Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST Part 16

As he began to regain control of his body, he thought, b.i.t.c.h! You'll be the first to die when it's time for me to leave. I'll savor every delectable moment as I escort you from this life and guide you painfully into the waiting arms of death. You will dance the last dance with me... I promise.

Matthew jerked spasmodically as he mentally surmounted the pain and the rapidly growing wave of nausea. It was then that the back of his hand brushed the cool steel of the bed rail as she plodded through her examination. An involuntary shudder of pleasure rippled deliciously through his body as he momentarily imagined that he'd found his knife. The pain was gone now and he reveled in his musings. His lovely, sweet knife was the tool he used to tend his territory.

Over the years, the lethal weapon had become an extension of his delusional self. A cold, steel weapon of destruction in his crusade to rid the world of those he deemed unwanted and a burden on society. The homeless, sick, and alcoholic husks of human debris that littered the alleyways and streets of the cities must be culled from society to improve the overall condition of humanity. This tool, this magnificent tool, devoid of any emotions, was perfect for the job. It was the natural order. The strong preyed on the weak and the weak provided fodder for the continuation of a stronger species.

They had deprived him of his mission for so long now, too long by any standards. Society would soon be top heavy with useless, unnecessary people. His brain burned with urgency, necessity. It was nature's way-he provided the necessary means to ensure the survival of the fittest. His life was being wasted in the imprisonment of the drugs and his confining cell. The state didn't understand or didn't care. Prison was a punitive action taken by puny, unenlightened bureaucrats. They could imprison his body, but his mind roamed free to plan for the future and the freedom to continue his mission.

Matthew ached with yearning for the feel of his knife once more. The steel of the bed rail pleasurably seared the back of his hand with a wanton desire. Pulsing quickly throughout his body, the ecstasy of his memories concentrated in his loins and he became aroused immediately-a fact not lost to the nurse's ritualistic examination.

Letting his earlier rage slip away completely, Matthew surrendered to his thoughts. Following a practiced path, he drifted back to a time before here. He went to a time when his body, mind, and soul were free. It was a cherished time before his confinement... before "IT."

Flexing his fingers, he wrapped them delicately around the bed rail in a practiced motion. In his mind, he was holding his knife once more, recalling the first moment he conceived its design. It would take several months before he could locate the right steel. He spent countless hours on research about the numerous varieties of stainless steel.

Settling on 316L, a surgical quality stainless, he found a short length of one-inch plate stock at a small supply house out west. Traveling there over a weekend, he made the purchase while disguised, using an a.s.sumed name, and with a fict.i.tious address. No one even looked at him, or even cared, but it never hurt to be overly cautious.

A spider waits until the precise moment to strike. It may rush up once the prey is snared in its web, but it always cautiously waits to strike the killing blow, holding back the pent-up excitement, the urgency. At precisely the correct moment, it lunges in to extract the penalty for its victim's carelessness.

Letting a smile cross his lips, Matthew remembered carefully fashioning his knife to resemble the long, curved fangs of a tarantula. He copied the elegantly graceful curve to perfection. It took almost three full months of filing and polishing the steel to complete his weapon. The work was long and difficult, but the upcoming task was worth the effort.

When he was finished, it was nearly twelve inches long. Instead of round, he made the handle oval. He continued the oval shape of the handle along the length of the blade to accommodate a groove, which ran up the inner curve of his knife-his fang-his scepter of death. It was a magnificent tool suited to the task of cleansing the world.

Matthew's plan was to daub a poison, a neurotoxin, along the groove to paralyze his victims. There was no hilt, only indentations in the handle for his fingers. His thumb fit comfortably in the hollow he fashioned on the end of the handle. It afforded maximum pressure with each thrust, combined with minimal effort. This was a weapon for piercing deeply, repeatedly-not the amateurish slashing used by common thieves and muggers.

Matthew even made a form-fitting sheath he hand st.i.tched from leather and lined with deep purple velvet. There was enough leather left over to fashion a bag for the vial of poison.

His breathing became rapid as he recalled the touch of the cold steel. It never ceased to amaze him how the cold, ruthless blade warmed as he held it, becoming part of his hand, his will, heating with antic.i.p.ation while waiting for the precise moment to strike. As the precise moment approached it was completely heated with his pa.s.sion, his desire to accomplish its purpose.

