Dortmund Hibernate

by C. J. Sutton

  Magnus sees no regret from Astrid in her admission of murdering a minor. And all the hope gained from Donnie’s calm state starts to filter away through the cracks in the walls. As Astrid Ellen, sole female inmate at Dortmund Asylum, continues to talk, Magnus knows that ease was never an aspect of the job description.

  “You just kill boys because they can’t satisfy you?”

  “Well,” she said, twirling her dark hair with a finger, “I did have a nibble on one of their legs to see if I liked the taste…”

  Magnus froze.

  “But no, it’s because they couldn’t get me off. I bet you can, though.”

  The descent into cannibalism would’ve completely changed the case, but thankfully for Magnus it wasn’t her preference.

  “How many victims?” asked Magnus, trying to sound as bored as his manufactured gaze suggested.

  “How many did I sleep with, or how many did I kill?”

  “Both.”

  “Seventeen and nine,” she said, giggling a little afterwards.

  “The Principal caught you out, didn’t he,” said Magnus, taking the opportunity to smile, doing all he could to remove the sexual vibes he’d felt from Astrid minutes prior.

  “Fucking prick…opened the door right when I was getting somewhere with one of them…red-handed, so to speak. Too many year ten boys had gone missing over the past week. Everything pointed to me, including those bitchy jealous other teachers…but I couldn’t stop. If given the chance, I’d do the exact same. You’ll help me, won’t you doctor? I’m MAD! HAHAHAHA!”

  Astrid leapt off the bed and pleaded before Magnus, opening her eyes as wide as they would go. “I’ll do anything.”

  “I need a beer,” said Magnus, turning his back on Astrid Ellen and leaving her to grovel before the shadows he cast behind him. She twitched, stood up, and stuck the middle finger up at the only man who could save her life, before pretending to teach a class of young boys in her lonely cell.

  Dortmund Pub

  Each stage of a child’s life is integral to who he or she will become. This is why the past is essential, Magnus. All scars are previous trauma.

  “Don’t let Astrid play with your head. Men have given in…doctors. I’ve seen it. Lonely profession, they say.”

  Magnus and Walter sat at the bar of the Dortmund Pub, onto their second pint each. The first had barely lasted two minutes. The building was full of locals drinking beer, playing pool and bobbing along to 80s music. Magnus felt like the youngest person in the pub, despite likely being the most educated. They would turn his way, glance him up and down, aware he was an outsider. From his guess, they didn’t appreciate outsiders. To him they were all different looking versions of Carter, the aged guard.

  “She looks well kept. Fit, clean. Some of the others…their cells are growing with bacteria; privileges for the lady?”

  “Hardly,” snorted Walter, drops of beer wetting his moustache. “We’re fair with everyone. If you respect the cell, you get to have a bed and some other staples. If you go all ‘Matthew Chaos’ on the place then you can deal with a dirty toilet and bloody walls. You know what we have to do to go into their cells? Sometimes it takes all four of us. First, they need to comply and stick their hands and feet in places we can cuff. Then we need to sedate them for our own safety. Guards have died, Magnus. When I arrived, needles freaked me out. Now I could tranquilise a bear from close range before it rips my throat out…and I know that because Brutus resembles one.”

  “When do I get to meet Jasper?” asked Magnus, ordering another round of pints. “He’s the Rockstar, is he not?”

  Walter checked who was within earshot, but nobody cared for their presence anymore; the taps were flowing with liquid gold, the music was growing louder and the patrons were descending into a Friday night stupor. The pub had walls lacking a fresh coat of paint, stools with chunks taken out of the cushioning and picture frames dangling from loosening hooks, but there was a strange appeal to the place. Magnus felt more at home here than in a bar in the big city.

  “Tomorrow. You needed to see some other cases first. Jasper on day one would’ve sent you batshit crazy. You would’ve hailed down your taxi fellow and hightailed out of this place. But Chaos, Simmonds, Astrid – they’re good practice.”

