A Psycho and his Disciple

by Athan,Jon

  Lucas glared at Dean, angered and confused. Scowling, he demanded, “Toss the piece in there. You don't ever want to get caught with a dead cop's gun, you stupid son of a bitch. Hurry up and toss it in. Go on.”

  Eyes wide with fear, Dean stared at Lucas. The pair had bumped heads before, but he could not decipher the ex-convict's true intentions in the alley. His attitude was bizarre, shifting from helpful to malicious within a minute. Yet, from the cold and hollow look in his eyes, he could tell the killer meant business.

  Dean nodded as he threw the handgun into the garbage.

  As he tossed a match into the dumpster, setting the trash and body aflame, Lucas said, “Good boy, good boy...” He watched as the police officer was swallowed by the crepitating flames – the sight brought a tear to his eye. He closed the dumpster and said, “We're done here. Let's go home.”

  Lucas pulled his jacket over his head and ran across the street. Dean held his forearm over his brow and reluctantly followed. The couple absconded with the storm, disappearing with the downpour.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There Is No Escape

  Dean stood near the living room window, fidgeting like a crack addict itching for his fix. He rubbed the nape of his neck and scratched his sopping hair as he glanced every which way. He was anxious, trying his best to contain his mixed emotions. The bottled anger and fear were waiting to explode – the concoction was dangerous in the wrong hands.

  Lucas leaned near the doorway, unperturbed by the night. He watched his mentee with narrowed eyes, analyzing his antsy demeanor. The young man was a nervous wreck, pacing back-and-forth like a sex addict waiting for the results of an STD test. His fretful behavior made him smirk. He didn't have the same experience as Dean, but he still admired him.

  Breaking the silence, Dean said, “You... You killed him. You killed another innocent person, Lucas. I agreed to killing drug dealers because they're fucking scum. I would even kill rapists and pedophiles if that's what you wanted. I never agreed to killing innocent women and cops. That's... That's not what I do! That's not who I am!”

  Lucas bit his bottom lip, then he said, “Keep your voice down, boy.”

  “No! No, I'm tired of keeping my mouth shut. I'm tired of staying quiet. You're going to listen to me. You understand? Huh? You're going to let me talk for once. No more bullshit.”

  With a blank face, inscrutable to the untrained eye, Lucas stared at Dean and tilted his head. He was not amused by Dean's revolt. The young man's gall was rather insulting. Yet, he leaned back and allowed him to speak. He was curious.

  Dean said, “You... You've lied to me, Lucas. It was all good when we started. It wasn't perfect, but it was okay. You taught me how to fight, you taught me how to defend myself. You taught me how to make money by getting rid of the trash on the street. That was all good. I appreciated that. Then, you... you changed. You raped an innocent woman, you tried to kidnap a child, and you killed a damn cop. You're sick. You're a sick bastard. It's no wonder you spend half of your life in prison.”

  Lucas glowered at Dean. He jabbed his index finger at the young man and said, “Shut your mouth. Don't you dare talk to me like that, boy. I've given you everything. I treated you like a son. Now you have the nerve to disrespect me? Me? The only father you have? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I know who I am, but I don't know who you are. You're a psychopath. You should be back in prison. They should have never let you out. No... You–You belong in an insane asylum. You need help and–”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop? How many times did I tell you to stop when you were raping that woman? How many victims have told you to 'stop' before you killed them? Huh? How many people have you even killed, Lucas? I don't know you. You could be the most insane serial killer on the planet and I wouldn't know. You're just a–”

  “Stop! Shut your fucking mouth!” Lucas barked with veins protruding from his throat.

  Dean stepped in reverse until he collided with the wall. He stared into Lucas' bestial eyes, gazing into the man's monstrous soul. Before his very eyes, his mentor metamorphosed into a savage. The killer inside emerged, unleashed from his restraints. Only one thought ran through Dean's mind: what have I done?

  Lucas said, “This all started when you brought that girl home. I admit, I fucked up with that other woman, but everything else was Lori's fault. Everything would be fine if she didn't mess with your head. We would have been loaded by now if you never met her. This is her fault and you should be taking your anger out on her.”

