Date: 2015-08-12 04:08:15+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Horror; General
Description: TEXAS CHAINSAW MASOCHIST is a unique concept in the realm of HORROR... More often than not, the lead character - also known as 'the monster' - is usually a deranged killer who butchers innocent victims at random. In this story, the protagonist (AKA: monster) is a particularly dangerous lunatic, yet the audience will end up cheering for him since he only targets very despicable people. He is a true animal lover, and loyal to the few friends he ever encounters. What also sets this horror story apart is Todd's true compassion and remorse he feels for his victims. Our main character, Todd Waddingt
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Rights: &#169; 2015, Markus Fredericks all rights reserved.

TEXAS CHAINSAW MASOCHIST

Markus Fredericks

Copyright © 2015, Markus Fredericks all rights reserved.
All rights reserved.

Note: All characters & locations portrayed in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to any actual people or locations is coincidental. In particular, I had the opportunity to personally meet several undertakers. I have found them all to be quite likeable, and they treat every decedent with utmost respect (unlike the characters portrayed in this book).

ISBN: 1502491753
ISBN 13: 9781502491756

CONTENTS

Preface

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

Preface:

Hi, I’m Markus Fredericks, author of many books from a variety of genres, and I have been a ‘horror movie buff’ since I was a little kid. I used to stay up late to watch, ‘Nightmare Theater’, on my parent’s black and white TV every Friday night. Back in the day, I enjoyed being scared by silly stuff such as ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘The Creature from the Black Lagoon’. However, as I matured so did my tastes, although I still love a quality ‘horror movie’.

Sadly, too many (but thankfully not all) horror flicks rely too heavily on gore and Special Effects. They tend to have weak story lines, and the main ‘monster characters’ usually seem to enjoy wreaking havoc on innocent victims at random. One of my all-time, favorite ‘horror movies’ is the original, ‘Silence of the Lambs’. It has way less gore than most horror flicks, yet it is way scarier.

That’s when I decided to write this unique story, TEXAS CHAINSAW MASOCHIST. The protagonist – or ‘monster’ if you prefer, actually is the hero. Although he is a very violent lunatic, he only targets people of ill-repute, and he is very loyal to the few friends he ever encounters. Don’t worry, I made sure to include plenty of fascinating, deliciously-conceived gore, so lovers of the macabre won’t be disappointed.

ATTENTION: MOVIE PRODUCERS of Horror Films – Here is the ‘sure winner’ you have been waiting for... This is a relatively, ‘low budget’, easy to make film, which will have movie viewers (and book readers alike), begging for a sequel. I can be contacted via my e-mail: markusfredericks@yahoo.com.

By the way, the inspiration for the TEXAS CHAINSAW MASOCHIST came by way of a ‘fact-based’ science fiction series I co-authored with Bob De Long. It’s called Nataliee’s Alien Abduction, and the main character appears in both of the first two parts of the book series.

I’ve also written a variety of other books, including: The Princess and the Viking. It’s a fascinating, magical story set in old Ireland. Amazingly, the book is based on actual people in my family tree, along with relatives from my co-author, Grace Christie.

For something completely different, I also wrote a Mafia action/ comedy called: SON OF A DON. My good friend – actor, Rick Cordeiro, will be playing the lead role of ‘Gino Morella’. For updates on this, visit my website at www.markusfredericks.com and check out the SON OF A DON Facebook page.

Thank you, Markus Fredericks

***A special ‘thank you’ to Bob De Long, for editing ***
and

*** A special ‘thank you’ to my friend, Grace Christie, for proofreading ***

Texas Chainsaw Masochist
By: Markus Fredericks

Contrary to extensive psychiatric evaluations, Todd Waddington had been misdiagnosed as a psychopathic serial killer. A true psychopath often kills aimlessly, showing no remorse, and often having no recollection of his murderous deeds. Contrarily, when Todd set his mind on torturing someone, he felt a great sense of purpose and dedication. Although his actions were considered to be psychopathic by many, Todd was actually a very compassionate guy who felt a deep sense of extreme remorse and guilt after mutilating his victims. Thus, he always felt compelled to perform acts of self-mutilation after killing his prey. That’s how Todd Waddington earned his nickname: ‘The Texas Chainsaw Masochist’.

CHAPTER 1

Our story begins in a small town in rural Texas when Todd was a fifteen year old, high school freshman. He was unusually big and very strong, and he was the school’s best natural athlete who excelled at a wide variety of sports. However, he was an unpopular, ‘only child’, with a speech impediment. It also bothered him a lot when the other local kids often made fun of his father, who worked in a funeral parlor’s crematory, and to supplement his modest income, he was also a grave digger. Thus, none of the other kids ever associated with him and he had no friends.

Todd’s depression originated when his mother committed suicide for no known reason when he was just ten, and his mental condition further deteriorated last year when his PE teacher coaxed him into trying out for the eighth grade basketball team. Although he was easily the best player, all the other teammates told the coach they would refuse to play if Todd were allowed on the team…

“Oh n-n-no! Stop! S-s-stop!,” yelled out Todd when he saw Wyatt, the next-door neighbor kid, driving his dad’s tractor lawn mower.

“Woof – woof,” said Puddles, the miserable, little mutt that Todd had lovingly raised since his sixth birthday.

Wyatt had set a trap to capture Puddles, whose incessant yapping had irritated the neighborhood for years. He had dug a hole in the middle of his dad’s yard, and buried Puddles up to the top of his neck. Only his cute, little head was above ground level. With an evil grin on his face, Wyatt called out, “OK – you big idiot – watch me turn your dog’s head into fertilizer for our lawn.”

Wyatt drove the tractor lawn mower straight at Puddles. The blade-cutting depth had been adjusted to the ‘high position’, so that Wyatt would be able to drive straight over the little dog’s head.

Todd ran across the yard as fast as he could, but he couldn’t get there before he heard Puddles briefly yelping a final death cry. A moment later, Puddles entire head had been turned into bloody mulch. Scraps of dog meat splattered the rapidly approaching Todd, as he charged straight at Wyatt. Todd landed a perfect, flying body tackle and wrestled Wyatt down to the ground.

“I’m gonna k-k-kill you,” said a stammering Todd with a dead serious look in his eye.

An uncontrollable rage set in, and Todd launched a ferocious attack on his dog’s executioner. However, there were no traditional punches and kicks thrown. Instead, Todd resorted to tearing the flesh from Wyatt’s face by fish-hooking his fingers into Wyatt’s mouth and yanking hard to rip his lips and cheeks from his face. Next, he leaned forward and bit his nose completely off. The badly bleeding, terrified Wyatt tried to beg for his life, but the adrenalin laced Todd ignored his garbled mutterings as he let go of his facial flesh, and went to overturn the tractor lawn mower onto its side. While the blades of the lawn mower were still spinning, Todd grabbed Wyatt’s head and slowly inched his face towards the spinning lawn mower blades.

“Oh God, no!” were Wyatt’s final words as Todd slowly ground off Wyatt’s entire face into the rotating, blades of death. After fully half of his head has gone, Todd finally let go of what was left of Wyatt.

Moments, later, a thoroughly blood-soaked Todd was overcome with emotion, and he openly wept while tearing out handfuls of hair from his scalp. He felt terrible about what he had done, although he felt that Wyatt had given him no other choice. Overcome with guilt, Todd inched his own face closer and closer to the over-turned, tractor lawn mower. With the blades still spinning, he mutilated his own face by sticking his face forward into the spinning blades. The tip of his nose flew off, and he sustained several deep lacerations to his forehead. Although his injuries were severe, they still were just deep flesh wounds. Seemingly impervious to physical pain, a bleeding Todd slowly staggered back home…

An emotional Todd gazed over his mom’s grave site behind their house. His father, Lucas Waddington, had dug a grave for her out back when she committed suicide. A small, homemade, wooden cross was stuck into the head of the grave with the simple letters, ‘R.I.P.’, fading as the years went by.

Since his mom passed away, Todd had lived with his father and his dog, Puddles, in their ramshackle house – up until minutes ago when Wyatt executed his dog. Now, he would live a lonely life with his gruff, unsociable father.

“Say, boy – whatcha done did to yer face? Crazy boy – let me clean ya off, and throw some bandages on ya. Ya sure as snot know I can’t ‘ford no doctorin’ fer ya, and ya know fine and dandy that we ain’t got no ‘surance’.”

Lucas led his blood-soaked son to the bathroom, and asked him to sit down on the toilet lid. While his dad dressed up his wounds Todd said, “W-W-Wyatt kilt Puddles.”

“You don’t say? Well, I never did like that neighborin’ scum puppy. I sure as hell hope ya beat the livin’ tar out of his ass.”

“P-P-Pa… I k-k-kilt him,” replied Todd.

“Goddang it, boy, now yer gonna be in a heap o’ trouble. Thank God almighty yer mom ain’t aroun’ anymore to see what a fine mess yer in. I ‘spose the cops will be payin’ us a visit shortly.”

Soon thereafter, three police squad cars and an ambulance showed up to the neighbor’s house with sirens blaring.

“There’s no use in hidin’ over here. Follow me, boy. It’s best you fess up to what you done did.”

By the time they walked over there, the medics had quickly come to the conclusion that Wyatt was certainly dead. His father was doing the best to console his wife, and Wyatt’s sister, Denise.

The police looked up at Todd and Lucas. Todd looked like a mess since he still wore the same blood soaked clothing and half of his face was wrapped in bloody gauze.

Lucas stepped forward and said, “Let me ‘splain to y’all what happened. That there sumana bitch, Wyatt, done buried my son’s doggie, Puddles, neck deep into the soil, and then he done ran over the little mutt’s noggin with his pa’s lawn mower. Todd here freaked out, and he tackled him so hard, the goddamn, tractor lawn mower done toppled over. The two kids had a mighty tussle, and the Wyatt boy accidentally got his mug ground off in them there spinnin’ blades. As ya can see, my boy got his face plum caught up in them sharp-ass blades as well.”

“I’m Sheriff Tanner. I’ll write up a full report on this here incident, but seein’ how messed up your boy is, I suggest he catch a ride in the ambulance to the nearest medical facility.”

“Just how much is that gonna cost me?” asked a budget-conscious Lucas.

“Taint gonna cost ya a dime,” replied the sheriff. “The governor of Texas will be much obliged to cover these expenses.”

… And so the ambulance hauled off Todd to be stitched up at the local hospital.

The court hearing was scheduled to happen right after Todd’s facial wounds healed up. He was not charged with murder, but he was sent to reform school for initiating the altercation, and the judge suggested that Todd get a psychiatric evaluation…

CHAPTER 2

The doctor at the clinic stitched up Todd’s forehead lacerations and bandaged the chopped off tip of his nose. When his dad was informed that Todd’s face could use reconstructive, plastic surgery, Lucas said, “Taint happenin’ ‘less I get lucky nuff to win the state lottery.”

Thus, ever since mutilating his own face on the tractor lawn mower blades, Todd lived his life with a rather monstrous looking face…

After a quick court hearing, it was determined that Todd Waddington would be sentenced to a reform school outside of Lubbock, Texas. He was to remain in custody until his eighteenth birthday, about three years hence.

The facility for wayward teenage boys resembled a prison from the outside, but it had almost dormitory-like rooms on the inside. Todd was assigned to share a small room with a nice-looking, reasonably normal kid named, Cody Hanson.

Cody had been admitted to the institution about two weeks earlier. He was an above average student, but he had Ophidiophobia – a natural fear of snakes. A heartless, high school classmate of Cody’s thought it would be fun to see what would happen if he stuffed a medium sized, garter snake down the back of his shirt as a crude joke.

The cruel kid laughed like a devil as he watched a panicking Cody twirling around in frantic circles as he literally shredded the shirt while yanking it off. The snake harmlessly slithered away into the bushes, but a freakish, fit of rage set into the usually docile Cody. Moments later, Cody charged at the boy and hit his face with an intense flurry of punches. He continued beating on him well after he was unconscious. His knuckles were badly hurt from the onslaught – he still had bandaged hands when Todd first met him at the reform school. The judge had sentenced Cody to only a three month stay at the facility.

Cody was decent, outgoing kid, who actually tried to be friendly with the monstrous-looking Todd. It didn’t seem to bother Cody that Todd avoided most conversations due to his speech impediment. A couple days later, a young, flying, black crow accidentally crashed against their room’s window pane. Cody rescued the injured crow by carrying him inside.

“Hey Todd, would you please help me hold this bird still? He has a broken wing. I think I can set the broken bone in place. We can use a short pencil as a splint. Keep him motionless while I wrap some tape around the pencil to stabilize his wing.”

Although Todd hated most people, he was an animal lover. He eagerly assisted Cody to help the poor bird. After successfully helping the injured bird, Cody placed him inside a cardboard box with a lid. Todd cut out a few small holes in the side so that the poor bird could breathe. Cody rounded up a small dish which he filled with water, and placed it inside the box with a few crumbs of bread for the bird to eat.

“Todd, hopefully the bird will make a full recovery, and can fly away to freedom in a week or two, but you must keep this project of ours a secret. The school warden does not allow any pets of any kind in here.”

For the next couple of days in their spare time, Todd assisted Cody in taking care of the recovering crow. Todd rarely spoke at all, but he was quite interested in the crow. For the first time ever in Todd’s life, he felt a sense of friendship. However, everything changed drastically when the school warden stopped by their room for a surprise inspection…

The school warden was Walter Payne. He was a burly, tough, macho guy on the outside, but he had a secret history of disciplining his young male inmates by forcing them into a variety of sexually abusive acts...

“Boys, what the hell do you have in this box?” asked an irate Mr. Payne.

A concerned Todd stood quietly while he let Cody do all the talking…

“Sir, this crow happened to break his wing when he accidentally crashed into our window. We carefully set his broken wing bone and secured it by using a short pencil as a splint. We think he’ll be able to fly again in a week or two. He seems to be making some progress.”

“Cody Hanson, you know that we have strict rules here which includes a ‘no pets’ policy.”

“Sir – he’s really not a pet at all. We’ll be releasing him to the wild again as soon as he heels up.”

“Boy, don’t you dare sass back at me. I make the rules around here, and I say, ‘no pets’, under no circumstances.”

The warden used his walkie-talkie to call for additional backup. When two armed guards showed up, he instructed them to toss the bird outside at once, and to help him handcuff Cody and Todd with their hands behind their backs.

Todd remained silent, but he felt his breathing quickening as an inner rage was welling up inside.

“OK, guards – we have some punishment to deal out to these two scoundrels. Lead them to my private little room in the basement.”

Cody hung his head while tears ran down his cheeks. Todd just glared at Mr. Payne with rage in his eyes as they walked down a flight of concrete stairs.

The tight, empty room was lit by a bare, hanging light bulb. A lingering smell of mold and mildew permeated the grim-looking room. Both boys expected something bad to happen when the second guard bolted the door shut…

“OK, boys,” said Mr. Payne, “the only way you’re going to learn some discipline around here is for me to administer some proper punishment. That way you’ll never even consider breaking any of my rules again. Now, get down on your knees – both of you,” he shouted.

Cody quickly dropped down to his knees, but Todd remained standing upright until a guard struck him behind his knees with a billy club. Mr. Payne yelled at Todd, “Boy, when I tell you to drop to your knees, I goddamn mean it,” and he landed a hard, slap to Todd’s face.

Next, the warden directed his attention to Cody. He said, “OK, pretty boy, why don’t we start with you?”

The disgusting, vulgar Mr. Payne unzipped his fly and took out his penis and started to stroke it. Once he got his member fully engorged, he yelled at Cody, “OK, boy, you suck my dick now – or my guards will literally beat your ass to death – and you there, monster boy – I want you to watch and learn how this is done, since you’re going next.”

Tears of pure horror freely flowed down Cody’s cheeks as he opened his mouth to service the abusive warden. Todd was kneeling down next to them – he knew he was in a terribly bad position with his hands in cuffs behind his back, and two armed guards present to back up the sickening warden…

After several minutes of oral abuse, the warden let out a disgusting grunt as he exploded his load into the back of young Cody’s mouth. He withdrew his pulsating member from the poor victim and looked at Todd…

“Boy, you’re such an ugly bastard – you’re going to have to suck extra hard, but don’t worry – I saved plenty of juice just for you.”

Todd was still kneeling when the warden positioned his dick right in front of Todd’s monstrous face. Todd opened his mouth wide and lurched forward, and in an instant bit Mr. Payne’s penis right off. As he spat out the bloody sausage onto the floor, the warden let out a horrifically loud scream. The warden fell down to the cold basement floor – writhing and jerking like an eel on an electric plate.

Todd sprang up to his feet and managed to incapacitate the first guard with a powerful kick to the groin. However, the second guard managed to draw his revolver and shot Todd in the chest. However, with his inner rage at full throttle, Todd ignored any sensations of pain. He ran straight at the gunman, leading with his head. A hard, flying head-butt, shattered the guard’s nose. With his hands still in handcuffs, the enraged Todd took turns stomping on each of the guards’ heads until their skulls were pulverized into a bloody mush. Once Todd was certain that both of the guards were dead, he turned his attention to Mr. Payne, who was moaning on the floor, in a pool of blood with his hands covering his crotch. The still enraged Todd knelt back down and proceeded to bite chunks of flesh off the warden’s face until nothing was left but a bloody skull.

When Todd noticed that his friend, Cody, was now more afraid of him than the warden, his rage subsided. Todd began to openly weep himself over the carnage he had caused. Overcome by his masochistic tendencies, he began to hurt himself by head-butting the steel door over, and over, until he knocked himself unconscious.

A thoroughly frightened Cody managed to get up and unbolt the door with his hands still behind him in cuffs. As soon as he was able to open the door, Cody ran back upstairs to get help…

CHAPTER 3

After a short stint in the hospital to extract the bullet from his lung, Todd was relocated to a different juvenile retention facility outside Abilene, Texas. The courtroom granted Todd Waddington leniency regarding his slaying of the warden, Walter Payne, and his two accomplices, thanks primarily to Cody Hanson’s testimony. It also strengthened their case when other previous inmates testified about the sexual abuse which happened often at the reform school near Lubbock.

However, the judge wanted no possibility of a similar occurrence happening again, so he ordered that Todd spend his remaining two and a half years of time in solitary confinement. The judge’s recommendation that Todd receive extensive counseling for his extremely aggressive behavior was ignored on account of tight budget constraints.

During the ensuing two and a half years, Todd Waddington became progressively more anti-social and withdrawn. His only attempt at forming a friendship with Cody had ended very tragically. Todd’s father never once paid him a visit – not even during the holidays. His only companion was a wild rat who came to visit his cell daily. Todd shared his food with the rat and he named him, ‘Ratso’, after the Dustin Hoffman character in ‘The Midnight Cowboy’. However, after several months of daily visits, Ratso suddenly stopped coming. Naturally, Todd’s depression became even worse…

“Hey, Todd – today’s your eighteen birthday,” said the guard. “Your father is picking you up in an hour. You’re free to go home.”

Todd thought to himself, “Yeah! I’m finally out of this prison, but I’m not too crazy about seeing my dad either. He never once came to visit me.”

Carrying only a small bag with a few items of clothing, Todd Waddington saw his father, Lucas, standing by the gate. His father looked significantly older than he did three years earlier. He face was more wrinkled and his hair was grayer. He looked skinny and emaciated, but he sounded just the same…

“Gee, boy – you musta been eatin’ yer Wheaties for breakfast. You’re bigger than a house. I hope I can ‘ford to keep ya fed. I’m broke dick, so I ‘spect ya to git a job ‘fore too long.”

“Hi, p-p-pa,” was all the conversation that Todd was up for during their two-hour car ride back home…

Todd was glad to finally sleep in his old bed, but he had grown so tall now that his feet protruded over the end of the bed. He was glad to eat a giant bowl of Texas chili, which his father made from his mom’s old recipe.

“I ‘spect ya to wash up all them dishes. I’m headed outside to chop down a dying apple tree that’s hangin’ over the neighbor’s chain-link fence. Ya know – we got sum new family livin’ next door. It’s the Pickens family. They’re your typical, white trash sorta family. I’m not hog-wild about their teenage son, Bud. He shaves his head like a skinhead, and he’s covered with body-piercings and tattoos. Besides, I think he’s a goddamn dope dealer. Well, anyways – the previous owners, ‘specially Wyatt’s mom, couldn’t stand livin’ there no more after you turned her boy’s head into a pile o’ ground chuck.”

