Single White Psycopath Seeks Same

by Jeff Strand

  “I told you, the aim is off!”

  Josie stepped away from her cannon. “Nice going, jackass.”

  “It’s the aim! Come over here and check it out!”

  “Your cannon’s fine, jackass,” said Mortimer.

  Foster made like he was going to walk over and hit him, but then grinned. “But that was a pretty good throat hit, huh? I’d like to see you try that.”

  “No way, it’s seven to one, we still need more points to make up for Stan’s dumb move,” said Mortimer, putting another spike in his cannon.

  Trevor had been staring at Susan in horror, and suddenly realized that he needed to continue gathering the flags. Mortimer’s shot missed him completely.

  I blinked and felt a tear trickle down my cheek. I hurriedly wiped it off on my sleeve before anyone saw.

  Another shot by Mortimer lodged in Trevor’s stomach. I had to put the poor guy out of his misery. I fired, missing his head yet again and instead striking his shoulder blade.

  “Ooooh, vicious hit by Andrew!” Daniel declared. “That boy is dangerous behind the cannon!”

  Mortimer fired. Trevor dropped to the floor, a spike jutting from his forehead. “Ooops.”

  “Smooth move, jackass,” said Foster.

  Mortimer shrugged. “We still would’ve won if it weren’t for Stan. But that’s okay. Daniel, Foster, Josie, I salute you. Very nice shooting Andrew, especially for a first-timer.”

  “Absolutely,” said Daniel. “You did great. Should’ve put you on my team instead of the jackass.”

  The others applauded. I stood there, doing everything I could to hide how miserable and sick I felt. I looked away from the bloody corpses and stared at the spike in my hand.

  I couldn’t pocket it, not with everyone walking toward me.

  I could certainly lunge at Daniel.

  But no. I’d earned some respect. Maybe not a lot, but it might be enough. I had to play it smart. Now I’d just find a way to get Daniel alone. Then I’d break his neck, get his gun, and finish off the rest of them.

  I tossed the spike back into the box.

  “Mind if I pump a few more into ‘em?” asked Stan. “For practice?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Be my guest, you sick bastard.”

  “I’m up for a rematch,” said Mortimer, coming around to our side of the cube. “How about you snag a couple more prisoners?”

  “No, no, no,” said Daniel. “It’s time for the really gruesome, hands-on, one-on-one stuff. And we’ve got lots of new props this year.”

  Snap! Stan fired a shot, and then loaded another spike.

  “Great! Who gets to go first?”

  “It’s Foster’s turn this year.”

  Mortimer looked over at Foster. “I hope you’re not going to take three and a half hours again. You know, there’s a point where you just have to kill them and move on.”

  Snap!

  “Then maybe I’ll do four hours,” Foster told him. “Maybe four and a half. Maybe, and this is only an unverified rumor, so don’t say anything, but maybe I’ll do five.”

  “Jackass.”

  “The jackass joke is long gone. Why don’t you go with it?”

  Mortimer started to say something, but apparently decided that his comment lacked the wit of the current conversation thread and decided against it.

  Snap!

  “However,” Foster began, “I think Andrew should go first.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I’d rather see how it’s done. Whatever it is.”

  “It’s nothing you haven’t done before. This’ll be your chance to prove you can do it well. What do you think, Daniel?”

  “If you want to trade him spots, that’s fine with me.”

  “Good. Yes, I’d like Andrew to go first. It should be interesting.”

  Snap!

  “Don’t I get any choice in this matter?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Daniel. “New Initiates have no rights. C’mon, let’s go make a mess!”

  Roger’s Side

  THINGS AREN’T going well.

  I’ve been trying to conserve tape space, so I haven’t been talking much, but things are getting really bad. A couple hours ago, the bald guy, Foster, came in here and took away Susan Piccinini and Trevor Wenford.

  Ten minutes ago, he brought them back on a big cart. I couldn’t even tell how many stab wounds they had, not with all the blood, and they had a bunch of metal things, about the size of pencils, sticking out of them.