  Dean shook his head and said, “No, no, no. I'm not going to let you manipulate me like that. I won't let you turn me against her. None of this is her fault. She didn't make us do any of this. If it's anyone's fault, it's... it's mine. It's my fault for believing you. It's my fault for listening to all of your crazy ideas. I was stupid.”

  “Don't blame yourself, Dean. That's what women do to you. They make you think it's your fault, they make you think you're the problem, but you did nothing wrong. You're innocent in all of this, son. It's her fault. Come on, say it with me: it's her fault.”

  Dean despondently stared down at his dilapidated shoes. Throughout the scuffles and murders, he didn't notice the blood spattered on his shoes – specks of murder reminding him of the past. Although his skin remained unscathed, he could only see blood on his hands. The epiphany dawned on him like a ray of light from the heavens above. I was wrong, he thought.

  Dean said, “No. It's my fault. It's my fault and it's your fault. There's no changing what I did in the past, but I can change my future. I can't...” He paused and sniffled, choked by his anxiety. He swallowed the lump in his throat, as if he were swallowing a golf ball, then he said, “I can't work with you anymore. You're sick. You're vile. You're toxic. If I stay, I'm afraid I'm going to end up like you. I don't want to spend half of my life in prison. If they find out what we did, I'll probably be put to death. I don't want that. I'm done.”

  Lucas furrowed his brow and asked, “You're done? Done with what?”

  “I'm done with you. It's over, Lucas. I'm leaving.”

  “After everything we've been through, you're just going to leave? You're just going to walk out of that door? Huh? I took you in when no one else cared. I gave you a home, I put money in your pocket. I taught you how to survive without the system. After all that, you're just going to leave me?”

  Teary-eyed, Dean nodded and said, “Yeah.”

  Lucas huffed in disbelief. He paced in front of the doorway, constantly glancing at the young man. Idiot, traitor, cheater, he thought, he would be dead in the streets without me. He was sure Dean wouldn't have survived the fight against Otis in the alley. Although he instigated the drunken brawl, he was also the source of Dean's strength and motivation. He was correct in a twisted sense.

  The ex-convict stopped in front of the doorway. He glared at Dean, then he sighed. He retrieved the revolver from his waistband, then he carefully reloaded the weapon. One-by-one, Dean watched as the cartridges slipped into the cylinders. He was mystified by Lucas' actions. Even if the reloading led to his death, though, he refused to apologize.

  As he cocked the gun, Lucas said, “You're not going anywhere. You're staying with me whether you like it or not.” Without a tremble in his arm, he aimed the revolver at Dean. He asked, “You understand me, boy?”

  As if he were caught by the police, Dean held his hands up and asked, “Wh–What are you going to do? Huh? Are you... Are you going to kill me? You're going to kill me because I want my freedom back?”

  “That's up to you. I'm not afraid to hurt you, son. As a matter of fact, I think you deserve some discipline. I think that's why you're acting up. It's because you're daddy wasn't around to teach you any manners. Well, I'll teach you the same way my daddy taught me. Come here.”

  Tears streaming down his blushed cheeks, Dean stuttered, “N–No...”

  Lucas wagged the revolver at the young man and said, “Come here. Don't make me kill y
ou.”

  “You–You wouldn't hurt me... You won't–”

  Lucas pulled the trigger and shot the ceiling. Dust and splintered wood spiraled towards the ground, dancing in the air like flower petals in the wind. Dean held his hands to his ears as he sobbed. The deafening gunfire was terrifying.

  Lucas shouted, “Come here! Get on your goddamn knees and crawl over here! Don't make me shoot you! Don't make me do this, son!”

  Saliva dripping from his mouth, Dean wept and wheezed as he staggered to his knees. He trembled uncontrollably as he crawled towards Lucas. His mind was tormented with sickening thoughts of utter depravity. He couldn't predict Lucas' next move.

  As he reached the doorway, Dean closed his eyes and waited. Only the sound of his tears plopping on the hardwood floor and the rain dominated the puny apartment.