  “Walter, I am a professional, I see cases as cases, there’s nothing I can’t handle. If I cure Jasper James, I mean imagine—”

  Walter went to speak, a rebuttal forming on his lips, but he thought better of it.

  “Your driver is here, over your left shoulder, don’t look.”

  “Fuck,” muttered Magnus, frustrated at the lack of privacy.

  “Be honest: is there more to this than you’re telling me?”

  “What do you mean?” said Magnus, fully aware of what Walter meant. He was no fool, of that Magnus knew from the moment he entered Dortmund Asylum.

  “They’ve given you a time limit haven’t they? They want to shut down the Asylum.”

  Magnus took the opportunity to glare into the reflection from a window directly in front of him. Sure enough, the ageing taxi driver was stationed at a small table alone, no drink, no meal, thick hands folded as he watched the two converse.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, because I’m not too sure myself.”

  “You cured The Goat, it was advantageous for everyone; it makes it look like you’re the best chance to save these inmates, and if you can’t do it nobody can. And if they can’t be saved…they’re dead, because the crimes they’ve committed are too damaging to society and their mental stability is gone. No mental institution will take them, no prison can risk them. Six weeks, then the hangman makes his play. You’ve got to realise, Mag, that no matter what you say to these officials, it won’t change the fate of the nine in Dortmund Asylum. They can’t be saved; they’re already dead. And when you look at what they’ve done, they deserve to be.”

  Magnus knew Walter spoke the truth. It was as though the guard had a direct funnel into his mind. But the beers were starting to have an impact. As critical as discussions were, Magnus couldn’t help but enjoy the company. Walter, despite his hopeless position in all of this, was a good man, and good men were just as dangerous as bad men in times of consequence.

  “What made you get into this business, Mag?” asked Walter, changing the subject to a degree.

  “Into psychology?”

  “Yeah, I mean, did you wake up one day and go, shit, I want to see how messed up a man – or woman – can get?”

  “It’s personal,” said Magnus, taking a large gulp from his stained beer glass.

  “Very well,” said Walter, pushing no further. But he’d unlocked the story. Magnus now knew how people with the sickness felt when they told him their own tales.

  “I’m looking after my sister one day; we’re teenagers. She’d relapsed, got back into heroin after some prick boyfriend dangled the carrot back in her face. This is nothing new. She would get clean, find another man of the same mould and enter that dark world, again and again. I’m feeding her as she lay there, shaking, and needing a hit I can’t provide…stuck in her sickness. I hear my brother arrive outside. He doesn’t take well to her problems. He thinks beating it her out of her is best. I let him in, even though I know this isn’t going to be a loving visit. He doesn’t say hello, just walks up to the fridge and grabs a beer. His sickness is different from my sister’s; there’s another person inside of him, and when he arrives everybody runs. My sister is wailing so loud that I’m surprised the cops haven’t turned up. She wants a hit. My brother just watches her, sipping the beer as though watching the TV. I tell him we need to get her to a hospital, but he shakes his head. He turns, looks at her now, and I know those eyes. He smashes the beer over the frame of the bed, now armed with a jagged shard of glass. He’s smiling, childlike, and all I want to do is grab my sister and escape, but how can I? I’m not as brave as him, not as strong; as kids this didn’t bother me because he was always on my side. But the sickness
…it was taking over…soon it would steal him from me. I tried to stop him; no, that’s a lie, I didn’t. He took hold of her throat and squeezed. Her wails turned into blood curdling screams. I’m frozen. My brother brings the glass up to her face and says, ‘If you make one more noise, I’ll jam this into your neck. You can’t keep doing this to Magnus’. So I prayed she would stop. At first she did. But then her sickness took hold and the wails returned more piercing than before and he followed through on his promise. I blacked out, and woke up to cop sirens and flashing lights of blue and red illuminating the room like a goddamn Christmas tree. My sister’s head lolled, crimson wetting the bed, eyes wide but gone. My brother was in the corner shaking, I hoped he was ashamed and scared. But it was too late. He didn’t feel fear. He knew he’d have to face authority.”

