smile that practically shouted, pity! Despite this he had tried again.
“Hi. I, eh... I said hi. What, does nobody talk to each other in this place?”
The woman furthest away had answered. She was dressed in tight jeans and a revealing low-cut top that Malone could not help staring at.
“Well, a moment ago you were talking to your boyfriend over there. What's the matter? Had a tiff?”
Malone fought the impulse to get angry.
That was always his problem.
Too much booze.
Made the anger inside a million times worse.
That's why she had left.
“No. He's not my boyfriend. Listen, I was just being friendly that's all. I mean, doesn't anybody talk to each other anymore?”
“Well, me and my girlfriend here were in the m
iddle of a conversation. So, I guess some people like to talk, yeah.”
Then Malone had said something about dykes and penis envy and before he had spilled his drink he had been asked to leave.
Had pulled his badge on the barman.
Been told to save it for Halloween.
The last thing he remembered was shouting that he was a cop!
Pulling his gun.
People screaming.
Then a blackout.
They had gotten more frequent of late.
And now he was home. Home sweet home.
He climbed the stairs.
Despite his drunken state he had climbed this route in this condition hundreds, if not a thousand times.
Fumbled for his door key.
Put it in the lock.
Turned it.
Pulled down the handle.
Something not quite right.
The door was already open. He hadn't needed the key in the first place. Had he forgotten to lock it when he last went out?
For the life of him he couldn't remember.
He gave the apartment a quick appraisal, switching into cop mode, despite the whiskey which was now threatening to start a pounding headache unless it was topped up with more of the same or something similar.
Of course he'd just be delaying the inevitable.
Should really be chugging down as much water as possible, with some extra strength aspirin. He stumbled his way to the sideboard across the room. Poured himself a double measure of brandy. Was it brandy? No, it was in fact bourbon.
How had he mixed it up?
Losing your touch. Bourbon for brandy and the land of nowhere, he thought to himself as he drained half the glass, topped it up, and took another large gulp.
Finished the glass and refilled it to the top.
Slumped down in his seat, the open door forgotten.
Presently he began to dream.
Candy undressed Brekin slowly then herself and soon they were both naked. She pulled him down on top of her and soon he was in her. Slowly he rocked his stiff cock back and forth into her and they both moaned in pleasure, for the beauty of the humanity of this sexual encounter, a natural experience ordinarily denied. Soon he was spent, yet not before Candy, who climaxed with a pleasurable moan.
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