As Todd washed the dinner dishes, he heard his dad revving up a big, gas-powered chainsaw in the distance. He watched from the kitchen window as his father began by cutting some of the thicker branches. Next, he watched his dad stooping forward to cut the tree trunk which was nestled up against the chain-link fence.

Suddenly, Todd saw his dad’s chainsaw jerking backwards. The loud sound of the chainsaw was instantly replaced by a loud scream of agonizing pain. Todd abandoned the dishes to go see what had happened…

Todd ran fast as he saw his father lying on the ground. The closer he got, the more detailed became his vision of a horrific accident. Lucas was gushing out blood from the side of his neck and shoulder area. His father’s hands quivered as he was rapidly going into shock. Todd knelt down to try to comfort his father, but after getting a good look at the gaping wound, Todd knew that his father was dying. While clutching his father in his arms, Todd glanced at the chainsaw on the ground. Apparently, the tip of the spinning chainsaw got caught in the chain-link fence, and it kicked back violently at the side of his dad’s neck.

The new neighbors quickly called for an ambulance, but Lucas bled to death before help arrived. As the team of medics loaded up his father’s corpse into the ambulance, a gloomy-feeling Todd grabbed the gas-powered chainsaw, and slowly walked back home…

The next day, there was an unexpected knock on the door. A rail-thin, guy in his thirties with an overbite introduced himself, “Hey, you must be Todd Waddington. I’m Kyle Puckett. Your pa used to be our grave digger, and he operated our funeral parlor’s crematory, but seein’ as your pa’s now dead, well, I figure he ain’t gonna be able to dig his own grave. So, Todd, I came here to offer you a job. How d’ya like to take over your pa’s position? It don’t pay much, but we could sure as hell use a helpin’ hand. ‘Sides, you can get some on the job traini’ by crematin’ your very own dad. So, what d’ya say to that offer?”

Todd silently pondered about his future for a moment. He knew there was no cash to inherit from his dad, although he knew he would surely get to stay the ramshackle house. His frightening looks made the prospect of future ‘job interviews’ seem futile. So, Todd extended out his right hand and said, “I w-want the j-j-job.”

“Hot dang! Why don’tcha come with me to the morgue? I can teach you how to cremate a body. You see, there’s actually two stages to the burnin’s – first we ‘pre-burn’ him down to the skeletal stage. Next, you get to pulverize his bones once they get brittle from the heat. It’ll have a more personal sorta touch, seein’ as the stiff belongs to your own pa, and all. You won’t be needin’ to dig no grave for him, since burial plots cost a heap o’ money, but for sure you can take your pa’s ashes back home with you – or if you really don’t give a hoot, you can always just flush him down the toilet. ‘Course, that’s all up to you.”

Todd laced up his shoes – and he was off to begin his first day of work…

CHAPTER 4

Since deaths weren’t particularly frequent in his small, hometown in Texas, most of the time Todd’s new job kept him busy with minor cleaning duties around the cemetery grounds. This included disposing of deteriorating bouquets of flowers when they became wilted, and picking up an occasional candy wrapper or dog poop droppings. Todd didn’t mind receiving minimum wage – he was just grateful he didn’t need to go for a traditional, job interview. After all, with his nightmarish looks, Todd certainly didn’t have the ‘corporate-executive look’.

His supervisor, Kyle Puckett, was by nature a highly-sexed pervert – although, technically he was still a virgin. The goofy-looking, skinny Kyle had never managed to seduce any living lady, so all his sexual encounters had been with girls who had recently died. In other words, Kyle was an outright necrophiliac.

One day, Kyle was particularly excited when his straight-laced boss, Elmer Higgins, gave him the following news…

“Hey, Kyle – I need you to do some overtime work tonight. You need to prep out a new stiff so the mortician can embalm her tomorrow. The purdy, lil’, blond thing’s waitin’ for you in our morgue. It’s a cryin’ shame for someone to die so young. Her name was, Daisy Harper, a teenage cheerleader from Ridgeway High. Apparently, she kicked the bucket from a drug overdose a couple nights ago. Her body was found in the bushes alongside the road, not far away from Todd’s house. She’s got some twigs and bunch of bugs nesting inside her. I need you to wash her body real good.”

“You got it, boss,” answered Kyle while rubbing his hands in glee. “I’ll be much obliged. I’m gonna wash out ever lil’ nook an’ cranny of hers.”

“That’s sounds fine and dandy,” replied Mr. Higgins. “My old lady told me to be on time fer supper, so I’ll let you lock up when you leave. Say, what’s our new hand Todd doin’?”

“Todd’s out yonder diggin’ a grave. He ran into a bunch o’ nasty tree roots, so I reckon he’ll be busy fer at least a couple more hours.”

“That’s fine, Kyle. Jus’ make sure ya clock him out as soon as he finishes with his chores. See ya later…”

As soon as Mr. Higgins left, Kyle double-checked to make sure that Todd was busy. Although Todd was working a good distance away from the building, Kyle could tell that he was laboring hard to cut through some thick, underground roots.

An excited Kyle called out, “Well, Miss Daisy Harper – ready or not, here I come…”

Kyle was accustomed to the stench of formaldehyde and rotting flesh. Instead of being repulsed by the lingering aroma, he was enthusiastic to meet his new girlfriend. Kyle had never had a real girlfriend, so he liked to pretend that his cadavers were still alive by engaging them in some conversation…”

He began by undressing the young, dead girl lying on the work table. Kyle spoke out to her as if she was alive, “Good afternoon, Miss Daisy. Allow me to introduce myself… My name’s Kyle, an’ I’ll be at yer service. Good golly, did anyone ever tell ya that yer the finest looking piece of ass I done ever seen? Yer a real honey, but ya seem kinda lonely today. What’s the matter? Been havin’ boyfriend trouble lately? Well, you can tell that sumana bitch that you ain’t needin’ his services no mo’. Afterall, now, ya got yerself the best stud in all of Texas. Ya see, I’m gonna give ya the royal treatment. First, I’m gonna shave that fuzzy snatch of yours so that it’ll be smooth as the day ya was born, and then I’m gonna wash out all of them nasty little crevasses of yours before I give ya the best sex of yer entire life.”

Kyle fetched a razor and a bucket of warm water with a sponge before he disrobed himself. He parted her stiffening legs, and stuck a playfully, probing finger into her for a moment before he proceeded to shave her bush.

“Girl – I want you to just relax while I buff out that purdy lil’ twat of yours.”

Kyle positioned his excited member by her hand and said, “That’s right. Don’t be shy. Ya can feel my manhood if ya like. As ya can tell, my ‘Uncle Wiggly’ definitely likes what he sees.”

He kissed her mouth as though she was his loving girlfriend, and then he inserted a gob of Vaseline into her snatch. Kyle climbed up on top and eased himself into her.

“Ooooh, yer jus’ the way I like ‘em – tight an’ white. I jus’ ain’t into them colored girls, although I’d be up fer sampling some Asian sushi.”

The morgue door was slightly ajar. Just as Kyle was ready to explode deep into her, he looked up and noticed Todd staring straight at him.

“What in tarnation’s the matter with ya, boy? Are you some kinda sicko? D’ya like to secretly spy in on two people makin’ love? Jus’ get the fuck away from me. After I get dressed in another half an hour, me and you gotta have a serious talk.”

Todd didn’t like what he saw, but he didn’t want to bite the hand that feeds him either. He just grabbed a broom and swept up the hallways for almost an hour until Kyle called for him, “Hey, boy – get your ass in over here. We need to have a lil’ man to man talk.”

Todd set down the broom and entered the morgue. He could see the naked girls’ body lying on a table – now that she was cleaned up, Todd recognized her. He had seen the pretty blond visiting the neighbor’s house a few times – probably to buy drugs.

“Todd, go on an’ set a spell,” said Kyle as he brought out a sharp, buck knife. “First, I wanna tell ya that I can either be yer best friend, or yer worst enemy. I know yer twice as big as me, and probly five times as strong as me, but I ain’t no slouch when it comes to handlin’ knives – and this here sucker is my great equalizer.”

Todd sat and listened respectfully, although he still disapproved of Kyle’s sexual antics…

“Ya see Todd, I’m ‘bout to open yer eyes to a brand new world ya probly never woulda ‘magined otherwise. Look at my skinny ass – in the real world, I ain’t nobody at all. Hell, the only real reason I fucks dead chicks is the sorry fact that no live ones would gimme the time o’ day. I often get bullied by groups of tuff guys, an’ I can’t do squat about it – even with my trusty knife, if there happens to be a bunch of them, since I ain’t got nobody to back me up. However, everything is totally different within the walls of this here funeral parlor. In here – I am God. If I want sex with any female body they bring here, I know she’ll never turn me down. ‘Sides, this place literally lets me get away with murder. Once, I happened to get into a scuffle with some total stranger in a road-rage incident. I ended up carving him up like a Thanksgivin’s turkey, but I never got in no trouble – and Todd, do you know why?”

An interested Todd answered, “N-n-no.”

“That’s ‘cause I took his slashed up body, and incinerated the hell out of his carcass in the cremation chamber. Police never even think of looking for murder victims in a morgue, since all the stiffs end up here anyways. We got so-called DNA evidence from hundreds of bodies all over the place. This here funeral parlor gives us a carte blanche to do anything we wanna do to whoever the heck we don’t like, and when we’z done, we just incinerate away all the evidence. I ain’t never had the privilege of havin’ a pro-tee-shay before, but ya got more potential than anybody I ever seen. The only thing ya gotta do is to promise to keep yer trap shut when it comes to me havin’ a lil’ romance with one of my girlfriends from time to time. So Todd, do we have a deal?”

Before answering, Todd looked over at Daisy Harper’s body. In a stammering voice he said, “I know h-h-her… She got her d-d-drugs from my n-n-neighbor, B-Bud P-P-Pickens. I h-hate him. He should d-d-die.”

An elated Kyle extended his arm out to shake Todd’s hand. “Well, alright dude – let’s shake hands on it, pardner. I got a great feelin’ that me an’ you is gonna make a helluva good team. Tell me some more ‘bout that neighbor boy of yours – I think we’ll make him our first victim.”

CHAPTER 5

Kyle relished becoming Todd Waddington’s coach and mentor. For years he had harbored visions of doing sickening, torturous things to people who had irked and ridiculed him throughout his entire life – but now with the big, strong Todd at his side, Kyle finally had the necessary muscle to back him up.

Kyle didn’t personally have anything against Bud Pickens, the young dope dealer who contributed to Daisy Harper’s death, but he saw this as an ideal victim to begin with, since Todd openly disliked him. Although most people would think that the goofy-looking Kyle was mildly retarded, his intelligence was at least average. He understood enough about human psychology that he could get the best participation from Todd if he could convert their tortures into some kind of game.

“Say Todd, I want ya to lure that sumana bitch, Bud Pickens, over here to our lair.”

“How do I d-d-do dat?” replied Todd.

“It’s real simple. Ya see, all ya gotta do is tell him that yer supervisor – me – is really a dope fiend, and I got plenty o’ cold, hard cash to buy whatever-the-hell he’s peddling. If he gets wise an’ says a guy in my line o’ work don’t make much money, tell him I supplement my income by extracting gold fillin’s from the stiffs – which happens ta be true anyways. Tell him it don’t matter if he’s got uppers, downers, acid, meth, or ecstasy – it’s all good. I just wanna get higher than a kite – and tell him that I insist that you bring him over to the morgue which happens ta be a cool, private place ta party. Once ya trick him to come over here, I want ya to conk him on the back o’ his head. We’ll tie him up before we wake him up again. That’s when we’ll start playing a game.”

“I like p-p-playin’ g-g-ames,” replied Todd.

“I’m sure ya do, big guy. Now, the first part o’ the game is fer ya to bring his ass over here. If ya can do that, I can already tell that we’re going to have a great time.”

“I g-got a question… C-can I bring my p-p-pa’s chains-s-saw?”

“I like the way ya think, Todd. That’s most definitely a freakin’, fantastic idea, amigo, but don’t waste no time. Bring over that dope dealin’ sumana here tonight. We’re gonna have sum fun playin’ a lil’ game o’ ‘Simon Sez’.

Big Todd was basically still a child at heart. He just happened to very big and naturally strong – and almost completely impervious to pain. Poor Todd never had a playmate while he was a child, so the very notion that someone – anyone – was willing to play with him sounded like music to his ears…

Todd had never bothered to obtain a drivers’ license, but that didn’t prevent him from driving the rusty, old Ford truck that he inherited from his pa. He drove straight home, loaded up his father’s chainsaw in the back, and then stopped by to knock on his neighbor’s door…

Bud Pickens first peeked from a porch window to see who it was. He instantly recognized the freaky-looking Todd, although they had never engaged in a conversation before. Bud opened the front door half-way and asked, “What’s goin’ on, Todd?”

“It’s my f-f-friend, K-K-Kyle. He wants to b-buy some d-d-drugs.”

“I dunno what the heck yer sayin’ – I sure as hell ain’t no dope dealer,” said Bud in an angry tone.

“K-Kyle g-got m-money. He l-likes to p-party at the m-m-morgue. Ya c-can p-party t-too.”

Suddenly, a cranky voice called out from inside the house. It was his father calling out, “Bud, I’m sick an’ tired of you an’ yer bosom-buddies getting’ high ‘round the house. I ain’t puttin’ up with that shit no more. Jus’ git rid of whoever the heck yer talkin’ to out there.”

Bud stuck his head out and whispered so his father couldn’t hear him, “OK, Todd – ya got yerself a deal. Lemme grab my stash, and I’ll meet down ya by yer truck. I wanna sneak outta here real bad. Yer gonna hafta drive, since my pa sounds like he’s done beside hisself.”

Minutes later, Bud hopped into Todd’s truck and they barreled down the road towards the funeral home. Meanwhile, Bud’s dad was so busy watching a televised Dallas Cowboys football game that he didn’t even notice that his son was gone…

Darkness had already set in on a warm, summer night. The crickets chirped loudly as Todd led Bud up the path to the morgue entrance. The door was locked, so Todd knocked three times…

The door made a creaky sound when it swung open. Bud and Kyle had never been formally introduced, although they had seen each other in town on numerous occasions.

“Howdy, pardner – my name’s Kyle. I been jonesing fer some shit ever since my ole source ran dry. Did ya bring any goodies with ya?”

Bud tried to peek over Kyle’s shoulder to make sure there were no additional people. Kyle noticed Bud’s concern, so he said, “Ya ain’t got nuttin’ to worry ‘bout – all these here bodies are deader than a doornail. The only livin’ folks here are you, me, an’ Todd.”

Bud walked in and opened up his bag of dope, and then arranged the individually packaged items on a table. He said, “Todd didn’t tell me what’s yer favrit poison, so I brought some of everything I got. Of course, I got some killer weed, half an ounce of blow, and I even got a couple grams of H. I’m sorry, but I’m plumb out of any pharmaceuticals and meth, but I can git some by tomorrow. Just, never ask me fer no fronts – it’s all gotta be cash ‘n carry. That’s jus’ how I roll.”

“That’s cool, Bud,” replied Kyle. “I can go for some coke mixed with some heroin.”

“So, Kyle – yer a speedballer!” commented a laughing Bud. “I can tell that we’re gonna git along just fine.”

“How fucked up can we all git on this lil’ wad o’ cash?” asked Kyle excitedly as he brought out a fistful of money and ‘accidentally’ dropped it on the floor just as Bud was about to grab it. Instinctively, Bud reached down to grab it, while Kyle secretly nodded at Todd.

This was Todd’s cue to knockout Bud with an overhead, club-like blow to the back of his head.

Kyle let out a shrill, sickening laugh as he yelled, “Timber!! Well, gentlemen – let the games begin.”

Todd carried Bud’s unconscious body and positioned him on a sturdy, wooden chair. Kyle securely tied Bud’s ankles to the chair legs, and then he tied his wrists to the chair’s armrests. They intentionally left Bud’s hands free from constraints, although he was clearly unable to untie himself.

“OK, Todd – it’s jus’ ‘bout time fer the show ta begin. Let’s wake up our sleepin’ boy by givin’ him a whiff of his own coke.”

Bud quickly perked up from the effects of some blow inserted into his nostril on a small coke spoon. He shook his head to regain his senses, and then he shouted, “What the fuck’s goin’ on? Lemme go!”

“Hey, sweetheart – time fer ya to rise an’ shine,” said Kyle. “We’re so glad to have ya join our party. Say, Bud – we took the liberty of askin’ Miss Daisy Harper to come an’ join in the festivities. She told me that ya had the audacity ta force her ta give ya blowjobs jus’ to git her high. I actually find that kinda funny – tradin’ blow for blow – but that was downright rude of ya to huck her carcass into the bushes. I had to clean out all sorts of crud an’ lil’ critters from her inner cavities.”

Bud was repulsed when he saw Daisy’s lifeless, pale, naked body sitting on a nearby chair. He knew he was in deep trouble so he decided to take the nice approach by saying, “Ya guys can take all my dope – and ya can have all my money too. I won’t cause ya no trouble. Jus’ lemme go.”

“Bud, darlin’, ya jus’ don’t seem to understand – me an’ Todd don’t give a rats ass about yer dope. We acted like we wanna git high jus’ to trick ya to come on over. We mostly wanted to hear ya apologizin’ to Miss Daisy here for treatin’ her like yesterday’s garbage.”

A very nervous Bud wanted to yell obscenities at his captors, but decided to try to play along… “Yer right, Daisy – I’m real sorry fer treatin’ yer body with complete disrespect. Please fergive me… OK, I fuckin’ said what ya wanted me ta say, so lemme go!”

“Well, Bud – honestly, I felt yer ‘pology seemed to lack sincerity, but I’m willin’ to cut ya some slack. You’ll be free to go if ya can beat Todd here in a lil’ game o’ ‘Simon Sez’.”

Beads of sweat began to form on Bud’s forehead as Kyle asked Todd to fetch his chainsaw.

When Todd returned with the gas-powered tool he asked, “C-can I f-f-fire it up?”

“We’ll save that fer the grand finale. I wanna start with something a little less ‘timidating. Let’s jus’ start with this pair o’ pliers… Now, Bud, I want you to try yer very best – if ya beat Todd, yer free to go.”

Bud’s breathing quickened as he could only imagine what was in store for him.

“Todd, why don’tcha be a gentleman, and let our guest go first – then he can see how this game is played.”

Todd placed the pliers in the grasp of Bud’s right hand.

“OK, Bud – Simon Sez: use the pliers to yank off Todd’s left thumbnail.”

Bud just sat there motionless, frozen from fear.

“Ya heard me right, Bud – Simon Sez: yank off Todd’s left thumbnail.”

Todd eagerly held out his left hand, and positioned the tip of his thumb up against the pliers. Bud shut his eyes tightly as he squeezed down on the pliers. He was unable to pull backwards as Kyle had ordered, since he was securely tied to the chair, but to maintain the spirit of the game, Todd yanked back his left arm to successfully pull off his left thumbnail. Todd groaned out loud as blood dripped off the tip of his thumb.

“Stop groaning!” yelled Kyle, but Todd continued to moan… “Good job, Todd – ya didn’t stop moaning ‘cause I didn’t say ‘Simon Sez’ – OK, then – Todd, Simon Sez: stop groaning and look happy.”

Instantly, Todd completely stopped groaning and flashed a big, happy smile.

“OK, Bud – that’s how to play the game. As ya can see, Todd’s purdy dang good at it.

Bud was so stricken with fear that he couldn’t avoid peeing all over himself.

“Goddamn it, Bud,” said Kyle. “Simon Sez: stop peeing all over yerself,” but the frightened Bud couldn’t stop.

Kyle slapped his face real hard and said, “Next time, ya had better do ‘xactly what Simon tells ya ta do – ya hear? OK, now it’s time to reverse the rolls. Todd, take the pair o’ pliers from Bud’s hand.”

A bleeding Todd just stood there motionless and quiet…

“OK, Todd – Simon Sez: grab the pliers and yank off Bud’s thumbnail.”

Todd eagerly grasped the tip of Bud’s thumbnail with the pair of pliers and pulled the thumbnail clean off of his quivering finger. Bud let out an agonizing scream as Kyle shouted, “Simon Sez: Bud – stop screaming,” but the howling and cussing just continued.

“Oh, Bud – ya gave it a decent effort, but I’m afraid that Todd is the clear-cut winner tonight,” said Kyle as he symbolically raised an exuberant Todd’s hand in victory.

“Todd, I’m sorry the game was so dang short, but Bud simply was no competition fer ya. Say, Bud, I know Todd would like ya ta stick aroun’ fer another round of ‘Simon Sez’, but I can tell that ya’d rather jus’ call it a night. So, would ya like Todd to jus’ cut ya loose from the chair?”