  Foster pushed the cart really slowly. And he was whistling.

  He took them through the other door. I don’t know what they’re planning to do with the bodies. He was only gone for about half a minute, so I guess they’re just storing them for now.

  Then he took Charlotte Burgin.

  That was five minutes ago.

  I want to go home.

  Chapter 15

  THOUGH nothing had been explained to me yet, I had a feeling that this next event was going to be far worse than the game of darts.

  I was in a small room with a white tile floor. An operating room, to be specific. The kind with the glass-enclosed spectator gallery above, which is where everyone but Foster was seated.

  The walls were lined with eight different carts. One of them did indeed contain surgical tools. The others were filled with more different types of weapons and tools than I can even begin to list completely. There were the standards: hammer, screwdriver, nails, and wire cutters. Then hedge trimmers, a chainsaw, and a weed whacker. Knives of all shapes and sizes. Clubs. A blowtorch. A bottle labeled “hydrochloric acid.” Lots of frightening instruments that I’d never seen before or even imagined existed.

  And (I swear this is true) there was a lawnmower in the corner.

  Foster wheeled in a gurney, upon which lay a woman I recognized well from pictures Craig Burgin had shown me. It was Charlotte, his wife. Physically, she was quite the opposite of her husband, tall and slender instead of short and chubby. She looked about ten years older than her photos, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t because they were old pictures. Nevertheless, there was a definite sense of dignity about her, even now, that she’d somehow managed to retain for all these months.

  I’d completely forgotten that the original purpose of my involvement was to aid in her rescue. I wondered what Craig was doing right now. Hopefully he wasn’t being a slacker about keeping the real Headhunter medicated.

  She was on her back, her wrists and ankles tightly bound to the corners of the gurney with leather straps. Her face was tearstained but I could tell she wouldn’t be begging for mercy. Foster saluted, and then left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

  “All right, Andrew,” said Daniel, speaking into a microphone. His voice, blasting through speakers, echoed throughout the operating room. “This is your big moment. The fulfillment of a life-long fantasy. You have every kind of weapon you could possibly want. You have a helpless victim. You have a captive audience. Do your worst. Entertain us.”

  I was so appalled that I stood there staring at him for nearly ten seconds before I caught myself. “Sorry. What exactly am I supposed to be doing?”

  Daniel rolled his eyes. “Use your imagination. Let it all out. Ruin her.”

  There wasn’t truly every kind of weapon I could possibly want. What I really wanted was a trusty submachine gun, to take them all out. Or any kind of gun. But there wasn’t one, and somehow I didn’t think hurling a hammer through the glass was going to solve my problem.

  “Okay,” I said, wiping my perspiration-soaked hands on my pants. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be. If I could stall long enough, I’d find it.

  “However, I think we’re going to impose a new rule this year,” said Daniel. “If members of the audience get restless, they will express their displeasure using the good old-fashioned thumbs-down. If this vote becomes unanimous, you will then have thirty seconds to regain their approval. If you don’t, you die. Gunshot to the head. Bang.”
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  “Say what?” I demanded. “Are you threatening me?” I tried to sound more angry than scared.

  “Andrew, c’mon. We’re just making things more interesting. This should be a cakewalk for you.”

  “I don’t like being threatened,” I said.

  “Yes, well, Mr. Headhunter, you’re down there and we’re up here, and it’s my lair of torture, and what I say goes. I have to say, you’re not quite the party animal I envisioned.”

  “I’m not taking part in this. Open the door and let me out of here.”

  Foster held out his hand, giving me thumbs-down.

  “Uh-oh, looks like you’ve got audience displeasure already. Might wanna get started.”

  “I’m serious, Daniel! Open the door!”

  “I’m serious, too. Serious about fun ! And you’re not having any, so have some, willya? This place was expensive.”

  “This is your last warning!”

