The Unhinged

by David Bernstein

  The attack was something out of his control, so he never punished himself for allowing it to happen. He never looked at himself as weak. Prison was a different animal and he hadn’t known how to act in it.

  During his stay in the infirmary, he realized two things. First, he needed to get control over his emotions. Second, time itself could be an ally. The hot-headed, react-without-thinking him needed to change. To evolve. To be smarter.

  He picked up a few self-help books from the prison library and learned how to compartmentalize his thoughts and feelings. He put the whole incident of his rape and the need for revenge in a box in his mind, then placed the box on a shelf where it remained for three years.

  Freed from prison, he opened the box containing his rape. The anger, the need for revenge, the pain he’d dealt with and all the other emotions he’d experienced came roaring back. He felt himself losing control and about to go on a rampage. He couldn’t come apart, so he placed his anger back on the shelf. He needed to be even keeled. He found his ability to compartmentalize parts of his angst incredible, since before he’d had to put all his pain away. He used this new tool often, keeping feelings and thoughts on shelves in his mind until he was ready to use them to his advantage.

  A few of the men who’d raped him had already been released when he left prison, so he tracked them down, and one by one kidnapped and tortured them, only ending their lives when they ask to be killed. Eventually he did this to all the men, including the guards responsible, except for two individuals, both serving life sentences, never to see the outside of a prison. This, of course, infuriated him, but unless he threw himself back inside the barbed wire-surrounded facility, there was no way he could get to them. So he took his madness out on others, people that had nothing to do with his rape.

  He’d always loved putting a beating on someone, but since torturing and killing the first of his rapists, he’d come to love hurting people, inflicting incredible amounts of pain on them, ending their lives in horrendous fashion, especially women. He once questioned himself as to why he liked playing with women more than men, attributing it to the fact that he found tits and pussy much more appealing than cocks and balls, though he’d take them when he got them.

  Over time, he’d become an artist, enjoying his work to the point of obsession, the need to mutilate and kill a must.

  Now it was time to work.

  He entered the liquor store. The place was quiet. Not wanting to be disturbed, he turned the lock on the door.

  “Hello?” a voice called from somewhere in the store.

  The man spun around, scanning the store.

  “Is someone there?” the voice said again.

  It was coming from a doorway next to the counter. The man with the scar headed there, pausing at the threshold, then glanced around the doorway.

  “Oh thank God,” an old man said. He was duct taped to a chair. “Call the police. I’ve been robbed.”

  The man with the scar walked into a combination storeroom/office. He glanced around once, then eyed the old man, his target.

  “Did you hear me?” the old man said. “I didn’t do this to myself. I was assaulted and robbed. Call the cops.”

  The man with the scar remained motionless.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” the old man asked.

  The man with the scar grinned, then pulled the Buck knife from its sheath on his belt. The old man’s eyes widened.

  He proceeded forward.

  “What are you doing? You’re with the other guy, aren’t you? Get away from me.” The old man attempted to jerk himself away. The man with the scar found this comical. It was a reaction the body had for self-preservation, but in truth, there was nothing the old man could do apart from accepting that his fate was in the hands of another.

  He wanted to play with this one. It wasn’t often he dealt with the elderly. There just wasn’t much interest there, but this old man had life in him.

  “You peace of shit,” the old man spat. “If you think—”

  The man with the scar slashed down with the knife and severed the ring and pinky fingers of the old man. Blood spewed from the stumps as the digits fell to the floor. The old man howled.

  The man with the scar wanted to keep up the fun, but he had a job to do, a specific job. He walked behind the old man, gripped his forehead and exposed his wrinkly throat. He plunged the blade in, up to the weapon’s hilt, then began to saw. Blood gushed, warming his hands. He cut slowly, watching the man’s body shake, stiffening. Blood-filled cries escaped the old man’s trembling mouth until the incision included the vocal cords. A moment later the old man’s body went limp, life no longer in his eyes.

  When the incision ran all the way around the neck, the man with the scar widened the wound, spreading the flesh apart, breaking the tougher strands of sinew, slicing with the knife where he needed, making sure the only thing holding the man’s head on was the spinal column. Putting the knife on the desk, he gripped both sides of the man’s head and twisted it around until the spine snapped and the head came free. He held it up and admired his work, amazed the spectacles had stayed on, and then placed it in a black garbage bag. Though he couldn’t spend a lot of time with the corpse, for agreeing to kill the man quickly, he was allowed to take the head and add it to his collection.

  With the job done, he exited the store, happy to have a new trophy.

  Chapter Nine

  Aaron woke after another restless night. The anxiety of robbing the liquor store and fighting the owner was weighing on him. He checked his phone. There were no missed calls. He didn’t understand why the cop wasn’t hounding him. Had the man thought something was wrong since he didn’t show up at the trestle? No, the cop had to know that he made it out okay.

  Aaron’s mother poked her head into his room.

  “Just wanted to make sure you were up,” she said. “I’m off early today. See you later for dinner? Maybe we can rent a movie tonight, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, not sure what was going to happen, but agreeing anyway.