It warmed more quickly once it entered a body. He reveled in the unbridled pleasure it brought him each time the transferred heat almost seared his palm. It was as if the life force of his victim was transferred to him instantaneously. This was an affirmation of the righteousness of his mission. His victims gave unto him their most precious gift-their life-so he could be made stronger and continue his work.

There could be no real pleasure in brutally a.s.saulting the prey. You needed to wrap yourself around the body-holding it captive, feeling its warmth, and feeling the pulse through its flesh. You needed to be patient and watch the eyes and listen to the labored breathing as the body succ.u.mbed to the neurotoxin and lost all function. The toxin must be administered over and over again; repeatedly inserting the knife and feeling the curve of it slide deeply into the flesh, releasing its lethal toxin each time.

There was always the question "Why?" on his victim's lips, but they couldn't speak. He always put his face close to theirs, feeling the heat of their breath, smelling the stench of death as it coursed rapidly through their veins-it was ecstasy.

The front of his pants became wet and the nurse dropped her tray when she noticed the moisture spreading from the diminishing bulge.

"Matthew? Can you hear me, Matthew?" It was the doctor. He was called from his distraction at the commotion caused by the nurse.

Opening his eyes, Matthew stared defiantly at the doctor. "I can hear you just fine."

"What's the meaning of this? What's going on in that head of yours? You've e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed into your pants."

"Oh, it's nothing, Doc." Matthew's voice took on a malevolent, yet tranquil, quality as he continued. "I was just thinking about how good it would feel to have my hands wrapped around your stinking neck." More innocently he added, "And as you can see, I just couldn't help myself. You're the Doctor-you do understand, don't you?"

"We've discussed your antagonistic att.i.tude before, Matthew. You'll never make any progress if you persist in fighting me this way."

"Fighting you, Doc? You've got me all wrong." Matthew smiled and then added, "You insist that I'm mad, yet you treat me as if I'm sane. You're the one working at opposing realities. You better set your priorities straight before you dare conclude that the truth I speak is fighting you at the very least and madness at the very most."

Frustrated at Matthew's ability to twist a conversation away from the real point, Dr. Collins buzzed for the orderlies. "I'm sending you back to your cell, Matthew. Until you cease this antagonistic att.i.tude of yours, I'll be forced to continue the drug therapy indefinitely." He knew it was a lie, but he needed to force Matthew's hand.

The ploy worked as he watched panic sweep over Matthew's body. He saw him strain violently against the straps binding him to the bed, his face contorting in obvious terror. "Please don't send me back there, Doc! I'm begging you. IT is there...waiting patiently for my return. This is the only place I can escape IT."

"Matthew, we've had this discussion too many times before. In fact, we've had this discussion every time we've met over the last six months."

"I know Doc, but IT waits. I'm not mad," he pleaded. "IT waits for me. IT waits for us all. IT tells me all the time. I've told you, Doc... Why won't you listen?"

Dr. Collins ignored him. He was tired of the same old story. He raised a hand and signaled the orderlies to enter the room.

"IT will make you suffer for your arrogance," threatened Matthew. "You just don't know how big a mistake this is. You'll suffer. Mark my words." Saliva frothed from the corner of his mouth and ran down his neck while he screamed threats at both of them.

"It's time to leave now, Matthew," said Dr. Collins as he heard the orderlies moving the gurney just outside the room.

Two ma.s.sive guards appeared at the bedside and transferred Matthew to the gurney. Transferring him to the more portable gurney was always done inside the examination room in case Matthew tried to escape. Once he'd been secured, they started to wheel Matthew from the room. Receiving last minute instructions from Dr. Collins, they paused only long enough to acknowledge that they understood, and then disappeared silently through the door.

From the hall, the nurse and doctor could hear Matthew pleading with them to take him anywhere but his cell. Ignoring his pleas, they began to wheel him towards the cellblock as soon as they cleared the doorway.

"Please..." Matthew cried. "I'm not ready. There's much more work to be done. There are so many useless, unwanted, unloved people out there. They must be eliminated. I must remove the burden they cause on society. I must continue my work." The words faded down the hall as he was rolled back to his cell.

Knowing his cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, Matthew eventually ceased his efforts.

Two additional orderlies of similar build and disposition met the three of them in front of Matthew's cell. They were quiet and efficient. There was no margin for error when dealing with a patient of Matthew's background. He was returned to his cell without incident.

