A Psycho and his Disciple

by Athan,Jon

  From the vacant look in her eyes, Dean could see she had passed away in his arms. She fell to her side, falling into a puddle of her own blood. The life was vacuumed from her body, leaving a hollow vessel behind. Dean knelt down in front of her, then he planted a kiss on her moist forehead – goodbye, love.

  Lucas deviously chuckled as he dropped the knife. He said, “I told you she would die. I warned you about this. You should have... You should have listened to me. You're... You're one stupid motherfucker. I hope you like prison. I know they're going to love you in there.”

  Breathing heavily, Dean ran towards Lucas. He jumped on the man, mounting him at the waist. He wrapped his left hand around his throat and pinned his body to the floor. With his right hand, he grabbed the knife and viciously stabbed Lucas' stomach – one, two, three, four, five. Each thrust was stronger and each puncture was deeper than the previous.

  Lucas grabbed the nape of Dean's neck and pulled him closer as he laughed. He tried to minimize the pain by stopping the young man's momentum. At heart, he also wanted to embrace his student. Although he was betrayed and brutalized by the young man, he was still proud of Dean – he still shared a special bond with him.

  As Dean jammed his thumb into one of the stab wounds, twisting and turning his finger to maximize the pain, Lucas said, “I... I love you, son... I'll always have your back... Always.”

  Dean hopped off of Lucas and crawled in reverse as the front door was breached with a battering ram. A swarm of police officers entered the home, aiming their rifles and barking their demands. Dean was deafened by the broken door and his blind lust for vengeance. He couldn't hear every word. He simply lifted his hands up and waited for his arrest.

  Lucas, on the other hand, chuckled as he gazed at the heavily-armed police officers. He had been in the same position before – déjà vu was a tricky phenomenon. He turned his attention to Dean, beaming from ear-to-ear. He winked at the young man – exciting, isn't it? He could feel an officer grabbing his arms as his vision began to fade.

  Chapter Twenty

  Home At Last

  Dean leaned back in his metal folding chair, pondering the shocking night and his fatal actions. He stared down at his hands and examined the steel bracelets on his wrists – handcuffed to the table in front of him like a common criminal. The squeaking chair and the ticking clock above the door created the only noise in the small, desolate room.

  As he glanced at the blue walls surrounding him, Dean whispered, “What have I done?”

  Detective Robert Sullivan entered the room through the door directly across from Dean. Dean watched the man with narrowed eyes, deciphering his demeanor and intentions. From a quick glance, he could see the detective was one of the good ones. He wasn't entering the room with a gimmick – none of the 'good cop, bad cop' bullshit.

  Sullivan closed the door behind him, then he glanced at Dean with a smile. He shuffled in his cheap black suit, trying to find some comfort in the stuffy garments. He even took the time to adjust his tie. He didn't want the coffee stains on his white button-up shirt to misrepresent him. He was a busy man. He didn't have time to keep a suave appearance.

  The detective sat in the seat across from Dean. He ran his fingers through his slick black hair and asked, “So, you're Dean Crow?”

  Dean responded, “Yes.”

  “Good, good. I'm going to ask you a few questions, Dean. You've already been read your rights and you can refuse to answer my questions at any time. I'm not going to dig very deep at the moment, I just need a few details to get this investigation on a roll. You know how it is. I have other people to question about the night and, well, a few other incidents.”

  Dean despondently stared down at his lap, saddened by the revelation. He figured the detective had sniffed out a few leads. He either knew nothing or everything, but he'd find a way to outmaneuver the young man. Dean was maladroit compared to Lucas, he would be inept compared to an experienced detective. Lori's brother, he thought, he'll tell them everything anyway.

  Dean said, “I understand.”

  “Wonderful,” Sullivan responded as he leaned forward and rubbed his chin. He sighed, then he asked, “What were you doing at the Moore house tonight?”

  “I was invited to... to basically sleep there. I was given shelter by Lori's parents.”

  “Lori? That's... That's our young female victim, correct?”