  Lucas tapped the top of Dean's head with the firearm and said, “You're going to prove yourself to me. Okay? I don't want to kill you. Hell, I don't even want to hurt you. But, I need to know that you trust me and I need to be able to trust you. I'm only doing this because I care.”

  Dean whimpered and shook his head as he kept his eyes shut. His panting stopped as he heard a familiar sound – the sound of a rippling zipper. Upon opening his eyes, the young man gasped as he spotted Lucas' pants wrapped around his ankles.

  Refusing to look up, Dean whispered, “No, no... Please, no...”

  Lucas said, “Go on, boy. I want you to... to... to suck it.”

  Tears trickling from his bloodshot eyes, Dean shook his head and said, “I... I can't...”

  “You will. You're going to suck my cock. You understand me? You'll wrap your pretty lips around it, you'll suck it, then you'll swallow. Then, everything will go back to normal. Go ahead, boy. Prove yourself to me.”

  Dean trembled like a frightened pup, refusing to look up at his mentor. He wouldn't be able to gaze into the ex-convict's eyes, but he'd probably see a different eye on the slug dangling between his thighs. With his head slumped down, he crawled an inch in reverse. He cried as he felt the gun on the back of his head.

  Lucas said, “Don't worry about all of those gay jokes I made before. This isn't anything like that. I'm not gay and you're not gay, either, right? This is... This is just something friends do. This is how you prove your loyalty.”

  'Something friends do' – the justification sounded like something a disturbed drunk uncle would say before committing his foul acts on his family. It was a bullshit excuse, a method of manipulation for sexual predators. Imagine such a horrible slogan for friendship: friends force other friends into unwanted sexual relationships.

  Dean said, “I can't do it. I won't do it.”

  Lucas leaned closer to Dean and sternly said, “You're going to do it, boy. Don't you dare disobey me. I'll stick this gun up your asshole and shoot a bullet through your mouth if you disrespect me again. You understand that, don't you?” Dean planted his forehead on the floor and hopelessly wept. Lucas placed the muzzle of the gun on the young man's head and shouted, “I'm doing this because I care about you! I'm doing this because I care, goddammit! I love you! You hear me? I love you, so please suck my damn cock before I have to kill you!”

  Grinding his forehead on the splintered floor, Dean shook his head and sobbed. Lucas had spiraled into an endless pit of madness. His words were nonsense, gibberish like a baby's lexicon. He didn't understand the concept of love. His definition of love was taught to him by his abusive father. He would say anything to manipulate anyone – including the man he claimed as his 'son.'

  Dean, however, would not budge. Like a man on the verge of death, he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. He could have pleasured the man to defuse the situation, but his integrity would not allow it. He found himself pondering the lessons Lucas had taught him. In his mind, he only had one option: fight back.

  With tears glistening in his zany eyes, Lucas said, “All you have to do is prove yourself. That's all. You just have to–”

  Before he could finish, Dean hit Lucas' crotch with an uppercut. As Lucas pushed his knees together and screamed, Dean hit him again with all of the strength he could conjure. The young man grimaced in disgust as he felt the killer's wrinkled genitalia with his knuckles. The attack, however, proved to be effective.

  Lucas staggered to his knees and trembled uncontrollably. He was visibly lost in his thoughts and pain.

  As he lurched towards the doorway, Dean shouted, “Don't look for me, you sick bastard!”

  Lucas grunted and groaned as he curled into the fetal position. He was debilitated by the powerful attack – physically and mentally. Although the pair did not share blood, he felt like he was attacked by his own child. A young man standing up to his abusive father, he thought, if only I could have done the same.

  As he recomposed himself, eyes brimming with tears, the ex-convict crawled towards the doorway. He lifted his pants to his waist as he dragged his legs. He peeked around the corner and glanced down the hall, staring towards the main entrance of the building. To his utter dismay, Dean had already vanished with the storm.