"Matthew? Are you awake? It's no use pretending, I can wait forever... but you can't." The maniacal laugh that followed tormented Matthew even more.

"What do you want with me? Why don't you leave me alone?" Matthew screamed.

"You know what I want Matthew... I want your soul."

Again the insane laughter pushed Matthew to react, "I'm not disposed to give it up just yet. Leave me alone." He was openly belligerent.

"Matthew, Matthew, Matthew...is that any way to treat me?" scolded the disembodied voice. The calm tone was ominous.

"I don't even know who you are... what you are." Matthew began to sweat and curled into a fetal position in the corner of his cell. He continued to press himself roughly into the crevice in an attempt to distance himself from the door and what lay beyond. His shoulder sc.r.a.ped and bruised against the concrete wall, but Matthew ignored the pain and pressed himself even tighter into the spot he deemed the safest.

"You know who I am. I'm always on the wall just outside of your cell. I never leave. I never sleep. Matthew, you see me all the time. Time... now that's funny. It is funny, isn't it, Matthew?" ITs question was menacing and carried a lethal warning.

"Matthew? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you. You're constant, unwavering, and unrelenting. Your ceaseless ticking is like the cadence of a metronome. You count out the seconds of my life-a malevolent timekeeper. That's what you do, isn't it? You measure the moments lost and subtract them from the good works I've already done. When I've lost more than I've gained, you will take my soul and I will never be able to continue my work."

"We've been over this before, Matthew. When I stop ticking, your time will be used up. You won't be able to continue because you'll be dead."

"Nooooo!" wailed Matthew. "I must continue." Weeping and speaking incoherently, Matthew continued to repeat his plea... "I must continue."

"Then I too must continue, Matthew. If you persist in ignoring me, fighting me-then you leave me no other recourse."

"What's that?" sobbed Matthew.

"I must stop ticking."

"Please...no."

"You've made too much noise, Matthew. They're coming and they look very angry."

Panicked, Matthew stared at his cell door, paralyzed with fear and the knowledge of what they would do to him when they arrived.

"You better return to your bed before they arrive. You know what they'll do if they find you on the floor, buried in the corner. Hurry, Matthew. They're almost at the door."

The two guards arrived at Matthew's cell only moments later. The head guard turned to check the clock on the wall and slurred, "It's only ten and he's raving like a maniac. I hate this son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h. After the trial, they should have taken him straight from the courtroom and ga.s.sed him."

The second guard only nodded in silent concurrence.

Turning back to the door, he slid open the metal plate covering the viewing window. He slammed the intercom b.u.t.ton and hissed, "What the h.e.l.l are you doing in there?"

The speaker next to the window crackled and sputtered, but Matthew understood every word by the tone in his voice. "I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"What?" screamed the guard, "Leave you alone?"

"I'm sorry... really... I'm all right." Matthew's tone was conciliatory. "I won't need your help."

"You won't need my help? I should come in there and kick the living s.h.i.t out of you, you f.u.c.king perverted little toad. Shut up and don't disturb me or any of the other guests or you'll find yourself bound and gagged," raged the guard. "You know what drugs they'll give you, don't you? You don't like the drugs, do you, s.h.i.t head?"

Nausea swept over him, but he remained calm. "No... please. I'm all right." He did his best to sit up straight and smile, even though his insides were twisting and his brain burned with a fire fueled by his panic. Still, he managed to look directly at the observation window.

The silence that followed suspended time for an eternity. Finally the metal plate slammed with an audible crack. The hiss and crackle of the speaker discontinued.

"They're leaving, Matthew. You did a fine acting job. There won't be any drugs tonight. You'll be able to talk with me all night long. Won't that be fun?"

Matthew wrapped his pillow around his head and cried into it to m.u.f.fle the sound. But nothing could stop IT. He drew his legs up into a fetal position again and listened. Tick... tick... tick. It relentlessly echoed ever louder in his fevered mind.

"Nurse, there was an episode with Matthew last night at ten. Did you get any additional details?"

"You have everything there, Dr. Collins. The guard was off duty at seven this morning. He left the report in the slot. There was no need for medication and Matthew remained quiet for the rest of the night. After questioning the supervisor, there was no new information to be added to the report."

"Thank you." Still distracted by the report, he asked, "Erin, how long have we worked together?"

"I don't know. Maybe three years...could be four. Why?"

