Something Terrible

by Wrath James White

  What did you see?

  There was a section of the nursery toward the back. It’s where they kept, like, the premature babies. The little tiny ones. That’s where he started. The babies were all sleeping in these incubators. They were tiny, weak, helpless little things. I didn’t know what he was doing at first. I thought he was just a dad, eager to see his newborn. I was like that myself. I wanted to see my baby daughter all the time. That’s why I was there. It’s just so exciting for a new parent, you know? And he walked in so casually. That smile on his face made it seem like he was there for, like, normal reasons. But he wasn’t. When he opened the lid to the first incubator, that’s when I knew something was up. Then he . . . then he . . . oh god.

  Catch your breath. I know it’s hard. Take your time.

  Okay. Okay. Just give me a second. This is just . . . I just never thought anything like this could happen. That bastard killed my baby. My little girl. I had just named her. I don’t know why it took me so long. I went through all the books of baby names for months. I even had an app on my phone that showed the most popular baby names around the world, minute by minute. Do you know what the most popular girl name in the United States was when my daughter was born? Sophia. Can you believe that? Sophia. Followed by Emma and Olivia. I couldn’t see naming my daughter any of those names. They just seemed so adult. Not like baby names, more like the name of someone’s mom. I decided to name her Jessica, after my grandmother. She was so beautiful. I never thought anything that beautiful . . . I never thought I could make something so precious.

  I’m sure she was a very beautiful baby.

  She was perfect. She was absolutely perfect. And he destroyed her. He took her away from me.

  Samantha? Can you tell me what he did to them? What you saw?

  The little babies, the preemies, needed oxygen tanks to breathe, their lungs weren’t strong enough to work on their own. There were these clear tubes that ran up to their noses and constantly pumped oxygen so they could breathe. He took the tubes, wrapped it around the baby’s neck a few times, and then pulled it tight. He kept pulling until the knot grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until the baby’s head just dropped. It was hanging there like it was going to fall off. Her neck was broken, all stretched and twisted. Jesus . . . I was trying to forget all this shit, you know? But I can’t forget. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s all I think about . . . what that man did.

  I’m sorry. If you want to stop, we can.

  No. I’m okay. I’m fine. After he killed that first baby . . . after I watched him do it . . . I screamed. I woke up all the babies. They were all wailing at the top of their little lungs. They were scared. They were all so scared. It was like they knew what was about to happen to them. It was like they knew what that man was. I saw Horrowitz curse, he just yelled “fuck,” and then he turned and glared at me. I just shut my mouth and stopped screaming. I was scared shitless. I thought he was gonna kill me too, you know?

  He checked around for a bit and then picked up the oxygen tank beside the baby’s incubator. He didn’t need to be quiet anymore. I’d already alerted the entire fucking hospital. Maybe I should have just gotten a nurse quietly, so he wouldn’t have known. So he wouldn’t have hurried up with what he was doing. Maybe he wouldn’t have had time to kill so many. But it was too late. He lifted the tank above his head, and smashed it down on the next incubator. It broke through the glass and crushed the little baby inside. And he went on like that, shuffling down the line, hammering the oxygen tank on their puny bodies. He moved so quickly. I thought he’d get tired after a few but he just kept going.

