Asylum - 13 Tales of Terror
Page 23
He had been a writer who had spoken at her college; a seller of tall tales both on and off of the page. She had been 21 when they’d met and so very tired of the clumsy fumbling approaches of the boys her own age. Randolph had been everything that she had ever dreamt about; a man of experience, a traveler of the world, a fierce intellect that had opened her eyes to the world beyond her narrow borders. Her own environment seemed suddenly grey and suffocating in comparison to Randolph’s peacock feathers. He was a tall and broad man. His hair was shoulder length and black and his eyes were dark and concealing. He was barrel-chested and slim waisted. His features were smooth and strong, and he always wore a goatee beard that was trimmed neatly. She had left with him when he returned to his native America and she had waved goodbye to disapproving parents and jealous friends. Randolph had always fancied himself a modern day Hemingway, but by the time that she had discovered he was full of shit her life was no longer her own. She had taken on the job as his assistant, followed by manager, wife, and general dogsbody. The next 12 years for her had been only an existence to further his. She catered for his every whim both professionally and personally. Even as his career faltered and finally died, she bore the brunt of his childish outburst and sulks. She became his excuse for his failings, as his writer’s block became a permanent structure roughly the size of China’s great wall. She had simply drowned under his personality, his genius, and ultimately his self-destruction down the barrel of a shotgun. It was only when she raised her head above the parapet after his funeral that she was horrified to discover that 12 long years had passed. She was left with his dwindling fortune that consisted of more debt than equity. She had tried to advise him about his finances many times before but he had never listened. Now with him gone she was able to restructure his accounts and armed with the sudden surge of sales after his suicide, she was able to clear the debts and provide for her future. The bulk of the estate was now safely tucked away earning 17% interest in an offshore account and the money allowed her the time and space to finally find herself again.
She had returned to the UK to attempt reconciliation with her family, as 12 years under a tyrannical rule had left little room for correspondence. She was trying to slowly integrate herself again with lost ties and had purchased a modest apartment in the town. The next question had been just what to do with her time. Financially she was pretty well set; she wasn’t an opulent spender by nature and was content with her unassuming home and second-hand car.
She had toyed with the idea of returning to further education, as she possessed little in the way of standardized education. An evening class had seemed like the perfect gateway back into school; a way to meet a few people and perhaps to find out just who she was away from Randolph.
The Criminology Course had seemed like a little fun. She was an avid reader by nature and had always enjoyed crime novels, favoring the myriad of serial killer hunting novels. She thought that perhaps a peek behind the curtain of reality would be an interesting way to spend one evening a week, and perhaps she would be able to meet other people with similar tastes.
She swung her backpack over her shoulder and hoped that she wouldn’t look over prepared on her first night. Her bag contained several notepads of varying sizes; some lined, some plain and a whole host of pens, pencils, rulers, erasers, sharpeners and anything else that the store had been selling.
She ran quickly for the main entrance of the building as the storm raged around her. She held her hood, pulling it down against the growing strength of the wind and rain. The storm had been forecast but it wasn’t supposed to be as bad as this and she hadn’t wanted to miss her first class.
She pushed open the unlocked main doors and walked through onto the open atrium. The huge expanse would have been crowded during the day, but it was now empty. Sara faced the blackened atrium with some trepidation. There were no other night students visible and she folded her arms across her chest in a subconscious protective measure.
“Help you miss?”
Sara just managed to catch the scream in her throat before it leapt out and shattered the night. She turned around with her heart pounding painfully in her chest and saw a cruelly smiling security guard standing behind her.
“Didn’t startle you did I?” the man grinned.
Sara felt suddenly uneasy as the man moved in closer. He was around thirty with a pudgy spotty face and a short barreled body. His hair was short and roughly shaved. His eyes were a dull hazel and too close together. Acne scars pock marked his cheeks and a fresh rash of bulging spots were joining the show. He wore a dark blue uniform of cargo pants and a woolen jumper that strained at the seams across his girth. His expression was one of sour amusement and his piggy eyes rolled over her body with a voracious appetite.
Sara pulled her arms tighter across her chest and strove for a friendly disarming tone. “Hi, I was looking for the night class?” She smiled gently.
“Ah yes, Professor Rourke’s class, let me show you the way.”
Sara tried not to flinch when the guard put his chubby hand around her shoulder and began to guide her towards a darkened staircase that went down to a lower level. She wanted to shrug his hand away but she felt cornered by his confidence and her lack thereof. She started to panic and prayed for someone to interrupt as they reached the top of the stairs and the corridor below was all shadows and darkness.
“Oi Captain lecherous,” a savior called out from behind them, “Stop bloody pawing the poor woman.”
Sara turned around to gratefully face the female voice. The woman was around her age, but several inches shorter with tussles of black hair that fell out from under a baggy wool hat. Her face was hard and angrily set and her bright blue eyes burned with defiance and challenge.
The guard took his hand quickly from Sara’s shoulder and his face erupted in red, “I was just showing her the way to class,” he mumbled.