A whimpering Bud sniffled as he replied, “Yeah – I’d surely ‘preciate bein’ cut loose.”

“OK, Todd – Simon Sez: you may use yer chainsaw to cut our guest loose from the chair.”

Bud stared at Todd in horror as he watched him give the chainsaw’s ripcord a powerful tug. Todd’s boisterous laughter was nearly drowned out by the loud sound of the revving chainsaw. Exhaust fumes permeated the air as Todd brought down the cutting chain on top of Bud’s wrist. Blood sprayed everywhere as Todd chopped off Bud’s left hand. A completely panicking Bud let out a bloodcurdling, primal scream, but Todd and Kyle continued to laugh as the dismembering continued… Next, Todd cut off Bud’s other hand, and then he cut off his right foot at the ankle.

Bud continued to scream out loud at the top of his lungs as Todd cut off his left foot too. However, this time the chainsaw accidentally cut through one of the chair legs as well, and both Bud and the chair toppled over.

Todd switched off the chainsaw and let Kyle speak, “Say, Bud – a deal’s a deal – we agreed to cut ya loose, so yer quite free ta go.”

Out of shear instinct, the horribly bleeding Bud valiantly tried to crawl forward, but his progress was very slow, and blood continued to gush out from the stumps where he used to have hands and feet.

“Well, Todd – I guess that’s all she wrote. We got quite a big mess ta clean up ‘fore the mortician arrives. Ya can start by tossin’ his hands and feet into the incinerator. I’m gonna stay here fer a bit ta see if Bud here can find ‘nuff balls to crawl outta here alive…”

Todd carried the body parts to the crematory, and opened up the hatch to the incineration chamber. First, he tossed in Bud’s dismembered feet, and then he threw in his left hand. However, Todd hesitated just as he was about to toss in the right hand. He turned around to make sure that Kyle was nowhere in sight.

A sentimental Todd thought to himself, “This has been a special night. Kyle and Bud were so nice to play ‘Simon Sez’ with me. I won’t tell Kyle, but I want to save this severed hand as a keepsake. If we can do this again, I want to have a collection of cut-off hands. With each hand I get to keep, it feels like winning a trophy.”

Bud was still alive and half-conscious when Todd returned from the cremation chamber.

“Todd, I’m ‘fraid that Bud’s a goner – jus’ carry him to the crematory and incinerate his ass.”

Bud’s eyes were still open wide as he stared into the fiery pit just as Todd heaved him into the flames and securely closed the hatch. Todd could still hear Bud’s muffled screams through the chamber walls as the blazing flames engulfed his body.

However, Todd inexplicably was overcome with an ominous feeling of guilt. Tears began to flow down his face, and he yanked out several clumps of hair from his head. He spotted a large pair of scissors sitting on a shelf full of office supplies. The guilt-ridden Todd grabbed the scissors, and punctured his cheek with a thrust of the sharp tip, but that wasn’t enough to squelch his guilt. Next, he decided to pull out his eyelid away from his eyeball with his left thumb and index finger. In a fit of rage, he cut off his left eyelid, although his eyeball was undamaged. Blood squirted everywhere while he quietly sat down, and waited for the blood to coagulate.

A few minutes later Kyle found him and asked, “What the fuck happened to yer eye, Todd? Ya know we’re done playin’ Simon Sez fer tonight. Dang, yer eye sure as heck looks like shit, but there’s no use in cryin’ over spilt blood. Don’t feel bad ‘bout what happened to Bud. That goddamn dope dealer had it comin’ to him. Look how he treated Miss Daisy. Say, after I finish mopping up the place, I’ll drive ya home. Ya can take tomorrow off from work ta let yer eye heal up. ‘Member, if the cops stop by to ask ya ‘bout the next-door neighbor boy, ya ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ him – and I’ll be happy to give ya an alibi that ya was workin’ here with me overtime.”

CHAPTER 6

The following morning around 8:00 AM his boss, Elmer Higgins, and the mortician, Bo Cochrane, entered the funeral parlor. Kyle had just finished a thorough clean-up of the premises which included incinerating the wooden chair with a leg cut short. He had meticulously wiped away every blood splatter, and he returned Daisy Harper’s body to the work table. As was customary, he covered her from head to toe with a clean, white sheet.

Elmer asked him, “Gee, Kyle – I don’t recall ever seein’ ya ‘round here so bright an’ early. I hope ya didn’t work here all night. I sure as snot can’t ‘ford to pay ya no overtime, ya know.”

“No boss – I clocked out last night. I jus’ got tired, an’ I dosed off fer a bit. When I woke up, I was full o’ pep an’ energy, so I gave the place a nice scrub-down – free o’ charge.”

Elmer was impressed to hear that Kyle had worked several hours cleaning up for free. He complimented him by saying, “Kyle, ya done a fine clean up job. Ever thang looks spic-an’-span in here.”

The mortician, Bo Cochrane, was a short, pudgy man in his late fifties. He inspected Daisy’s corpse and commented, “Well, Kyle – I sure ‘preciate the fine prep job ya did on Miss Daisy Harper. Specially when a body’s been found out in the bushes, I can usually still find some bug infestations deep up inside the genital cavities, but her privates are literally squeaky clean. I commend ya, Kyle, on yer thorough prep job. It jus’ makes my embalming process that much easier.”

Kyle was relieved to see that no one suspected him of necrophilia, so he just politely answered, ”Thank ya, kindly.”

Meanwhile, Todd had gotten over the guilt pangs he experienced last night, but he was rather shocked when he studied his face in the mirror. The puncture mark in his cheek was big enough for him to poke the tip of his tongue out through the hole, and the scabbed up eyelid looked positively garish. He was relieved to see that he still possessed vision in his left eye. He thought to himself, “I’m glad I didn’t cut out my eyeball last night. I know I gave it some serious consideration.”

At first, Todd was shocked by the severity of his self-inflicted wounds, but soon thereafter Todd began to feel a sense of pride over his newly acquired, battle scars.

“These scars prove that I’m way tougher than yer average Joe,” became Todd’s new attitude, and thus he never made any attempts to conceal his wounds, even when he went out in public.

As time went on, his feelings of friendship with Kyle continued to grow.

“Kyle is nice to play games with me – nobody else does that unless they’re forced into it.”

Within a year, Kyle and Todd claimed over two dozen victims. Todd’s private collection of severed hands nearly filled a good-sized tote bag. He had relocated his collection of chopped off hands to his house, so he could play with them in private, and relive the harrowing games they had played with their captives.

Besides accumulating a growing collection of severed hands in various stages of decay, Todd was steadily converting himself into a veritable monster. Eventually, all of his fingernails and toenails had been yanked off. Several of his fingers had been shortened down by a knuckle, and he had gained a maze of deep, facial scars. Many of these self-inflicted scars came by way of chainsaw, which was always used to dismember the victims prior to incinerating them in the crematory.

Todd rarely spoke much due to his speech impediment, but he constantly was deeply in thought…

“While I really like it when Kyle plays games with me, I really respect him since he never, ever hurts nice people. The only people he ever chooses to hurt are bad people, like animal abusers, wife beaters, child abusers, dope dealers, and whores. All these bad people deserve to have something bad happen to them.”

One hot, sunny afternoon on the outskirts of town, Kyle and Todd went to their usual filling station to gas up the Ford truck. Kyle was on good terms with the elderly owner, Hank Schillings, who had known him since he was a young boy.

Just as they pulled into the gas station, they saw a tough-looking biker peeling out of the parking lot. He was wearing a ‘Mongols’ gang member jacket.

Todd went to fill up the gas tank as Kyle went inside to say ‘hi’ to old Hank. He was shocked to find him hunched over, with blood running out of his freshly broken nose.

“Are ya OK, Hank?” asked a concerned Kyle. “What in tarnation happened ta yer nose?”

Old Hank was a sturdy sort. He wiped away some of the blood from his face and said, “That dang biker punched me in the nose and stole all the money from the till – and then he ran off like the Dickens. I’ll be alright, but I oughta tell ya that I jus’ called the cops. I got a hankerin’ that you an’ Todd don’t wanna be here when the cops show up, since I know he ain’t got no valid driver’s license, so ya best be on yer way now. Never mind ‘bout payin’ fer the gas – I’ll jus’ include that with the dough that the goddamn, Mongol biker stole from me.”

“I feel terrible ‘bout yer nose, but we gotta run now. I already hear sirens comin’ down the road.”

Kyle ran outside and told Todd to jump in the truck. He said, “Hurry up, Todd – the cops are coming, so ya better push the pedal to the metal.”

Todd successfully managed to drive away in the nick of time before the police arrived. Meanwhile, Kyle explained what had just happened to old Hank.

“It’s t-too bad that the M-M-Mongol is r-riding a fast b-b-bike,” said Todd. “He d-deserves to d-d-die.”

About five minutes down the road, they spotted the biker pulled off by the side of the quiet, country road. He looked up when he heard Todd’s truck approaching, and he turned around and flagged them down by waving both of his arms.

“Say Todd, are ya thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” asked Kyle.

“Y-yeah!!”

When Todd pulled up next to the Mongol, Kyle rolled down his passenger window and asked, “What seems ta be the trouble?”

“My goddamn bike just broke down. I’m visiting some friends in town. Could you please give me a ride? I’d really appreciate it?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” asked Kyle.

The Mongol stared at Todd’s disfigured face, but refrained from making any snide comments since he hoped to catch a ride into town. He answered in a normal tone of voice, “No, sir – I’m from California. I just came to visit some of my associates here.”

“Well, I happen to be a purdy handy mechanic. Lemme take a peek at yer bike. If I can’t git it up an’ runnin’, we be happy ta give ya ride into town.”

“Thank you.”

Todd and Kyle got out of the truck, and they walked over to the bike. Kyle knelt down and acted to be interested in fixing the bike. In the meantime, Todd positioned himself behind the Mongol.

“Say, when’s the last time ya changed yer spark plugs?” asked Kyle.

“I did that pretty recently. Why do you ask?”

“Here, bend over – I need ta show what seems ta be the problem…”

As soon as the biker leaned forward, Kyle signaled to Todd to bash the biker in the back of his head. After a powerful, overhead smash, the Mongol was out cold.

“Yee haw!!” said Kyle. “Todd, he’s a purdy good-sized boy. Help me toss his ass into the back of the truck. We’re gonna have some fun with this here sumana bitch who done broke ole Hank’s schnoz.”

Minutes later, they pulled into the cemetery’s driveway. They were pleased to see that the place was deserted – and they knew that Elmer was gone on a two-week vacation. After they parked by the back door, they carried the biker into the building.

“Todd, I got this feelin’ that yer gonna git some competition from this tough-lookin’ biker dude. Yer also gonna be happy with a brand new game that’s gonna make it a bit more challengin’ fer ya too.”

“A new g-game? That s-sounds like f-f-fun,” replied Todd. “Can y-you t-tell me m-m-more?”

“Now, Todd – I wouldn’t want ya to gain an unfair ‘vantage. I want ya ta win fair n’ square, so yer jus’ gonna hafta wait ‘til the game’s ‘bout ta begin.”

After tying up the Mongol biker securely to another wooden chair, Kyle doused him with a full bucket of cold water.

A couple seconds later, the Mongol woke up – coughing at first, since some of the cold water made it to his lungs, but moments later he cussed out loud as he struggled mightily to escape his ropes. However, all his squirming only seemed to make the rope knots tighter than they were to begin with.

“Where the fuck am I?” asked the Mongol angrily.

“Dude, yer at our local cemetery morgue,” answered Kyle.

“Well, cut me loose, you damn motherfuckers,” demanded the Mongol. “There are several other Mongol Nation members nearby, and they’re going to beat the living hell out of you when I tell them that you captured me,”

Kyle playfully looked all around the morgue room and said, “Are yer other Mongol Nation members invisible? I don’t see no other Mongols anywhere. Todd, do ya see any other Mongols ‘round here?”

Todd played along by looking in every direction before he said, “N-n-negatory - I d-don’t see any others.”

“Well, dude – I’m ‘fraid yer all alone,” said Todd, “and by the way, that wasn’t real nice what ya did ta Mr. Schillings’ nose back there at the gas station. It’s ‘bout time Todd an’ I teach ya ‘bout etiquette an’ proper manners.”

“What the fuck are you saying? You two must be a couple of inbred, Hillbilly faggots. Now cut me loose, and just maybe I’ll let you guys live.”

“Tain’t no way that’s gonna happen, but if yer as tuff as ya act, ya might just become the first survivor we’ve ever had.”

The Mongol watched quietly as Kyle set a few tools on a table, including: pliers, garden shears, a hacksaw, a small hammer, and oddly enough – a whole walnut still in its shell. However, the biker broke his silence when Todd placed his pa’s chainsaw up on the table…

“What the fuck is that chainsaw for?” asked the Mongol in an angry manner, although inside he was feeling a great deal of concern.

“I don’t wanna spoil the fun jus’ yet. Yer gonna hafta wait ta find out.”

Next, Kyle brought out a stack of post-its, and wrote some notes on several of them, before folding them over and placing them in a plastic bowl.

“OK, listen up guys – here are the rules of the game – yer going head-ta-head against my friend, Todd. If ya beat him, yer free ta go. The loser is the first one who cries out in pain. Ya can take turns drawing out one paper at a time from the bowl. It’ll tell ya ‘xactly what ya need to do.”

The Mongol gazed up at Todd. He figured that Todd must be tough from all his scars, but he knew he was extremely tough himself. The Mongol acted confident by saying, “OK – I’ll play your sick little game, but this big monster ain’t half as tough as me. Even my other Mongol Nation friends call me ‘Cujo’.”

Todd enjoyed the anticipation of some stiff competition. As was customary, Kyle told Todd that he must start the game…

Kyle held out the bowl and asked Todd to take a paper. Todd did as he was told, and he showed the note on the post-it. Kyle unfolded it and read, “Ya must use the garden shears to cut off one of yer nipples.”

Todd eagerly unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and grabbed the rusty pair of garden shears. He grimaced as he squeezed the handles to successfully cut off his left nipple. Blood streamed down the front of his torso, but he stood up and didn’t utter a sound.

“Bravo, Todd,” said an applauding Kyle. “That was well-done. OK, Cujo – now it’s yer turn.”

“This game is so fucking stupid, but I’ll play along if you promise to set me free when I win. OK – give me the damn bowl of papers.”

Kyle unfolded the paper which the Mongol had selected and read it out loud, “Use the hammer to smash yer thumb with a hard blow… Ya know, Cujo – since yer all tied up, allow me ta help ya out. Say, are ya right handed?”

“Yeah – why do you ask?”

“Well, then – I’ll be nice an’ smash up yer left thumb. Don’t move or I’ll hafta hit it a second time.”

Cujo gritted his teeth hard as Kyle squashed his thumb with a medium-sized, ballpeen hammer. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, but he didn’t make a sound.

“I’m very impressed,” complimented Kyle. “Well, Todd – ya got some stiff competition after all. Now it’s yer turn again.”

Todd pulled out another post-it. Kyle unfolded it and began to laugh as he said, “Oh boy, Todd – ya picked a real humdinger. Yer next task is to hold a whole, shelled walnut in yer teeth and use the chainsaw to cut it in half.”

For the first time in his life, Todd was worried about his physical well-being, and the Mongol quickly pointed out,” OK – if this bozo utters a sound, he loses the match, and you agree to let me go. I just want you to immediately shut off the chainsaw after he tries to cut the walnut so we can all hear him cry like a baby.”

“That sounds fair ‘nuff,” replied Kyle as he yanked on the ripcord, and revved up the chainsaw.

Todd placed the walnut in his mouth and slowly moved his face towards the spinning chainsaw blade while Kyle operated it. Kyle held it as steady as he could. The Mongol just stared in amazement as Todd nervously moved his face perilously close to it.

Todd’s main difficulty was that he was too close to the action to actually see the cutting blade. He could only hope that his aim was precise.

After a moment of hesitation, Todd lunged forward. His head jerked back as most of his front teeth were chipped, and he sustained an ugly laceration by the corner of his mouth. Kyle instantly turned off the chainsaw motor so they could hear any sound that Todd might make. However, Todd just stood there quietly as blood dripped off the point of his chin.

A moment later, Kyle looked at the floor and said, “Wow, Todd – ya did it! Ya cut the freakin’ walnut in half. That was fuckin’ awesome – and ya didn’t utter a sound. OK – now it’s Cujo’s turn.”

“Wait just a minute. This self-mutilation game is pure bullshit… So, big guy – I guess your name must be ‘Todd’. Why don’t we play a brand new game to really see who’s the toughest? Ask your whimpy friend to untie me, and why don’t we have a little fistfight to the finish? You can act tough with a fucking chainsaw all day long, but if you can’t beat me in a hand-to-hand fistfight, then you’re nothing but a big pussy. Hell, you’re way bigger than I am – if I beat you up, I deserve to go free.”

Todd spewed out some more blood and then said, “He’s r-right. We need ta f-f-f-fight.”

Kyle shook his head disapprovingly, but nevertheless proceeded to untie the Mongol. As soon as all the ropes were loose, Cujo quickly sprang up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a hidden switchblade.

“Burn in hell,” said the Mongol to Kyle as he plunged his knife deep into his belly, and then twisted the blade to inflict some extra damage.

Todd wasn’t far away when he saw a mortally wounded Kyle collapse to the ground. The biker quickly turned around and said, “You’re next.”

He slashed at Todd who tried to protect himself with his left hand. The knife made a deep gash in the palm of his hand, but just as the Mongol reared back to slash him again, Todd grabbed the hammer from the table with his right hand, and knocked the switchblade out of the biker’s grasp.

Todd charged him and tackled the Mongol to the ground. Todd sat down on Cujo’s chest, straddling him with his legs, and subdued the feisty biker by ramming the back of his skull onto the concrete floor a couple times – and then he grabbed the switchblade which had fallen to the floor nearby.

Todd’s immediate instinct was to simply stab him to death, but he was very upset that he had hurt his only friend, Kyle. Instead, Todd began to slowly slice off pieces of flesh from his face until his skull was almost completely exposed. Cujo’s blood curdling screams slowly faded to whimpers – which was followed by motionless silence.

When the biker was clearly dead, Todd openly cried – not for the biker, but for the death of Kyle, who now lay dead on the floor next to the mauled Mongol.

This was the first time that Todd felt no urge to hurt himself. Instead, he wrapped up his bleeding hand, and shoved some paper towels between his torn cheek and gums. Todd was too depressed to care about doing any cleanup, so he just grabbed his father’s chainsaw, and climbed into the truck and drove away…

CHAPTER 7

By the time Todd made it back home all of his adrenalin had dissipated, and he experienced raw pain throughout his face and body. He was surprised how acutely tender his chest was right where he cut off his nipple with the garden shears.

By now, Todd had plenty of experience in dressing his self-inflicted wounds. His medicine cabinet was fully stocked with first aid supplies which he used on a regular basis.

After cleaning and bandaging his fresh wounds, Todd changed out of his blood-soaked clothing and slouched on his living room couch. He contemplated his options, “What can I do now? My only friend, Kyle, is gone, so there won’t be any new games to play – and what ‘bout the mess at the morgue? At least, Elmer won’t be back from vacation for another week. I can heal up here for a couple of days, and then I better go clean up the place and incinerate Kyle and the biker.”

Todd dosed off for a couple of hours until he was awakened by a rude knock on the door. As Todd got up from the couch, he wondered, “Who can it be? I don’t think it can be the cops yet – I think I’ll just ignore it, and hopefully they’ll just go away.”

However, the knocking on the door continued non-stop for at least two or three more minutes before it suddenly became quiet. Todd silently placed his eye up against the door’s peep hole. He saw an average-looking man in his forties doing something on the porch. He wore a cardigan over a white shirt and tie – he definitely didn’t look like a policeman.

The man was startled when the front door suddenly opened up. He stared at Todd’s mutilated face for several seconds before he asked, “Are you Lucas Waddington?”

“N-no. He was m-my d-d-dad. He’s d-dead.”

The man handed Todd his business card and said, “Good afternoon – I’m Barney Wallace. I’m employed by the great State of Texas – Department of Revenue. Apparently, your father, Lucas Waddington, hasn’t paid his property taxes for well over four years. The State of Texas is reclaiming this here property, and you are hereby required to vacate this house in 72 hours, unless you are able to come up with fourteen thousand and thirty-one dollars to bring your property tax current.”

“I d-don’t have fourteen thousand d-d-dollars,” said Todd.

