The Wicked Game of a Psychopath

by Stan Hendriks

  “Rooms cost forty-five dollars per night!” a deep voice replied from behind the door.

  “But… fine, can I choose which room I want?”

  Right at that moment, an older man—in his tank top with coffee stains all over it and a burning cigar on his lip—opened the door and walked up to the front desk. “Which room you want?” the man asked with a slightly aggravated expression on his face.

  “Room fifteen, please.”

  “Forty-five dollars, please,” the man replied as he laid the keys of room number fifteen on the desk.

  “There you go,” Susan said as she gave forty-five dollars to the man.

  The man counted the money and after that, he nodded and replied, “Have fun.”

  “Wait, I have a couple of questions.” The man looked at her and then simply shoved over a plastic jar, which had, “Tips”, written on it. “Are you serious?”

  “Does it look like I’m joking to you?”

  Susan then slightly shook her head and searched her wallet for some spare change. “There you go,” Susan said as she put the spare change in the jar. “I would like to know if there are any cameras inside of this motel or around this area?”

  “Are you from the police or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  “Can you just please answer my question?”

  “No, there aren’t any cameras around here, happy now?”

  “Not really but thank you for answering the question anyway.”

  “Not a problem. And for your information, if you have any complaints about the room then you’re free to leave. But know that there won’t be any refunds,” the man replied as he then walked back into the staff only room and shut the door behind him.

  Susan simply shook her head and with the key of room number fifteen, she walked out of the office. Immediately she saw the bar in the distance across from her, and before entering room number fifteen, she went into the empty bar and asked the bartender the same question she had asked the man. But she got the same unhelpful response.

  Five beers later, she walked out of the bar and walked over to room number fifteen. And as she stood in front of the door and put the key in the lock, she got shivers down her spine. A whirlwind of emotions hit her, and she was inches away from bursting out in tears, but after taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. The cockroaches that were crawling over the furniture, the mattress that had urine stains on it, the spider webs in every corner of the room, and the broken television that was laying on the floor, didn’t even bother her. In fact, she didn’t even notice those things. All she could think about was that this was the exact place her son was murdered at. The last place her son came before his life was ruthlessly taken away. And as she sat down on the bed, she took a picture of Kyle out of her wallet and all the emotions that she had cropped all came out at once.

  The next day, exceedingly early in the morning, Susan woke up and surprisingly, she had a decent night of sleep. But she was disgusted and disturbed that she had fallen asleep on the same bed at which her son was murdered. As she got up, she adjusted her hair and took one last good look around the room. With a deep breath, she promised her son that she would find the murderer and after that, she opened the door. But right before she left the room, the phone rang. Confused, she stared at it for a while and eventually decided to pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Susan.”

  “Who… who is this?”

  “You may call me Mr. Miller. I am the man who murdered your son Kyle.”

  Chapter two Day two

  Let the game begin

  Susan could feel the cold sweat dripping down her back, her heart slowly pounding its way up to her throat, and as her eyes filled up with stinging tears of sadness and anger, she asked, “What… what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You… you fucking bastard! I’m going to find you and kill you! I’m going to gut you like a pig!”

  “That certainly sounds euphoric, but don’t pretend to be something you’re not, Susie.”

  “You murdered my son! You sick son of a bitch! He did nothing wrong!”

  “I suggest you take a couple of deep breaths and calm yourself down. At least, if you ever want to catch me and maybe, if you have it in you, murder me.”

  “Oh, I will! You better believe that!”

  “I know you will, in a matter of fact, by the end of this game, I will reveal myself to you. How does that sound?”

  “What are you talking about? What game?”

  “I’ve waited a year for this moment, Susie, but now the time has finally come. The game can start.”

  “I’m not playing your fucking game!”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.”

  “And why is that?”

  Mr. Miller then mentioned her ex-husband and the names of her mother and her closest friends. “If you value their lives, you will do exactly as I say. And if you refuse or disobey the rules of the game for whatever reason, your friends will meet their excruciating fate.”

  “I… why are you doing this?”

  “I have my reasons, which will be disclosed at another time. But first, I’m dying to know why it took you so long to undertake action. From the moment the police started the investigation, it was clear that it would lead to absolutely nothing. And you were well aware of this. But still, you made the decision to sit back and put your complete trust in them, only to come out disappointed. And while you sat on the sidelines, drowning in your emotions, you simultaneously put my career on hold. At first, I had a copious amount of patience, but months went by, and you stayed inside of your house, completely isolating yourself from the world. But nonetheless, I waited. It was tough, my craving for murdering, hearing the satisfying screams of the men I was about to murder, almost got the better of me. But I’m a perfectionist, a master of my craft. I had no other option but to stick to my plan, which I created and perfected many years ago. So, I waited, and waited some more, and now we’re here. At last. However, I’m profoundly curious as to why you’ve waited so long.”