The woman strode sternly towards the stairs, “Class is upstairs,” she pointed with her middle finger in the guards face.
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” the guard stammered.
“I’ll bet,” the woman snapped, “Now piss off,” she barked as she turned to Sara with a warm smile.
“Hey you can’t talk to…” the security guard started.
Sara watched as the new woman silenced the man with a single glare and she suppressed a giggle as the man stomped away.
“Bloody perv,” the woman said, “He’s always trying it on with every newbie.”
“Oh I’m sure that he wasn’t…” Sara started, feeling an automatic response to defend the man.
“Bollocks he wasn’t,” the woman said seriously, “I’m Lacey by the way,” she held out her hand.
Sara shook the strong grip “Sara,” she replied.
“You’ve got a good nature Sara, I can tell, but that doesn’t mean that you have to put up with scumbags on a daily basis. Are you in Professor Rourke’s Criminology class?”
“Yes, it’s my first night,” she said nervously.
“Me too, so we’ll just have to become BFF’s as the kids would say then I guess,” Lacey laughed, linking an arm through Sara’s, “Come on, we’re upstairs.“
Lacey led her up the winding staircase and to the second level of the college. The walkway ran around the building in a circular motion overlooking the atrium below. They walked towards a large double door that had a sign reading “Library” over it.
“This is us,” Lacey said as they entered the library.
The room was long and narrow with a central straight walkway through the shelving units off on both sides. The lighting was muted as all of the main lights seemed to be turned off outside of daytime hours.
“We’re down here,” Lacey motioned, “One of the side rooms.”
Sara could see several closed doors beside glass windows with drawn blinds, side rooms for private study and consultation out of the thoroughfare of the library. Lacey stopped in front of a room and opened the door ushering Sara inside.
Of the three waiting evening students, there were two men and one other woman.
The first man sat twitching nervously. He was around forty with a brown haired side parting that looked a little too slickly plastered to his head. He wore a beige checked shirt under a thick green knitted cardigan. He looked to Sara to be every TV writer’s poster boy lookalike for a nutter if ever she saw one.
“Barry,” the man said as he nodded almost imperceptibly at Sara and Lacey before lowering his head quickly as his cheeks flushed.
The second man sat leaning backwards in his seat with one elbow casually resting on the arm rest. He looked younger than Barry by some distance; Sara pegged him for early twenties. His spread legs and open body language reeked of self-confidence. He wore light blue jeans, a skin tight long-sleeved white top that emphasized his physique with a thickly padded green and black lumberjack shirt over the back of his chair.
“Well good evening ladies, so nice to see the décor improving, I’m Eddie,” he said in an attempted husk, which made him cough a little.
The remaining woman turned to introduce herself. She looked to Sara to be about the same age as Eddie. She had long thick dark hair that fell across her face in natural waves and every now and then she puffed a little air from the corner of her mouth as though the hair tickled her face. She was pretty with dark eyes and a quiet smile that looked as if it was rarely used.
“Molly,” the woman said barely above a whisper whilst raising an unnecessary finger to indicate herself.
“Lacey and Sara,” Lacey said with an air of confidence that Sara could only admire.
Sara took a seat next to Molly leaving an empty space between her and Eddie as the last thing that she wanted was to be hit on by a boy who looked barely old enough to shave. She had joined the class in the hope of meeting similar minds to hers. During her marriage to Randolph she had not been permitted any circle of friends; her interactions with the outside world tended to consist of his business affairs. Lacey seemed just the sort of person to drag her out of herself and on first impressions. Molly seemed a little more introverted even than she was. Barry seemed like a male version of Molly, but without the charm, but Eddie just seemed annoying.
“I know who you are,” Molly whispered next to her in a struggling shy voice.
“I’m sorry?” Sara asked surprised.
“You were married to Randolph Perry.”
“Yes that’s right, did you know him?”
“Oh I read his work all the time; it must have been something to be married to a genius.” Molly barely managed as her cheeks flamed red.
“Oh, it was something alright,” Sara said a little bitterly.
“Son, I’d eat you alive.” Lacey suddenly laughed raucously as Eddie was attempting to whisper his version of sweet nothings in her ear.
Sara turned to the laughter. Lacey had sat to her right in the empty space, Eddie was to her right and Barry was on the end further down.
“Does anyone know much about the course?” Barry piped up from the end of the row.
“You looking for a few tips Bazzer?” Eddie asked sneeringly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barry replied indignantly.
“Oh come on,” Eddie answered turning to the rest of the row, “Hands up who thought serial killer when they walked in and saw old Bazzer here?” he put his own hand up in the air theatrically.
Sara felt the ghost of a smile rise to her lips against her will and almost laughed when Lacey put her hand up.
“Sorry Barry,” Lacey shrugged with a grin, “Just being honest.”
Sara almost cracked further when Molly put her hand up as well, rather more timidly than Eddie or Lacey.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Oh well that’s just lovely,” Barry huffed.
