Chapter 1: Simple Pleasures

September 20, 2012:

Name: Nikolas Pryce

Age: 27

Group Affiliation: None

Crime: The murder of three women

Mental Disorder: Unknown

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Proffered Method of Killing: Unknown

Motive: Unknown

Further Notes: Pleaded insanity when faced with the electric chair

            Nick’s cell was shadowy and dark. When I entered the room, I could see his silhouette, illuminated by the dim light of the room. He was tall, muscular, and smiling in a slightly disturbing manner. As I sat down, he said to me, “So, you’re the one who’s supposed to get the crazy out, huh?” His voice was surprisingly high for his large, muscular body type, but nonetheless confident and brazen. He leaned forward into the light so that I could see his face, with beady, glistening eyes and broad, crooked smile. He said to me, in an off-kilter, laughing matter, “I don’t think that’s going to work out very well for either of us.” He started laughing. I replied, “I am not here to treat you for anything, only to determine what kind of, ‘crazy’ you are.” His face shifted, his smile growing broader, his eyes getting wilder. His face stretched and contorted, his hands moving erratically on the table. He laughed maniacally, eyes bulging from his sockets. I said, “Why, as you said, wouldn’t it work to get the crazy out of you?” He looked at me with that devilish grin of his, whispering, “I’m too far gone!”

            “You can cut the theatrics. We work with insane people here, and we know one when we see one.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Let’s just say you’re in a mental hospital, and diagnosis is the first step to treatment.” At this point his complexion changed once again, as a thin smile crossed his lips. His face became less contorted, more normal. His face no longer demonic, but confident and proud. On the inside, I was brimming with a twisted sense of guilty triumph. He had taken the bait, and him assuming that I thought he was insane, and that I did not need to be convinced, was an important step in his diagnosis. Despite my successful trick, I felt horrible. I had just ruthlessly tricked an unsuspecting, potentially mentally ill man. Such is the nature of my cruel and unusual occupation. “ Let’s begin with your treatment and profile. I understand your name is Nick.” “Yeah, that’s me.” “Nice to meet you, Nick. I’m John. You have quite the Southern accent. You grow up in the south?” “Yeah, I lived in Alabama, got me a nice liddle shack.” “That sounds very… nice. If you wouldn’t mind, could you please tell me about your early life, your mother and all. When did you first begin to kill, and why?” Nick sighed, visibly expressing absolutely no emotion onceover about the atrocities he had committed.

“I grew up in Western Alabama, in a rough part o’ town. My mom… couldn’t afford much. She was real strict; she beat me half to Hell and back. I hated her, and she hated me back. Once I stole a candy bar from a store, just to help feed us, and she punches me and hurts me until I can’t move! She left me bleeding on the sidewalk, and then she says, ‘I thought I raised you better than that.’ I hated her with a passion. But every time she beat me, I bounced back. Stronger ‘n ever.  She made me chop wood for the winter, fuel the fire, plow our crops, all that. Reckon’ she wanted the best for me, though, cuz I got nice and strong. I never got nuthin good, though. Never had a decent meal or a nice bath in my whole early life. We didn’t have a car, n’ nobody was real nice to us. Called us hicks. Dint’ have nuthin close to friends, nobody got near our house.”  I cringed to imagine this miserable existence. No pleasure in life, nothing to live for, and no kindness or love from even the ones closest to you. The pain of even existing must have been completely unbearable. He had never be treated decently in his life, and he developed into something that reflected it. Still, as much as it now pained me to think, he was not insane. His story was miserable, undoubtedly, but his mind was not twisted, he was simple.