  Susan took a moment, not knowing what to do or to think of this, but eventually, she said, “I was certain that the police were going to arrest you.”

  “I see. And that is completely understandable. But far from the truth. You were afraid to undertake action; your emotions were holding you back. You have never been a star in dealing with your emotions, let alone confront them, and this time was no different. Instead of chasing after the murderer of your son, you chose to isolate yourself because it was easier. You numbed yourself, drinking all your emotions away, every single day. You were being held hostage by your own emotions. Do you understand where I’m going? Emotions make you weak. If you didn’t possess them, or if they weren’t so intense, you would have come after me the second the police officer brought you the terrible news. And that is exactly why I’m far superior to not only you but to the majority of the world. Emotions don’t move me, resulting in a clearer state of mind. I don’t act on impulses; I act on logic. I accomplish everything I possibly want, because there is no wall of emotions in front of me, blocking my path. Preventing me from reaching my destination. I have a clear path.”

  “So, you’re a psychopath? An emotionless and murderous robot?”

  “That is a bit harsh, isn’t it? But I can’t completely deny that since there is some truth to it. However, I can experience various emotions, only not to the same degree as you. Let’s take happiness for example, you are able to experience happiness to the fullest one hundred percent, unlike me. On a good day, I might be able to reach fifteen percent. However, I believe I’m experiencing satisfaction instead of happiness. I don’t know this for certain, but that would be my best guess. But now take anger. Anger is an emotion I can experience somewhere in the forty percent range, which for my standards, is quite a lot. However, unlike you, I’m incapable of defining happiness, or anger for that matter. I
f one were to ask you to define happiness, you probably could author a novel about it. The same goes for all the other emotions. But if someone were to ask me the same, I would steal someone’s answers, alter a couple of words and the sentence structure, and make it my own. And your assumption that a psychopath automatically is a violent person, capable of inflicting serious harm to another human being, is partially wrong. You see, there are different degrees to psychopathy. Just like all humans are different, the same theory applies to psychopaths and sociopaths.”

  “You sure like to talk about yourself, don’t you? And let me guess, you’re of the highest degree. The worst of its kind.”

  “I would say that I’m unique and one of a kind, yes. And I’m quite fascinated about the person I am, hence why I enjoy talking about myself. However, I believe this conversation has been stretched out enough already. Time is precious, and the game needs to begin. But before we kick it off, how did you sleep, Susie? And I was pleasantly surprised to find out you were able to get a good night of sleep on the bed I murdered your son in. Maybe you and I aren’t so different after all.”

  “Don’t you dare compare me to a sick individual like yourself!”

  “I just did, didn’t I? But here’s a fun fact. The motel you’re in used to be thriving. In fact, it quickly became one of the most popular motels in the entire country, mainly because of the bar, but still. In the first six months, they made well over half a million dollars. Isn’t that something? Unbelievable, right? But, of course, Kyle being murdered there was bad publicity, and after that, the popularity decreased dramatically. Anyway, I’m once again going off track so, let’s just start this wonderful game. Here is your first task. Bring the key back to the grumpy, filthy, and pathetic owner and after that, go into the bar. Have yourself a decent sized cup of coffee and try out their eggs with bacon. They’re quite decent. And once you’re done with that, you will drive back towards your house and when you get there, I will call you and give you further instructions on how to complete my wicked little game I like to call, ‘The Wicked Game of a Psychopath’.”

  “No, first tell me why you murdered my son.”

  “With time my motivation for doing such a thing will become clear to you. But now, do as you’re told, Susie. I have faith that you won’t disappoint me,” Mr. Miller replied as he then hung up.

  Susan kept the phone at her ear and stared into the abyss. Overwhelmed by what just happened, she froze and shut down. It took a good five minutes, before she, figuratively speaking, woke up again and laid the phone down. Knowing that she had no other choice, she decided to do exactly what Mr. Miller had told her.

  After she gave the room key back to the owner, she went into the bar and ordered coffee with eggs and bacon. She chugged the coffee and threw the food down in her throat and then quickly went to her car and got inside. Not knowing what the next task was going to be and fearful of what Mr. Miller was going to tell her next, she held onto the steering wheel with a firm grip. And after she took a good look at herself, she put her foot down on the gas and raced off home.

  Later that day, in the evening, Susan arrived at her house. With shaking hands, she put the key in the lock of the front door, and after taking a deep breath, she opened it and walked inside. But before she could even take off her shoes in the hallway, the phone in her living room rang. It was an anonymous number, and Susan hesitated for a while before eventually picking up the phone. “I’m not doing this, I can’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marco asked.

  “Oh my god,” Susan sighed. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. But why are you calling anonymously?”

  “I’m using Kim’s phone, that’s probably why. But where have you been?”

  “To… I went to the motel.”

  “You did what?”

  “I had to go, I needed answers to some of my questions.” Then there was a fleeting moment of silence. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m… I’m just flabbergasted. That was the last thing I expected. But did you get the answers you were looking for?”