“Come on Bazzer,” Eddie said, “You’ve got to admit that you look like you’ve been shopping for clothes in the psycho aisle at…, at…”
“Laura Slashley?” Lacey offered with a shrug and a wink towards Sara.
“Marks and Slicer?” Molly suggested quietly.
“Giorgio Harm-ani?” Eddie asked unsure.
“Boo, that’s awful,” Lacey laughed.
“Well, I’m glad that you children are able to amuse yourselves with so little,” Barry sulked and made as though he was going to leave.
“Sit down Barry,” Sara said kindly, “I’m sure that they were only joking.”
Barry turned to her with a look that told her everything she needed to know about his life and those who were “only joking”. She smiled to reassure him that they were indeed only good natured barbs.
“Yeah, sit down you pillock,” Eddie grinned, “We’re all in this together, even if you do look like a serial killer.”
“Serial killers take many different forms young man,” a deep rumbling voice from the doorway startled them all.
Sara turned to see a tall broad man enter the room. He had longish wavy brown hair pushed backwards. His face was broad and controlled, his skin was tanned and smooth, and he exuded a natural authority. He wore small round glasses with a tortoise shell frame which softened his face and added an air of intelligence. He wore a checked brown sports jacket over a crisp white and black tie and he carried a leather briefcase with a battered and worn exterior that spoke of experience. For the briefest of seconds Sara was sure that Randolph had returned; perhaps the afterlife was not to his liking, or perhaps he just needed an assistant to take back with him. On second glance she was relieved. Where Randolph’s eyes were cold and hard, this man’s were warm and kind.
“Professor Rourke?” She asked.
“At your service ladies and gentleman, and please at this ungodly hour, it’s Michael,” he said as he moved to the front of the class, balancing a stack of papers in his other hand.
“Do you need some help with those Professor, Michael?” she corrected herself.
“No thank you, I’m sure that I can…” it was as far as he got before the papers fell from his grasp and scattered all over the floor, “Bugger,” he muttered charmingly.
Before she realised she was doing it, Sara had sprung forward and began gathering the papers up quickly in a reflex action from her previous life, even cowering slightly as she did it. She handed the papers back to the professor and rushed back to her seat, blushing furiously enough to put Molly to shame. She ignored Lacey’s eyebrow raise as she sat down again.
“Well now, why don’t we start again?” the professor smiled towards the class. “My name is Michael Rourke and I will be your professor for the duration of the course. I only have one rule in my class; all phones are to be switched off and tucked away safely beyond temptation in your bags.”
The class all complied, some with a little more reluctance than others.
“Why don’t we start with a little introductory course of our own?” Professor Rourke continued.
Barry stood formally, “My name is Barry Champlain.”
Eddie and Lacey sniggered.
“That is to say that my professional name is Champlain,” he added snippily. “I am here for research purposes.”
Eddie and Lacey suddenly went deathly quiet as they both stared on nervously.
“I am a writer of thriller fiction,” Barry said with a satisfied grin, “And I wanted to attempt to get inside a serial killer’s mind for my latest work.”
“That’s not a long trip,” Eddie said under his breath and Lacey giggled.
Sara cast a disapproving look towards Lacey. Perhaps Lacey wasn’t going to be the sort of friend that she had first hoped, she thought.
“Who’s next?” Professor Rourke asked.
“I’m Lacey Donovan,” Lacey stood and curtseyed theatrically. “I�
�m here because I saw the class ad and figured that it might be good for a few laughs. Since the divorce I’ve decided to try new things. I wanted to take an evening class and this looked interesting.
“Eddie Callahan,” Eddie said, not bothering to stand. “My folks got a little uptight because I was flunked out of college. My old man’s a copper and this was all his wonderful idea. He thought I might get a taste and want to follow in the great Callahan family tradition,” he shrugged.
“Molly O’Kelly,” Molly said quietly. “I was intrigued by the subject matter. I just tend to lean towards the darkness I guess,” she barely managed to finish the sentence out loud and did not make any eye contact whilst speaking.
“And you Miss?” Professor Rourke said towards Sara.
“Sara Wilton. I’ve just recently moved back here and I thought that this might be a nice way to meet some new people,” Sara said with an embarrassed glance at the ground.
“Well now, now that we’re all acquainted why don’t we get started?” Professor Rourke said glancing at his watch, “We don’t have all night after all.”
Sara couldn’t help but notice that the professor repeatedly lifted his glasses and rubbed his nose as though something was bothering him. She suddenly reddened as he caught her looking.
“I probably need a new prescription,” he said smiling, “These are killing me.” He cast a look around the gathered class. “Why don’t we start with what defines a serial killer. The FBI defines serial murder as: A minimum of three to four victims, with a "cooling off" period in between. The killer is usually a stranger to the victim, and the murders appear unconnected or random. The murders reflect a need to sadistically dominate the victim. The murder is rarely "for profit"; the motive is psychological, not material. The victim may have "symbolic" value for the killer; method of killing may reveal this meaning. Killers often choose victims who are vulnerable; prostitutes, runaways, etc.”