by Mandy White
Dysfictional 3
Down the Psycho Path
by
Mandy White
Dysfunctional Fiction Volume 3
Copyright © 2018 Mandy White
All rights reserved
This work may not be copied in full or in part by anyone without expressed permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction, written for entertainment purposes only.
Table of Contents
In the Folds of the Earth
Sphere
Vegan Meat
Mesachie Man
Blind Trust
Junkyard Dog
Hibernation Holiday
New Reality
Pod People: Invasion of the Laundry Zombies
The Dark Side of the World
I’m All Ears
Rogue
In the Folds of the Earth
The rusty Ford pickup sputtered and then died. Dalton didn't bother trying to start it because he already knew he was out of gas. He had been driving on fumes for the last ten miles or so, and was surprised he had made it that far. He seemed to have lost the cops when he turned onto the dirt road, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before reinforcements arrived. The sound of a distant helicopter confirmed that he was running out of time, and places to run.
To say that Dalton Jeffries was a wanted man was putting it mildly. The object of a nationwide manhunt, his flight had led him from one coast to the other, to his present location, deep in the wilderness of Vancouver Island.
A large open area stood between him and the cover of the dense woods. Rotting stumps dotted the clearing, evidence of logging in previous years. His best bet was the forest. There, he would have a better chance of hiding and the police wouldn't be able to see him from the air. Eyes focused on the tree line, he made a run for safety, zig-zagging between stumps and vaulting over fallen logs. He didn’t see the hole as much as he felt it.
He landed feet first in the hollow under the stump and disappeared like Alice down the rabbit hole. An avalanche of dirt rained down upon Dalton’s head as he scrabbled at rocks and roots to slow his fall. Finally he felt solid ground beneath his feet. At first he was worried he might be buried alive if he didn’t move carefully. He looked up, shielding his eyes from a further barrage of falling earth and saw that his situation wasn’t so bad after all.
The product of erosion, the hole was invisible to the naked eye, thanks to an overgrowth of grass and weeds at the entrance. Muted sunlight trickled through the filter of greenery, lighting the hole enough for him to see his surroundings. He wasn’t down very far; he could easily climb back out. Roots stuck out from the dirt on all sides, creating a natural ladder of sorts.
He slid to the floor of the small cavern, sitting with his back against the cool earth. He needed to rest; it had been days since he’d slept and this was as good a place as any. It was cool down there and he was well-hidden. In his mad dash to find a hiding place, a minor mishap had delivered exactly what he needed. Let the police come. They wouldn’t find him down there, and when the search turned up nothing, they would move on. Dalton’s eyelids drooped, and he dozed.
* * *
Dalton had been committing acts of cruelty and violence for most of his life. In the beginning he’d gotten away with it. His murderous lifestyle began at an early age. First with his pet parakeet, then mice he caught in the tool shed behind the house, then an occasional ‘stray’ cat.
He thought he might have gone too far when he smashed his playmate's head in with a rock. He was six, and Lisa was five. They were playing in the park near her house. Lisa's mom was supposed to be watching them, but she didn't pay much attention to anything besides her gin and soaps.
Boredom set in, and it didn't take Dalton long to convince Lisa to play in the woods. He told her they could build a dam in the creek and trap fish with it. The two friends ran unseen into the forest, eager to start their new project.
The dam didn't hold for long. The creek was swollen from spring rains, and the sticks and rocks soon gave way. Both children were wet and cold. Lisa wanted to go home but was afraid she would get in trouble for being wet. Dalton convinced her to take her clothes off and hang them on branches to dry. She did as he suggested, but then she changed her mind and wanted to get dressed again. Her wet clothes were icky and hard to put on. She started to cry. She wanted to go home but couldn't without her clothes. Her mother would spank her, probably with a willow branch. And to make matters worse, she had to pee.
“Just go!” Dalton told her.
But she wouldn't, not out in the woods. All she did was cry harder.
