by Capps, Bonny
“I’m not following.”
A sob escapes her trembling lips as she uses the back of the chair for support, “He… he cut you from her stomach. I watched it happen.” She pauses as she sucks in a shaky breath, “I couldn’t save her. I tried, but… it wasn’t any use. She was dead by the time he was finished.”
“What?” I breathe out, stumbling backwards.
“I couldn’t ever talk to you about it. I tried. So many times. I would stand outside of your door for minutes, waiting, trying, but I couldn’t.” She mumbles.
I grab at my hair as I begin backing away. I can’t digest this information. I need to run.
“Gabriel.” My father says as he stands.
“I… I need to go.” I say, my voice dangerously calm as I make my way to the front door.
The door slams behind me, and before I know it, I’m in my car. It’s in these surreal moments where time floats by, never acknowledging your hurt or pain. Your body just moves on its own, and it seems like it’s completely out of your control.
Gripping the wheel, pictures of the past flash through my mind. I always knew that I didn’t belong, but now that realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
When I get home, I immediately make my way down the stairs and into the basement.
I open the door to the room where Melissa is waiting cuffed to the floor. She doesn’t stir when I enter and approach her. Kneeling down, I smooth my hand over her hair.
“Are you ready?” I whisper, and she nods without looking up at me. I sigh as I remove the cuffs and help her to her feet. I haven’t fucked her. I haven’t so much as looked her way with lust in my eyes. There is only one woman that can satisfy me, and that is Dani.
“Go write your letter. Just like we talked about.” I murmur as I stand in the doorway. She looks up at me with somber eyes, “What if I have nothing to say?”
I give her a tight-lipped smile, “Everyone has something to say. Now go.”
She nods slowly as she approaches the desk. Sitting down, she picks up the pen and paper. She only writes a few words before she places the pen down and looks over at me.
“On the table.” I grit out.
Once she is lying down, I insert the IV into her arm and the whispers in my mind slowly dissipate with each drip of the fluid.
I ensure that she cannot feel anything before I begin cutting.
“Tell me about a happy memory that you have, Melissa.” I say, my voice wavering as I continue working on her. My breathing begins calming as I watch the blood pump from her arteries and begins staining the white of the sheet below her.
“There aren’t any.” She says softly, her eyelids weighing down from the loss of blood.
I close my eyes as I try and calm myself. She can’t go, not until she recounts a happy time. She must.
“Even the most miserable people have happy memories.” I rasp, my grip on the scalpel is tightening as my anger threatens to boil over.
“I… don’t…” She whispers. When I open my eyes, I see that death has already claimed her glossy gaze.
“No.” I say as I reach over and pat her cheek, “Wake up. Wake up! It’s not supposed to happen this way!”
She isn’t smiling. They always smile.
“Wake the fuck up!” I holler as I slap her hard across the cheek. Her head falls to the side from the impact.
I scream at the top of my lungs as I hold the scalpel over my head. I plunge it into her chest, her stomach, arms and legs. The blood splatters all over me. My eyes become clouded with tears as I fall onto my knees and sob.
Everything is falling apart.
12
"I think in some way I wanted it to end, even if it meant my own destruction."
-Jeffrey Dahmer
I awake to the sound of running water. The door to the bedroom is ajar, and the bathroom door is closed, rivulets of steam leak through the cracks and pools outside of the door.
Looking around, I see that he’s cleaned up the mess that I’d made days ago. There isn’t any glass on the floor and all of his clothes are neatly folded and stacked on top of the dresser. I run my hand over my neck and feel the collar clamped around my throat. I can only fit a finger through the gap between my skin and the metal.
My fingers run down the chain, which remains attached to the iron bedpost. Looking across the room, my breath catches in my throat when I see a ring of keys lying on the bookshelf.
I scoot from the bed and stand.
Tiptoeing to the shelf, I grasp the keys in my hands, my frantic fingers scanning over each one. I try three of them before the lock of the collar gives way.
I’m free.
My heart is threatening to beat from my chest as I grab one of his t-shirts and pull it over my body. I stop suddenly when I see a metal bat leaning against the wall of his closet. I hold it tightly as I watch the moonlight catch its smooth surface.
Run.
My conscience screams within the walls of my skull to get the fuck out of here. I don’t know why my feet are carrying me towards the sound of water, rather than freedom. As I clutch the bat in my hand, I feel my old self returning, the one that fought her way through hell and survived. The one who promised to never allow another man to harm her after what her father had done.
“You’re a worthless little whore, Dani. No one will ever love you. No-one will ever care.”
Fuck you.
But his lips, his body, his touch.
Shut up.
I open the door quietly, and the steam billows out towards me. As I walk closer to the shower, I see his naked form behind the glass. Water cascades over him as he stands with his forehead pressed against the tiled wall.
I reach towards the door and open it before grasping the bat in both hands. The tiny drops that escape the shower burns when it meets my skin.
The skin of his back is red from the scalding hot water.