“Actually, I need fourteen thousand and thirty-one dollars to be exact – and I need it today, or else you’ll be evicted. If you remain on this property beyond 72 hours, the police will charge you with criminal trespassing.”

“I d-don’t have that m-much m-m-money,” explained Todd.

“Well, I have orders from the magistrate to post this eviction notice on your door, so don’t blame me. You wouldn’t be facing this headache if your father wasn’t such a loser.”

“My d-d-dad is not a l-loser!!” said an enraged Todd. Although Todd wasn’t in the mood to torture anyone, he felt the onset of his inner rage once again. Todd grabbed Barney by the cardigan and crudely tossed him against the wall. The thud of his skull caroming off the siding was enough to knock him out cold.

Todd looked around to make sure there were no witnesses around – fortunately, the coast was clear. Todd thought to himself, “I’m probably going to jail, but first I’m gonna torture this asshole if it’s the last thing I do.”

He hoisted up the limp body, and flung him over a shoulder. He carried him inside and threw him down onto his father’s bed. After retrieving some rope from the basement, Todd securely tied Barney in spread-eagle fashion to each of the four, corner bedposts. He sat down on an old lounge chair, and patiently waited for his captive to wake up.

“Since Kyle is gone, I’m gonna hafta make up my own games. Let’s see – way back when, I use to like to play a game called, ‘Rock-Paper-Scissors’, but I think it would be more fun to play a game called, ‘Rock-Chainsaw-Scissors’. I wonder if Barney is any good at games. We’ll find out as soon as he wakes up.”

Todd rounded up the three necessary items for the game, and set them on a table in the bedroom. They included a round, smooth rock about the size of a baseball, a sharp pair of scissors, and his father’s chainsaw. Todd patiently sat in the lounge chair all night waiting for Barney Wallace to regain consciousness. Todd began to nod off occasionally since his captive showed no signs of regaining consciousness at all throughout the night. Finally at daybreak, the bright, morning sunlight hit Barney squarely in his eye, and he finally woke up. He quickly discovered that he was tied up.

“Holy mother of Jesus, why am I tied up?” asked the frightened, government employee.

Oddly enough, Todd was already having second thoughts about torturing the man. He knew that even if he killed him, the State of Texas would keep sending new representatives to his house. Thus, sooner or later, he would be evicted or sent off to jail. He asked him in the clearest voice that his speech impediment would allow, “If I c-cut you f-free from the ropes, will you p-please just l-l-leave?”

Barney began to freak out as he shouted, “Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, protect me from the hand of evil. I am being kidnapped and tortured by the son of Satan himself – the Anti-Christ. Lord Jesus, please take me to your Kingdom of Heaven, where I may be your eternal servant. I just ask for salvation and protection from the incubus that stands before me, ready to desecrate my flesh with his evil devices for his sordid pleasure.”

“Excuse m-me, I jus’ wanna c-cut you loose an’ l-let ya g-go.”

However, the religious, hard-core Christian, Barney Wallace, just stared at Todd’s nightmarish face and continued to speak, “According to Matthew 5:29, ‘if thy eye offend thee, strike it out’ – surely, I am being threatened by none other than the evil son of Lucifer. Lord – yes, it’s true – my eye does offend me all the way to the heart of my soul – so strike it out, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost – strike out my eyes now so that I may never see the face of evil again!!”

By now, Todd’s heart was pumping hard, and adrenalin surged through his veins. All the accusations of evilness inspired Todd to live up to the name. He grabbed the scissors, and snipped away at all the flesh surrounding each of his eyeballs, without damaging the eyeballs themselves. Meanwhile, Barney continued to alternate cries of agony with more biblical passages. A crazed Todd plunged the point of the scissors behind the eyeball and severed the optic nerve, and then carefully plucked out the eyeball with his fingers. Barney continued with his prayers out loud as Todd did the same to his other eyeball.

After Todd set both eyeballs side-by-side on the dresser, the sickening Barney continued to preach a sermon at the top of his lungs, “Oh, son of Satan, repent thy wicked ways and send me off to the Kingdom of God.”

In a state of hysteria and confusion, Todd could not stand Barney’s preaching any longer. He yanked hard on the chainsaw’s ripcord and revved up the motor. The fanatical church goer still kept on muttering his prayers until Todd plunged the spinning chainsaw blade right into the base of his throat, and began cutting downwards through his sternum, all the way to his crotch. Next, he made another, very deep cut across his chest right at the base of his pectorals to form a crude crucifix. Blood and guts had flown up to the ceiling, and now were slowly dripping down onto the bed and floor as though it was a sticky, red rain from hell.

Just as Todd turned off his chainsaw, he heard the sirens of several police cars outside. He peeked through the window curtains, and saw that he was surrounded by cops with their guns drawn. One of the cops held a megaphone up to his mouth and called out, “Todd Waddington, you’re under arrest. Come out of the house with your hands up.”

CHAPTER 8

A thorough police investigation ensued. Of course, they found his macabre collection of severed hands, and directly linked him to the deaths of more than two dozen, missing victims. At the same time, the police conducted a thorough investigation of the local funeral parlor. They found the bodies of the slain Mongol biker and Kyle Puckett. The Mongol’s switchblade had been used to kill both of them, and since Todd’s fingerprints were found on the knife’s handle, the police detectives attributed both deaths to Todd.

The media soon sensationalized the story of the serial killer, and Todd’s exploits were covered by nationwide TV, newspapers, and of course – tabloids. The media preferred to call Todd Waddington by a new nickname someone had coined: The Texas Chainsaw Masochist.

Todd was transported to the Huntsville, Texas – north of Houston. Originally he was allowed to mingle with some of the other inmates, but after tearing off both ears from a prisoner who repeatedly provoked him, they locked him up in solitary confinement.

A couple of uneventful weeks passed by – at least it was an uneventful period for Todd, who idly sat in solitary confinement. On the other hand, there was a major hoopla created by the media. The general public was eager for his trial to get underway. Most of the public opinion was that the Texas Chainsaw Masochist deserves the death penalty.

Todd was surprised when one day an armed escort told him they were heading to Houston for an arraignment.

“What’s an ar-r-r-raignment?” asked Todd.

“That’s jus’ the first step ‘fore they can legally execute yer ass,” answered the guard.

Since Todd had no living friends or family and no worthwhile financial resources, Todd was assigned a public defender, Sal Bower, who only visited him once – for about 30 seconds. Sal was a natural sissy, and while he was intelligent, he appeared as timid by lawyer-standards. He was a skinny, scrawny guy in his late twenties who had recently passed his bar exam, albeit with high marks. Sal grumbled, “Gee, why did they have to assign this scary-looking monster to me? I should have studied to become a doctor instead.”

The federal court house was an architecturally impressive building, but the air conditioning system was malfunctioning, and everyone – including the judge, seemed to be in a cranky mood on account of the sweltering heat.

At the time of the initial court arraignment, the honorable Judge Harold Jenkins asked Sal Bower, “How does your client, Mr. Todd Waddington, plea?”

“Your honor, my client, Todd Waddington, pleads complete, total, and utter insanity.”

“A simple plea of ‘insanity’ would suffice. The court will set a future court date after we assemble a jury of his peers – although my first impression is that Mr. Waddington really has no peers. Thus, I will set a tentative court date for six months from today. Mr. Bower, since your client entered a plea of insanity, it is your responsibility to have him psychologically evaluated by a licensed psychiatrist prior to court date. Does the council have any requests?”

“Yes, your honor – since my client has no means of posting any bail, I recommend that he be kept in solitary confinement until the time of his official trial – for his safety, and probably more importantly, for the safety of others.”

“Mr. Bower, I wholeheartedly agree. Thus, permission is granted to keep Mr. Waddington separated from other, normal inmates by assigning him to solitary confinement.”

“Thank you, your honor,” said a nervous-looking Sal.

After another couple weeks of solitary confinement, the prison guard got Todd’s attention when he raked his nightstick over the steel bar door. “Hey, perk up – someone’s here ta see ya.”

Todd was surprised to finally get a visit from Sal Bower. However, he wasn’t alone…

“Good afternoon, Todd,” said Sal. “I’d like for you to meet Dr. Agnes Porter. She’s a psychiatrist, and she’s hear to evaluate your mental condition.”

Dr. Agnes Porter was in her mid-forties, trim and well-groomed, but she had the icy charm of a female grizzly bear coming out of hibernation. Her eyes seemingly never blinked when she spoke. She moved about with a militant-type of grace with perfectly, straight posture.

Todd continued to sit down on the edge of his bed mattress and intentionally showed no interest in communicating with neither Sal nor Dr. Porter, although he actually was listening intently…

“Todd, Dr. Porter’s evaluation is instrumental in keeping you from getting the death penalty. Even if you don’t value your own life, a death penalty is no easy way out. You can expect to be on death row for many years, with several hurdles to cross. In the meantime, you can expect to sit in solitary confinement for what will seem like an eternity.”

Todd continued to sit there without even looking up at his visitors.

Meanwhile, Dr. Porter silently studied the self-mutilation scars on Todd’s face. They were far more garish in person than in the photos she had seen.

“Todd, I’m very disappointed in your behavior,” said Sal. “I’m losing interest in fighting to protect your personal interests.”

“Excuse, me, Mr. Bower,” interrupted Dr. Porter. “I’d like to have a private conversation with Mr. Waddington.”

“I’m concerned for your safety, Dr. Porter. After all, this man is known as ‘The Texas Chainsaw Masochist’.”

“I’ve already studied Todd’s case history, and every single one of his victims were people off ill repute. Only his latest victim, Barney Wallace, could be referred to as an upstanding citizen, but apparently he provoked Mr. Waddington when he showed up at his doorstep, ready to evict him from the house he had grown up in. I am quite confident that Mr. Waddington will treat me with respect. If I should end up feeling threatened in any way, I will promptly notify the guards – but that isn’t going to be necessary, Todd – isn’t that so?”

Todd raised his head and looked at Dr. Porter for the first time, and nodded his head, ‘yes’.

“I’ll just kill some time in the cafeteria,” said Sal who left in a huff.

Once Dr. Porter was alone with Todd in his cell she asked him, “Can you keep a little secret?”

Todd was becoming a bit curious by his visitor. He spoke for the first time in over two weeks when he said, “Y-yeah.”

“I heard about your fascinating case, and I traveled all the way here from Rogers, Arkansas where I run the ward for the criminally insane. Actually, the secret that I ask you to keep is that I’m a big fan of yours. I admire the fact that you bestowed it upon yourself to rid the world of many, truly, bad people. I’m also aware that you also are a compassionate man – and that you always hurt yourself after punishing your victims. Secretly, I greatly admire those attributes, but you must keep this as our little secret. Do you promise not to tell anyone about my feelings of admiration?”

“Y-yeah, D-Dr. P-Porter. I t-tell no one.”

“Well, let me help your situation as much as I can. Your public defender, Sal Bower, is correct about one thing – it’s definitely in your best interests to avoid the death penalty. Realistically, your best chance is to have your actions explained by way of insanity. If I write a convincing report, I can request that the judge order you to be institutionalized at my asylum in Arkansas. You would definitely like it there, since many of our inmates are very bad people, and sometimes I encourage some physical contact between the patients to get rid of some of their pent up aggression. I think you’d be a perfect fit for the games we sometimes like to play.”

“I l-like t-to play g-games,” replied Todd enthusiastically.

“I’m so glad to see that we are going to get along so well.”

Dr. Porter took out a notebook and pen, and began to assemble a case to present in court. Although she was quite certain that Todd was a sociopath with poor anger-management skills, she was aware that most other prison inmates also fit that same description. Thus, to be certain that Todd would be admitted to her asylum, she decided to make her evaluation report to depict Todd Waddington as an outright psychopath, who had no recollection and no remorse for his victims. She needed to coach Todd to play along accordingly – especially during the upcoming trial.

“Todd, when we’re at your trial, be aware that I might say some things about you which might make you sound crazier than you really are. Just remember – it’s just a game – and we will win the game if we convince everyone that you are a full-blown psychopath. If the prosecuting attorney puts you on the witness stand, it’s important that you simply say, ‘I don’t remember killing anyone’ – don’t show any remorse – just act like you don’t understand why you are there, and you have no idea what’s going on. With my accompanying report, the judge will have no other choice than to declare you ‘insane’, and you’ll be free to come stay with me at the asylum in Arkansas, where you can have a lot of fun playing games with others. So, Todd – do we have an agreement?”

“Y-yeah, D-Dr. P-Porter.”

“Great. I’m about ready to go. Now, I want you to tear off the sleeve to my blouse, and I’ll act scared by calling the guard. Remember, this is just a game.”

For the first time in ages, Todd actually smiled. He grabbed the end of Dr. Porter’s sleeve and gave a powerful yank. The sleeve easily gave way, and in a phony panic Dr. Porter yelled, “Help me! Guard, let me out of here! I’m being attacked by this psycho!”

A moment later, an armed guard ran to the rescue with a Taser pointed at Todd. Dr. Porter told the guard, “You don’t need to zap him – just get me out of here. This Texas Chainsaw Masochist is definitely a crazy, dangerous psychopath.”

CHAPTER 9

During the time leading up to the trial, Dr. Porter made frequent trips to visit Todd’s jail cell. After Todd’s staged attack during her initial visit, the guards would not permit Dr. Porter to enter his cell. Thus, all their meetings were conducted by having Dr. Porter stand in the hallway, and she had to communicate with Todd with a steel-bar wall separating them. As long as the guards offered them privacy, Dr. Porter willingly accepted their safety precautions.

Over time, Dr. Porter managed to gain Todd’s complete trust. It wasn’t long before he coveted being admitted to her asylum in Rogers, Arkansas. Eventually, he fully discarded the notion that he wished to receive the death penalty. Instead, he now focused on achieving the goal of being admitted to her asylum in Rogers, Arkansas.

However, Todd was unaware of Dr. Porter’s ulterior motive for helping him to avoid the death penalty. In actuality, she was recruiting him to become her right hand man – her enforcer at the asylum. Dr. Porter had the sole power of filling out death certificates at her institution. This gave her the control to report any ‘cause of death’ in whichever manner she saw fit. Thus, with Todd at her side, Dr. Porter could literally get away with murder. All she needed was a loyal, dedicated patient, who was adept at killing people – and Todd Waddington was the perfect man for her needs.

Finally, the opening day of the trial arrived. The entire courthouse was packed with TV and newspaper reporters, along with hundreds of cameramen representing various publications. Todd was led into the courtroom, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, while sporting handcuffs and ankle chains. Many people in the audience gasped out loud as they stared at Todd’s mutilated facial features.

“Ladies and gentlemen – This court is now in session,” said the bailiff. “All rise for the honorable Judge Harold Jenkins, presiding. Announcing the case of the defendant, Todd Waddington, versus the people of the State of Texas.”

“I warn all you cameramen that no photos are to be taken in this courtroom,” said the stout, middle-aged judge while pointing his index finger towards a huge contingent of photographers. “OK, let’s proceed. We’ll begin by hearing the opening statement of the prosecution.”

The prosecuting attorney was a sharp, Jewish attorney named Benjamin Goldwater. He was famous for seeking and obtaining the death penalty for many other perpetrators in the past.

He made sure to establish eye contact with each member of the jury as he spoke, “The accused person sitting over there, Todd Waddington, is a serial killer who is commonly known as the Texas Chainsaw Masochist. At the time of his capture, a collection of 24 severed hands was found in his possession. Most of these hands were in various stages of decay, but they clearly belonged to 24 different people. While many of his victims remain unidentified, his three most recent victims were: Barney Wallace – an upstanding member of society and avid church member; Peter Lufkin – a member of the Mongol Nation gang; and Kyle Puckett – his boss at the morgue where Mr. Waddington was employed during the past year and a half.”

An enraged Todd stood up and shouted, “I d-didn’t k-kill K-K-Kyle – he was m-my f-friend.”

The judge slammed down his gavel several times in rapid succession and said, “Order in the court, order in the court – hey, you – public defender, you need to keep your client under control. If he has another outburst, I’ll hold both of you in contempt of court.”

“I’m sorry, your honor,” replied Sal Bower, who turned around and whispered to Todd, “You need to sit down and behave. You’ll get your chance to be heard later on.”

“OK, Mr. Goldwater – you may continue,” said Judge Jenkins.

“The prosecution plans to present irrefutable evidence that the defendant, Mr. Waddington, knowingly and repeatedly, tortured his victims to death, using the most gruesome, and heinous methods conceivable. It is believed that Mr. Waddington conveniently used the morgue’s crematory to incinerate the bodies of his victims, while retaining only a severed hand from each cadaver as a keepsake. The prosecution will present evidence that all of his murders were premeditated, and performed as part of some perverse game he conceived. Thus, the State of Texas is demanding that Todd Waddington, also known as the Texas Chainsaw Masochist, is handed the death penalty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Goldwater, for a brilliant opening statement,” said the judge. “OK – public defender – by the way, I forgot your name…”

“My name is, Sal Bower – your honor.”

“Well, let’s have your opening statement, Mr. Bowser,” said the judge.

“It’s ‘Bower’ – your honor.”

“Whatever – you may proceed.”

Although Sal turned to face the jury, unlike the prosecuting attorney, he made no attempt to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke…

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. The defense plans to show evidence to cast doubt that my client, Todd Waddington, is a serial killer at all. The defense admits that my client, Todd Waddington, is indeed only responsible for two of the fatalities, and the evidence of the other murders he is charged with is purely circumstantial. In the case of Kyle Puckett, my client claims that the Mongol biker, Peter Lufkin, stabbed Mr. Puckett to death, and he ended up killing the biker in an act of self-defense. The only murder to which the defense confesses to concerns the case of Barney Wallace. Mr. Wallace came to my client’s place of residence to evict him from the house he grew up in. Mr. Waddington felt threatened by Mr. Wallace’s action and he attacked him. Thus, we would be willing to accept the lesser charge of ‘aggravated manslaughter’, since my client clearly did not have any premeditated notion of killing him. Finally, at the time of the arraignment approximately six months ago, my client entered the plea of ‘insanity’. Mr. Waddington has already undergone extensive psychological evaluation by an accredited psychiatrist to support that claim.”

“Thank you for your opening statement, Mr. Bowser,” said the judge. “OK, we are ready to begin the trial. Prosecution – you may call your first witness.”

“Your honor, I would like to call Sheriff John Banner to the witness stand,” said Benjamin Goldwater.

The sheriff had a generous ‘donut belly’ on him, and was in the twilight years of his career. He approached the witness stand, and then turned around to face the audience.

The bailiff approached the witness stand and said, “Sheriff John Banner, raise your hand. Do you swear to tell the court the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“You may be seated,” said the bailiff.

Benjamin Goldwater rubbed his hands as he asked the sheriff, “I understand that you were in charge the day you arrested Mr. Waddington at his own residence on the morning of September 22nd – isn’t that so?”

“Yes, sir – that is correct.”

“Sheriff Banner, would you please tell the court what you witnessed on that fateful morning?”

“Our local police headquarters had received a missing person’s alert from Audrey Wallace, the wife of Barney Wallace, when he failed to come home the previous night. By the time we found out that Mr. Wallace was hired to post an eviction notice at Mr. Waddington’s property for failure to pay his property tax, we planned to follow up on the lead by making a routine checkup at the Waddington residence. However, we subsequently got a 911 call from his next-door neighbor who heard what he described as screams of agony coming from the Waddington residence, so we promptly rounded up every available squad car and headed quickly to his house.”

“When you arrived at the scene, can you tell us what you saw?” asked the confident-looking, prosecuting attorney.

“Oddly enough, as soon as I stepped out of my squad car, I overheard the sound of a chainsaw being operated from within the residence. Personally, I don’t recollect anyone ever using a chainsaw indoors, so I ordered all my deputies to draw their guns. I used a bullhorn to tell anyone inside the house to come out with their hands up.”

“What happened next?” inquired Mr. Goldwater.

“I saw the drapes moving a tad – I ‘spose it must have been Mr. Waddington peeking out the window. Within a minute, he opened the front door and came out onto the porch with his hands raised behind his head. He was so thoroughly soaked in blood, that at first I assumed he was the one who was hurt, but we soon discovered that all the blood belonged to the victim, Mr. Barney Wallace. After two of my deputies handcuffed Mr. Waddington, I headed inside the residence to look for Mr. Wallace. I was curious to find out who was the source of that extraordinary amount of blood.”

“Sheriff Banner, could you please tell the court what you saw when you located Mr. Wallace.”