  “Not really, no. I—” But before Susan could get another word out, her mobile phone in her pocket rang. It was an anonymous number again. “Could we maybe talk about this tomorrow? It was a long drive and I’m exhausted.”

  “Uhm, sure. But are you sure that you’re all right?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. I’m just tired. But thank you for calling, I appreciate it.”

  “But, of course, I’m always here for you, just know that.”

  “I know, thanks. All right then, I will call you back tomorrow. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Susan then immediately picked up her mobile phone and Mr. Miller said, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is, do you?”

  “No, and I don’t care. I’m not going to let a sick psychopath control my life and treat me like I’m some puppet!”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to the police. They will catch you; you hear me?!’

  “I doubt it. But if you genuinely would like to speak with a police officer, then why don’t you go outside. If my calculations are right, three police cars should pass your house in about a minute.”

  “What… why?”

  “If you want to know why then I strongly suggest that you follow them.” Right at that moment, three police cars, with loud sirens, raced by Susan’s house and Mr. Miller continued, “Oh well, I’ve never been a star in mathematics. I will call you back soon after you realized what you’ve done.” Mr. Miller then hung up and Susan ran outside, but the police cars were no longer in sight. But in the far distance, she could hear more sirens. Something was terribly wrong, and she had to find out what. In a matter of seconds, she ran back inside, grabbed her car keys, ran back outside, started the car, and drove off.

  It didn’t take long before she stumbled on at least seven police cars and an ambulance. But her heart dropped when she noticed that they had gathered up in front of Muhammed’s house. As she got out of the car and walked up closer, a police officer stopped her in her tracks and told her to stay back. But she was no longer paying attention as the ambulance personnel walked out of the house with a zipped-up body bag. And it didn’t take long before it became clear that Muhammed had been brutally murdered. Kyle’s name was carved into Muhammed’s skin, and his eyes, along with his tongue and heart, were cut out. But before Susan could even comprehend what just happened, her phone rang. She was standing right in front of a police officer, and in front of Muhammed’s house stood Detective Rogers. She could pass over the phone, tell them about Mr. Miller, and hope that it would somehow make them able to catch him. But this was a clear message. If she wasn’t going to do what Mr. Miller said, people were going to die. So, she turned back and as she walked back to her car, she picked up the phone. “You’re a sick monster! I swear to god that I will kill you!”

  “I look forward to it. But I hope I made you realize how important this is. You have to play along in order for this game to work, a game which I’ve perfected for years and spend countless hours creating. You have to work with me and obey the rules because if you don’t, you’re forcing me to undertake proper and necessary actions.”

  “Don’t you have any remorse at all? Muhammed was such a good young man. He couldn’t even hurt a fly. And you slaughtered him! Why?!”

  “When I was young, about eleven years old, I was seated in the theater of my school. It was tiny and just big enough for one class of about twenty-four kids. Underpaid and miserable illusionists were showing us their horrible act and by the end of it, a clown appeared on stage out of nowhere. One of my classmates, Jonathan, started crying. He was terrified of clowns, and he had been since he was born. At least, that’s what he said when another one of my classmates asked why he was crying. But I didn’t understand why he was crying, why he was displaying suc
h weakness. In fact, my heart was beating at a rapid pace and my blood started to boil. His weakness was trying to affect me, and I felt such an immense urge to correct him. To hurt him. I simply had to. He was a weak little cry baby and he needed someone to punish him for that. So, I had a pencil in my pocket and his hand happened to be lying on his leg. I smashed the pencil right into his hand, and I did it with such force that it even penetrated his leg. He screamed so loud that I was certain that the windows were going to shatter at any minute, but it didn’t, sadly. And then I looked around and saw everyone staring at me as if I was a lunatic. As if they had been traumatized by my actions. I didn’t quite understand it at the time, nor did I had the time to really put two and two together as the teacher yanked me out of my chair and dragged me into the hallway. It didn’t take long before the other teachers gathered up around me. As if they were about to expel an imaginary cruel demon from me. But instead, they cried and quietly told each other how bad they felt that I had a mental illness. But me, I couldn’t care less. I actually felt satisfied. I did well by correcting that child. Yes, I may have smashed a pencil through his hand and into his leg, but it was a good lesson. One he will not forget. You know, pain is the best teacher after all. Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t have remorse and the same goes for empathy. And some might even argue that I do not have a healthy conscience as well. But regarding Muhammed, if it makes you feel any better I…” Mr. Miller then chuckled and continued, “He was already dead before I took his heart out.”

  “You… I hate you!”

  “Excellent! Let your hate be your motivation to play along and if it’s strong enough, you might be able to win. Doesn’t that sound fantastic? Anyway, I will call you back tomorrow morning and if you’re lucky, I may disclose my motivation and reasonings. But we’ll see. Goodnight, my dear Susie.”