  Aaron got ready for work and ate a small breakfast, trying hard to get the food down, his stomach queasy with worry. He had the cop’s money, that was the bottom line, so no matter how pissed the guy was, ultimately the man would be happy.

  On the way to work, his phone rang. He answered it and pulled to the side of the road.

  “You have something for me, Aaron?” the cop asked.

  “Yeah, I have it. Sorry about not meeting you.”

  “Yeah, about that. Did something happen?”

  “Not really. Had a little trouble with the old man, but nothing to worry about, as I’m sure you found out.”

  “If nothing happened, then why didn’t you meet me?”

  “I was scared, okay. I mean, I just robbed a guy, fought with him and nearly got caught. I wasn’t exactly calm or thinking clearly.”

  “Do you enjoy fucking with me, Aaron?”

  “No, it’s not like that. I just needed to get home. You know, to a safe place. But it’s all good. I have your money.”

  “How much did you get?”

  “I have no idea. The guy emptied the safe. That’s all I know.”

  “So you didn’t count it, take a look at all that dough?”

  “Honestly, man. I didn’t touch it. It’s all there. I can meet you after I get out of work.”

  “You don’t have the cash on you?”

  “No way. I didn’t think it was good idea to carry it around.”

  “Meet me at seven p.m. at the old lumber yard up on Crosby Lane. Come alone and don’t be late.”

  “No offense, but I’d like to meet in public.”

  No reply.

  Aaron checked his phone and saw that the timer had stopped. “Damn it.” He didn’t like having to meet the guy in the middle of a deserted place. There was
nothing but woods up there.

  He thought about the gun, wishing he’d kept it. Once the cop had the money, he could put a bullet into Aaron’s head. No one would find him for a long time, and if the cop buried him out there, he might never be found.

  He pulled the car back onto the road and headed to work. Last night was the hard part, he told himself. Today was easy. Hand over the cash and be done with the dirty pig. Then he remembered he and Hanna had a date tonight. His heart swelled, but his stomach churned. He was going to tell her the truth about himself.

  “One step at a time,” he said aloud. Meet the cop. Then talk to Hanna. Hopefully by tomorrow, all would be right in the world.

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot at work and parked in the back. The usual vehicles were present, except for Hanna’s. She was never late. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was five minutes before ten.

  Aaron headed inside and helped the cooks with a few things, then headed over to his station. It was fifteen minutes after ten o’clock. He left the kitchen to check for Hanna and found Joan at the waitstaff station.

  “Morning, Joan,” he said.

  “Hey Aaron,” she said, rolling silverware into a cloth napkin.

  “Where’s Hanna?”

  “No idea,” Joan said. “So you two officially a couple yet?”

  He was about to say no, when Mike appeared from around the corner.

  “Hanna isn’t coming in today,” he said, his face grave.

  “Why?” Aaron asked, realizing he had no right to know.

  “Look, she isn’t coming in today, and frankly, I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

  Erin came from the bathroom. She looked upset.

  “You guys hear about Hanna?” she asked.

  “I think that’s Hanna’s business,” Mike said.

  “She’s my friend,” Erin said to Mike, “and they’re going to hear about it anyway. It’s going to be all over the news.”

  “What is?” Aaron asked, not knowing if he could take any more excitement in his life.

  “Her uncle died last night,” Erin said. “She called me early this morning.”

  “Oh my God,” Joan said, covering her mouth. “She was so close to him. After her father passed away, he took care of her and her mom. Became like a father to her.”

  Aaron didn’t like the news, but felt better. As long as nothing had happened to Hanna. It was kind of selfish, but it was how he felt. He’d call her later and see how she was doing.

  “Heart attack or something?” Joan asked.

  “No,” Erin said. “That’s the fucked up part. He was robbed and murdered last night.”

  Aaron felt as if the wind was knocked from his lungs. Drawing breath seemed impossible. His mouth went dry. Last night flashed through his mind. He’d left the guy alive. It took him a moment to separate the robbery from the news he was hearing.

  “That’s awful,” Joan said.

  “Yeah,” Aaron managed, his mouth on autopilot.

  “But the worst part,” Erin continued, “the fuckers cut off his head.”

  Aaron’s head cleared a little. “What?”

  “He was mutilated. Head cut clean off and they can’t find it.”

  Joan gasped. “They can’t find it?”

  “Nope,” Erin said, shaking her head.

  Mike shivered. “Just terrible. Poor girl. Her uncle ran that liquor store since I was a kid.”

  “Liquor store?” Aaron asked, stiffening, feeling a lump form in his throat.

  “Yeah, her uncle owns a liquor store over in Harriman.”

  Aaron’s legs felt as if they were going to give out.

  “You okay, Aaron?” Erin asked.

  “Um, yeah,” he said, his mind reeling with confusion. “I’m just in shock is all.”

  “Yeah, it’s tough to hear when it’s someone you know,” Mike said.