  Magnus stopped swivelling the remains of his beer in his pint glass.

  “So…what happened?” asked Walter. The story hadn’t shaken him, like it would most men. Magnus Paul hadn’t told the story often, but when he had it was usually greeted with wide mouths and constant yaps of ‘I’m sorry’.

  “I made a decision there and then to cure those who have the sickness. I enrolled in psychology the very next morning.”

  “No, I mean to your brother.”

  “I lost two siblings that night…”

  “Another beer?” asked Walter, not letting an awkward silence create a barrier.

  “Sure,” said Magnus. A younger girl, early twenties, walked into the pub. Most men turned, and their smiles widened further when her friends followed closely. But all Magnus saw was Astrid Ellen strolling toward him, breasts on show, that toothy smile, hair flicking like the flames in a fireplace. She held out her hand, those caressing fingers seeking his skin, seeking a way to seduce the doctor and give him pleasure. And it would be so easy…so easy to just give in to her, to give in to the challenge that remained with the nine lives on his mind, so easy to leave Dortmund Asylum and the stalking taxi driver and the wary guards and the threat of Jasper James waiting in his cell, waiting for Magnus Paul to listen to his story.

  “Mag?” said Walter, slapping the doctor’s shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “You alright? I thought you were going to black out for a second.”

  “I’m fine, the beer is just getting to me. Might be time to call it a night.”

  “Smart move. Don’t forget to hold the driver’s hand on the way out.”

  Greyson Christ

  It is unthinkable Magnus, the way we can change our beliefs because of an honest word from a damaged mind.

  “The devil lives here…he does…”

  A man in his late fifties was rocking back and forth in the corner of his cell, making use of the natural shadow. He wore no shoes; his feet were blackened. His wiry grey hair flowed down past his shoulders, even though it had receded heavily up top. His nose whistled with every intake of air. Nothing, other than a bucket for a toilet, was present. The voice was hoarse, croaky, but positive.

  “Will you pray with me, son?”

  Magnus leaned against the wall, tilting his head to get a better look at Greyson Christ.

  “I’m not much in to praying.”

  “Like the devil…you are exactly like the devil.”

  Religion had never fazed Magnus, his family celebrating the holidays of Easter and Christmas but avoiding church and prayers and belief. Here was a man devoted in some way to a God, and Magnus had no experience in the matter.

  “I’m not the devil,” said Magnus, needing to see Greyson to get a better reading of his situation, “but if you come out of that corner I’ll listen.”

  “I didn’t say you were the devil, I said you were like him. He lives here, you know. Not far at all. You haven’t seen him yet. But he’s here. And he will make a play. I am the only one who can stop him. I am the younger brother of Jesus Christ.”

  Jesus Christ, thought Magnus.

  “Alright, just come out of there. I’m here to help you,” said Magnus, motioning the man forward to escape shadow.

  “No you’re not. You’re here to help the devil, it is so obvious.”

  “I’m a doctor, why would I help the devil?”

  Magnus shrugged his shoulders and turned around.

  “Mr. Perch, I’m done with this one.”

  “Wait, wait, wait a minute.”

  Greyson coughed harshly, wheezing, struggling to take air as he rose. Magnus realised the man was rather tall, extremely thin but reaching up above six foot. Religious fanatics prefer an audience. Who else will listen to their sermon?

  “Sit, will you?”

  “I’ll stand. You can sit if you like. But call me the devil again and I walk out that door.”

  “I’m just warning you, good doctor. I’m doing the work of my family. My father and brother, up in heaven, they tell me that the devil will escape and wreak havoc on this poor town.”

  “The devil, which one is the devil?”

  Greyson Christ smiled.

  “Now you want to know? I mention havoc, and you want to know. Before you didn’t care. I talk about escape and havoc and you want to know. That’s what is wrong with the world: reactive, not proactive.”