  I wanted to go in and stop him, to slow him at least, but I just had a C-section. My body hurt and I was still carrying around my IV, for God’s sake. That’s when it occurred to me: where the hell are the nurses? I knew there was supposed to be at least one in the nursery at all times. I found what I was looking for. He must have done it before I got there. Tucked away in the corner, in the shadows, the nurse sat with her eyes closed, leaning against the wall. There was no blood or bruises, like he just choked her or something. So it was quiet. Finally, two other nurses came sprinting down the hall asking me what’s wrong. I couldn’t speak, so I just pointed. They saw Horrowitz pounding infants with a bloody oxygen tank. They saw the walls, once painted yellow, dripping red. The nurses didn’t freeze up like I did, they ran right in. It made me feel guilty in a way. He did the nurses just as he did the babies. The first one ran straight toward him and he turned around and whacked her across the jaw with the tank. She slipped on a puddle of blood and cracked her skull on the tile floor. The next nurse hopped over her colleague’s body and charged the guy. They shouldn’t have run in one by one like that, or they might have stood a fighting chance. He sidestepped her, and she went crashing into the cribs holding the shattered incubators. They toppled over, and dead infants fell on top of her. She sat up with her jaw hanging open, like she didn’t know what she was seeing. Horrowitz stood over her and smacked her jaw loose with the tank. I swear he swung it hard enough to make a dent in the damn thing. The nurse slumped over and rested in the pile of newborns.

  He moved on to the healthy babies, pulverizing their defenseless bodies. There was no glass incubator for protection, so their bodies just sorta crumbled underneath the oxygen tank. It was so sick. My own baby girl was just down the line from where Horrowitz was. I didn’t even think about it, I ripped the needles from my hand and the patches off my chest and picked up the metal rod that held up my IV drip to use as a weapon. But two doctors grabbed me by the waist and held me back as two orderlies rushed past me. An alarm above us in the hallway was blaring and flashing a red light. I was getting dizzy; the alarm seemed to get louder and louder until I couldn’t bear it.

  Horrowitz kept walking down the line, like he was fucking playing whack-a-mole or something. And he was getting closer to my baby. I struggled against the doctor’s grip; I just wanted a final look at my little miracle. I prayed for the orderlies to stop him. I mean they were men and there were two of them. They should have been able to stop him, right? I mean, he was just a guy, right? He was just a fucking crazy guy.

  The alarm blared loud. I couldn’t see my baby anymore, I was too dizzy. I listened for her cry, but through the other screaming babies and screaming patients and doctors and the damn alarm, I couldn’t make out her cry. I thought my motherly instincts would kick in. Like how animals could pick out the sound of their offspring’s chirp or holler in a crowd. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I had just given birth to her the day before, and I was still so doped up on painkillers from the C-section, I hadn’t had time to learn her voice. I didn’t know what my own baby sounded like.

  I saw the first orderly die. Horrowitz grabbed him in a headlock. He spun the tank around in his palm and slammed the nozzle on the corner of a table. There was a piercing, whistling sound. It was loud enough to rupture the fragile eardrums of those babies. Horrowitz jammed the oxygen tank, still spewing air, into the man’s mouth and held it there. It took me a while before I figured out what he was doing. The orderly’s eyes bulged, he was scratching at his chest, digging trenches with his nails. Horrowitz pinched the man’s nose shut and watched as his victim’s lungs burst open. The man fell slack in Horrowitz’s arms and then dropped to the floor. When he removed the tank from the dead man’s mouth, I saw his chest sink, then blood spill from his mouth.

  There was a brief moment of hope when I saw the one orderly—the one that was still alive—knock away the oxygen tank. But that hope was snatched away when I saw Horrowitz snap that orderly’s neck. Horrowitz cocked his head, you know, like dogs do when they hear a strange noise. He was standing perfectly still, with his head cocked like that, staring at the babies that were still alive. It was like someone had pressed the pause button on him. Then he just snaps out of it and starts moving again, faster now, more deliberate. He proceeded to twist the necks of the babies he missed. I passed out when he reached into my baby’s little
bed. I didn’t see him kill her. When I woke up, I was back in my recovery room. I still thought maybe she was alive. Maybe someone stopped him before he could hurt her.

  When did you find out?

  My entire family was around me, just watching me, tears in their eyes. I kinda just knew right then. They didn’t need to say anything, I could tell by their looks. I knew I was going to cry. I could feel it coming. The hiccups. The tears right behind my eyelids. But I didn’t. You wanna know why?

  Why?

  Because I got mad instead.

  Mad at Horrowitz?