  “Yes. I was in a, um... a romantic relationship with her, so her parents allowed me to stay in the house.”

  “Okay, okay. And, what happened tonight?”

  “You already know what happened tonight.”

  “I want to hear it from your mouth. I want to hear your side of the story. What happened?”

  Dean sighed and shook his head, then he said, “I was with Lori in her room for most of the afternoon. We talked and watched movies. At night, we started kissing and... you know. Anyway, we heard gunshots, right? We heard gunshots from the living room. First, it was just one. We thought it was a car crash or maybe the TV in the living room fell over. We didn't think it was anything serious until we heard the sound again. Then we heard it twice in a row – bang, bang. When we opened the door, we saw everyone was shot and bleeding. Lucas did it. Lucas shot them and killed them.”

  Sullivan asked, “You're referring to a Mr. Lucas Walker, correct? What's your relationship to him?”

  “Wha–What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know his name. That man doesn't walk around with an ID and I doubt he told you his name while he was attacking you. You must have interacted with him before, right? How do you know him? When did you meet?”

  Dean leaned back in his seat, flustered by the questioning. He was so eager to pin the crimes on Lucas, he had forgotten to cover his own tracks. If his hands weren't restrained, he would have slapped himself as a punishment for his sheer negligence. He was pushed to a corner, forced to produce an excuse on the spot.

  Sullivan could see the guilt in the young man's eyes, though. He could conjure the most intricate excuse and he'd still be deemed a criminal.

  Dean said, “Look, I met Lucas a few weeks ago. I didn't know who he was or what he did, I just knew his name and that he was homeless like me. He killed Lori and her family. He murdered Bonnie in front of her daughter's eyes – in front of my eyes. I saw him do it. I... I had to help him a little, but I only did it because he forced me to. I did everything I could to try to help them. I mean, you don't think I was with him, do you? You guys barged into the room when I killed him! Give me a break! Please!”

  Sullivan smiled and waved – settle down. He said, “Alright, alright. It's nothing to get worked up over. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this. I read about the attack in the report. Yes, I read about you and Lucas fighting when the police arrived. The thing is, Lucas isn't dead and he'll be talking to us soon. So, if you took part in this, if you are in any way responsible for this, the truth would really help you out. You give us a real confession and we can give you some leniency. I've seen this man's file, I've seen what he's capable of. He'll throw you under the bus and I know you didn't have time to work out a story with him.”

  Dean furrowed his brow and asked, “He's still alive? Lucas... Lucas is still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Dean was shocked by the discovery. His chances of walking away a free man became slimmer – a gambling addict wouldn't bet on it. Sullivan analyzed the guilt brimming in the young man's eyes. His assistance was no longer required. He pushed Dean into a corner and planted seeds of doubt in his mind. A different detective could handle the interrogation with ease.

  Sullivan nonchalantly checked his wristwatch. He said, “Well, I'm going to have to cut this interrogation short, young man. There are a few things I want you to think about, though: a missing woman who was followed by some suspicious people at the shopping strip, a dead police officer who was baited by a person with a familiar voice, and some children who were harassed by some 'weird' men. Think about that. My partne
r's waiting for your partner... Sorry, I mean, my partner is waiting for Mr. Walker to wake up at the hospital. Remember what I told you: a confession will get you some leniency. If he throws you under the bus, you'll be spending a long time in prison. I hope you understand what you're getting yourself into, kid.”

  Dean absently stared at his handcuffs as Sullivan exited the interrogation room. He heard every word uttered out of the detective's mouth. He understood the allegations and the consequences. Yet, he was only perturbed by Lucas' survival. The man was shot twice and stabbed five times. As far as he knew, Lucas must have been an immortal walking on earth. In a sense, he admired his resilience.

  He was made of steel, he thought, a superhero like the dad I never had.

  Dean whispered, “He's still alive...”