“I dang near puked my guts out when I found Mr. Wallace’s lifeless body in a bedroom. His eyeballs had been scooped right out of his head. Apparently, scissors had been used to meticulously snip away the flesh surrounding his eyes, before Mr. Waddington carefully plucked his eyeballs out and placed them on the dresser – probably for Mr. Waddington to add to his collection of severed hands.”

“Objection,” said Sal. “That is subjective.”

“Objection overruled,” snapped the judge at the public defender. “I’m dying to hear Sheriff Banner’s full testimony. Now stifle yourself, Mr. Bowser – please continue, Sheriff Banner.”

“Well, the bit about the plucked out eyeballs was just a small part of the horrifically, gory scene I had just witnessed. First off, Barney’s hands and feet were restrained by ropes which were tied around his wrists and ankles. The ropes were securely tied to the corner bedposts. As excruciatingly painful as it must have been for poor Mr. Wallace, the eyeball extraction wasn’t the cause of his death.”

“To what do you attribute as being the cause for Mr. Wallace’s death?” asked the prosecutor, as he now felt in command of the entire courtroom.

“Mr. Waddington had used a chainsaw to carve out a deep, crucifix incision into Mr. Wallace’s chest. To me, it looked like some sort of human sacrifice, like the work of the devil.”

No one in the courtroom noticed Dr. Porter smiling while she contemplated, “This Texas Chainsaw Masochist guy is the man of my dreams. With Todd at my side, I will rule the asylum with an iron fist.”

“I’m sorry, your honor, but I’d like to object,” said a nervous-looking Sal. “The description about the work of the devil is again subjective.”

“The court needs to hear the sheriff’s full testimony,” shouted an upset Judge Jenkins. “Now sit down, and pipe down if you expect me to let you cross-examine the witness.”

“I’m sorry, your honor. I won’t do it again,” said an embarrassed Sal.

“OK, assuming we get no further interruption from the defense, Sheriff Banner, you may continue with your fascinating testimony,” said a rather disgusted judge.

“I ordered my deputies to take Mr. Waddington to the station and book him. We contacted an ambulance to come get Mr. Wallace’s butchered body. I also called in our detectives to come quickly and search the premises. Besides the absolutely nightmarish, bloody scene we found in the said bedroom, we found a tote-bag full of severed hands in a closet. In total, there were 24 hands crammed into the tote in varying stages of decay. Further inspection showed that no two hands belonged to the same person.”

“Sheriff Banner, have you been able to identify any of the victims of the severed hands by name?” asked the prosecutor.

“Negatory.”

“So, you say that none of the severed hands have been identified, yet Mr. Waddington is accused of killing two other victims by name – a Mongol Nation member named, Peter Lufkin, and his boss at the local mortuary, Kyle Puckett. How did you come to discover those two casualties?”

The sheriff took a sip of water before he continued…

“I thought it would be a good idea to check out his place of employment. I asked our team of detectives to look for any additional, pertinent information concerning Mr. Waddington’s vile antics. When we arrived to the morgue where Mr. Waddington was gainfully employed cremating cadavers, we were shocked when we entered the building. The place stank like rotting meat as soon as we opened the door. A vast number of flies had already nested into the carcasses of two more of his victims, who had been butchered there only a few days earlier.”

“Has your team been able to identify those two bodies?”

“Yes, sir – the bodies were positively identified as Peter Lufkin, who I ‘spose belonged to a biker gang known as the Mongols, and his boss, Kyle Puckett.”

“Can you please tell the court if you were able to determine the cause of death?”

“Affirmative – there was a switchblade found at the scene of the crime. It had been used to kill both of the victims.”

“Sheriff Banner, were any fingerprints discovered on the murder weapon?” asked an almost gleeful Benjamin Goldwater.

“Yes, sir – we got a clean set of prints on the handle of the switchblade. The fingerprints belong to the accused, Mr. Todd Waddington.”

“I have no further questions,” said a near giddy prosecuting attorney.

“OK, wake up – Mr. Bowser. Do you wish to cross-examine the witness?”

“Yes, I do – your honor,” said Sal respectfully as he fumbled around a stack of notes.

“Well, hurry up – we haven’t got all day,” grumbled the judge.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff Banner,” said Sal politely. “Let’s first begin with the two people you found dead at the morgue. First, I’d like to discuss the Mongol biker, named Peter Lufkin. Photos of him have been positively identified by a local proprietor named, Hank Schillings. He owns a gas station located on the outskirts of my client’s hometown. Mr. Schillings claims that he was robbed and assaulted by the Mongol gang member within 24 hours prior to his death.”

“Objection,” said the prosecuting attorney. “This is immaterial.”

“Objection sustained,” replied the judge, “Mr. Bowser, the court really needs you to cut to the chase. We don’t want you wasting time with any unnecessary questions. Move onto a different line of questioning, or I’ll hold you in contempt.”

“Yes, your honor,” said a very timid public defender.

“Sheriff Banner, can you please tell the court exactly how Mr. Waddington’s boss, Kyle Puckett, was killed?”

“Yes, Mr. Waddington stabbed his boss right in the gut, and he slowly bled out – it must have been an agonizing death.”

“Can you also tell the court how the Mongol biker was killed?” asked Sal.

“Mr. Lufkin was slowly tortured to death. All the flesh had been slowly carved off his face. We found hundreds of small pieces of decaying flesh lying next to his head. He obviously suffered an incredible amount of pain.”

Again, Dr. Porter smiled while her wheels were privately turning, “This Todd Waddington is absolutely precious.”

“My question to you, Sheriff Banner, is if my client, Todd Waddington, has an affinity for administering human torture, why would he not choose to torture Kyle Puckett as well?”

“I really don’t know. Maybe he was rushed or distracted in some odd way. How the hell should I know? The only thing I’m certain of is Todd Waddington’s fingerprints have been found on the handle of the murder weapon. In my book, that makes him guilty as charged.”

“OK, is the defense finished with its line of useless questioning?” asked the judge.

“Almost,” said Sal. “Next, Sheriff Banner, I wish to discuss the tote containing 24 severed hands you found in my client’s possession. Can you to tell the court exactly how many of these hands have been positively identified by either fingerprints or DNA testing?”

“Most of the hands were too rotten to get any fingerprints from, and we haven’t had the time, nor the financial resources to run expensive DNA tests on them.”

“Well, Sheriff Banner, it so happens that my client has worked at a morgue during the past year and a half. Is it not possible that he may simply have harbored a secret ‘hand fetish’, and his entire collection of severed hands came from corpses that were designated for the crematory?”

“Well, to me it makes more sense that Mr. Waddington would have collected severed hands from the people he personally tortured to death. Those severed hands would be like his personal ‘trophies’, similar to big game hunters who like to have their kills stuffed and mounted by a taxidermist.”

“Sheriff Banner – I did not ask you to hypothesize about my client’s severed hands. I repeat my question – is it possible that all 24 severed hands in his private collection could have come from corpses delivered to his funeral parlor instead of belonging to alleged victims of torture?”

“Well, I reckon it’s possible, but…”

“I have no further questions for this witness, your honor,” interrupted Sal with renewed confidence.

“OK, Sheriff Banner, you may step down,” said Judge Jenkins. “Would the prosecution like to place anyone else on the witness stand?”

“Yes, your honor,” replied the prosecuting attorney who was grumbling under his own breath over the sudden turn of events. “Next, I would like to call the accused, Mr. Todd Waddington, to the witness stand.”

The audience let out a new round of gasps as Todd stood up to take the witness stand. An unknown cameraman couldn’t resist taking a photo of the Texas Chainsaw Masochist for a nationwide tabloid. An outraged judge called for security to arrest that man, but he hurriedly ran out the door and sprinted to the fire escape stairwell.

When the commotion caused by the photographer settled down, the bailiff approached the witness stand and said, “Mr. Todd Waddington, raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the court the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I d-do,” said a stammering Todd.

“You may be seated,” said the bailiff.

The prosecuting attorney was confident in getting Todd to fall into one of his clever traps. He began by saying, “My – you sure have a lot of scars on your face. Do you get in a lot fights with other people?”

“N-n-no,” mumbled Todd.

“Would you please speak clearly, so that the court may hear you? Or, are you stuttering because you are nervous to be answering under oath?”

“Objection,” said Sal.

“What the hell is it now, Mr. Bowser?” asked an angry judge.

“May council approach the bench?” asked Sal.

“OK, but this better be good,” said the judge.

Both Sal and Benjamin approached the bench to speak softly to the judge. Sal said, “My client has a natural speech impediment he has had since childhood. He always stutters – he can’t help that.”

“That’s OK,” said the prosecuting attorney. “I was unaware of that – I won’t pursue that line of questioning any further.”

“Fine, Mr. Bowser, you may return to your seat,” said the judge before saying out loud to the court, “Surprisingly enough, it’s ‘objection sustained’. Mr. Goldwater, you must refrain from questioning the defendant about his stuttering. Please continue.”

“Certainly, your honor,” replied Benjamin before turning his attention back to Todd…

“I’ll repeat my previous question – Mr. Waddington, do you frequently get in fights with other people?”

“N-no.”

“Well, then how did you get all those scars on your face?” asked Benjamin as he moved closer to Todd to focus on his face.

“I d-did it to m-myself,” said Todd.

“Why on earth would you disfigure yourself?”

“I d-dunno,” said Todd as he remembered to follow Dr. Porter’s advice.

“Mr. Waddington, at the time of your arrest, Sheriff Banner caught you red-handed killing Barney Wallace. Why did you kill him?”

“I d-dunno,” said Todd again.

“Did you kill Mr. Wallace because he came to evict you from your house?”

“I d-don’t r-remember.”

“Well, Mr. Waddington – do you even remember plucking out Mr. Wallace’s eyeballs, and then cutting a crucifix deep into his chest with a chainsaw?”

“I d-don’t r-remember.”

“That’s odd – Let’s test your memory about something else. The Mongol biker died by having the flesh slowly sliced away from his face. There were more than one hundred small pieces of carved flesh lying on the floor next to his head. The coroner determined that the biker was still alive at the time, and that he slowly bled to death. Do you remember doing that to him?”

“N-no – I d-don’t remember,” said Todd, who was feeling tension building up from deep within.

“Do you remember Kyle Puckett, who was your boss at the funeral parlor?”

“Y-yeah. He was my f-friend.”

“Oh, so you do remember something,” commented the prosecutor before going in for the kill... “Do you remember stabbing Kyle Puckett in the abdomen with a switchblade?”

“N-no – I d-didn’t do it.”

“Well, the coroner’s report claims that both Peter Lufkin and Kyle Puckett died at approximately the same time, and they both were killed by the same murder weapon. So, if you didn’t stab Kyle Puckett, then who did?”

“The b-biker d-did it,” answered a frustrated Todd.

“So, Mr. Waddington – your memory seems to be working after all. I remind you that you are under oath. If the biker killed Mr. Puckett, what were you doing at the time? Did you just stand back and watch your friend being killed?”

“No – I d-dunno.”

“Mr. Waddington – you are contradicting yourself. The coroner determined with 100% certainty that both Kyle Puckett and Peter Lufkin were killed by the same murder weapon – a switchblade which was found at the scene of the murder, with a clear set of your fingerprints on the knife’s handle. So, Mr. Waddington, I ask you again, did you kill Kyle Puckett?”

“N-no – he was my f-friend,” said an increasingly emotional-looking Todd.

The prosecuting attorney leaned forward, so that his face was only about a foot away from Todd’s face as he said in dramatic fashion, “You, Mr. Waddington, are a liar! You are a serial killer who falsely claims that you are insane, just to avoid receiving the death penalty. You lie under oath that you have no memory of your killings, but I know that you killed Kyle Puckett. You are a liar and a murderer!!”

Todd couldn’t take any more of Benjamin’s verbal assault. Although Todd was still wearing a pair of handcuffs, he was nevertheless able to reach out quickly enough to grab Mr. Goldwater by his suit. He pulled him closer forward, and sank his chipped teeth into the prosecuting attorney’s nose. Benjamin screamed out loud in agony as Todd completely bit off the tip of his nose, and spit it out onto the floor.

“Order in the court! Order in the court!” yelled Judge Jenkins as pounded his gavel repeatedly.

The security guards pulled a badly bleeding Benjamin away from Todd’s powerful grasp. A shocked Judge Jenkins called out, “Hurry – someone, get Mr. Goldwater an ambulance. Guards, escort this lunatic back to his cell. This court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”

During all the commotion, Dr. Porter quietly sat back and admired Todd’s animalistic behavior… “I’ll make plenty sure to convince the judge to release the Texas Chainsaw Masochist into my custody. Todd Waddington will become a valuable addition to my asylum.”

CHAPTER 10

After spending most of the evening at the hospital getting the tip of his nose reattached, Benjamin Goldwater made it to the courtroom on time the next morning. His face was heavily bandaged. A swarm of reporters and cameramen flocked around him to ask him about yesterday’s assault by the defendant. Benjamin issued a public statement…

“The surgeon isn’t sure whether or not my reattached nose tip will survive. If it doesn’t, I’ll need major reconstructive surgery. Even if the surgery is successful, I will need plastic surgery to minimize the amount of scarring to my face.”

When asked by a reporter about how he will react to Todd Waddington on the witness stand today, he merely said, “No comment.”

It was 10:00 AM when the day’s court session was scheduled to begin. Once again, the bailiff called out, “Ladies and gentlemen – This court is now in session. All rise for the honorable Judge Harold Jenkins, presiding. Announcing the continuation of the case of Todd Waddington, the defendant, versus the people of the State of Texas.”

Judge Jenkins walked out in his traditional, black robe. He addressed the prosecuting attorney, “It’s good to see you were able to make it to court today, Mr. Goldwater. Are you able to continue with the trial given your condition?”

“Yes, your honor – I’m dedicated to my career.”

“Well, let’s proceed by having the defendant take the witness stand,” said the judge.

Todd was again handcuffed and shackled in ankle chains as the bailiff led him to the witness stand.

“Mr. Waddington, you need to be aware that you are still under oath,” said Judge Jenkins. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yeah,” answered Todd.

“By the way, I want no further outbursts in my court – including no biting – or I’ll have the guards put a muzzle over your mouth in addition to wearing handcuffs and leg chains. Do you agree to behave yourself?”

“Y-yeah, I d-do.”

“Fine, Mr. Goldwater – you were still questioning Mr. Waddington at the time he bit your nose off. Do you have any further questions for the defendant?”

“Actually, I had just completed my line of questioning which proved that the defendant was lying under oath, and that he stabbed his boss, Mr. Kyle Puckett. I have no further questions for him.”

“OK, then, excuse me – public defender – was your name Sam Bowser?”

“My name is Sal Bower, your honor.”

“Let me make a note of that. I need to have your correct name for the court records. So, Mr. Bower, would you like to cross-examine the defendant?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Well, let’s not waste any more time – have at it,” said a cranky judge.

“Good morning, Mr. Waddington,” said Sal. “Yesterday, you ended up biting off and swallowing the prosecutor’s nose…”

“Objection,” said Benjamin. “He didn’t eat my nose – he just bit the tip off and spat it out on the floor.”

“Objection sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Bower, please rephrase your question to accurately describe yesterday’s assault on the prosecutor.”

“I’m sorry, your honor,” said Sal before turning back to Todd… “Yesterday, you bit the prosecuting attorney’s nose. Do you remember doing that?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So, is it true that you remember some of your attacks on some people some of the time, but not necessarily always?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Can you tell the court why you bit him?”

“Y-yeah. H-he’s an asshole.”

“Mr. Waddington, I won’t tolerate the use of profanity in my court,” said an angry Judge Jenkins.

Sal asked Todd to rephrase his comment…

“C-can I say, ‘j-jerk’?” asked Todd.

“Yes, that sounds much better,” said Sal.

So Todd looked over at the judge and said, “I b-bit him ‘c-cause he’s a jerk.”

“Mr. Waddington, can you explain exactly why you bit the jerk?” asked Sal.

“Objection,” said Benjamin. “I don’t want to be referred to in such a derogatory manner.”

“Objection sustained,” said the judge while rolling his eyes. “I want both of you to refer to the prosecuting attorney in a respectful manner. You must call him, ‘Mr. Goldwater’, from now on.”

“OK, Mr. Waddington, why did you bite Mr. Goldwater?”

“H-he called me a liar, and s-said I k-k-killed K-Kyle.”

“I understand that your memory is a bit sketchy, but can you tell the court what happened that night when you, Kyle Puckett, and the Mongol biker were all at the morgue together?”

Todd sat there quietly for a moment to try to remember the details of the night. He hesitated before saying…

“The b-biker took the knife out of his p-pocket and s-s-stabbed K-Kyle – then h-he tried to k-kill me. He c-cut m-my hand,” said Todd as he held out his left hand to show the clearly visible, deep scar. “I t-tackled him, and I k-killed him with h-his knife.”

Sal turned around to face the jury, “In addition to attributing the biker’s death to ‘self-defense’, I want you to make a special note that my client, Mr. Waddington, did NOT cut off a hand from neither Kyle Puckett, nor the Mongol biker. I have no further questions for the defendant.”

“Mr. Waddington, you may step down.” Said the judge. “Mr. Bower, do you have anyone else you wish to call to the witness stand?”

“Yes, your honor – I would like to call Dr. Agnes Porter, a psychiatrist, to the witness stand. She has performed an extensive psychiatric evaluation of the defendant, Todd Waddington.”

Dr. Porter stood up and walked to the witness stand. As usual, she was sharply dressed in a business skirt, and immaculately groomed. As always, she maintained her perfect posture and her eyes hardly ever blinked at all.

The bailiff asked her, “Raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the court the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Very, well – you may be seated,” said the judge. “Please state your name, and give us a brief history of your credentials.”

“My name is Dr. Agnes Porter. I’m the chief psychiatrist at the renowned, Arkansas State Institution of Mental Health. For the past eight years, I’ve operated the third floor, which houses the ward for the criminally insane. I’m originally from Chicago, and I earned my doctorate in psychology at Princeton.”

“Thank you, Dr. Porter,” said the judge. “OK, Mr. Bower, you may now question the witness.”

“Good morning, Dr. Porter. You certainly have an impressive set of credentials. I understand that you have spent considerable time evaluating my client, Mr. Waddington. Could you please tell us the results of his psychiatric test?”

“I visited Mr. Waddington, who’s been held in solitary confinement, on numerous occasions during the past six months. During my first visit, the defendant was unwilling to allow me to conduct his evaluation until we had complete privately inside his cell, so I asked everyone else to leave us alone. This ended up being a mistake.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” asked Sal.

“Yes – we actually had a rather amicable meeting, and Mr. Waddington was fully cooperating by answering all of my questions. However, with no apparent warning, the defendant suddenly attacked me. I immediately called for the guards to rescue me. I was only slightly bruised, but he managed to tear off one of my blouse’s sleeves.”

“Dr. Porter – you mentioned you had subsequent visits to his cell. Did Mr. Waddington apologize to you the next time you came to visit him?”

“No. The second time I visited his jail cell was only three days later. Oddly enough, he seemed happy to see me – and he even remembered my name. However, he had absolutely no recollection of attacking me the time before.”

“So, Dr. Porter – apparently my client suffers from sporadic memory loss. Can you give us your official diagnosis for Mr. Todd Waddington?”

“My extensive studies show that Mr. Waddington is a schizophrenic psychopath. He is very dangerous to society, as well as dangerous to himself. He was born that way, although many events in his life have contributed to his violent responses, dating back to the time he was abused while in juvenile detention. Since Mr. Waddington suffers from memory loss, it is impossible to tell whether or not his collection of severed hands came from personal victims he allegedly tortured to death, or whether the hands he obtained merely came from dead bodies slated for cremation. My conclusion is that he belongs in my asylum’s ward for the criminally insane. I‘d also like to point out to the court that Mr. Waddington has already signed a ‘consent form’ to allow his brain to be used for scientific research upon his death.”

“Thank you, Dr. Porter, for your evaluation,” said Sal. “I have no further questions for the witness.”

“Mr. Goldwater, would you like to cross-examine the witness?”

“Yes, your honor,” replied Benjamin as he approached the witness stand.

“Dr. Porter, I have already demonstrated that Mr. Waddington is capable of lying – even while under oath. What makes you so sure that he didn’t just try to deceive you by acting crazy during his psychiatric evaluation?”