  Him too, but not just him. I saw my boyfriend. My baby-daddy. The asshole who promised he’d stay with me after I got pregnant. Do you think he was crying like the rest of my family?

  I’m guessing not.

  Well, you guessed right. I’ll bet that asshole was secretly happy. I’ll bet that little fuck was happy he didn’t have to pay child support no more. He looked sad, but I knew that fucker was pretending. That’s the same face he had when he broke up with me. That same fake, lying, deceitful fucking face. On the inside, that fucker was giddy.

  I probably shouldn’t have yelled at him. But I needed to get my anger out somehow. Maybe I was just bitter and guilty for not acting during those killings and was taking it out on my ex. I don’t know. But I just sat up and started yelling “fuck you!” over and over and over again at him. My mother tried to calm me down, and my dad just grabbed his arm and led him out of the room. And I didn’t stop yelling until he left. I don’t know, it just felt sorta good. To get it all out. Like I should have the day before.

  Is there anything more you’d like to say?

  No.

  Thank you for your time.

  Don’t mention it.

  (He clicks his recorder off.)

  ***

  I am now interviewing Adam’s lawyer, Isaac Peters. We are at Hunt and Peters, LLC, on July 21, 2014. The time is five forty-nine p.m.

  Can you tell me about the time you spent with him?

  It was short.

  Tell me about the short time you spent with him then.

  All right. Well, the court assigned me his case. From what I heard, Adam was passive about the whole thing. Just kind of indifferent. He wasn’t making any effort to find himself a lawyer, so the judge picked me.

  I only spoke to him a few times before the first hearing. He was always handcuffed and chained before I was given permission to speak with him. The warden required it. To be honest, I wouldn’t step into a room alone with him if he wasn’t chained up. There’s just something about him. The way he looks at you with those cold, dead, emotionless eyes. It’s like he doesn’t feel any connection at all. Like we’re different species.

  I know. I feel it too.

  Creepy, right?

  Yeah.

  Anyway, I read his profile before my first meeting with him. And of course, there is only one way to defend something like this. There is really no other logical justification for what he did. We’d make the case that he was insane, mentally ill during his crimes. Usually, usually, the jury can be convinced with that argument. I mean, it’s pretty messed up to execute someone who didn’t know better, right? You just hope you can make the jury find something in the defendant they can empathize with. But I knew this would be a long shot. Whether it was right or wrong to put this man to death, I figured it was my job to make sure he got off, to find a way to make the jury feel sorry for him. Besides, if we did happen to win the case, imagine what that would do for my career.

  I’d imagine you’d be famous.

  Infamous. But in this profession, it’s basically the same thing. Well, I thought Adam would realize that insanity was his only hope, but he didn’t. Every time we met he was uncooperative as hell. “I’m not insane. I’m not insane,” over and over again. There was no explaining it to this guy. Nobody on the planet would ever agree with him.

  Except maybe his father.

  Well, he’s not the judge. Is he?

  But this was what really frustrated me. He told me what to do. He told me what to say in court. Who’s the professional here? I’ve never seen an ego that big, before. He told me that what he was doing was for the greater good of humanity. That the end would justify the means when everyone was his descendant, and, therefore, smarter, stronger, faster, better. His defense was that stopping his massacre was somehow interfering with the natural order of things, that he was the next step in human evolution, and Homo sapiens need to step aside for his offspring. It was a ludicrous argument.

  He ended up firing me. He thought he could handle the case himself, that cocky son of a bitch. I was glad to leave, even though I was leaving a high-profile case that could have made me a legal rock star. He scared the hell out of me. The more I spoke with him, the more I began to realize my entire argument was a lie. I’ve spoken with the psychologist. What was his name?

  Dr. Tompkins?

  Yes, Tompkins. We both agreed. Horrowitz isn’t insane, he’s evil.

  What about Dr. Tompkins’s official write-up?

  It’s bogus. He probably wrote it so he didn’t look like a fool within the psychology community. The truth is, he’s a monster. A cold-blooded monster.