  ***

  Lucas rested in bed, smirking as he examined the amenities in the hospital room. Across from the foot of his bed, there was a large flat-screen television with a Blu-ray player underneath. There was a blue three-seat sofa to the right. The windows above the sofa showed the view of the affluent neighborhood nearby. Beside the tray of common hospital food, there was a complimentary laptop for internet usage. It wasn't a penthouse, but it was more than he ever expected.

  Lucas murmured, “Really pulled out the red carpet for my arrival, didn't you? You bastards must have missed me. I didn't miss you, but... Well, shit happens. Shit happens...”

  The killer glanced at the door to the left. Two police officers stood by the doorway and constantly glanced into the room. The officers were on-duty, making sure the ex-convict didn't try to escape. Considering the heavy surveillance, he figured the VIP treatment was simply used to keep him under control – don't kill anyone and you can watch porn on our laptops. It seemed like a decent trade.

  Lucas shoved the IV tubes aside and shuffled in his blue hospital gown. He muttered, “Could have at least given me some better pain killers. Shit, that boy got me pretty good.”

  Detective Victor Gordon stepped into the room, a black coat slung over his shoulder like a sports bag. Lucas sneered in disgust as he watched the portly man hobble into the room. His white button-up shirt had some blatant pit stains and his black slacks were rumpled. His brown hair was greasy and his stubble was patchy. He was not horrendous, but he was a bit scruffy.

  As a homicide detective investigating several murders a week, the man was surely overworked and underpaid. He casually tossed his jacket across the foot of the bed, lazy and indifferent. He inhaled deeply as he retrieved a small notepad and pen from his coat pockets – casually preparing himself for the interview.

  Gordon said, “Hello, Mr. Walker. How was your day?” He grinned as he glanced at the bruised and battered man – the prodding was fun. He said, “It doesn't look like it was very good. Anyway, I have some questions for you. I won't take much of your time. I just need some preliminary information before we really get started. I'd appreciate your full cooperation. If not... Well, you know the drill.”

  Lucas nodded and said, “I sure do. How may I help you today, detective?”

  Gordon licked the tip of his pen, then he said, “Be straight with me, buddy. You killed everyone in that house, right? You killed the Moore family, didn't you?”

  “No. I didn't kill all of them. I killed the old man and the girl, Lori Moore. Dean was responsible for the others. That's if that other boy died...”

  “He didn't. This 'Dean' guy, tell me about him.”

  “Dean? Dean was like a son to me. He still is. He helped me, I helped him. That was our type of relationship. I helped him deal with a drunk outside of a bar one night. He helped me kill a drug dealer. Then, we 'celebrated' with a woman we picked up from a shopping center. Me and that boy... We did everything together.”

  Gordon had stopped scribbling on his notepad. He stared at Lucas with a steady face. He was astonished by the killer's sheer apathy. He had never encountered a serial killer before and the file could not prepare him for pure evil. With the proud speech of murder and rape, the detective found himself wishing he could have interviewed Dean instead.

  Gordon asked, “So... you're willing to confess to all of that?”

  Lucas smirked and said, “Of course. You're going to find out about it sooner or later. I would gladly confess to everything in exchange for some... leniency. Like this hospital room, I'd like some 'luxuries' in my cell, if you know what I'm saying.”

  “I don't think a simple confession will get you much, bud.”

  “I know, I know. That's why I've got more to offer. I can show you the bodies. Well, I have no idea what happened to the drug dealer, but I can show you the rest. I can also testify against Dean. You know, I was there when he baited that cop over by Hill Street. I can tell you which payphone he called from, what he said, and how many bullets he fired. I'd be handing you a cop killer, detective. That must be worth something. A TV, some DVDs, a few books, maybe some snacks... I'm not asking for much. I'm just looking for a little bonus. You know, a few things to make me feel like a king among peasants.”

  Gordon slowly nodded as he stared into Lucas' eyes. He couldn't get a decent read on the killer. The requests were simple, but the reasoning was odd. He figured the man was an egotistical psychopath – a pretentious killer. The requests weren't impossible, though. Death row offered a life of leisure for many of its inmates. Books, movies, television, personalized diets, and free medical care were part of the luxurious death row suites – what a world.