  Aaron needed air. He replayed last night in his mind again. He’d left the man alive. It had to be another liquor store, not the one he robbed. None of this made any sense, and then he thought of the cop. Maybe that’s why he didn’t call Aaron; the guy was busy killing Hanna’s uncle. Maybe when Aaron didn’t meet him, he went to the store to see what happened. The old man saw him, so the cop killed him, not wanting a witness. This was all Aaron’s fault for not meeting the cop last night.

  “Aaron,” Mike said, “you don’t look so good, man. Take a seat.” Mike moved to help Aaron over to a chair, but Aaron shook him off.

  “No, I’m okay. I ate something bad for breakfast and this news is very unsettling.”

  “Can’t argue there,” Mike said.

  “I’ll call Hanna tonight,” Aaron said.

  “She’d like that, Aaron,” Erin said.

  He turned and headed to the bathroom, feeling nauseous and weak. Inside the blue-tiled room, he leaned over the sink and turned on the cold water, then splashed his face. After a minute, he shivered from the cold, but the nausea hadn’t subsided. Unable to keep his food down, he burst into one of the stalls. His stomach clenched, forcing out his breakfast.

  Feeling better, he sat against the wall. He’d puked more in the last week than he ever thought possible.

  He knew the cop was dirty, but a murdering psychopath? If he’d only stuck to the cop’s plan, met him that evening under the train trestle, then maybe Hanna’s uncle would still be alive.

  Or maybe you’d be dead, he told himself.

  Either way, a man was dead because of him. He never should’ve gotten into bed with the cop.

  He banged his head against the metal partition. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

  Then, as if he’d jarred another idea loose, he thought of something else. What if the cop had set him up because he knew Aaron was into Hanna and had him rob her uncle for the hell of it? It couldn’t be a coincidence. He had no idea if him not meeting up with the cop had caused Hanna’s uncle’s death, but now Aaron was a loose end. He couldn’t meet the cop at the abandoned lumberyard, but what choice did he have?

  Anxiety gripped Aaron like an invisible hand. He hadn’t drawn a normal breath since hearing about Hanna’s uncle, his stomach muscles refusing to work properly. The nausea returned. He sat up and hurled another stream of vomit into the commode.

  He sat back for a few minutes, trying to come up with a way out of meeting the cop, but he couldn’t. His chest ached for Hanna and what she must be going through. If and when he got past the whole situation with the cop, how was he supposed to be with Hanna after what he’d been involved with?

  He flushed the toilet and washed up at the sink, rinsing his mouth and wiping a dribble of vomit from his collar. He stared at himself in the mirror. “You’ve been through a lot for a young man. Most of it’s been your own doing, so you’re going to get yourself out of this mess.” With that, he left the bathroom and went to work.

  The day went by in a fog, Aaron like a fighter who’s been knocked around numerous times but refuses to go down, his training and instincts taking over, guiding him. He didn’t speak unless he was spoken to, telling the others that he was suffering from a hangover and bad migraine.

  When it was time to go, he said a few quick goodbyes and left. He wanted to call Hanna, but at the same time, was too racked with guilt. And he had more pressing concerns at the moment.

  He stood by his car door and scanned the parking lot, knowing how fruitless it was to do so. But he couldn’t help trying to see if the cop was lurking. The pig was like a phantom, unable to be seen, but always able to see, knowing his every move.

  He stuck his middle finger up, panned the parking lot with it, hoping the cop was watching, then got in his car and headed home.

  As Aaron pulled into his driveway, a dreadful thought struck. What if the cop had broken into his house and taken the money? Aaron would have nothing t
o give the lunatic, and the cop would say Aaron owed him, keeping Aaron in his grasp. They’d both know the truth, but the cop’s rules were the only rules that mattered.

  He raced inside the house, pulse pounding, not knowing what he’d do if the money was gone. Pulling down the attic door, he raced up the stairs and found the duffel bag. He unzipped it and almost collapsed with relief when he saw the cash.

  Next, he grabbed his mother’s twelve-gauge shotgun from her closet. After making sure the gun was loaded, he slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and headed to his car.

  Chapter Ten

  The front gate to the lumberyard was open, a rusty chain dangling from the chain-link fence, no lock to be seen. Aaron drove the Camaro slowly onto the property, like a sheep knowingly walking into a slaughterhouse, but the V-8 engine rumbled like a beast on the prowl. He was ready to hit reverse and hightail it out of there upon the first sign of trouble.

  The building’s exterior was a dingy gray, the upper portion splotchy and faded in places, the lower part layered with graffiti, like a colorful eczema on the uninhabited structure. The windows were bare of glass; a few still had jagged pieces stuck in the frames, like rotten teeth.

  Aaron imagined the scores of youth that came to the property, with their alcoholic beverages, illegal drugs, condoms, cigarettes and radios, having parties lasting all night. Making out, getting stoned or drunk, not having a care in the world. He was envious, wishing he could have a do-over.

  Would haves plagued his thoughts.

  He would have enjoyed his youth instead of having spent his time angry. He would have worked more diligently in school. He would have kept away from the more serious drugs, the shit that truly fucked him up, the meth, speed and coke, when he could afford it. He would have been a better son, appreciating his mom and the life he had. Instead of being grateful, he had been a spoiled brat.