Page 14 of Brainwashed
Not only am I sort of desperate for it, not having taken a life in over four months at this point, but Wilkerson is also just such a raving piece of shit. He’s not a good conversationalist at all, which I suppose I could overlook if he hadanyother redeeming qualities. But he doesn’t. He quite literally sucks at life.
So I’m going to take it from him, since he doesn’tdeserveit anyway.
The thought alone has my adrenaline bumping. When I was first caught and sent to prison, I thought momentarily that it might set me free, so to speak. Free from the urges that have defined me for so long. Maybe it would be like rehab and I could finally stop…
But as it turns out, I really don’t want to. I’m physicallydyingto take this asshole’s last breath, and then take this dull piece of metal I worked off the bunk bed I’m sitting on and carve up his face. I’ve already decided on the expression I’m going for.
I want to make Ivan Wilkerson look upset. I’m going to carve his mouth into a pout because he’s such a whiny bitch. All I’ve heard from him in the last two days is about how he doesn’t understand why he’s even here.
He’s been raping young kids for years. The last onedied. But to him, that was just like a workplace hazard? An operational incident?
God, how hard my eyes rolled last night when he was complaining. It definitely reaffirmed my need to wipe him off the face of the earth. Not that I’m necessarily trying to save humanity from him… I’m no superhero and he’s stuck in here, regardless. But every time he mentions his victims, all I can see Cam’s face. I see his scared eyes, the bruises on his arms…
I remember that heleftbecause of someone like this asshole above me, and I want to kill a million more Ivan Wilkersons.
If Cam hadn’t left, then maybe I wouldn’t have turned out like this…
Shaking off that thought, I swallow down the excess saliva filling my mouth. None of that matters anymore. Cam would’ve found some other reason to leave me like everyone else does…
And I’m a monster, not a martyr.
Wilkerson’s loud snores yank me out of my thoughts, and my teeth set. Sliding off my bunk, I carefully climb up to his. I’m on top of him quick, kneeling with all my body weight on his arms by the time he’s waking up.
“What the f—” he tries to bark, but before he can get out the last word, my hands are around his throat.
I know I probably won’t be able to kill him this way, but I just need to disorient him enough to get the upper hand. Many of my larger victims take one look at me and assume there’s no way I could overpower them, since I don’t have huge hulking muscles. But strength isn’t all aboutbulk.
I’ve spent years training my body for what I do. That’s what my pal Ivan is realizing right now while his frantic eyes bulge. His face is all red, and he’s trying to yell, but it’s not working with my hands taking away his air. His flailing begins to slow, eyelids drooping.
Once they do, I shift off of him, then roll him off the bunk bed. He falls onto the floor with a thud, and when I climb down, I see that he landed on his head.That’s convenient.
He’s unconscious, but I grab him by the neck and bash his skull on the floor a few times for good measure. I hear that familiar crack over the rushing in my ears, and I release him. Sucking in a long breath, my eyes close, and I take a moment to revel in it. The freedom.
I’mawake. My heart, my mind, my body. They’re all connected.
Reopening my eyes, I push my glasses up my nose and observe my thirty-sixth victim. He’s dead as fuck. I don’t even need to check his pulse to make sure. But still, I straddle him and feel his throat.
“You’re still warm,” I tell him, biting my lip. “I like it.”
The blood oozing from the crack in his skull is making a giant puddle. My stomach twists into a knot while I watch it, transfixed. Without even noticing, I’ve begun humming one of my favorite songs.
Removing my scrap metal from my pants, I lay Wilkerson out flat and touch his face. There’s bloodeverywhere, coming from his mouth, nose, eyes. He’s very bloody.
Tears For Fears lyrics are on my lips as I bring the metal to his face and begin carving him. I’m zoned in on my movements. It’s been so long since I’ve done this…
“Lee,” I whisper the name while scraping my metal into his skin. It’s messy as hell since the thing is not very sharp. But still, it’s working to hold my attention. “He was like you. You might remember him as the star on the Rockefeller Tree.” I stop and giggle. “And a star he was. Front-page headlines for months.” My smile turns upside down while I hack up Wilkerson’s face. “Maybe that’s why I’m here… I got too cocky. I’m usually a very humble person. But the attention from Lee’s display went to my head. And then, well… You know.”
Letting out a long sigh, I feel my mood has shifted. And it’s all Lee’s fault. Thinking about him pisses me off. He was such a piece of shit.
Brushing my hair from my eyes, I stand up slowly. Looking over the floor of the cell, I see that almost half of it is covered in thick red. Velle’s going to be mad.
That thought brings a new small smirk of satisfaction as I drop my weapon and go back to my bunk. Lying down, I stare up at the bottom of the top mattress.
I suppose human contact is overrated.
Shaking, I curl up tighter, thinking back to how angry Velle was when he found Wilkerson’s dead body. He had that large blonde tattooed guard bring me down here to solitary… I think his name isKemper. I remember him from when I first arrived. He used to bring me to the cafeteria and feed me.
Warmth settles in my gut at the memory. He always smelled so good, and he had this deep voice that would ring in my brain for hours after he’d put me back.