I raise the bat over my shoulder as I draw a lungful of air.
“Lies.” He whispers, “Everything has always been a lie.”
I shakily exhale as I will myself to bash his fucking head in. He deserves it. He brought me here. He forced me to feel everything that I’ve avoided for so long. But my feelings twist within me, turmoil mixed with sadness mixed with… whatever it is that I feel for this enigma.
“Where have you been?” I ask as tears collect in my eyes.
He bangs his head against the tile, causing me to jump and the bat crashes against the floor when I lose my grip.
He turns swiftly and I flinch when he grasps my arms, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me into the water with him.
The water burns as it falls over my trembling body, and my forehead throbs as he presses his against mine.
“I can’t be around you. You’re poison.”
“I’m not poison.” I whisper.
An ominous smile spreads across his face as he yanks me from the scalding hot water. “Yes. You have tipped my world upside-down. Everything went to shit when you came along,”
“Y-you’re hurting me.” I stammer as I try and wiggle from his hold.
“Shut up!” He hollers as his fingers tighten even more, bruising my skin.
“You brought me here!” I say, my fists balling at my sides, “You made me feel! You filled me with empty promises!” Shut up, Dani!
He glares at me as his chest presses into mine. “I made you feel? Promises? I’ve never promised you anything! I brought you here with the intention of killing you.”
Each time I take a step back, he matches it with a step forward until I’m backed against the counter. His eyes look wild… crazed as he stares down at me.
“I’m leaving.” I grit out.
He shakes his head slowly as he looks into my eyes, “No. You’re not going anywhere. You would have done well to keep your mouth shut, but like usual, you just couldn’t do that, could you?” He pauses as he fists my hair and pulls my head back, “You want to feel? I can help you feel.”
Upon entering the dungeon, he throws my body to the ground, “Do you know how I feel, Dani? Pain. Pain is how I feel.”
I glare at him. “You felt that night when we were together.”
My heart slowly breaks when he doesn’t respond to my statement.
I blink as I lower my eyes and watch the tears collide against the stone floor.
“Okay. Then make me feel.” I whisper, keeping my eyes diverted.
He kneels down, “Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that.”
He stands, and I feel his presence behind me. I startle when the fabric of the t-shirt rips down the middle of my back.
“You have a beautiful back, Dani.”
He exhales deeply as he runs the palm of his hand down my spine, causing me to shiver, then he pinches the skin of my shoulder.
“You need to breathe in deep. This is going to hurt.”
I shriek when I feel him pierce through the chunk of skin.
“What is that? What are you doing?” I cry out.
“I’m inserting hooks into your back. Keep still.”
My body begins convulsing as he inserts more of the hooks in two lines of four down my back.
“Suspension is my saving grace. It’s the only way that I can quiet my mind. Now stand up.” He says flatly, and I do. My knees are knocking together, I’m shaking so badly.
I startle when I hear the chains rattle above me, looking up, I see them sway as he lowers them.
“Won’t my skin rip?” I say through chattering teeth.
“No,” He responds and I feel each hook weigh down with each chain.
He leans over my shoulder, “You need to relax your body. Allow the endorphins to flow through you. Don’t think. Just be.”
Then, he begins lifting me. I do as he said and my body goes slack as my toes graze the rough floor. I’m floating, and as my eyes close, I envision myself floating in a black portal of nothing.
I feel him push me gently, and as my hair tickles my skin, I reach my hands out, emptying my lungs with a long exhale as I spread my arms.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in the trance when he places his hands on each side of my face. My eyes flutter open to find his.
I reach out and run my fingers through his hair.
“I feel like I’ve always needed this.” I murmur.
“We’re more alike than I thought.” He responds, his lips curling up.
I cup his cheeks in my hands and pull his lips to mine. When I pull away, the beautiful green eyes are all that I can see.
Not the dungeon or the whips or the chains.
Only him.
13
"As I grew up I realized, though imperfectly, that I was different from other people, and that the way of life in my home was different from that in the homes of others... this stimulated me to introspection and strange mental questionings."
-John Haigh
“Gabriel. Thank you for meeting with me.” Dr. Gnosh says as I exit my car.
I look towards the gargantuan grey, brick building that stands in the distance, “What is this place?”
She smiles kindly as she turns and gestures for me to follow her, “Dorphin’s Mental Hospital. I believe that I’ve found someone who can help you.”
As we walk down the white halls, I watch the people. One is a woman with knotted hair, she walks around aimlessly with a doll. Another is a man who smiles and waves at us like he’s a small child.
I assume any ‘normal’ person would be frightened as they walk through this place. Not me. I feel a tug at my heart when I realize that this is where someone like me belongs, in the land of the crazies.
“Here we are.” Dr. Gnosh says.
She opens the door and I follow her inside.
An older man sits behind a large, mahogany desk. He looks over the manila folder that he’s holding and quickly puts it down.
“Ah, Maura. So nice to see you, this must be Gabriel.”
She smiles as her kind eyes find mine, “This is. Gabriel, this is Dr. Branson.”