 My momma, she beat me and it made me tough. One day, I got tired of it. I was seventeen when I snapped. I took a sledge and hit ‘er, right in the back o’ the head. Brains all over. We lived in the country, though, so people didn’t really ask ‘bout her. Nobody really knew ‘er, anyways.” This took me aback. I remembered the reports of Annie Pryce going missing. The FBI kept it pretty hushed up. To think that a seventeen year old would do that. However, something about this man that just didn’t fit. He was in control of what he did. His over exaggerated theatrics suggested something false, something more controlled and purposeful than insane killing. “And you took her cash, right?” “Yeah. My life was different from then on. I didn’t have nobody to tell me what to do. I did what I pleased.”

“Tell me about your next killing”, I said. His reply was a roll of the eyes. He said, “Do we really have to go through this today?” “Yes.” “Fine. She was my girlfriend, no, ex-girlfriend. She had a lot o’ money. Her daddy was a lawer ‘r somethin’. She dumped me, n’ I geuss I din’t take it too well. Snuck up on ‘er at night outside ‘er house, hit ‘er in the back o’ the head with a pipe, and that was all she wrote. Took ‘er purse and her car and got outta there, ‘cept ‘er neighbor saw me, so I killed her, too.” “What did you do with the bodies? Nothin. Just left’m there.” I had reached my verdict. This man was not insane. He was merely a petty killer, who murdered, ending the lives of other human beings, for the base pursuit of money, and then blamed it on a psychiatric illness. That’s what I kept telling myself.  But as I stood up, maintaining the facade of sympathy and kindness towards this horrible, unfortunate person, who thought he was in the clear, as I made sure from our previous conversation, I asked one last question. I asked, “What did you do with the money that you stole?” His response, the thing that sent pangs of genuine sorrow through me, the thing that led me into the repeating cycle of doubt and self-loathing of which I am constantly possessed, was as follows. “I did what any man would. I got myself a nice warm meal and a good hot shower.”

Finished Profile:

Name: Nikolas Pryce

Age: 27

Group Affiliation: None

Crime: The murder of three women

Mental Disorder: None

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Proffered Method of Killing: None

Motive: Money, revenge

Further Notes: Attempted to fake insanity.

Verdict: Guilty

Sentence: Death

Author's Note

Reader discresion advised

Reviews

[Tony Conaghan]

Captures you instantly. I really enjoyed it.

[Tanushvi]

interesting story... very captivating but climax could've been better... :) thanks for sending me a read request... :) I really enjoyed the entire journey was looking forward to an absolutely unimaginable ending... :p

[Daniel Hebert]

Thanks. It's not really supposed to be a story on its own, as it is a chapter of something larger. I assume the climaz is not very exciting because it is intended not to excite, but to build up to something much larger. Thank you for the positive review! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[Kristin Lee]

I like the story! Very interesting presentation. I could see several of these piled together to make the basis for a novel...

Something to be careful of, you tend to string you charcters thoughts together. When you finish a quote from the killer, that should be the end of your paragraph if the next sentence leads with the profiler/shrinks thoughts.

For example, the first part of your last paragraph should look more like this:

"Tell me about your next killing”, I said.

His reply was a roll of the eyes. He said, “Do we really have to go through this today?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. She was my girlfriend, no, ex-girlfriend. She had a lot o’ money. Her daddy was a lawer ‘r somethin’. She dumped me, n’ I geuss I din’t take it too well. Snuck up on ‘er at night outside ‘er house, hit ‘er in the back o’ the head with a pipe, and that was all she wrote. Took ‘er purse and her car and got outta there, ‘cept ‘er neighbor saw me, so I killed her, too.”

“What did you do with the bodies? Nothin. Just left’m there.”

I had reached my verdict.

This way you have a clear thought flow for each character. Otherwise I think your story is brilliant! Keep up the awesome work :)

[Brokenshards]

You have a really good idea going here with this story. Journals are always a good way to tell a story especially when the character has a valid reason for doing so. I liked the exposition but I found Simple Pleasures not as..well dark as I expected. Maybe you were planning on building up to something else? Anyway from the point of view of someone who is planning on majoring in criminology this was definitely a very interesting read.