by Edward Grey
Traffic was light, so I made it all the way there with just enough time to set a trap on the front door. It was simple in design, but effective. As soon as the door opened, a small aerosol canister would spray vaporized chloroform into his face. While it wasn’t the most long-lasting chemical I could use, I needed something that wouldn’t linger too long.
According to his typical schedule, there was a three to five minute wait before he arrived. Sitting there watching the door was intense. There was a nervous and anxious feeling swimming around in my stomach, but it wasn’t because I was scared. It was that I started to consider attacking him as soon as he walked through the door. That eating feeling made my thoughts dangerous and reckless. I hoped he would show soon so I wouldn’t lose control and do something that wasn’t part of the plan.
Fortunately, I only had to wait a moment before I heard him fumble with his keys just outside the door. It almost felt like it moved in slow motion, like the fantastically manipulated world of film. I watched the deadbolt disengage, the door opened, and he walked through. His eyes widened and his face twisted with terror. It didn’t last too long however, for he soon inhaled the vapor mixture and crumpled to the ground.
I waited a moment for the chloroform to dissipate, and then I walked over to Vince. Though he weighed roughly 160 pounds, it was still easy for me to turn him over. Part of my preparation was spent in the gym so I could manhandle him when the day came.
Struggling with his dead weight, I moved him from the foyer to the living room. Once there, I dragged him across the black tarp I laid out and then onto an uncomfortable metal chair. After tying his hands and feet to the seat, I used some duct tape to reinforce the bindings. I didn’t think he would escape it, but I most certainly wanted to be sure.
I slapped him in the face just to be sure he was out cold, and then I went into the other room and grabbed another steel chair. I sat in front of him, and waited for him to wake.
As time passed, I began to feel hot and clammy. Though I normally wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but the air conditioner was on and only moments ago I was freezing. I wanted to get up and walk it off. Surely I was feeling overwhelmed by the situation, but I didn’t think walking would really make a difference. Everything was in place, and I was in deep now. I didn’t believe there was anything I could do to change it.
A few minutes had passed and he started to wake. He turned and wobbled his head, looking around as if he had just returned from a bad dream. He moved his mouth, but couldn’t speak, and that alarmed him.
I didn’t expect him to be responsive at first, because the effects of the chemical would keep him a little disoriented for some time. However, his eyes darted my direction with a deep scowl. The creases in his forehead screamed anger, but he soon relented when he saw the tools I had sitting on a surgeons tray. Each polished instrument gleamed in the overhead floodlight, and soon fear formed in his eyes.
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
He shook his head no.
“No?” I said pulling a small photograph from my pocket, “Are you sure?”
In the picture was my family. We had taken a trip to Brazil where we did a little hiking one summer. We had one of the locals take a photo of us in front of a beautiful waterfall, and we were lucky enough to capture a small rainbow from the water’s mist. We were all smiling. We were all happy, life then couldn’t have gotten any better. At that moment the future seemed bright, warm, and welcoming.
As he studied the image, I could instantly tell that he did in fact recognize me. If it wasn’t me, then I was positive he recognized my daughter. He spent four months in jail with the only thing on his mind being the murder trial. Even still, he tried to nod as if he didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Don’t play games with me. Those tools will be used if you don’t tell me the truth.” I said, “Now, do you remember us?”
He shook his head yes.
“Good.”
I set the picture on top of the tools so he could readily see it. I wanted to make sure it reminded him at every moment why he was strapped to that chair. However, I suspected once I got to work, he wouldn’t forget. He would remember for as long as he lived, no matter how short I intended to cut his life.
As I looked at the photo, my eyes burned hot with tears. I could feel myself slowly slipping into the feeling that put me in this place. Even though it was hard to think about and even harder to put into words, I pushed through the pain and said, “You raped and murdered my daughter. You killed my wife.”
He shook his head no again.
“Bullshit!” I said, and got out of my chair.
I paced back and forth, daring not to look into the face of the murderer. He had taken so much from me, and I couldn’t deal with the sight of him. Instead, I walked over to a saline drip system that I had set up next to the chair. I pulled it closer to him—avoiding his eyes at all cost—and rubbed a small alcohol swab on his skin at the back of his hand.
At first, he seemed to be curious, but then when he saw the needle, he started to thrash around. In response, I walked over to the tray and picked up a scalpel. Though he stopped moving, I was motivated by emotion at that point and pressed the small blade to his shoulder. As I ran it across his skin, it parted with ease revealing that he was indeed human, and although his blood was red, I expected black ooze instead.
He tried to scream, but the gag turned it into a pathetic whimper. Even though I planned to hurt him further, I said, “Either you let me do this or I can cut you again.”
It didn’t take him long to settle, but I knew he would. I installed the needle, and then turned to the drip system. I set the counter so it would keep him alive for as long as possible. More so, the solution would also keep him awake and alert throughout the evening. This was important, for I couldn’t have him passing out in the middle of it.