  “Well, it looks to me like my dear wife has just given you your second warning, so I’d strongly suggest putting an end to the whining and start cutting! Or sawing, or burning, or poking, or something! ”

  Okay, fine. I’d keep them entertained while I figured something out. There was a solution to this problem. I just had to hope that my own substantially-less-than-flawless brain could work it out.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “This whole thing is totally surreal. I wasn’t expecting anything quite so elaborate; it’s got me totally weirded out.”

  “No need to apologize, my friend,” said Daniel. “Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

  Well, the first part of his advice was good, at least. Relax . Relax . Relax . You’re on a sunny beach, sipping a drink with multiple umbrellas in it, with Helen standing there in a bikini, the red one with the cutout—no, that’s lewd, focus on the problem at hand .

  At the very least, I could keep myself occupied for a while going through the weapons. And so I did, holding them up, inspecting them, and describing in great detail what I could do with them. There’s no reason for me to share exactly what I said, but it was graphic and vile beyond belief. I don’t even know what diseased part of my mind came up with those descriptions, but I had no choice.

  The whole time, I kept trying to find a way out.

  The door was locked. I had plenty of tools on hand, and given enough time and a little privacy, I could probably get out. But I didn’t have time or anything resembling privacy.

  Even without the glass barrier, there wasn’t much I could do to the spectators, unless they all promised to sit there quietly and not move while I threw knives at them.

  Of course, I could’ve killed Charlotte and been home free, but that wasn’t even remotely an option.

  She looked terrified to the point of shock.

  I continued going through the weapons, chatting away. There was no way to escape, so I needed to figure out how to get Daniel to end the event without Charlotte’s death, and without my own death immediately afterward.

  How could I reasonably not be expected to continue, even by Daniel’s standards?

  A hostage. That was the only way.

  “Y’know, now that I’m getting into this, it really is a fantasy come true,” I said. “But I’ve gotta tell you, I’ve got an even better fantasy.”

  “And what would that be?” Daniel asked.

  “I can’t think of anything in the world more fun than to shred this beautiful, helpless woman with the assistance of another beautiful woman. And I think I see one right now. Josie, would you like to come down here and help out?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Andrew, it’s your show.”

  “Oh, come on! I’ll take one end, you take the other! You can’t tell me that won’t be a thrill!”

  “It probably would,” she admitted. “But this is your moment to shine, sweetie. Show us what you’ve got.”

  “You’re not seriously going to refuse my number one fantasy in the entire world, are you?” I looked over at Daniel for support. “Back me up here.”

  Daniel shrugged. “It’s up to her.”

  “Sorry,” said Josie. “Maybe next year.”

  “All right, fine. What about you gentlemen? Mortimer? Wanna grab a lawn mower and help me out?”

  “Nah, I’m saving my energy for my turn.”

  “Stan?”

  “Uh-uh. Not how we do it.”

  It wasn’t even worth the effort, but I looked over at Foster. He gave me a second thumbs-down.

  There would be no hostage.

  “Guess I’m on my own, then,” I said.

  What could I possibly do? They weren’t going to let me out of here until Charlotte was dead.

  I continued looking through the weapons, trying to focus. There had to be a way. There just had to. Then, miraculously, the idea came to me. But for it to work, I’d have to distract the others.

  And the only way to sufficiently distract them was to do some horrible things.

  Charlotte would probably hate and be repulsed by me forever, but if this worked, she’d be alive.

  I’d been talking for ten minutes. It was time for action, before they got bored.

  “I feel bad about wimping out like this, with such a fine selection,” I said, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to go with that reliable old standard, the knife.” I picked up one with a narrow, four-inch blade. “Now, where to cut, where to cut? Hmmmm...”

  I looked up at the spectators. “You know what? We’ve got a really serious problem down here.”

  “And what would that be?” asked Daniel, annoyed.

  “The victim down here. She’s wearing far too much clothing.”