  Depressed, Lucas whispered, “I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.” His pain echoed from his forlorn soul as he heaved and snorted. He shouted, “I'm sorry! Don't go, goddammit! Don't leave me!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When It All Crumbles

  Lucas sat at the back of the bus, watching his fellow patrons with a sneer of disgust. One man wheezed as he slept, snoring like a bear in hibernation. His snoring was almost as loud as the sputtering engine. A young woman scribbled on a sheet of paper while listening to music through her headphones. Of course, her music could be heard throughout the entire bus. An elderly woman sitting nearby continuously pulled the yellow cord, accidentally prolonging the trip with each unnecessary stop. She didn't know her exact stop, but she still pulled the cord.

  The bus was filled with other minor annoyances, creating an obnoxious environment for an unstable person. People did not care for each other. One person would not simply disregard their luxury due to another person's discomfort – it was not worth the time or the effort. Mankind was not genetically apathetic, but people sure seemed habitually selfish. The bus painted the perfect portrait of oblivious self-regard.

  Lucas shook his head and mumbled, “All of you should be dead...”

  The ex-convict pulled on the yellow cord, then he teetered towards the back exit. As the bus halted at his stop, he waved at the driver and hopped off. He waited for the bus to depart. There were too many wandering eyes on the bus, he was afraid of being watched.

  As the bus drove off, leaving a trail of smog, Lucas glanced up at the clear morning sky and sighed. The dazzling sun caressed his weary body with warmth, stroking every inch of his figure. He closed his eyes and savored the moment – tranquility was rare in his life.

  With Dean on his mind, Lucas said, “I've survived a week without him, I can survive another. He's probably dead in some ditch. He's dead and gone. He couldn't survive without me...” He lowered his head and glanced around his environment. He said, “Let's get started.”

  His favorite liquor store was located down the street to his right. He had originally planned on purchasing more booze, but his funds were limited. In order to proceed, he needed to steal more cash or find a stash of drugs – he needed a re-up. To his delight, there was an apartment building two blocks down the street to his left.

  With a smug smile plastered on his face, Lucas whispered, “Jackpot.”

  The ex-convict strolled towards the dilapidated building, analyzing his prey with narrowed eyes.

  Two young men stood at the corner of the block, loitering in front of the building. As if they had coordinated the night before, the men were dressed similarly – a long white t-shirt, baggy jeans, and white basketball sneakers. The men even had the same buzz cut haircuts. Perhaps the similarities were used to confuse the police, but it seemed rather humorous from the outside looking in.

  Lucas imagine
d an exaggerated phone call between the pair: Hey, my gangster. What are you wearing tomorrow? We should totally wear matching outfits while we terrorize the streets. Call you later, ciao.

  The pair were only differentiated by their physical figures – one man was tall and thin, the other was short and chubby. Yet, to the overworked police in the poor side of town, the gangbangers likely looked identical. As long as they caught a gangster, though, it didn't matter what crime they charged them with.

  Lucas scratched his neck and rubbed his stomach as he approached the suspicious pair. He walked with long strides, like if he were lunging over nonexistent puddles. He moved restlessly, twitching and shuffling with each step. The psychopathic killer was playing the role of a vulnerable drug addict. He sought an advantage against the pair – play possum.

  As he approached, Lucas said, “Hey, hey, hey. You guys got something for me? Huh? You got any... any goods? I need a hit. Just one hit.”

  The men glanced at each other with deadpan expressions, then they burst into a chuckle. The couple didn't care about a drug addict's needs. The drug dealers only understood one universal language: currency. They weren't in the business of giving out handouts – that was the government's job.

  The tall man asked, “How much you got, man?”

  Lucas nervously smiled and said, “Come on, man, I don't have much. I can pay you back later, though. My... My sister will get her unemployment next week. I–I'll pay you back then. Come on, just one hit.”

  “Come back when your sister gets the funds, fucking tweaker...”

  “Come on, I'll–”

  “Don't make me say it again. I don't know you. Don't come over here asking for a free hit. You're fixing to get a different hit, junkie. Get out of here, motherfucker.”

  “Not even a free sample?”

  The tall man glanced at his partner and said, “This motherfucker... You believe this fool?”