From a small black leather pouch next to the machine, I withdrew a syringe. Contained inside was a chemical that was even more essential than the drip system. It was designed to give the recipient a heightened sense of feeling. Everything from simple touch to extreme pain would be increased tenfold. I slipped the needle into the cork at the back of his hand, and injected it directly into his bloodstream.
“This will make things more interesting for us.” I said, and put the needle back into its case. “If I let the gag out of your mouth, will you scream?”
Though he shook his head in compliance, I figured I needed to be a little more persuasive. “Here’s what’ll happen if you do decide to scream for help. I will kill you, but first I’ll use that nifty device over there to cut out your tongue. Then, I’ll gag you again and hurt you so more. Understand?”
This time, he was far more enthusiastic.
“Good.” I said, and then reached down to remove the gag.
“Why are you doing this to me?” He asked.
“I know you’re not stupid.”
“I wasn’t convicted.”
I laughed, but it wasn’t with joy. “They may not have convicted you, but we both know what you did.”
“I didn’t do it!”
“First of all, keep your voice down,” I said, grabbing a bag containing a bloody knife from my pocket, “and second, I found this in your house. It took me a while to find it, you hid it pretty well.”
“No, that’s not mine!”
I sighed, “Listen, if you be honest with me, this will all go a lot easier. Why did you do it?”
He remained quiet. He knew I had him, but he still didn’t seem to fully grasp the situation he was in.
“Why!”
“I don’t know.”
Vince broke sooner than I expected. Even though it wasn’t a full confession, it was a start. “That’s the lamest answer I’ve ever heard. You can do better than that.”
“I don’t know. It just kind of happened.”
“Really? It just kind of happens that a thirty-two-year-old man seduces a sixteen-year-old girl, rapes her,
and then fucking kills her?”
Vince’s eyes narrowed. Before, he tried to convince me with the innocent look of a child, but he relented when he knew I wasn’t going to fall for his ruse. A dark evil grin befell his lips, and with a sinister and cold voice he said, “I did it because she was hot. That worthless bitch denied me, and I always get what I want.”
His words shocked me. I never expected him to be so bold and blunt. Cold washed over me as though my sweat was made of ice water. The truth of his frigid nature cut through to my soul, leaving me feeling feverish.
My shock quickly passed, however, and then I was relieved when the rage returned. I held onto it so dearly for security, that I was glad for it. I replaced the gag, and then back-handed him. I must have broken his nose, for blood began to trickle down the silver tape.
“You son of a bitch!” I screamed through blurring tears, “You sick son of a bitch!”
Using the scalpel and plenty of anger, I slit part of his forearm open. As he tried to scream, the veins in his neck swelled large as if they were going to explode at any moment. This was a result of the drug, and it seemed to be working nicely.
I watched him for a moment, and as the initial pain probably turned into a burning prolonged sensation, his face contorted into something other than evil. He seemed remorseful, and although I wasn’t an expert on human emotion, neither was he an expert in lying when under the influence of torture. Even though it could have been a side effect of the drug, looking into those eyes made me feel guilty.
Something inside seemed to tear itself free from the deep confines of my mind. At that moment, I suddenly realized that I was getting ready to continue torturing a man that did me wrong, did so many people wrong, and yet, I felt no better. I felt like I was becoming him.
I staggered back and fell into the chair. I wept harder than I had ever before, and the man in front of me wept with me. We cried together, and even though it was for very different reasons, the effectuation of realized humanity was the same. On my side, I was doing something so utterly wrong, and through his façade, I actually believed he was remorseful for what he had done.
I didn’t care that he was repentant, because my hatred for him was unequivocal. Still, I could no longer use my rage and his past actions to justify my plan. I still wanted to kill him, make him hurt as I hurt all those years. I wanted to take everything from him and then take him away from life. However, I was now questioning my own reasoning, my own morals.
I put the scalpel on the table and looked at my stained hands. His blood was all over them, and so was the blood of his past. Everything he did directly related to that moment, and everything I planned to do would be a consequence of my own actions—not his.
I gazed at the bloody knife he used to kill my daughter. I picked it up from the floor and went into his bedroom. After setting it upon his bathroom counter, I sprinkled some water and suds on it to make it look as though he tried to clean it. When I returned to the living room, he was still weeping, but not as hard as before.
“This will all be over soon.” I said as I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.
Tonight, I had wronged. Not only had I taken a man prisoner, but I hurt him. I thought about my wife and daughter, and all the things they knew of me. The man I used to be. Though I was no longer that man, at least I could do the things they would’ve expected of me. The right thing. Therefore, I dialed the police and waited for dispatch to pick up. I remained calm and clear.
“911, please state your emergency.”
“I kidnapped a man. I tortured him, but I haven’t killed him. Send police to 28188 Miriam Parkway, Laguna Niguel.”
When I disconnected the call, I sat down in the chair. I knew the police would be there soon, especially since I made a call that was probably high priority.