“If you don't shut up, I'm goin’ home and leavin’ you here!”
She sat in the mud of the creek bank, clad only in her panties and cried until she couldn't hold it anymore and then peed herself right where she sat. That made her even more upset.
Her wails stabbed daggers through his head.
“Stop it! Stop it!” He couldn't stand her noise anymore, but the more he yelled at her to shut up, the louder she cried.
He picked up the biggest rock he could find and stood behind her, lifting it as high as he was able. He brought it down hard, on the back of her skull. Her head lurched forward from the force of the blow.
Finally she was quiet, but he knew she'd be mad as hell and probably tell on him for hitting her. He waited for her to start yelling at him, but she didn't. She just sat there, slumped forward, chin resting on her knees.
“Hey,” Dalton tapped her shoulder. Nothing. “HEY!” He gave her a shake. She leaned to one side, then slowly fell over. She slipped down the muddy bank into the water and floated facedown.
Dalton watched her drift downstream until she was out of sight, then he headed home. He chose a roundabout route along the edge of the woods to avoid passing Lisa’s house. While he was walking home it began to rain, which provided a convenient excuse for his wet clothing.
* * *
Dalton had a crush on Jennifer Green. She was perfect, pretty and popular. She only dated jocks but he knew she had a penchant for naughty behavior. He knew that if he could get her alone she would like him. He had seen her and her giggling gaggle of girlfriends sitting in her car smoking pot, so he knew exactly how to lure her. He procured some weed and waited for her in the parking lot after school.
“Hey, wanna smoke a joint?”
She eyed him warily. He was not the sort of guy she normally talked to.
“C'mon, Jenny,” he urged. “This shit is just too fine to smoke alone. I wanna share it with someone worthy.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t tell him to fuck off either. He could see the gears turning in her vapid little head.
“Unless you can’t handle it. Maybe I’ll save it for someone with balls.” He started to walk away.
She took the bait. “Why the hell not?” She followed him to the groundskeeper's shed and they slipped inside.
Dalton lit the joint and passed it to her. She inhaled deeply, then passed it back.
The paper was stained red by her lipstick when Dalton brought the joint to his mouth. An erection throbbed against his pants at the thought of her plump red lips on his. He made no effort to hide his arousal; he wanted her to see how turned on he was. It would be just like a porno movie; she would say something like, “Can I help you with that?” After that... he imagined the sequence of events that would unfold.
“Hey, Bogart! Stop hogging that thing. Pass it here.”
He handed the joint back to Jenny and watched her suck another hit out of it, just like she would soon be sucking a hit out of his joint.
“So...” he began uncertainly, “What are you doing later?”
She looked at him like he wa
s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
“Not that it's any of your fucking business, but I'm going to a party. With my friends.” She emphasized the word ‘friends’, making it clear that Dalton was not one of them.
“I thought maybe we could do something... together,” he finished lamely. This was not going the way he'd expected. In fact, rejection hadn't even crossed his mind. But there it was, she was rejecting him, and none too politely.
“Um, no. Just no. Like I'd ever be seen with a loser like you.” She flicked the remainder of the joint at him. “I'm outta here. Get out of my way.”
Dalton stood between her and the door. When he made no move to let her pass, she shoved him. His hands closed over her throat. She flailed and fought, but he maintained his grip until she lost consciousness. He laid her on the cement floor, lifted her skirt and tore her panties off. He entered her awkwardly. It was his first time, but apparently not hers. She came to while he was fucking her and her struggles drove him wild.
“Stop that. I want it to last,” he grunted, cramming a greasy rag into her mouth to stifle her screams. She retched and vomit squirted out of her nostrils. Gross. Unable to breathe, she fought with increased ferocity, so he had no choice but to hit her on the head with the first blunt object within his reach – a ball peen hammer. Her skull dented like a beer can and she fell silent. The act of killing Jenny while penetrating her was the single most erotic experience of Dalton’s life. He continued to pound her lifeless body until he exploded in ecstasy.