“People try to feign insanity all the time – and a good actor can deceive most people during a casual meeting. That’s precisely why I chose to visit him on numerous occasions to delve deeply into the inner workings of his mind. I’m well aware that polygraph tests are not admissible in court, but in my expert opinion, Mr. Waddington has answered every question during my evaluation in a truthful manner – given the parameters of his brain’s partially missing memory. My final diagnosis is that Mr. Waddington is indeed a schizophrenic psychopath. Mr. Goldwater, if you don’t believe me – just take a look at your face in the mirror.”

“I have no further questions for this witness, your honor,” said an embarrassed looking prosecuting attorney. “The prosecution rests.”

“Thank you for your analysis, Dr. Porter – you may step down,” said the judge. “After a brief recess, we’ll be ready to hear closing statements from both the prosecution and defense.”

“Excuse me, your honor – council would like to approach the bench,” said Benjamin while he wiped a spot of blood which appeared from the bottom of the bandage on his nose.

“Your honor – I’m willing to drop the people’s case against Todd Waddington if you can have him admitted to Dr. Porter’s asylum. I’m convinced that he’s a dangerous psychopath.”

“I certainly agree that he is insane,” said the judge. “Mr. Bower, could you please ask Dr. Porter to come up front?”

Sal quickly returned with Dr. Porter at this side. They all spoke in hushed voices off the record…

“Dr. Porter, we are willing to dismiss this case if you are willing to have Mr. Waddington admitted to your asylum’s ward for the criminally insane. If we transport him to Rogers, Arkansas, will you accept him to be your patient?”

“It would be my pleasure to do so, Judge Jenkins,” said Dr. Porter with a smile – a big, evil, sinister smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen – may I have your attention,” announced the judge. “The court has determined that Mr. Todd Waddington is legally insane, and he is to be housed at Dr. Porter’s facility in Rogers, Arkansas. The case of the people of the State of Texas versus the defendant, Todd Waddington is dismissed.”

CHAPTER 11

Todd had a misconception that life at the asylum was all fun and games. As the police transport pulled into the facility’s parking lot, Todd gazed up at the three-story tall, old, brick building. If not for the iron grates covering all the windows, the place looked more like an old school building than a place for the criminally insane. Todd felt more worried about his future now, than when he enjoyed Dr. Porter’s previous social visits.

After being registered at the ground floor, his police escort left him in the custody of two, well-built asylum security men who were both dressed in white pants and white t-shirt. One was a blond man originally from Germany, and the other one was a dark-skinned Latino. They each carried a wooden Billy Club, and both were equipped with Tasers.

The blond security man enthusiastically stepped forward and said, “Velcome to our facility, Mr. Vaddington. Ve are all so excited to have a new, famous patient admitted to our facility. I am ze chief of security here. My name is Jurgen, und zis is my assistant, Hector. You must change out of your orange prison uniform, and put on one of ze grey jumpsuits ve vear over here. This one is triple, extra-large. I hope it fits you. After you change, ve will take ze elevator up to ze third floor. Dr. Porter is vaiting for you.”

As big and tough as Todd was, he was a bit intimidated by his hostile surroundings. There was a check point right when they exited the elevator on the top floor, which had a steel-bar wall, and heavy, security door separating the elevator foyer from the ward for the criminally insane. Hector punched in a secret code on a keypad, and the sturdy, security door opened up.

Todd heard eerie, crazy cries coming from way down the hallway. Jurgen explained about the cries, “One of ze patients had to be disciplined zis morning vhen he exposed himself to Dr. Porter. Now, he vants out of his straight jacket. I am sure you vill meet him soon.”

As they walked down the hallway, Todd saw several other, locked up inmates. Jurgen said, “Ve are honored to have you join us, Mr. Waddington, but we also have a few other celebrities you may have heard of… Allow me to introduce you to some of the more notorious neighbors you vill have. The man to your right is known as, ‘Eddie the Butcher’. He used to vork in a sausage factory. He used to make ze best Knockwurst – very delicious, but don’t ask vhat his secret ingredient vas. He is a very dangerous man. Never let him grab any part of you. He vill bite it right off und swallow it.”

Jurgen pointed at the cell to the left and said, “Zhis man is the famous, Dr. Jon Thorton.”

Todd rarely spoke, but he wondered, “Why is there a doctor living in here?”

“Many years ago, he used to be a successful ophthalmologist, but his fascination with ze eyeballs developed into a strange fetish. Vhen they captured him, he had collected und preserved over 40 human eyeballs he had scooped out of his live victims. He did all his damage vith nothing more than a silver teaspoon.”

Todd gazed at Dr. Thorton, Eddie the Butcher, and several patients as he was led down the hallway to his cell. Todd suddenly felt relatively normal in comparison to some veritable nut-cakes who lived at the facility.

About two-thirds of the way down the hallway, Jurgen and Hector stopped. Jurgen said, “Velcome to your new home, Mr. Waddington. This is your cell. All ze inmates have zer very own cells. Enter now, und I vill bring Dr. Porter to visit you.”

Before entering the room, Todd noticed a wall-mounted, plastic container with his name already appearing on a nameplate. Inside the plastic box was a manila folder with a brief file, which also included a list of prescribed medications. The steel-bar wall extended the full width of each cell. There was a narrow, steel-bar door in the center of the bar wall, to allow for full viewing by the security men. Each door was locked electronically, and every door had its own keypad on the hallway side – well beyond the reach of the inmates.

Todd entered his tiny room. It was slightly smaller than the solitary confinement cell in Texas. Todd’s room was only five feet wide by eight feet deep. It had a small, bare mattress, so short that his feet would hang over the edge when he slept.

“Dr. Porter vas very nice to give you ze biggest cell ve have. You have all the comforts of home, minus any personal belongings.”

The room was almost completely empty, since almost anything can be turned into a weapon. Other than the small bed, the only other item was a sturdy, stainless steel toilet at the rear corner of the room.

“Mr. Vaddington, ve take every precaution ve can think of to prevent suicides. Even ze light bulb in ze ceiling is secured by a bolted, steel grill to prevent anyone from trying to electrocute himself in ze socket. Make yourself at home. Dr. Porter vill visit you shortly.”

The steel door made an unpleasant sound of clanging when it shut. Todd had absolutely nothing to keep himself occupied with. All he could do was to sit and wait.

Todd quickly came to the conclusion, “If anyone arriving here isn’t totally insane when they first arrive, it won’t be long before they become completely crazy.”

A couple of hours later, Dr. Porter finally stopped by Todd’s cell to visit her new patient. She said, “I’m glad to have you join us at our facility. Normally, we serve rather basic, bland meals – but on special occasions, a patient can have a steak dinner. Tonight’s a cause for celebration, so tell Jurgen how you like your meat cooked.”

“I like it b-blood r-rare,” answered Todd.

“Zhat’s just ze vay I like mine too,” replied Jurgen with enthusiasm. “Red meat protein for a real man – vunderbar. Tonight you vill devour a Porterhouse Steak – no pun intended.”

“D-Doctor – you p-promised to play g-games. When d-do we p-play?”

“Normally, bedtime for all the patients happens at 9:00 PM,” said Dr. Porter, “but tonight you get to stay up late to play one of your favorite games – ‘Simon Says’. I think you’ll like that.”

“Yeah – that sounds l-like f-fun.”

Before Dr. Porter left to tend to other matters, she peeked at his medical file hanging on the wall. She took the file with her and asked Jurgen and Hector to join her in her office…

After they entered her private chambers, Dr. Porter closed her office door for privacy. She spoke to her security men…

“You can forget about giving the Texas Chainsaw Masochist the typical blend of Prozac and other anti-depressant and anxiety medications. I have direct orders from the CIA that we will begin experiments with a new, secret pill specifically designed to create ‘super soldiers’, for certain, dangerous black ops missions. The pill is supposed to create an extremely aggressive soldier, impervious to pain – even while being tortured. The pill also is supposed to increase physical strength, while at the same time the ‘super soldier’ experiences an enhanced sensation of intense loyalty to his supervisors. They won’t even tell me the ingredients of this little, harmless looking pill, but the CIA has hired me to test it on some of our patients. Todd Waddington will be the first person we use this experimental drug on. It will be interesting to see what he does to Mr. Charlton, our ‘indecent exposure’ patient we have strapped up in a strait jacket.”

“I think ve vill be in for a vunderbar show tonight, Dr. Porter,” said Jurgen. “Vhen can ve give him ze secret medication?”

“Give it at meal time. Tell him this medicine is going to make him feel happy – and that really is the truth anyway, since he seems to feel his happiest when he is torturing someone to death. Just make sure that he eats the pill.”

“I don’t know if I really like the experimental drug,” said Hector. “I thought we were supposed to help our patients get better – and not administer them some weird drug that makes them extra dangerous.”

“Well, Hector – I’m sorry if you disapprove, but it’s important that we serve the best interests of our country. When I grew up, I gave my pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States – and I’m sure you did the same as well when you became an American citizen, so I recommend that you perform your patriotic duty and help me with tonight’s experiment.”

“Yes, Dr. Porter,” said a hesitant Hector. “I will not let you down.”

“That’s more like it. For a minute, I thought you might defy my order. I’m glad to see you have a good head on top of your shoulders. Let’s keep it that way.”

Hector simply nodded in agreement, although secretly he loathed the idea of administering the new experimental drug on their new patient, Todd Waddington.

Todd was famished when Jurgen and Hector delivered his dinner. A large, Porterhouse Steak was pre-cut into cubes. The meat was so rare that the chunks of steak were swimming in a lake of bloody juice. A generous scoop of mashed potatoes accompanying the steak was stained by a ring of the bloody juice around its base.

Since knives and forks make good weapons, a small spoon was the only eating utensil provided. A stainless steel cup of drinking water sat on the edge of the tray, with a little, white pill sitting on top of a napkin. Hector slid the tray of food beneath a five inch gap at the base of the door.

A smiling Jurgen said, “Oh my – doesn’t zhis meat look absolutely delicious, but before you begin eating, you must eat ze medicine Dr. Porter prescribed. She calls it a ‘happy pill’. After you ingest ze pill, you may eat your dinner.”

Todd gulped down the medicine first, and Jurgen said, “Very vell done, Mr. Vaddington – ve vill leave you alone to enjoy your dinner.”

As soon as Jurgen and Hector left, Todd grabbed the spoon and began to eat. He had spent over six months in solitary confinement in Texas, and he relished every, bloody bite of steak. He didn’t even think about the medication he ingested. Shortly after eating, Todd became extremely tired, so he took a nap on the bed, and he fell into a deep sleep.

At 9:00 PM sharp, the light in each cell was darkened. A dim light left in the hall allowed the staff to monitor the facility. About an hour later, Dr. Porter and her two security men checked in on Todd. A curious Hector asked, “How come he’s resting so peacefully? Isn’t the pill supposed to turn him into a beast?”

“I was told that the medicine at first puts the soldier to sleep. He will begin having very wild, violent dreams. When he wakes up a couple hours later, his body will function like a ‘super soldier’, but his mind will continue to be in a sort of dream state. I’m curious to find out how this is going to work. Why don’t you bring our resident pervert, Mr. Tim Charlton, now for a little discipline?”

When Jurgen and Hector first came to Tim Charlton’s cell, he was very relieved and grateful to have his straight jacket removed. He was an average looking guy in his late thirties who had gotten in trouble for exposing himself in public on countless occasions. His favorite place to expose himself was at big, fancy weddings. He would sneak into the ladies restroom, and wait for the bride to show up. He got a particularly great deal of gratification if he was able to ejaculate into his hand, and then smear his juice on the bride’s face.

However, Mr. Charlton became extremely paranoid when the security men opened up his door and led him down the hallway. He became even more worried when he saw Dr. Porter waiting for him in the hallway.

“You know, Mr. Charlton,” said Dr. Porter with her typical, blink-less stare, “Tonight’s the last time you’re going to expose yourself to anyone. Jurgen, Hector – strip Mr. Charlton stark naked and toss him into Mr. Waddington’s cell.”

A panicking Tim Charlton was so scared he peed all over himself as Jurgen and Hector yanked off his gray uniform. Once he was stark naked, Hector entered the code on the door’s keypad, and the door unlatched. Jurgen pushed Mr. Charlton into Todd’s cell, and quickly shut the door. The naked Tim Charlton just cowered in the dark, rear corner while Todd continued to snore.

“Hector, why don’t you turn on Mr. Waddington’s light?” said Dr. Porter. “After all, I want to see what happens.”

Minutes later, Todd was still sleeping, but he was beginning to make some odd sounds in his sleep. A minute after that, Todd began flailing his arms and kicking his legs.

“He must be experiencing some very intense dream,” said Dr. Porter.

Suddenly, Todd sprang up from his bed like a wild beast. Slobber dripped readily out of his mouth. Although he was mentally in a dream state, his mind was now receptive to commands from Dr. Porter…

“Mr. Waddington – the naked man standing in the corner exposed himself to me. I want you to punish him.”

Todd stood there motionless, so Dr. Porter changed her command, “Simon says – punish him.”

“Oh God no,” cried out a terrified Tim Charlton as Todd closed in. He reached out with his hand and grabbed his genitals.

“Help me!” cried out Tim to no avail.

Todd crushed and twisted his penis and balls until they came loose in his incredibly strong, vice-like grip. Blood squirted out all over, as Tim squirmed on the floor, clutching at his crotch – trying to stop the bleeding.

Todd had a new crazed look in his eye that even scared Jurgen and Hector, however, an unfazed Dr. Porter politely said, “Thank you for a job well done,” as she reached out to take the torn off genitals.

“Simon says – finish him off…”

Jurgen watched with a great deal of enthusiasm and excitement, while Hector bravely fought off his urge to vomit.

Todd returned to his bleeding victim, and grabbed two big handfuls of Mr. Charlton’s hair. He leaned forward and bit through the skin of his forehead, then peeled back his entire scalp. With a powerful twist, he tore off his entire scalp altogether, and proudly handed the trophy to a smiling Dr. Porter. Todd’s gripping power was so strong that Tim’s left ear was also torn off during the scalping. His ear was still attached to the loose scalp.

“Very well done, Mr. Waddington. You clearly win tonight’s game of ‘Simon Says’.”

She turned around and softly spoke to Jurgen and Hector, “The CIA says the drug will wear off in about an hour or so, and Mr. Waddington will fall into a more normal sleep. Mr. Charlton will have bled to death well before then, so once our big monster is asleep, I want you to dispose of the body, and clean up all the spilled blood. I was told that the person who eats the pill should have no recollection of the violent events during his dream state – or at most, he might recall having a violent dream. I’ll return here tomorrow morning to find out exactly how much memory of tonight that Mr. Waddington will have.”

CHAPTER 12

Jurgen and Hector made periodic trips from the security guards’ lounge to check up on Todd and his victim, Tim Charlton. Todd’s medication was lasting longer than anticipated, and for a while, Todd licked Tim’s bleeding crown of his skull like a lollipop. Tim still hadn’t completely bled out, and moaned softly.

“This ‘super soldier drug’ is sickening stuff,” said Hector. “I sure hope our military never resorts to using this drug on any of our soldiers.”

“You are probably right,” said Jurgen, “but it sure made for a vunderbar show for us tonight.”

Finally, around 1:00 AM, Todd fell soundly asleep, and his victim bled to death. Jurgen and Hector cautiously entered the cell for an extensive cleanup. They had to lift Tim’s corpse in a plastic body-bag and transfer him downstairs. They returned with a large bucket of water and began to mop up pools of blood. Next, they had to take off Todd’s blood-soaked uniform, and dress him up in a clean one. Even though Jurgen and Hector were strong guys, it was difficult to maneuver Todd’s limp body as they sponged off drying blood from his arms and body before dressing him up in a clean uniform. The bed mattress was so saturated with blood that they had to replace it as well.

The pair of security men finally finished their cleaning chores as the Sun began to peer over the horizon. Since they had to begin work at 8:00 AM again, they decided to nap on a couch and a lounge chair in their security quarters.

Dr. Porter showed up at exactly 8:00 AM – she was on time – she was always on time. At first she was upset when she found Jurgen and Hector still sleeping in their office, but she understood after Jurgen explained what they had been through the night before.

“Let’s find out how our patient is doing,” said Dr. Porter.

Before they reached his cell, they could here Todd’s moaning coming from down the hallway. Jurgen and Hector were surprised to see that Todd was covered in blood yet again – only this time, he had hurt himself. Todd had yanked his left ear almost completely off, and fresh rivers of blood streamed all over his clean uniform. Todd had pulled out multiple handfuls of hair from his head – one of the clumps was so big – and deep, that it had a piece of scalp holding the hair roots together. Another stream of blood ran down Todd’s face from the scalp wound he inflicted on himself.

“I can tell that Mr. Waddington seems to remember the events of last night. He has a history of self-mutilation, but since he chose to hurt himself by scalping and yanking on his left ear, it’s obvious that he still has some memory of last night’s battle. Help me take this patient to the infirmary. We need to get this patient stitched up.”

The ‘super soldier pill’ had some side effects that weren’t anticipated, so even Dr. Porter decided against experimenting with the drug except on special occasions for people she really wanted to punish.

A couple of uneventful months passed by. Todd had completely healed up from any self-inflicted wounds, but he still suffered from deep, emotional wounds. He vividly remembered tearing off Tim Charlton’s genitals and scalping him with his bare hands, but he wasn’t quite sure whether it was reality – or was it all just a bad dream.

Todd felt bored and neglected when Dr. Porter hadn’t played any games with him since the night of the ‘happy pill’. However, things would soon change for Todd when the third floor was getting a new patient… He was a young, handsome baseball player straight out of high school. His name was Anthony Elliott. He was an intelligent, popular kid who had been sent to the asylum since he reported that his missing fiancé, Nataliee Cunningham, had been abducted by aliens. The court found the War Eagle resident to be guilty of murder – even though Nataliee’s body hadn’t been found. A successful plea of ‘insanity’ ended with him being admitted to the asylum in Rogers, Arkansas instead of being sent to the state penitentiary. This choice turned out to be far more dangerous than becoming a regular prison inmate.

Dr. Porter despised people who believed in UFOs and aliens, so she wasted no time in making plans for an extracurricular, evening encounter between Anthony and the Texas Chainsaw Masochist. The notion about aliens contradicted all her traditional beliefs, dating back to Sunday school when she was a young child.

Anthony Elliott was assigned the cell across the hallway from Todd. Naturally, Anthony’s first reaction when he saw his neighbor was, “Gee – what a scary looking guy that is. I think it would be a good idea to make friends with him.”

Anthony was a likeable extrovert. Although talking amongst the inmates was forbidden, one day when the guards were busy handling another difficult patient, he took the opportunity to introduce himself, albeit in a hushed voice…

“Howdy, Mister. My name’s Anthony Elliott. I’m from nearby War Eagle, Arkansas. I can jus’ barely make out yer nameplate on the wall. Is yer name, Todd Waddington?”

“Y-yeah,” answered Todd, who was starving for human companionship.

“I hope ya don’t mind my askin’, but did ya end up in some bad, nasty-ass car wreck? A high school buddy of mine drove his pa’s car straight into the trunk of a big tree after a kegger, and his face ended up lookin’ a lot like yours.”

“N-no – I did this t-to m-myself.”

Anthony realized that he truly was locked up in a nuthouse full of dangerous, crazy people. To lighten up the conversation he said, “I’ll bet ya can’t guess why the heck I’m locked up in here?”

Todd’s attention perked up now that Anthony was engaging him in something resembling a game. He guessed, “D-did ya k-kill yer p-parents, and c-cut ‘em up into p-pieces?”

“Well, Todd, that’s a great guess, but no, that ain’t it. Actually, it happened a few months ago when I took my girlfriend, Nataliee, out to the prom. I had jus’ proposed to marry her, an’ we ended up at a private spot lookin’ over War Eagle River. We was jus’ crazy fer each other, an’ we thought we were all alone, but suddenly we done seen a flyin’ saucer hoverin’ right above my old Buick. Before ya know it, four creepy, little alien critters done snatched her out of the car, and they levitated her on up to the flyin’ saucer. I fought ‘em as hard as I could, an’ I’m purdy sure I killed of one ‘em sumsa-bitches, but they cut the piss outta my shoulder with a laser, an’ I ended up tumbling down into the river. I dang near drowned, but somehow I managed to survive. Now, all the town folk all think I killed my precious Nataliee. That jus’ ain’t right. Say Todd, do you believe in UFOs?”

“Y-yeah,” said Todd. “I saw a f-flying s-saucer in T-texas when I was a k-kid over m-my p-pa’s house.”

Anthony really wanted to continue his conversation, but he held up his index finger to his mouth to signal, ‘shhhh’, since footsteps were heard coming from down the hallway.