In the distance, I heard the roar of engines and sirens. Before I knew it, tires squealed to a harsh stop, and then someone was banging on the door. I wanted to answer it, but I let it be. Eventually the police kicked the door in and found me sitting there with my hands in the air.
As they took me into custody, I screamed, “In the bathroom, he was cleaning it, I fucking found him cleaning it!”
One of the officers put me in the back seat of his cruiser while an EMS team rushed into the house. I waited, watching the front door. This was out of control, out of my control, but I liked it. I felt at peace.
What seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than ten minutes, the police pulled a bandaged Vince from the house in handcuffs. They had found the knife, and later when they check it, they would no doubt find his prints on the hilt painted on the cool plastic in my daughter’s blood. Finally, he would be directly connected to her murder.
I smiled, making sure that he saw me. When he passed by the car he said, “Jail is better than being in there with you. At least I’ll get out one day.”
The cop stopped and looked at Vince, “Son, we know who you are, and all of us know what you did. I don’t blame that man one bit. He broke the law, and we’ve arrested him, but trust me, we considered letting him go. You, on the other hand, killed a little girl. Think you’re going to have fun in prison? How do you think all those convicts with daughters of their own are going to treat you in there?”
The surprised look on his face was priceless. Even though I still wanted more than anything to see him suffer, I was made content with the officer’s vision of Vince’s future.
I was surely going to jail for what I’d done, but I was okay with that. I deserved it. Besides, I had nothing to live for except to make right the memory of the loves of my life, my wife and daughter, which I could easily do from anywhere.
After the officer got into his car and as we drove towards my inevitable future, I looked into the cloud-laden sky. A sense of calm washed over me, and while I may not have found the serenity I hoped I would find after it was all over, I still found peace. [Back to Contents]
Dr. Zombie
1
When Tommy woke that sunny summer morning, he wished that everything that happened to him the night before was nothing more than a nightmare. Of course, it wasn’t, and everything he had come to know of the rules of the world and his future was struck down with fury.
Earlier that night, he was at a local department store looking for a new pair of shoes. He walked down the aisle that had rows of white sneakers, brown loafers, large hiking boots, slippers, and sandals. Though they had styles that didn’t seem too bad, it wasn’t what he was looking to purchase.
The following night he was to perform in Los Angeles with his band. The venue was the biggest they’d ever played, and he needed to make sure that he had just the right style to fit with the band’s motif. Image was everything in the musician’s world, and selecting the wrong shoe could prove hazardous for their future.
Truthfully, he didn’t want to conform to the ideology that he needed to assume a specific image to further his career. He liked boots, loose fitting jeans, and shirts that fit comfortably. However, the type of music they played catered to a specific crowd of tight jeans and shirts, aggressive hair-styles, and tattoos.
He wanted the life of a musician, and as a result needed to make certain sacrifices. Besides, though he was faithful to his own unique style, he knew that once his notoriety hit a certain level he would be able to return to everything he once enjoyed.
When he reached the end of the aisle, he found an end-cap that was full of the exact type of shoe he needed. The design was similar to those made by Converse, but they were definitely a knock-off brand. He didn’t care though, and he selected a pair with a shade of blue that fit perfectly with the color of the band’s logo.
Using each other foot to balance on, he slipped out of his old shoes and then sat down at the fitting station.
The laces of the right shoe were already untied, so he slipped it onto his foot. It fit snugly, and as he looped and knotted the strings, it became a perfect fit.
As he put the other one on
, intending to wear them to the register, he started to feel sick. The world around him became fuzzy as if he’d been drinking enough alcohol to bring him to tipsy. His stomach angered into a fit of nausea, and he broke into a cold sweat.
When he finished tying the shoe, he wondered why he was suddenly feeling ill. It felt like the flu, but he knew it never struck without warning. Alternatively, he knew he hadn’t eaten for a while, and it was quite possible he was afflicted by the effects of low blood sugar. In either case, he knew he needed to get home, eat some dinner, and take some precautionary flu medication.
When he stood to make his way to the cash registers, he rocked back and forth, but then quickly stabilized himself. He closed his eyes and wished for the strange feeling to subside. Soon, the feelings became less intense, and when he reopened his eyes, he was standing in complete darkness.
His first thought was that he was stricken by blindness. He had read once that low blood sugar could cause temporary loss of eyesight. However, when he reached down and pressed the small switch on his watch, he saw the green light glow behind the clock.
The only other thing he could think of was that the store had closed. He knew he had entered only minutes before their business hours would end, but he had expected them to make an announcement. At the very least, he figured they would ensure that no customers remained to be locked in overnight.
“Hello?” He called, hoping that an employee would hear him.
When Tommy didn’t get a response, he decided to make his way through the blackness and perhaps find someone who was walking the floor. There had to be security or late night employees somewhere.
With his arms stretched out in front of him and taking small steps to ensure that he didn’t bestow carnage upon his shins from protruding shelves, he walked aimlessly in what he felt was the correct direction.