Dalton was tried as a juvenile, despite vehement protests from the prosecutor, Jenny’s family, and the general public. He was sentenced to ten years for manslaughter and served six.
* * *
Once Dalton was a free man, he resumed his old habits, but this time he was more conscientious about covering his tracks. He wore gloves, condoms and even a ski mask on the off chance one of his victims survived and was asked to identify him. He traveled when he did his deeds to ensure no two victims were from the same region. He killed each one differently, so authorities never suspected any of the murders were connected. He posed as a truck driver, though none of the people who interacted with him in bars and truckstops ever saw him actually driving a rig. He financed his travels solely on the spoils of his victims.
He felt unstoppable. His cockiness led to his eventual downfall. That, and he made the mistake of becoming involved in a relationship with one of his intended victims.
Lucy was a waitress in a small-town bar in Nova Scotia. She knew how to flirt for tips, and caught Dalton’s eye right away. Under the assumption that he was a truck driver, she thought he was rolling in cash. At first, Dalton was fooled into believing her attraction to him was genuine. When asked if she wanted to get together with him after her shift, she revealed that she was not single. Not only did she have a boyfriend, she had two children from a previous relationship.
Dalton did not take rejection well, but he concealed his rage behind a casual shrug and nod at her suggestion that they remain ‘just friends’.
He befriended Lucy’s boyfriend, a likeable fisherman named Luke. Dalton expressed an interest in fishing and Luke agreed to take him out on his boat. Dalton brought a bottle of whiskey to keep them warm; the Atlantic was frigid any time of year, and March was far from springtime in the Maritimes.
He encouraged Luke to drink more than he should have, then pushed him overboard when his back was turned. Luke tried to swim to the boat, but Dalton kept moving it just out of his reach. Luke begged, pleaded and cursed, but all Dalton did was laugh. Once Luke had succumbed to hypothermia, Dalton jumped into the water and removed the man’s lifejacket. He climbed back into the boat and cruised leisurely back to shore, rehearsing what he would say and how he would act. He even managed to brew up some tears just before he ran the vessel into the dock.
Dalton clambered out, shivering and wet, shouting for someone to call 911. Luke had already been in the water for more than three hours. Acting distraught, he begged rescuers to bring his ‘friend’ back to him, but they failed, as he knew they would. It was nothing more than a recovery mission.
Lucy was devastated. Fortunately, she was not alone; she had Dalton to comfort her in her time of need. To Dalton’s advantage, Lucy suffered from low self-esteem, thanks to a past series of abusive relationships. Poor girl – Luke was the first man who hadn’t abused her, and now he was gone. Because the thought of being alone terrified Lucy, she was willing to settle for anyone, even Dalton.
She allowed him to move in with her, and even grudgingly supported him when he made up a story about losing his job. The only catch was, he had to babysit while she worked. Dalton wasn’t thrilled at the idea of playing nursemaid to a pair of illegitimate sperm-monkeys, but as it turned out, the kids weren’t much trouble. They usually went to bed with no argument and went right to sleep, thanks to Uncle Dalty’s special Kool-Aid. He spiked the fruit punch with a heavy dose of adult nighttime cold medicine. They slept so deeply Dalton could have done anything to them if he'd wanted to, but he never once touched them. He may have been a murderer, but he was no kiddie-diddler. In that respect, he considered himself to be a man of morals.
His relationship with Lucy was the closest thing Dalton had ever had to a normal family in his adult life. With his contentment, the killing subsided. It wasn't until Lucy decided to replace Dalton with another man that problems arose.
She figured the other guy was better because he had a job, a shiny new pickup truck and no criminal record. She gave Dalton the heave-ho without so much as a thank you for all the great step-parenting he'd done. Dalton left without argument, mostly because Lucy's new boyfriend, Josh, had a shotgun pointed at him.