It was Hector. He came alone, and he stopped uncharacteristically close to Todd’s cell wall. He motioned for Todd to come closer. He said, “Don’t hurt me – I’m here to give you a warning. Tonight Dr. Porter wants you to kill that nice, young kid across the hall. This time, they want you to eat two of the ‘happy pills’ which will turn you into a crazier beast than ever before. When Jurgen gives you the pills, only act like you swallowed them. Instead, use your tongue to stuff the pills between your cheek and gum. That way, when Jurgen asks you to open your mouth to show that you ate them, he’ll be convinced that you swallowed them.”

By now, Hector had learned how to deal with Todd, so he continued by whispering, “This will be our private little game. You’re the winner if you make Dr. Porter and Jurgen think that you swallowed two pills.”

“I l-like g-games – thanks,” replied Todd.

As soon as Hector left, Todd signaled to get Anthony’s attention. He muttered, “B-bad news. Dr. Porter wants m-me to k-kill you t-tonight. D-don’t worry. I n-never k-kill my friends. You’re my f-friend.”

Anthony nervously paced around his cell all day long, while Todd rested. Anthony was an emotional wreck – if his fiancé, Nataliee, was dead, then death didn’t sound like such a bad option. However, if there was even a glimmer of hope that she was still alive, he was determined to somehow get out of there to go search for her. Dr. Porter’s plans for him tonight certainly added to his anxiety.

When dinner was served, Todd knew instantly that Hector had spoken the truth – Jurgen delivered another, blood-rare, steak dinner with two ‘happy pills’ sitting on top of a napkin.

“Tonight, Mr. Vaddington, you vill enjoy playing a very exciting game, but first, you vill feast like a king – as soon as you eat the two happy pills.”

Jurgen watched intently as Todd placed both of the pills into his mouth. Todd followed Hector’s advice by quickly pushing the pills between his cheek and gum with the tip of his tongue. After taking a big gulp of water, Todd opened his mouth to show Jurgen that he ate the pills.

Right before Todd took his first bite of steak, he placed his hand up to his mouth as he pretended he had to cough, while secretly transferring the pills into his hand. He began eating his steak dinner. The first moment that Jurgen wasn’t watching, he stuffed the pills under a corner of his mattress.

“OK, Mr. Vaddington – Vhy don’t you take a little nap before ze games begin tonight? Ve vill be back a little later.”

Todd was still pretending to sleep at midnight when Dr. Porter, Jurgen and Hector arrived. Hector was unsure whether or not Todd had eaten the happy pills he was given. Dr. Porter said, “I hope the double dosage of the ‘happy pill’ wasn’t too much for Mr. Waddington. The long waiting period is becoming boring. Please bring Mr. Elliot, and transfer him to the Texas Chainsaw Masochist’s cell.”

After locking up a very frightened Anthony inside Todd’s cage, Jurgen asked, “Dr. Porter – should I vake up Mr. Vaddington by throwing a bucket of cold water on him?”

“That’s too messy – Jurgen, why don’t you just Taser him instead.”

“Todd had no interest in harming Anthony – especially now that he thought of him as a friend. He continued to pretend sleeping until the Taser wires hit him right in the chest. The powerful, electrical jolt sent Todd springing up from his bed. He was tough enough to yank out the Taser wires attached to his torso.

Todd came right up to the door and looked at Dr. Porter with rage. She said, “Mr. Waddington – I brought you a surprise toy.”

She brought out a gas-powered chainsaw from a bag she was carrying. This unit was medium sized – just barely able to fit under the gap of the closed, cell door. Todd bent over and grabbed the tool. Ever since chopping up so many other victims, Todd had a fascination with chainsaws, but he had no intention whatsoever of hurting his friend, Anthony.

“Well, go on – fire up the chainsaw, and cut Mr. Elliott into pieces. You know, he was disrespectful to me – he actually spat in my face.”

“Todd – that’s not true,” said Anthony from the back corner of the cell.

“Come on, Mr. Waddington – chop him up,” said Dr. Porter. “Oh, forgive me – I almost forgot… Simon says – chop him up into bits and pieces.”

Todd yanked on the ripcord, and revved up the saw. Hector was worried, while Dr. Porter and Jurgen smiled in anticipation of a gory show. However, Todd did not attack Anthony. Instead, he lunged forward, pointing the jutting saw blade through the spaces between the steel-bars, and narrowly missed cutting Dr. Porter’s face. She jumped back in surprise.

Todd shut down the saw and said, “I d-don’t k-kill my friends. Anthony is m-my f-friend.”

“How dare you attack me?” said an exasperated Dr. Porter. “Hector, Taser him again.”

Reluctantly, Hector fired his Taser at Todd so as not to raise further suspicions. While Todd was writhing in pain on the floor, Jurgen quickly entered and clubbed him hard on the back of his head with his nightstick. Once Todd was clearly out cold, Dr. Porter told her assistants, “Take Mr. Elliott to the padded room, and place him in a straightjacket. We will deal with him at a later time. For now, I need to figure what went wrong.”

About fifteen minutes later, Jurgen and Hector returned after securing Anthony in the padded room in a straightjacket. Dr. Porter said, “Now I know what went wrong tonight,” and then she held out her hand to show two, uneaten ‘happy pills’.

“Dr. Porter, I vatched vith my own eyes as Mr. Vaddinton ate ze pills right before he had his dinner,” said a nervous Jurgen. “He even opened his mouth to show me he had swallowed ze pills. I vould never, ever lie to you, Dr. Porter.”

“Mr. Waddington isn’t naturally tricky at all,” remarked Dr. Porter, “in fact, he’s rather stupid. He would only have been able to pull off this sort of stunt if someone else had coached him. Since I honestly believe that Jurgen would never defy me, it must be you, Hector, who warned Mr. Waddington and told him how to deceive Jurgen.”

“OK, bravo, Dr. Porter. You are quite the genius, aren’t you,” said a disgruntled Hector. “As of right now, I quit. This asylum you are running is far too corrupt for me. I don’t care if you are under the orders of the CIA – I will report you to the Better Business Bureau.”

While Hector was busy complaining to Dr. Porter, Jurgen moved right behind him with a nightstick in his hand. As soon as Hector finished his verbal threats, Dr. Porter signaled with her eyes to Jurgen to knock him out. After a hard blow to the back of his head, he was out cold.

“Thank you, Jurgen,” said Dr. Porter. “Let’s lock Hector into Mr. Elliott’s empty cell. Among the tests that the CIA wants me to perform, is to find out how two agents can function as a unit, while they both are under the influence of the experimental drug. Let’s give a ‘happy pill’ to Eddie the Butcher, and another one to Dr. Jon Thorton.”

“Thank you so very much, Dr. Porter. I vas very afraid that there vill be no show-time tonight, but it vill be very interesting to see Hector in hand-to-hand combat vith two lunatics at ze same time.”

After Dr. Porter personally made sure that Eddie the Butcher and Dr. Jon Thorton ate their happy pills, they fell into a period of restless sleep. While the lunatics were in a state of semi-consciousness, Jurgen carried them to the cell, one at a time, and then locked the door. “OK, Jurgen – let the show begin. Get a bucket of cold water.”

When Jurgen returned with a large bucket of cold water Dr. Porter instructed him to, “Try to douse them equally. For the best test results, I want you to wake up the lunatics at first. I want to see if they will attack each other, and whether or not they will follow my orders.”

Eddie the Butcher and Dr. Jon Thorton were both revived at about the same time. They instantly looked at each other with a crazed look, as if ready to attack one another.

“Stop! Eddie and Jon – you are on the same team. You must not attack each other,” said Dr. Porter as she turned to Jurgen and said, “OK – try to wake up Hector. Let’s see if he can put up a good fight.”

Hector was a strong, sturdy Latino, about six feet tall, and 235 lbs. He was an ex-Marine, and held a black belt in Taekwondo. He quickly woke up when the water flew up his nostrils. After a quick sneeze, he was wide awake, and he instantly guessed what was going on when he noticed the wild-eyed look in Eddie the Butcher and Jon Thorton’s eyes.

Hector instinctively assumed a wide, Karate kata stance with fists clenched at his side. Eddie was the first one to charge him. Hector peppered his face with powerful punches to his face, and a knee thrust to his crutch – yet Eddie just pushed forward. Before Dr. Thorton could join the battle, Dr. Porter tossed him a small, metal teaspoon. He smiled as it brought back vivid memories of scooping out eyeballs from live victims. The cell was a small, tight room, so although Hector continued to land impressive punches and elbow smashes, he was soon tackled down to the ground when Dr. Thorton got a hold of his pants and tore them off his body.

With his genitals exposed, Eddie the Butcher became very focused on the body part which reminded him of his sausage factory days. He wrestled Hector’s legs apart and bit right into his exposed penis. Hector screamed out loud at the top of his lungs in horrible agony… Eddie not only bit it off his penis, but he chewed and swallowed it as if it was the finest knockwurst in the land.

While Hector was preoccupied with his crotch under attack, Dr. Jon Thorton grabbed a handful of Hector’s hair, and steadied his head as he plunged his teaspoon right into Hector’s eye socket. This time, Hector let out more of a whimpering, subdued scream as his body was rapidly going into shock.

The ruckus of the battle encouraged many of the other crazy inmates to begin screaming as well. Poor Anthony was awake in his padded cell down the hallway. He wondered if the screaming involved torturing of his new-found friend, Todd Waddington.

By the time Dr. Thorton finished scooping out Hector’s other eyeball, the fight was effectively over. Dr. Porter said, “The CIA will certainly praise me for a very insightful report I’ll write tomorrow.”

“How vill you report Hector’s death to his friends und family?” asked Jurgen.

“I’ll tell them the truth – Hector was careless to get himself in a bad situation with two lunatics who over-powered him. That can easily happen here if one is careless. By the way, Jurgen – tomorrow I need to advertise to hire a new security assistant for you. I hope to find a real man like you to be your protégé.”

“Thank you, Dr. Porter, for ze compliment.”

CHAPTER 13

The next day, Dr. Porter and Jurgen began a new, temporary policy of refraining from any physical abuse of any of their inmates, including Todd Waddington and Anthony Elliott – although Anthony continued to experience the anguish of being retained in his straightjacket in the padded room down the hall. With the loss of Hector, they were clearly under-staffed, and their priority was to hire a replacement. Once they hired a new replacement, they needed to be sure that the new employee was cut from the same mold as Jurgen – a man who was an ‘alpha male’ type, who enjoyed violence as a sport – and very importantly, a man who shared Dr. Porter’s disdain for UFO enthusiasts.

Dr. Porter was pleased to quickly get an application from a qualified man by the name, ‘Leroy Jackson’. She arranged to personally conduct his job interview.

Unbeknownst to Dr. Porter, the man she was about to interview was an undercover shill. He was a local deputy and friend of Nataliee Cunningham – Anthony Elliott’s fiancé. Any previous, legal attempts to obtain Anthony’s release had failed, so their only remaining option was to help him escape from the high security asylum…

Leroy showed up 30 minutes before his scheduled interview with Dr. Porter. The ground-floor receptionist handed him a typical employment application form to fill out. At 3:00 PM, he was led through the security check points and taken up to the third floor. When Leroy exited the elevator he made the observation, “Man, this sure is a grim looking place. I’d sure hate being locked away in here.”

A tough-looking, blond man dressed all in white simply told Leroy, “Please follow me, und I vill take you straight to Dr. Porter’s office.”

Jurgen knocked gently on the door, and she said, “Come in.”

Dr. Porter looked at Leroy with her usual, staring eyes that never seemed to blink. She said, “I’m Dr. Agnes Porter, director of the ward for the criminally insane. Have a seat.”

Leroy extended his arm for a handshake, but Dr. Porter just sat down and began to read over his application. Leroy felt uneasy at the totality of her silence.

A few minutes later she spoke, “Mr. Jackson, you have excellent credentials. I see you recently graduated from the police academy in New Orleans and that you are resigning from your position as a county deputy. Tell me why are you quitting your current position after such a short time?”

Leroy was a good looking, athletic, black guy who fancied himself as a ladies’ man. This was the time for him to turn on the charm. Leroy had a ‘winning smile’, which he used extensively throughout the interview. He said, “Dr. Porter, the sad truth is that the sheriff I work for is a racist bigot. He always calls me ‘boy’ and uses racial slurs all day long. I’ve tried to politely ask him to change the way he talks to me, but he just keeps on doing it. Besides, I once arrested two drunken, white guys in a tavern. They clearly resisted arrest, so I got kind of rough with them. It was hard for me to stuff handcuffs on them, but I managed to apprehend them – and then the sheriff made me sick by saying, ‘That’s no way for a spade to treat white guys’, so he actually un-cuffed them and let them go. That’s when I decided to look for a new job.”

After taking in a few deep breaths to relax after discussing his previous job, Leroy continued, “I understand things can get pretty rough around here too. I studied years of Jiu-Jitsu, Aikido, and Judo. Besides, they teach you lots of restraining holds at the police academy.”

A barest trace of a smile came across Dr. Porter’s face. She said, “Yes. Things get quite rough here all the time. Many of our patients need to be placed in straightjackets frequently. We have some very dangerous patients here on the third floor. If you ever let down your guard, it can be a fatal mistake.”

“You know, I also used to compete in amateur boxing. The ref always reminded each fighter at the beginning of the match to, ‘protect yourself at all times’. I’m well aware of keeping up my guard. I wouldn’t want to get sucker-punched.”

“I have just one final question for you: do you believe in UFOs?” asked a curious Dr. Porter.

“UFOs? Hell no. Anybody who believes in that stuff must be totally crazy. Those people ought to be institutionalized.”

At this point Dr. Porter stood up and extended her arm to shake hands with Leroy. “Congratulations, Mr. Jackson. You’ve got the job. Please report for work tomorrow morning at 8 :00AM.”

Leroy flashed his biggest smile and said, “Thank you ma’am. I’m going to get a big kick out of working for a lady in authority. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

Every time that Jurgen passed by his cell, Todd expected to be zapped by a Taser or punished in some capacity based on his shenanigans to avoid eating the ‘happy pills’ the night before. Todd guessed correctly that, “This must be the calm before the storm.”

The following morning, Leroy arrived at the State Mental Health Institute bright and early. The morning receptionist at the ground-floor desk asked him what size he wore. She issued him a pair of white pants and a tight-fitting, white t-shirt. She said, “You may use the locker room down the hallway to change into your uniform. Here is your name badge, which is to be worn at all times. Make sure to leave all your personal items such as your wallet and car keys in your locker. Once you get to the top floor, you will be issued a Billy club and a Taser.”

The elevator took him up to the third floor’s security checkpoint. The same, blond man from the day earlier was more talkative, now that Leroy was an employee. Speaking with a distinct, German accent he said, “Mr. Jackson, velcome to hell. I am Jurgen, ze head of security, und your direct supervisor. Here is your wooden club. Do not hesitate to use it. Zhis is your Taser. Do you know how to operate it?”

“Yeah, they taught us how to use them when I was in the police academy.”

“Good. Ve use Tasers to protect ourselves against patients when they misbehave, und sometimes ve use them on our patients when ve just get bored.”

Leroy bit his tongue to avoid making a wrong comment.

Jurgen punched in a four digit number on a keypad which allowed them to pass through a formidable-looking solid steel door. Jurgen told Leroy to memorize the password code, ‘7734’, to open all entrance doors.

“I’m sorry, man, but I ain’t so good at numbers. How do you ‘spect me to remember it in the heat of the moment?”

“It is a rather simple number to remember since ‘7734’ upside-down spells ‘HELL’.”

Leroy tried to act friendly by saying, “Man, that’s real clever.”

Once they passed through the solid steel door, Leroy got the creeps when the door slammed shut behind them. The eerie sounds of insane cries coming from nearly every holding cell permeated the hallway.

“Good timing,” said Jurgen. “Ze patients are hungry for food.”

Leroy noticed that all of the patients lived in solitary confinement. As they walked down the hallway, he was looking for a tall, young man fitting Anthony Elliott’s, but he didn’t see him among the first dozen or so cells they passed by.

A patient’s sudden lunge at the steel door, accompanied by a boisterous, beast-like scream, caused Leroy to back up a few steps – but he had backed up too far. He felt a powerful grip pulling on his left forearm from the patient who occupied the cell on the opposite side of the hallway. Leroy instinctively broke loose by hitting the patient’s hand with his nightstick.

“Good instinct, Mr. Jackson, but here on ze third floor you need be careful at all times… Allow me to introduce you to some of the more notorious celebrities ve have living here. The man who grabbed you is known as ‘Eddie the Butcher’. He is into cannibalism, und he used to work in a sausage factory. His secret ingredient in ze Knockwurst was human flesh. He is a very dangerous man. Never let him grab any part of you. He vill try to bite it off und swallow it.”

Jurgen pointed at the cell opposite from ‘Eddie the Butcher’ and said, “Ze man who scared you with his scream is Dr. Jon Thorton.”

“I think I remember hearing ‘bout him. Ain’t he the dude who used to scoop out eyeballs out of his live victims?”

“Yes – zhat it correct. He did all his damage with nothing more than a silver teaspoon.”

Leroy shook his head in disbelief and commented, “Yeah man, I see what you’re saying about this place being like hell.”

Jurgen continued his tour and said, “Here ve have our most famous patient of all. His name is Todd Vaddington, also known as ze ‘Texas Chainsaw Masochist’. He is a very dangerous man very big und tall – strong as an ox… He lived alone in the old house he grew up in. His rather unusual behavior began soon after both his parents died.”

Leroy stared at the monstrous man. He was curious to find out more details about the famous Texas Chainsaw Masochist. “Please tell me more.”

“He liked to play an almost child-like game with his victims. His favorite game was to capture individuals, usually men who vere of ill repute. He would knock them unconscious und bring zhem either to his house or to the morgue vhere he vorked at. He vould playfully take turns torturing his victim, and zhen he vould torture himself to make it a fair game. Before incinerating his victims at ze crematory, he vould cut off a hand from the victims as a keepsake. However, vhen ze rush of ze competition vas over, a deep depression vould set in. He alvays proceeded to mutilate himself in ze most hideous of manners. Zhat’s how he earned ze nickname, ze Texas Chainsaw Masochist.”

“Man, I never heard anything so dang nasty in my whole life,” said Leroy while he continued to stare at the infamous killer… His nose was cut off so close to his facial surface, his nose openings resembled the nasal passages on a skull. Deep, ugly scars crisscrossed across his face in random fashion. Much of his upper lip was missing to expose his chipped upper teeth. Although he still had both of his eyes, the left one looked nightmarish since his eyelid was missing. While both of his thumbs looked normal, each one of his other fingertips had been cut back to the first knuckle. He was by far the most gruesome-looking human being Leroy had ever seen.

“Ve never send any of our staff into his cell alone,” said Jurgen, “unless of course any of our staff should require disciplinary measures. I varn you, Mr. Jackson – never make Dr. Porter upset vith you. Zhat is definitely not in your best interests.”

As they walked further down the hallway, Leroy was excited to see a plastic mail box with Anthony Elliott’s nameplate on it, but his excitement was very short-lived. Anthony’s holding cell was empty. Leroy asked, “So what happened to this dude?”

“Dr. Porter became very angry with this young man. Ve had to put him in a straightjacket two days ago. He is in a padded cell at ze far end of ze hallway.”

Suddenly, a loud horn sounded by the steel door security checkpoint. A jittery Leroy asked, “Does that blaring horn mean something bad is happening?”

“No. It only means that breakfast is served.”

Jurgen demonstrated how to safely deliver a simple bowl of oatmeal to the patients without placing the staff at risk of being attacked.

“Alvays tell them to step away from the door if they expect to be fed, and then pass the bowl through the small opening at the bottom of each door. After they are finished, they will place their empty bowl next to ze door opening.”

After Leroy had safely served about a dozen of the patients, he volunteered to deliver the oatmeal to Anthony Elliott.

“You vill have to spoon feed him,” explained Jurgen. “Dr. Porter gave us strict orders that the young man is not to be released from his straightjacket until he tells her face-to-face that UFOs und aliens do not exist.”

“Sure thang.”

Leroy punched the number ‘7734’ on the keypad outside Anthony’s padded cell. He heard a click as the door lock released. He entered the dimly lit room holding a small bowl of oatmeal with a plastic spoon. He shut the unlocked door behind him and sat down next to a young man sitting on the floor. The guy slouched forward with his arms wrapped around his torso inside an uncomfortable-looking straightjacket. Anthony just sat there quietly in a meditative state, with his eyes closed.