  Gordon said, “I suppose we can work something out. It'll take some time and I can't promise you anything, but I can pull some strings. The more accurate the information you give us, the more likely the DA will give you some benefits. Don't expect a 'get out of jail' card, though. You've got a record, man. You might be checking in for good this time. Or, checking out...”

  Lucas said, “That's fine. Just make my last few years better than the last few. That's all I want.”

  “I'll see what I can do. I'll be back with my partner in a few hours to get all of the details. We have to get all of this sorted. You try to remember everything.”

  “Wait,” Lucas said before Gordon could depart. Gordon turned towards the killer with a furrowed brow. Lucas said, “I want to watch a movie before we start all of these trials and shit. Can you ask one of your officers or a nurse to find 'Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer?' It's one of my favorites.”

  Mystified, Gordon nodded and said, “Sure, sure...”

  Lucas couldn't help but smile as the detective departed. He turned and gazed at the blinding light on the ceiling, pondering his past and the future. It'll be different this time, he thought, I might even see Dean on death row. The possibility made him giddy. Over the course of a night, the place he despised most became a personal paradise.

  As he stared into the light, waiting for his movie to arrive, Lucas whispered, “Home at last...”

  Join The Mailing List!

  Lucas and Dean have been captured and their reign of chaos on the streets has ended. You can, however, hear more horrifying stories by joining my mailing list. Think of it as becoming a pen pal with an inmate. (I'm not in prison, I promise.) By joining my mailing list, you'll be the first to know about deep discounts, free books, and new releases. Best of all, it requires very little effort on your part. Click here to sign-up: http://eepurl.com/bNl1CP

  Dear Reader,

  Hello! As usual, I have to thank you for reading. There are millions of books available and you chose to spend your time with A Psycho and his Disciple. You picked it up and you read it from beginning to end. (Unless you skipped to the end to find my contact information in order to insult me. You'll find that information at the end of this segment.) I'm glad you finished the book. I truly appreciate your readership. Like all of my work, this novel was fueled by my love for storytelling. I know some of the content was disturbing. If I offended you in any way, please accept my sincerest apologies – that was never my intention. I try to make my warnings clear, but I know my wor
ding may not be strong enough at times.

  A Psycho and his Disciple was inspired by my love for criminology, dark fiction, and classic horror movies. In particular, this novel was inspired by Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer. You probably noticed a few nods to the film towards the end of the book, including the movie Ricky was watching and Lucas' last request. It's a very violent horror movie that often flies under the radar. It's not as acclaimed as other slashers, perhaps due to its violent content. Still, the film left a strong impression. I wanted to tackle similar characters and themes with this book. As for criminology, I always have fun exploring the darkness of the human mind.

  Like many of my horror books, this book was written from the perspective of the 'bad guys.' I know a lot of readers don't enjoy this style, though. Some readers want someone they can root for, some readers want a happy ending – I tried my best to offer a bit of both. Although Lucas was obviously a bad guy, I wanted to add some conflict with Dean. I wanted him to represent the 'good guy,' even when he often found himself in horrifying situations. Like many people throughout history, Dean was susceptible to peer pressure – he was also confused and lost. Despite some of his actions, I hope he filled that 'good guy' role. As for the finale, it was a happy ending for one person, right?

  Anyway, if you enjoyed this book, please leave an honest review on Amazon.com. Your review is incredibly significant. In fact, my entire career depends on your review. Your review will help me improve on future books and it will help other readers find this book. The more readers I garner, the more I can write. So, if you liked this book, a review will help me release more. It will also allow me to gauge interest for certain genres and themes. By now, I've written quite a few serial killer novels – and I'm more than happy to tackle new genres. Do you want more serial killer books? Is there a specific sub-genre of horror you'd like me to tackle? Was this book too violent? Let me know in a review. Answering questions like these allow me to understand you, the reader. Your words have the power to influence my writing – please use them wisely.