Chapter V: The Asylum, Part I; Cannibalistic Methodist

NOTE!!!!! This is the FIFTH part of a book I am Writing!!!

      Three days ago, there was a headline in the Sunday paper that stated, “FORMER BROKER FOUND MURDERED ON TRAIN TO COLORADO, DAUGHTER SUSPECTED.”  Then yesterday, the headlines read, “DAUGHTER OF LATE BROKER FOUND RAPED, PARTIALLY EATEN IN A MOTEL SIX.”

      Within a day, the killer had been apprehended, convicted, and sent to the Northern Massachusetts Insane Asylum, where he was delivered in a costume reminiscent of Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lector in “Silence of the Lambs.”  His name was Ron Killingshire, a stocky man of twenty-six with razor-sharp features and an insatiable appetite for human flesh.  He had nothing to lose; considering that, this last victim had been his seventh meal, and that he was on probation when the urge had consumed him.

      He could remember every detail from this last meal; the salty metallic taste of the broad’s blood dripping down his throat, the flavorful marrow that he had sucked from each of her broken ribs.  To even the surprise dessert he had found inside her when he had torn her open.  It had been the first time he had ever found a baby in one of his victims, and now, that very baby was being broken down by his stomach acids.  Good God; he could still taste the perfectly sterile flesh… still soaked in amniotic fluids.

      He enjoyed going over each of his eight kills in his mind, usually starting from the very moment that he had begun to eat them.  He especially loved to remember his first kill; his junior prom date back when he was seventeen.  She had been a beautiful girl, tanned skin, long legged, firm body, ample curves, blonde, blue eyes, a ditz; the perfect date.  They had their own limo, and they had snuck out back during the dance to smoke some Reefer and take some swigs of vodka from his stepfather’s stainless steel hip flask.  He never touched the stuff; he thought it was disgusting.  She did not notice anything wrong with him not drinking from the canteen he had offered her.

      Turned out she could not hold her liquor for s**t; within the first five or six swigs, she was drunk as a skunk.  He had drugged the liquid with a paralyzing agent and helped her stagger back to the backseat of their ride.  From there, he had proceeded to rape her, and he had taken his time with her, experimenting while she could only watch and breathe.

      Ron’s erection grew bigger and harder with each passing thought as he remembered even more details of his first time.  He remembered first taking her clothes off nervously.  From there, he had proceeded to caress her shapely form.  Starting from her breasts, he had slowly felt his way down to her plump, soft, white a*s.  From there, he fingered her until he could control his urges no longer; he kneeled over her and started to kiss her body, to lick her flesh in all of her sensitive areas.  Next, he had fucked her; he rammed his c**k in her a*s and p***y, and then slid it between her firm, delicate breasts.  He was just about to climax when he began to rape her mouth.  Yet, he did not want to spoil the rest of his fun, so he came on the floor of the limo.

      He had then told the driver to stop at his house and tipped him fifty greenbacks that he had stolen from his wasted, alcoholic stepfather.  In less than ten minutes, he had re-dressed his date and by the time the limo had reached his house, he was ready to continue with his feast.  Helping her out of the limousine, he had half dragged, half carried her into the now empty house " his old man had been out on one of his three-day long binges, " and led her into the confines of his dimly lit basement room.

      From there he took his first bite of human flesh, and yes, she had been alive for the entire thing.  He remembered everything, every last detail, taste, feeling, and action.  First, he had torn her dress off and poured a couple drops of the antidote to his paralyzing concoction into her mouth; he wanted to hear her scream and beg for him to stop.  He waited for her to regain consciousness before beginning to feast!  His first bite was absolutely delicious; he bit off her c**t, which caused her to moan in pain and tears to leak from the corners of her eyes.  Next were her right n****e followed by the left one, and then her breasts.  Every mouthful he took from her flesh caused her to writhe in pain, her moans turned into screams as the antidote began to take its full effect.  She had begged and pleaded with him, but she had been growing weak from the amount of blood she had lost and her cries soon returned to whimpering, and, eventually to sobbing, and about three hours later, she died.

      Before she had passed, he had chewed off her ear, part of her left foot, and the lips between her legs.  He had also taken copious chunks of flesh and muscle from her thighs, calves, neck, shoulders, waist, and a*s.  For dessert, he had cut out her heart, stuffed it into what was left of her vagina, and then eaten everything from the beginning to the ovaries.

      It had taken him less than three hours to savor the flavors, dismember what was left of her corpse with a saw, then bury her at random intervals in the woods and field behind his home.

      Ron’s eyes rolled back into his head as he relived the horrifyingly satisfying memory.  It was all he could do, considering he was in a padded, windowless, white cell in a straightjacket.  How he yearned to savor the taste of hot blood running down his throat again, to feel the muscles twitching as he swallowed them, to get out of this motherfucking straightjacket.

      Just then, as if some miracle had happened, a lone guard entered his room, unarmed, with a pair of cuffs in his hands.  The young cop must have been a recent recruit to this security unit in this dismal place.  It was either that, or the kid was just plain stupid; he should have known to never enter a cell alone.  The freckled young man shut the door to the room behind him and moved in, hesitantly removing Ron’s restraints.

      As soon as his arms had free range of movement, Ron lunged, knocked the wind out of the young man, and clipped him in the temple with two sharp jabs.  He began to feast even as the man crumpled in a heap on the floor, unconscious.  Using brute strength alone, he wrenched the doomed male’s arm and ripped it right out of its socket.  Ravenous and adrenaline pumping through his body, Ron sat down, cross-legged, and gnawed on his prize.

      He was gonna die in this place anyways, so he really had nothing to lose and everything to gain.  Hell, what he had just done was worth it, eight victims in just under eight years.  God, what a life he had led, so full of opportunity.  If he could only have the chance to relive it all, he would only have changed one aspect; there would have been tens of victims, not eight.  And people wondered why he was nicknamed “The Man-eater” by the New York Times.

      Well, that is not pleasant at all, is it?  I told you the murderous lawyer would get her comeuppance, did I not?  Sure, the way she died might have been a little too extreme, but that is just the way I work.  My rule for murderers is this; if you kill someone brutally, then you are going to die a brutal death.

      …

      What is that?  Why has Killingshire here not suffered a horrible death yet?  Why, the reason for that is simple; I was using him to kill those who had wronged others.  That first meal of his; she was a backstabbing b***h who had seduced her teachers to pass her classes, and she was also a w***e.  Ron was just a puppet; my marionette to control.  And although you just witnessed him killing an innocent man, I can assure you that was not my doing, but someone else’s.  In this case, Ron was just doing what his mental illness urged him to do.  No, the death of the innocent man being feasted on before you is the work of another; one far more sadistic than Ron here.

      …

      I do not like how you are beginning to doubt me; I have reasons for everything I do.  I do not like you questioning the methods I have been implementing for the past two-hundred thousand years!  I advise that you shut your f*****g mouth and just watch.  Let us go meet our next victim.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful chapter. The story is getting harder and more deadly. Your description making the character come alive in their acts. No weakness in this outstanding chapter.
Coyote

[Joiedevivre]

pageturner! and really scary. I have to read these in the daytime :)