"Matthew really disturbs me. We've never encountered a case like this before. Other than his delusions about that blasted wall clock, he seems quite rational and somewhat normal. Now he insists that when the clock stops ticking, his life will be over. I need to understand him and why this new element to his delusion has surfaced. I just can't find a way into his head."

"He resists all attempts to cooperate with you," she answered. "He could be using the clock as a way of avoiding the reality of what he's done. He is, after all, a premeditated ma.s.s murderer. Perhaps we should remove the clock. If he can't converse with it, he can't use it to evade your therapy."

"That's very insightful, Erin. You should have continued your education. You'd make a d.a.m.n fine doctor."

Blushing, Erin replied, "Thank you, Doctor. That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my work. While we're on the subject, may I say something about Matthew?"

"Go ahead."

"Matthew frightens me. He's restrained when we see him, but he makes my skin crawl. You saw the dampness on his trousers yesterday."

"Yes, it was unsettling."

"Doctor," she continued. "I didn't buy that story about him having his hands around your neck. It doesn't fit his killing profile. You've seen that G.o.d-awful weapon that he made. He paralyzed people and then, while they were still alive, he wrapped them in silk cloth and stored them in garages or bas.e.m.e.nts. He placed them in any out-of-the-way place he could find where they eventually died. He even sliced off their ears to eat them." She began to shake uncontrollably. "He's a monster."

Putting an arm around her shoulder, he guided her to a chair where he helped her to sit. "Don't dwell on the details, Erin," he comforted. "We have him in our total control. Just relax."

"I think he was imagining that he was killing me when he got his erection and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed." Pausing to regain her composure, she continued, "Did you see that wicked smile on his face when I dropped my tray?"

"No I didn't. I had my back to you when I heard the crash. When I turned around, you were bending to pick up your tray. That movement grabbed my attention. I only noticed Matthew slightly. When I saw that he was securely bound, I returned my attention to you. I wanted to be sure that you were all right."

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I just can't keep myself together when I'm near that man. If you wish to replace me, I'll understand. I'd almost welcome it."

"Enough of that talk. You're a professional. You need to detach yourself from what he's done. You can't dwell on it or it will drive you crazy. Let's try a new tactic. We'll install observation cameras in his cell and monitor him for a while. His resistance might diminish if we leave him alone for a while."

"Do you think the warden will go along with it?"

"I've already obtained approval. I spoke with him last week, but was unsure when or if I should try to install the cameras. My plan will be to observe only and then we can a.n.a.lyze any behavioral patterns that we can utilize to ultimately develop a new therapy protocol."

"Matthew? Can you hear me?" the voice of Dr. Collins snapped and crackled from the intercom. "I know you're awake."

Remaining perfectly still, Matthew ignored the voice. It had been a month since they came for him. He was enjoying his drug-free life. Keeping his breathing slow, he feigned sleep.

"Matthew. It's Dr. Collins. I've come to talk with you." Even through the distortion of the cheap speaker, he'd heard every word and had reacted. Dr. Collins saw Matthew's body tense and become rigid under the sheets. "I know you can hear me, Matthew. I only wish to speak with you. There won't be any drugs."

Matthew turned on his bed and faced the window. He stared intently, hoping to see through the one-way gla.s.s. Lost in thought, Matthew was trying to figure out their game when IT called to him.

"They're all out here, Matthew. They don't have any carts or the gurney with them. I believe that they are telling the truth."

"How would you know? You haven't even spoken to me in two weeks."

"Did you miss me, Matthew? I had things to do. I can't be with you all the time."

"It's never stopped you before..."

"Before what, Matthew?"

"You know... before they quit giving me drugs."

"Matthew. We've had this discussion many times. I am not a drug-induced hallucination. You should know that now, especially since you have had no drugs for a month. Don't make me stop counting. You know what that means." ITs laughter pierced to Matthew's very soul and he shuddered involuntarily.

While Matthew conversed with the unseen "IT", Dr. Collins began to formulate a plan. He was going to surprise Matthew with having the wall clock stopped. It would prove once and for all that the clock was inanimate and that his therapy should continue.

"Guard, can you stop the clock?" Dr. Collins asked as he hooked a thumb towards the wall clock.

"What do you mean, Doc?"

"Just what I asked-can you stop the clock?"

"Well, I guess so. I'd have to find the circuit breaker, but sure, Doc. I can stop the clock."