Taking care of Josh was easy. All it took was a visit to his mechanic shop. Dalton watched and waited for the opportune moment, then knocked the asshole out with a tire iron and lowered the front wheel of a Crown Victoria on his face. Dalton hid and waited for the mechanic’s assistant to return from lunch, discover his employer crushed like a cockroach and call 911.
As sirens wailed in the distance, Dalton made his way over to Lucy’s place. He Camerond up the road and walked the rest of the way, sneaking into the back yard where he could listen through the open windows. Before long, the phone rang. Lucy’s voice rose in pitch as she received the news about Josh. Dalton heard the jingle of car keys and Lucy shouting at the kids to get their shoes on. He ran back to his truck and drove into Lucy’s driveway just as she was leaving for the hospital.
He apologized and explained that he had just come to return her house keys, and that he would be on his way. Seeing her tears and stricken look, he asked what was wrong. Lucy told him that Josh had had an accident at work and was not expected to live. She needed to get to him before it was too late. Dalton told her how sorry he was and asked if there was anything he could do. Lucy hesitated, then asked if he would mind watching the kids so she wouldn’t have to drag them to the hospital.
Of course, of course, he replied, taking the children by the hands and leading them back to the house while their mother sped out of the driveway in a spray of gravel.
Dalton gave the children an extra-large dose of his special Kool-Aid, the first humane act of his murderous career. When they were sound asleep, he slit their throats. He was out of the house and on his way out of town before they'd even finished bleeding to death. His only regret was that he hadn’t been there to see Lucy’s face when she found them.
He’d sure showed that bitch. She should have known better than to fuck around on him.
Trouble was, he was now the object of a nationwide manhunt. If caught, he was certain to die in prison. The thing about knowing you're completely fucked is that you have absolutely nothing to lose. This made Dalton a very dangerous man indeed.
And so the chase began. Dalton slaughtered anyone who got in his way, leaving a trail of blood from the East coast to the West. The border was on high alert, making escape to the United States impossible. All he had
was Canada in which to run. When he reached the West coast, he hopped a ferry to Vancouver Island, hoping to lose the cops. Unfortunately, his picture was everywhere. He couldn’t hide and he had literally run out of ground.
He decided his best course of action was to take to the wilderness, which was abundant on the large island. He hitched a ride and then killed the driver, an old man who was too kind for his own good. He headed North in the stolen truck in hopes of finding a remote hiding place. He veered off onto a logging road, then onto a less-traveled secondary road. He made yet another turn onto what looked like two ruts overgrown with grass and it was there that he left the truck.
And now here he was, crouched in a hole in the ground, waiting for his fate to find him…
* * *
A shower of dirt rained down on Dalton’s head. The ground vibrated and the rumble of an engine could be heard from above.
They had caught up with him.
The cops would have found the stolen pickup by now and were probably scouring the area with helicopters, ATVs and men on foot. If the searchers had dogs, it wouldn’t be long before they sniffed out his hiding spot. He would be shot resisting arrest, because he had no intention of going back to prison.
Cornered, Dalton did what any cornered creature would do: He retreated further into his sanctuary. He inched backward, away from the dim shaft of light and wedged himself as far into the back corner of the hole as possible. To his surprise, he found not a solid wall of dirt, but another, smaller opening – a tunnel large enough to accommodate his body with a bit of room to spare.
Dalton slid his feet into the opening and inched backward on his belly until all but his head had vanished from the main cavern. Maybe that would be enough. If they shone lights down into his hole, he could duck into the tunnel and not a trace of him would be visible.
His feet touched something soft, then the dirt gave way around his legs. Panic gripped Dalton’s chest. He hadn’t considered the possibility of a cave-in until that moment. His first instinct was to scramble back into the relative safety of the main cavern, but he could find nothing upon which to brace his feet. He hung by his arms, shoulders wedged into the entrance of the tunnel. He tried to slow his breathing and remain calm while his feet swung in mid-air below him.