I nod as I reach out and shake his hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”
He gestures towards the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk before he sits back down.
Steepling his hands, he leans forward. “I understand that you have questions.”
I look towards Dr. Gnosh before my eyes find his once more, “I want to find a cure. You may have heard of my father, Gabriel Thibault.”
He nods, “The house of horrors.”
“Yeah.” I breathe out.
“And you believe that you’ve inherited his madness?”
I nod.
He leans back and rests his hands over his stomach, “It isn’t unusual for you to feel this way. Many people obsess over the idea that they may have inherited their parent’s disorder. Now the real question is, have you had any desires that are out of the ordinary? Have you hurt anyone or have you wanted to?”
Yes.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “No.”
He smiles. “Well that’s a start. We’re going to run some tests if that’s okay.”
I nod haltingly, “Of course.”
“We’ll start with some questions first.”
He follows with a series of questions, and he checks off the list with each answer. Do I lack empathy, am I a pathological liar, and am I a sadist? Of course, I answer the most honest way that I can. Other than spilling out the truth; I have killed. I have caused harm to others.
Even if I tell myself that it’s for the benefit of them… that they aren’t victims. They wanted to die… the fact that I’m a murderous monster is glaringly obvious – to me, nobody else.
Dr. Branson clears his throat as he places the clipboard on his desk, “Gabriel, do you ever feel insignificant? Do you ever feel like you’re simply not enough?”
I nod, “Yes.”
“And as far as empathy, do you feel like you turn it on and off like a switch, or is it just simply not there?”
I clear my throat before responding, “It’s not a switch. Sometimes it runs so deep that… that I feel their pain.”
“Whose pain, Gabriel?”
I lean back in my chair, “Anybody’s. They could be at a bus stop, or in a bar. I can see when they’re hurting, and I want to help.”
My words aren’t lies. They’re true. I want nothing more than to help them all. The killing is a temporary bandage for me, but salvation for them. Of course, I can’t tell him or Dr. Gnosh that. They’d never understand.
He watches me momentarily before standing, “Do you mind if we try something?”
“Yes, of course. Anything.”
He nods as he walks to the back of the office and gestures to an armchair with a projector beside it, “Take a seat.”
I get up and make my way to the chair before sitting and gripping the armrests.
“I’m going to measure your brainwaves. I’d like to see how you react to these images. They are intended to invoke a response. Generally, psychopaths will not have the typical response of disgust or fear or happiness. You say that you feel an unusual amount of empathy for others, I want to see what your triggers are. Sound good?”
I nod as he sticks the EEG cap over my head.
The projector begins humming when he clicks it on and slides the first picture into place.
It’s a picture of a woman and child. They appear to be from a third world country. The mother has sadness in her eyes as she holds onto the clearly malnourished child.
Next, he shows a man with his hands in his pockets while he stands over a grave.
One after the other, he goes through the pictures as he examines the results. When we are done, he removes the cap.
“Very strange. Very strange indeed.”
“What?” I ask as he leans against the wall across from me and crosses his arms.
“You definitely act with a normal response to some of the slides. For e
xample, you reacted with overt empathy when you observed sadness. However, you show no emotion when morbid or happy pictures were shown. This is strange. Generally, psychopaths and sociopaths do not regard others like you have, yet you responded to the other pictures much like a psychopath or a sociopath would. Very interesting.”
I shake my head, “What does that mean?”
He sighs as he approaches his desk once more. I walk across the room and sit beside Dr. Gnosh.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. Not yet. I’d like to meet with you again. Dr. Gnosh, could you forward me his records?”
“Of course.”
He smiles at me as he reaches into his drawer and slides a business card across the desk, “Call me anytime. I’ll go ahead and plan on next Thursday, if that’s alright.”
“Thanks.” I respond as I take the card.
“What does this mean, Doc?” I ask Dr. Gnosh as we walk back towards our cars.
She shakes her head, “We can’t be sure yet, Gabriel. This isn’t my specialty – you need more in depth therapy to find out where you fall on the spectrum. That’s why I wanted you to meet with Dr. Branson, he’s one of the best.”
“Am I still going to see you?”
She smiles as she turns to face me, “I’m afraid not. I want you to get over this bump. I truly do, but I’m afraid that I’m not the one that can help you do that.” She places a hand over my arm. “And you will, Gabriel. People with your disorder lead normal lives every day. You’ve got to want it badly enough. I know that you do. You need to try dating or going to social events, give normal life a try. Quit secluding yourself, you may find that you enjoy it, maybe not – but at least you would have tried. You’re not your father. You may see him in your reflection, but it’s what is in here that counts.” She pauses and taps my forehead with her index finger and then she taps my chest over my heart, “And here. Take care of yourself.”
The fire spreads warmth across the living room as I kneel down and light the candle in the center of the square coffee table.
I have the wine in an ice bucket along with the two crystal glasses. I’ve got a platter full of cheeses, crackers and grapes.