  I’m beginning to see that. I began this project expecting a silver lining, a possibility of a hopeful ending, but after interviewing all these people, I realize that’s not the case.

  You authors are always so optimistic. You always need the ideal, happy ending. That’s not real life, partner. We learn these things as lawyers. The people we deal with day to day. We’re realists.

  I think we can wrap it up now. Anything else you might want to add?

  No. That’s all the interaction I’ve had with the guy. Thank God.

  Thank you for your time.

  Wait. I actually have a question for you.

  Yes?

  Before you stepped into my office, I heard you on the phone with your wife.

  Go on.

  I understand she is pregnant?

  Yes, she is. So?

  From what I picked up from the conversation—and I wasn’t eavesdropping. But just to clarify.

  Sure.

  Anyway, from what I picked up from your conversation, your wife is pregnant from a donor sperm?

  Yes. This is true. But we have nothing to worry about.

  There you go again with your optimism. Here’s my card. In case you don’t get that happy fairy-tale ending.

  I won’t need it.

  You might.

  (He takes the card and rips it in half.) You’ll do anything for a client, won’t you?

  Well—

  Good-bye.

  (He switches off the recorder and extends his arm to shake the lawyer’s hand.)

  ***

  Second interview with Adam Horrowitz.

  Hello, Adam.

  How’s your research coming? Have you got me all figured out yet?

  I confess. You’re still a mystery to me.

  That’s because you don’t believe me. How can you do my story justice if you doubt everything I’m saying?

  It’s an unbelievable story, Adam. But your point is well taken. I will try to keep an open mind. Let me ask you a few more questions. Some things that have been bothering me about your story.

  Like what?

  Did your father know you were killing people?

  I told him. After I killed those guys at the fertility clinic, I told him all about it.

  What did he say?

  He said I was too emotional. He said that killing those guys was an emotional reaction, not a logical one. I was jealous of them. So he did what he always did when something about my behavior displeased him. He fixed me.

  Fixed you?

  He took away my emotions. The ones he considered detrimental, unproductive. Hatred. Fear. Envy. Lust. Jealousy. Greed. I don’t feel any of those anymore. Daddy made sure of that.

  How?

  There are genes that determine our emotions the same as there
are those that determine our height, weight, and eye color. He isolated those genes the same way he isolated the genes for symmetry and intelligence. Then he altered them, cherry-picking the emotions he thought would be beneficial, like courage and ambition, and eliminating things like fear and empathy that would only get in the way.

  That’s pretty hard to believe.

  But yet here I am. I am living proof that his experiments worked.

  So you’ve said.

  Yet you remain skeptical.

  It’s hard for me to accept that the next step in human evolution is a sociopath, a serial killer. It’s hard for me to accept that someone can play God with his own child and decide how he will look, act, and feel.

  Father is special. He really is a remarkable man. He may have his flaws but intelligence and ingenuity are not one of them. He made me everything he himself wanted to be: handsome, athletic, artistic, talented, a genius, a leader.

  But if what you’re telling me is true, then your father made you a serial killer. Perhaps you wouldn’t be here right now if your father hadn’t experimented on you. Maybe if he’d hugged you more often, took you to baseball games, taught you to throw a football, told you how special you were and how much he loved you, maybe you wouldn’t have killed all those people.

  (A pause. Someone breathing hard.)

  Why are you talking to me like this? You’re supposed to be interviewing me. Not trying to turn me against my father. You want answers? Ask some fucking questions!

  Are you angry right now, Adam? I thought your father rid you of that particular negative emotion. Perhaps his treatments didn’t work after all.

  That is it. We’re done.

  Wait. Let’s start over. Tell me about your other efforts to spread your DNA.

  Other efforts?

  You’re an intelligent guy. Good looking. I’m sure you didn’t limit yourself to sperm banks and killing babies. Besides, a bunch of mass slaughters like the one that landed you here would have been suspicious. You would have gotten caught much sooner.