  Daniel perked up. “Then by all means, take care of the problem.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut as I slid the dull edge of the blade across the side of her neck, and then cut her blouse down the front.

  I was absolutely mortified while I did it, but I had to think of myself as a magician, drawing the audience’s attention away from the secret of the trick. Because for this to work, I’d have to do something almost unbelievably idiotic in their eyes, and it had to look like an accident.

  They had to be completely distracted, and what could be more distracting than getting Charlotte naked?

  So I didn’t stop with the blouse.

  Or the bra.

  In fact, when I was completely done, I spun the gurney around in a slow circle, giving everyone a perfect view. It was humiliating for me, probably excruciatingly so for Charlotte, but it was working. They were watching with appalling fascination. Even Josie.

  “Much, much better,” I said, forcing myself to choke out the words. And then I set the knife down next to Charlotte’s shoulder and returned to the carts.

  “What next...ooooh, how about a blowtorch? I know just where a blowtorch would be the most fun, too. But no, how about something even more painful? How about pliers?”

  I picked up the pliers and returned to the gurney. “You are incredible,” I told Charlotte. “I don’t know about the rest of the audience up there, but I’m less interested in killing you than other things, if you know what I mean.” I leaned down and bit her ear, hard enough that she let out a gasp.

  Then I whispered to her.

  I stood back up. “But, I’ve got work to do. Let’s get to the action. It’s time for this lovely lady to lose some fingers.”

  I opened the pliers, and held the jaws over Charlotte’s index finger. “Whoops, gotta play to the audience.” I unbuckled the strap binding her wrist, then held her arm up high for everybody to see. Then I got ready to close the pliers over her finger.

  “No!” I said, my eyes wide as I pretended that an incredible idea had just occurred to me. “Forget the pliers! I wanna use the acid!”

  I dropped her arm and turned around excitedly.

  Then I tensed my whole body, praying both that Charlotte would act and that she would do exactly what I’d told her.

  An instant late
r, I let out a howl as she plunged the knife I’d left on the gurney deep into my right buttock.

  I stumbled forward, purposely knocking over the cart of weapons. The pain was too great for me to think clearly, but I did manage a bit of relief that she’d followed instructions. She could’ve stabbed me in the back.

  I launched into a screaming fit of obscenities. Daniel and the rest were laughing so hard they could barely contain themselves. Perfect. I gave them all the finger and continued cursing.

  I wrenched the knife out and threw it to the ground. “Lousy bitch.”

  “Thumbs-up! Thumbs-up!” Foster declared.

  “Yeah, yeah. Ha ha ha. Real hilarious.”

  “I think you and the toilet seat are going to have a very bad relationship for a while,” said Daniel, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, but that’s one of the funniest things I’ve seen in my whole entire life!”

  “Yeah, well, do you think I could get some medical attention?”

  “Don’t you wanna finish her off?”

  “Not standing here with my ass bleeding, no!”

  Daniel tried to respond, but then he broke into another fit of hysterical laughter. It took several moments for him to control himself enough to gesture to Foster. “Go ahead, get him out of there. Oh, shit, I need a drink! I think we all do! I’d give anything to have been taping that!”

  The others got up, still laughing. I was in a lot of pain, but this wasn’t over yet. Because Foster was going to have to open that door, and I had a hell of a lot of weapons waiting for him.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t conceal any of them. Josie remained in the spectator booth, watching me intently as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. I picked up a machete, pretending like I was having trouble keeping myself from using it on Charlotte.

  A couple of minutes later, Foster opened the door. He had a small plastic bag in one hand, and a gun in the other. Pointed at me, of course.

  “If I got stabbed in the ass by a tied-down naked woman, I’d want somebody to put me out of my misery,” he said. “Would you like me to help out?”

  “Just get me a first-aid kit and shut up.” I pointed to Charlotte. “And take her back to wherever you got her from. After I get patched up she’s going to get a lot worse than a knife in the butt, believe me.”