  “Should authorities have been proactive with you?”

  “No, I was doing the Lord’s work. Sending men and women and children up to father, because it was their time.”

  “So you’re the grim reaper?”

  Greyson shook his head and looked at his hands, deeply calloused from wielding weaponry…torturous weaponry.

  “Oh no, you’ll meet him soon. That’s a misconception. I am a Christ. We sacrifice ourselves for everyone else. Have you read The Bible son? The world is flooding with people.”

  “Doctor, please. And no, The Bible isn’t why you’re here.”

  “Oh, but it is. If you’d read it, you would understand.”

  “Well…I do know that it says you shall not murder in there somewhere, yet you went on a murder spree, didn’t you?”

  “Exodus 20:13, correct doctor. But I would counter with Romans 13:4, which says, ‘For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer’.”

  Magnus sighed, pinching his nose between his forefinger and thumb, knowing Greyson was prepared to counter any blame or shame with an excerpt from The Bible.

  “We’re going to try something different here today. You know how a sinner goes to the confession box and tells the priest of all the bad he has done, asking for atonement? Well, pretend I’m the priest rather than you. Without any words from The Bible, confess your sins to me, and we can begin your atonement.”

  It was a horrible thing, Greyson’s laugh. It caused every hair on Magnus’ body to stand and seek shelter.

  “But that would be a rather quick process; doctor, I’ve committed no sins.”

  Suddenly six weeks seemed like six minutes to Magnus. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Walter Perch waited for a signal. He wasn’t there; from what Magnus had learned thus far, it meant Greyson wouldn’t attempt a violent attack. Magnus thrust his hand through the small gaps in the bars and grasped Greyson by the collar of his dark uniform, pulling him close and smashing his head against metal.

  “I’m here to save you, so you can continue the work of your father and brother, right? But to do that, I need your story. I need to know why you’re here, whether you see it as right or wrong or some fucked up religious war path. Now start talking sense.”

  Greyson was surprised; a laugh the last possible reaction to the aggressive motion. His thick eyebrows frowned, but he nodded slightly, unable to look Magnus in the eye. It told a story in itself to Magnus; when religion failed to be a player, Greyson crumbled.

  “Very well doctor, please sit. My story stretches many years. I must say I do not know where to start.”

  “How about at your first urge to hurt another
person?”

  “Oh, well I do not want to hurt anyone. I simply perform the will of my family up in heaven. I was sent here, to the Asylum, for my final mission: to get rid of the devil. I am the only one who can,” he said, tilting his head. “Or perhaps you, but you won’t do it, will you?”

  Magnus thought he saw Greyson wink, but motioned with his hand for the story to begin.

  “I was an orphan, doctor. I knew nothing of my mother, but I know I was born in the same way as my brother Jesus. I spent my years studying religion—”

  “I guessed that. I don’t need your life story. I need the crimes.”

  “But—”

  “If you’re thinking of saying what I think you’re about to say, shut up. You know what I’m asking.”

  “I was getting to it; patience, my good doctor. I was training to be a priest, alongside a man renowned in my town for his devotion to God. But I saw him drinking, smoking, bedding girls…talking my fellow learners into performing acts of a sexual nature. The same old story, hey? He showed no interest in me…”

  “Were you jealous?”

  “Oh no, I didn’t want to be involved in the sins. He claimed them to be orders from God, but I knew this was false because of his enjoyment. One night I have a dream: kill this man. Some need to go to heaven sooner, and some need to fall to hell immediately. The Bible spoke directly to me, and I always felt a sense of power. My first teacher told me I looked like a young Jesus Christ…and the likeness remains. My dreams told me more than life. I witnessed my own mother give birth to me, I witnessed my brother Jesus on the cross, and I witnessed my father creating all that we live within. But when I had the dream that asked me to kill this man, I knew who my family was. I needed to send this man away, quickly, for the good of the world my father made. Do you want to know how I did it?”