“Hey man, I’m working here undercover to help you escape,” said Leroy. “I know you’re Anthony Elliott.”

Anthony continued to sit there in motionless silence without opening his eyes. Leroy continued to speak, “Your fiancé, Nataliee Cunningham, miraculously escaped from an extraterrestrial prison in the mountain caves. She is alive and well. She made it back to her parents’ house.”

Anthony opened his bloodshot eyes and asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Deputy Leroy Jackson. I’m work for Sheriff Blake in War Eagle. We need to spring you out of here. It’s all going down tomorrow night after the lights are turned out. I can’t talk any longer before they get suspicious. They just think I’m their new employee. Now Anthony, you just got to do something this afternoon. You see, we can’t rescue your ass if you’re stuck here in a straightjacket. You need to be a whore for Dr. Porter and take back your story about aliens and stuff. You need to do whatever it takes to get you back to your usual holding cell.”

A single tear slowly ran down Anthony’s cheek. He said, “I thought Nataliee was dead for sure. It’s been so terrible in here that I just wanted to die. Things got so bad that I thought I could get myself killed by spitting in Dr. Porter’s face, since I knew the punishment would likely be death.”

“I see what yer sayin,” said Leroy. “After all, ya don’t wanna be locked up with the Texas Chainsaw Masochist, you know.”

“Actually,” explained Anthony. “Somehow, that monstrous-looking guy and I struck up a friendship. I told him my story about how the aliens abducted Nataliee on the night of our High School Prom, and somehow he took pity on me. He said that he believed in my story of alien abduction. He refused to kill me when I was locked up in his cell a couple nights ago, so I feel I owe him my life. Anyway, Dr. Porter and Jurgen got particularly upset when Todd Waddington refused to kill me. The other assistant named, Hector, was nice to warn me, but I think something bad might have happened to him.”

“Man, that’s amazing that you’re still alive,” said Leroy, “but you need to do your part to get your ass back to your regular cell. Our escape plan depends on it.”

“Yes, Deputy Jackson – I will lie through my teeth to Dr. Porter that I do not believe in UFOs and aliens. I would do anything imaginable to be back with my babe, Nataliee, again.”

Leroy glanced at his watch and said, “Say Anthony, I’ve been in here for much too long. Jurgen’s gonna get ‘spicious. Just a warning before I go, when Jurgen or Dr. Porter are around I need to act like I’m your worst enemy, but don’t worry – it’s just an act. I’ll fill you in on all the details on my next stop in here. When you return back to your normal cell, look for a small flashlight that I’m going to hide in your mattress. You’ll need it tomorrow night when the escape happens. I got to run now.”

The stern-looking Jurgen was waiting outside the padded cell when Leroy exited the room. He asked, “Vhy were you in there for so long?”

“Man, I just can’t stand stupid, UFO believers. I grabbed his face and placed my thumbs over his eyes. I pushed hard enough for him to feel pain. I told him to tell Dr. Porter that he made up all that crap about UFOs and aliens. I told him if he didn’t do so today, the next time I return I’ll shove my thumbs all the way deep into his eye sockets.”

Jurgen smiled slyly as he said, “Mr. Jackson, I like ze way you do business. It is very interesting – und effective. Dr. Porter will be very impressed.”

Leroy spent the rest of the day learning about procedures. He made sure to project a ‘tough guy persona’. Certainly, this was a place where only the assertive ‘alpha male’ types would be able to survive. He spotted an unmarked locked door. He noted that this was the only door without a number keypad by it. “Say Jurgen, where does this door lead to?”

“Nobody ever goes through that door. It just leads up to ze roof. A few patients have tried to escape by going up there, only to find out they are trapped. There is no escape from there without a helicopter. One desperate patient jumped down to ze concrete three floors below. He broke his spine und now is crippled for life.”

Leroy tugged on the door. It was securely locked. He asked Jurgen, “Say man, just in case of a fire, where’s the key to this door?”

“Ze key is hanging from a nail on ze wall in Dr. Porter’s office, right next to ze bulletin board.”

It was almost 3:00 PM when Dr. Porter stopped by her office. She kept a flexible schedule. She came and went as she pleased – after all, she was the boss. She usually went home rather early unless she was planning to administer punishment to a patient – or a staff member who had fallen out of favor. Disciplinary action always happened late in the evening when there were fewer distractions.

She spotted her employees in the hallway. She asked Jurgen, “How did our new staff member perform today?”

“Mr. Jackson performed remarkably well. He convinced our patient, Anthony Elliott, to rescind his ridiculous testimony vith regards to aliens.”

Dr. Porter turned her attention to Leroy… She asked him, “Mr. Elliott’s been stubbornly sticking to his irritating story about an alien abduction. Tell me, how did you convince him to change his mind?”

“It ain’t no thang, really. I just told him that if he don’t do it, I was going to gouge his eyes right out of his head.”

An excited Jurgen added, “Mr. Jackson has a perfect aptitude for this kind of career.”

“Perhaps yes,” commented Dr. Porter, “but let me be the judge of that. First, I want you both to accompany me to visit Mr. Elliott.”

The trio marched down the long hallway to Anthony’s padded cell. Leroy knew he had to put on a convincing ‘tough guy’ act. Otherwise, he could end up on the receiving end of the disciplinary actions.

They unlocked the door and entered the room. There was a lingering stench of fresh feces in the air when poor Anthony could no longer hold off his ‘nature’s calling’. Leroy seized the opportunity to act tough in front of Dr. Porter. He shouted, “Elliott – tell Dr. Porter what you gotta say, ‘less you want me to rip your eyes right outta your head.”

Anthony stammered as he looked at Dr. Porter straight in the eye, “I’m very sorry, but I completely made up the story about UFOs and the alien abduction. I never believed in UFOs. My girlfriend was missing and the town’s folk all thought I was a murderer. I didn’t want to go to jail, so I figured it’s better for me to talk about imaginary aliens. That way, I could avoid jail by being declared insane.”

Dr. Porter stood there for a few moments to contemplate Anthony’s speech. She said, “That’s not too bad. I don’t know if I believe you, but a deal is a deal – you may return to your usual cell – after you are given a shower. You certainly smell very bad.”

Suddenly, Leroy stepped in front of Anthony. He hit him in the gut with his Billy club. The blow was not particularly hard, but Anthony knew he needed to pretend being in agonizing pain. Leroy said, “Mr. Elliott – that’s for earlier spitting in Dr. Porter’s face. I’m just letting you know that I won’t tolerate any crap from you.”

As they walked back to Dr. Porter’s office, it was time for Leroy to clock-out after his first day of work at the institute. Dr. Porter said, “Mr. Jackson, Jurgen is quite right – you certainly have the right aptitude for this job. I’d like to personally invite you to participate in a private disciplinary party here tomorrow night. Will you please join us?”

Leroy was trying to projecting a masculine swagger. He bluntly asked, “So who gets to be our party’s piñata?”

“We’re going to punish Anthony Elliott,” explained Dr. Porter.

Leroy momentarily let down his tough guy persona and asked, “Didn’t he just say exactly what you wanted to hear?”

“Why, yes – he most certainly did, but don’t forget that he spit in my face. We can’t let him get away with such vulgar behavior.”

Leroy knew he’d better snap back into macho mode and said, “I wouldn’t miss tomorrow night for the world. I’ll make sure that Mr. Elliott gets everything he deserves.”

CHAPTER 14

Meanwhile, Todd continued to aimlessly kill time alone in his cell. As he reflected on how Dr. Porter used Eddie the Butcher and Dr. Jon Thorton to execute Hector, he realized that she had deceived him while he was held in solitary confinement in Texas. She had no interest in him whatsoever, other than to use him as a guinea pig for an experimental drug. Todd swore to himself, “If it’s the last thing I do, I want to torture that damn bitch, Dr. Porter.”

Todd was thrilled to see Anthony being led back to his old cell. After waiting to make sure the coast was clear, he softly said, “I thought you w-were d-dead fer s-sure.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” said Anthony who felt as though he had a new lease on life. After double checking to make sure nobody was around Anthony said, “Say Todd, the new, black guard is a friend. He’s helping me escape tonight. I don’t know hardly any of the details, but look for this facility to lose power tonight. I’m pretty sure the plan is for all the electronic cell doors to open at some point, so you can try to run away too.”

Before Todd could respond, he heard footsteps approaching. Instead of talking, he just signaled with his hands by making the ‘OK’ sign.

Dr. Porter arrived unusually late today – around 6:00 PM right after the patients had been fed their dinner rations. She typically arrive late on ‘Disciplinary Party Nights’, since she planned to stay up to enjoy the show. At 6:30, she told Jurgen and Leroy to take a dinner break. She gave Jurgen a credit card to pay for dinner at the Longhorn Restaurant down the street. She instructed Jurgen to buy an extra dinner for a special guest who was meeting them over there.

Jurgen and Leroy arrived at the Longhorn Restaurant before their guest. Jurgen excitedly said, “Mr. Jackson, ze man joining us for dinner vorks for ze CIA. It vould be a good idea for your career to really impress Mr. Herb Davis. You vant to display a strong showing of shear brutality vhen you demonstrate your fighting skills on Anthony Elliott tonight.”

Jurgen spoke to the waitress, “Ve vill soon be joined by a third gentleman. Ve vill order three big Porterhouse steaks – blood rare, vith three bottles of German Beer, und hold ze salads.”

While the chef was lightly grilling the steaks, a tall man came to join them. Jurgen stood straight up and clicked his heels in Gestapo fashion as he extended his arm out to shake hands. “Good evening, Mr. Davis. Allow me to introduce you to my new protégé, Mr. Leroy Jackson.”

Leroy stood up out of courtesy and shook his hand. He said, “Pleased to meet you – so you work for the Feds?” Jurgen boasted about his protégé to Herb. “On Mr. Jackson’s first day of vork, he pushed on Mr. Elliott’s eyeballs vith his thumbs until he rescinded his story about ze aliens.”

Herb raised his beer bottle and said, “Cheers to you – Mr. Jackson. That is very impressive. I hope you will finish the job tonight.”

Minutes later, the waitress delivered three plates with large, blood-rare, Porterhouse steaks on them. Leroy thought his steak was obscenely undercooked. Bright red, bloody juice leaked out of the meat, but he needed to keep up the ‘macho image’. Jurgen asked, “Is ze meat too raw for your palate?”

“Hell no – I think it’s a bit overdone for my tastes, but I don’t want to make a big fuss over it.”

It was 8:30 when Jurgen paid the waitress. He said, “It’s time to go back to ze institution now. Mr. Jackson, ve are expecting a very good show.”

Jurgen, Herb, and Leroy were met by Dr. Porter at the steel door security checkpoint when they exited the elevator. Dr. Porter said, “Hello Herb. It’s so nice to have you join us… How was your steak dinner, Mr. Jackson?”

“It was a tad overcooked, but I got me a decent portion of pure animal protein. I feel like I’m ready to rip someone’s lungs out.”

“Ya – that’s ze spirit,” said an excited Jurgen. “So Herb, what do you think of my protégé?”

“So far, so good – but as they say, ‘it isn’t over until the fat lady sings’ – or in this case, ‘it isn’t over until the lean teenager dies’.”

Leroy tried to hide his nerves while he kept thinking, “My partner in crime had better hit the power switch – and it better happen real soon.”

Todd watched Dr. Porter leading Herb, Jurgen, and Leroy just outside Anthony’s cell door. He reached out and tried to grab Herb’s arm… Dr. Porter warned Herb, “Don’t get too close to the cage behind you. That’s the infamous Texas Chainsaw Masochist. We intend to continue our experiments on him in the near future – but first I want our new employee, Mr. Leroy Jackson, to prove his mettle.”

“What the hell is going on?” asked a frightened Anthony as Leroy was about to enter his cell.

Dr. Porter glared at Anthony. She reminded him, “Mr. Elliott, I hope you haven’t forgotten that you recently spit in my face. We do not tolerate such foul behavior around here. Mr. Jackson is here to punish you for your dastardly deed.”

Before they opened the locked, steel bar door Jurgen offered, “Mr. Jackson – I vould like to assist you to tie up his hands together.”

“Let’s give this dude a fighting chance,” replied Leroy. “I get more satisfaction if he’s free to try to defend himself.”

Jurgen nudged Herb’s arm and said, “Ya – I told you this man is good.”

Dr. Porter smiled and nodded in approval. So when Dr. Porter opened Anthony’s door, only Leroy stepped in. Herb was getting excited as well. In a poor ‘Michael Buffer’ impersonation he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen… Let’s get ready to RUMBLE!”

Todd was worried that his friend Anthony was about to get hurt – or even killed.

Jurgen acted like a coach and screamed, “Kick him in ze nuts und rip ze eyes out of his head.”

Leroy staged a decent looking, fake kick to Anthony’s groin. He doubled up in apparent, agonizing pain.

“Das is good – now go for ze eyes.”

Leroy tried to stall for some more time since he could tell that Robert Bates was running behind schedule. Still, he knew he had to continue to put on a convincing show. He grabbed Anthony’s head and placed his thumbs directly over his eyes. Anthony let out a very convincing, whimpering cry. He openly begged, “Oh please don’t blind me. I’m very sorry, Dr. Porter. I will never spit on you again. I’m so sorry, but please don’t let him blind me.”

Todd didn’t know that Leroy was acting, so he was pulling with all his might on the security door to no avail...

Leroy kept his thumbs over Anthony’s eyes and looked over at Dr. Porter. She stared at him without blinking and said, “Well, Mr. Jackson – go on. What are you waiting for? You promised me that you would tear the eyes right out of his head. Now, do it.”

Leroy knew that time was running out, but there was just no way he actually gouging out Anthony’s eyes. He applied a bit of additional pressure and Anthony started to scream louder. Jurgen got excited and nudged Herb’s shoulder, “Isn’t Mr. Jackson vunderbar?”

However, after a whole minute of continuing with the act, Jurgen suddenly looked puzzled. He shouted, “Vhat kind of dummkopf do you think I am? Either your thumbs are very veak, or his eyeballs are extra strong. Now rip out ze eyeballs!”

When nothing happened again, Dr. Porter said, “Mr. Jackson – I’m very disappointed in you… Jurgen. Herb. Taser them both, and then go finish them off. I came to see a good show, and I will not be denied.”

Suddenly, there was an announced on the intercom, “Emergency page for Dr. Porter. Emergency page for Dr. Porter. We have an intruder sneaking in downstairs.”

Dr. Porter knew something was drastically wrong. She said, “I need to go to my office to speak to the receptionist. Leave them locked up. I’ll be right back. I want to watch every blow.”

Just as Dr. Porter got the receptionist on the phone to ask about the intruder, there were multiple, metallic, clanging sounds coming from the hallway. She knew that somehow the master, door-unlock switch had been flipped down in the power room. A moment later, everything went dark in the entire facility. Leroy’s accomplice had successfully shut off all the electric power.

At this chaotic moment, all the inmates of the ward for the criminally insane were free to roam around the dark hallways. The filtered moonlight added just barely enough light to enable one to see silhouettes moving about.

In the hallway, Jurgen was feeling around in the dark with his hands held straight out. A moment later he felt a face which clearly belonged to a tall man. He asked, Herb, is that you?”

However, he suddenly felt agonizing pain as his right index finger had found the open mouth of Eddie the Butcher. Eddie loved the taste of human flesh, and he eagerly bit the finger right off and ate it.

Jurgen screamed even more loudly when he felt a sharp fingernail plunging deep into his left eye. It was a gleeful Dr. Jon Thorton, who was indulging in his eyeball fetish once again. They wrestled Jurgen down to the ground and tore him apart. Meanwhile, the patients throughout the hallway were loud and boisterous in alternating primal screams with blood-curdling cries.

Dr. Porter was uncharacteristically frightened as she cowered behind her office desk in the dark. She heard Jurgen’s cries of pain blended in with the patients’ cries of delight. She was unable to call ‘911’ since her phone required electric power and her cell phone was downstairs in her locker. She fumbled around in the dark to find anything she could use as a weapon. The best thing she found was a large pair of scissors.

As soon as Anthony found the flashlight hidden under his mattress, Leroy said, “We need to get the key to the roof access door from Dr. Porter’s office.”

They made their way through the crowd of the criminally insane until they reached her office. Leroy reached to open the unlocked door when suddenly a large hand with mutilated fingertips grabbed him by the arm. Leroy turned around and at first saw only the big chest of a gigantic man. He knew in an instant his attacker was the Texas Chainsaw Masochist. Anthony held the flashlight at an angle that shone the light from below the monstrous face. Leroy cried out in horror as he gazed up at the disfigured serial killer.

Anthony turned the flashlight to illuminate his own face. He said to the Texas Chainsaw Masochist, “Todd, it’s me, Anthony – your best friend in here. This here is Leroy – He’s also my friend. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt. He is very nice, but for your information, the bad Dr. Porter is in her office. I think she wants to play a game with you.”

The Texas Chainsaw Masochist let go of Leroy’s arm and headed into Dr. Porter’s office with his friends. Anthony moved the flashlight around to look for the key on the wall by the bulletin board. Todd spotted a frightened Dr. Porter standing behind her desk, clutching a large pair of scissors. He moved towards her. In desperation, she tried to stab him right in the face, but he moved his head just enough to the side so that the scissors ripped through his ear instead. The pain didn’t even bother him and he easily wrestled the scissors away from her.

“So, D-Dr. P-Porter, you want to p-play a little g-game with me? I like to p-play games with you t-too. Let’s take t-turns hurting each other with these s-scissors. You just r-ripped up my ear – I like that, but n-now it’s my t-turn to hurt you.”

In the past, Todd always felt some degree of compassion for his victims, with the exception of the Mongol biker who killed his friend, Kyle. Dr. Porter was one of the few people who Todd truly hated. This time he felt no remorse at all as he began snipping away at her face. Her shrill cries of agony gradually faded as trauma set in. Although it was too dark for Todd to see the details of his torture, he delighted in feeling the scissors cutting away numerous, small pieces of flesh and the the sensation of warm, sticky blood flowing over his fingers.

Meanwhile, Leroy spotted the key hanging on the wall. He grabbed it and said, “Anthony, let’s head to the roof access door down the hallway... By the way, Dr. Porter, this here place is just too dang crazy for me, so you can take this job and shove it. I quit!”

All the lunatics had vacated their cells and were now crowding the hallway. Most of them covered their eyes from the bright flashlight, but a few of the more violent ones tried to attack them as they headed towards the roof access. Anthony and Leroy made a fine team in punching their way down the busy hallway.

When they reached the roof access door, Leroy unlocked it and they climbed up a steep, narrow set of stairs, where they had a unique, mysterious way of escaping from the premises *** (see footnote after ‘The End’).

Inside Dr. Porter’s office, Todd held a butchered, unconscious Dr. Porter on his lap in near, total darkness. He was unsure whether or not she was still alive. For Todd, the wildly, exciting game actually became rather boring once she lost consciousness. Much to his own surprise, he had no further urge to mutilate himself. Perhaps Dr. Porter’s demented methods of treatment had cured him to some degree. Thus, when Todd heard the distant sounds of police sirens approaching, he remembered Anthony’s advice that he should try to escape. Being able to escape the asylum became far more important to Todd now, than to hurt himself out of guilt.

He pushed many other crazy patients aside as he made his way through the darkness, and up the stairway to the roof – and ultimately to freedom.

As many as two dozen inmates escaped from the asylum’s roof that night, including Anthony Elliott, Leroy Jackson, and Todd Waddington. Within 24 hours, the authorities had recaptured all of them, except for three men: Leroy Jackson, who returned to serving as a War Eagle Deputy; Anthony Elliott, who was reunited with his long-lost fiancé, Nataliee; and Todd Waddington, also known as the Texas Chainsaw Masochist.

THE END

*** Footnote to the reader: This book is a prequel to the ‘fact-based’ science fiction series called: Nataliee’s Alien Nightmare. By the way, the details of Todd Waddington’s unique rooftop escape are fully explained in the original ‘Nataliee’s Alien Nightmare: The War Eagle Abductions’. It’s a scary, yet fun-to-read book about an 18 year old girl’s abduction by aliens on prom night. The character, Todd Waddington, has a significant role as ‘The Texas Chainsaw Masochist’ in both Part I: Nataliee’s Alien Nightmare: The War Eagle Chronicles; and Part II: Nataliee’s Alien Nightmare: The Dulce Chronicles. By the way, Deputy Leroy Jackson is a pivotal character in both parts of Nataliee’s Alien Nightmare. Both books are available on Amazon (softbound and e-book). For further details, please visit: www.markusfredericks.com. Thank you.