Deathbed Confessions of the Criminally Insane

by Jack Steen

  Now that you’ve read his story?

  Can you picture the woman in the casket being burned alive?

  What about the meals he prepared? That he ate? That his victims ate without knowing?

  Did something in your memory stir reading his words? Do you remember the funeral director who forced his victims to eat their own loved ones?

  Maybe you were one of his victims.

  Maybe you’re just a sick, sadistic bastard who got off on the idea.

  Fuck you if you are.

  * * *

  PS. If you figured out who I am and where I work, then you’ll know where the bar I head to after every shift. Come join me for a beer. I might have more stories to tell.

  * * *

  See you then.

  THE BABYSITTER

  1

  You know the story of Bonny and Clyde, right? Outlaws from the mid thirties who ran from the law robbing and killing along the way. There’s been a few movies about the couple, a famous ballad and numerous stories told in one form or another.

  There’s been few partners like them since then.

  We had one such couple here within our walls. The staff called them Barbie and Ken.

  I’m going to warn you up front - you might not like this story too much.

  Some people can’t be redeemed, no matter how close to death they sit.

  Barbie and Ken…they disgust me, if I’m being honest.

  On that note of honesty, I have a confession to make.

  As much as I like to say that everything you’re about to read in this confession story is one hundred percent all their words…I did have to edit it slightly.

  The gore, the descriptions…it wasn’t all necessary and I figured if I had a hard time stomaching it, you’d have an even harder time reading it.

  The essence of the confession is all here along with the majority of the descriptions.

  You’ll see.

  But back to Barbie and Ken.

  Barbie was dead. Died years ago. I had her in my care for a total of three days. I didn’t bother to offer her a deal - she came to me unconscious and only awoke fifteen minutes before she died.

  Those fifteen minutes she talked non-stop, like a fucking chatter box, except you had no idea what she was saying. The woman cut out her own tongue just before she was captured.

  Literally cut out her own fucking tongue.

  I’ve seen a lot of disgusting things in my time but having to look at her stump of a muscle while she jabbered away like a fucking monkey was revolting.

  Fuck, I even dream about it.

  I’m tied to a chair and she’s coming toward me, her mouth wide open, claws reaching out and all I focus on is that ugly purple stump in her mouth. The more I look at it, the more grotesque it becomes until it oozes with puss and black wisps of smoke escape her mouth until it’s all I can see.

  Did I mention Barbie was gorgeous? Even aged and prison weary.

  Since I couldn’t understand what she was saying, I handed her a crayon and my pad of paper. She wrote five words that asked more questions than provided answers.

  Tell him I’ll be waiting.

  I assumed the him she referred to was Ken.

  I’ve never told him her finally message.

  I’m still not sure if I will or not.

  Ken is an asshole. I can’t stand the fucker and he knows it.

  I almost didn’t offer Ken a deal.

  I didn’t want to, that’s for damn sure.

  The asshole didn’t deserve it.

  But he had stories to tell.

  Obviously I want those stories.

  Remember how I said these bastards like to play mind games? Ken almost had me.

  Almost.

  Until I played the final game and watched him die with fear in his eyes.

  2

  When my ward is quiet, I get restless.

  A restless Jack is a cranky Jack and my staff never like to be around me during those quiet shifts.

  You’d think after so many years here I’d enjoy a relaxing day or evening where I could lean back in my chair, rest my feet on my desk and sleep the hours away.

  Not so much.

  A quiet ward could signify one of three things.

  It’s empty or almost empty.

  People are dying and deserve the peace.

  Or we’re in lockdown and all the patients are heavily sedated.

  Out of the three, I much prefer the last option.

  Lockdown happens often within the walls of the asylum for any number of reasons.

  A few times we’ve had missing patients. Not on my ward since they’re all dying and quite literally bed bound, but on other floors.

  That causes quite the stir.

  No one ever escapes but they have gone missing before.

  You could say we’re a little like Alcatraz except we’re not surrounded by water.

  I like to gloat every so often at least I’ve never lost one of my patients.

  The institution has been here for years. Back in the day, and when I say back I mean back-back in the day, tunnels beneath the grounds were used by smugglers. Some say there’s still gold and jewels hidden deep within crevices. Others swear they’ve found bones. Still more will tell tales of whispered curses that surround them as they creep along the passages.

  I’ve walked along the paths. I’ve crept into areas I would swear were haunted but I’ve never found bones or any forgotten gold.

  Seven years ago a patient no one knew was missing was found wandering the tunnels. How he got there and why no one realized he’d escaped was never discovered but a lot of heads rolled in the following weeks. He claimed to have found a chest full of booze in one of the recessed corridors.

  To this day, that chest has never been found.

  Trust me. I’ve searched.

  “Hey, Jack?” Rene, a new sucker added to the floor and my staff, came rushing into the staff room.

  He stood in the doorway waiting for me to respond to him.

  What’s with kids these days? It’s like they can’t shit without approval for a job well done. Fuck that crap, I don’t have time to babysit and that’s exactly what I’ve had to do with this kid since the moment he came on the floor.

  Some nurses are cut out for the nastiness of death.

  Other’s aren’t.

  Rene isn’t even cut out for life. The kid needs to be behind a desk where his every fear isn’t made into a reality.

  “Unless someone’s dying, let me drink my coffee in peace, kid.”

  “It’s Ken.”

  That caught my attention.

  “What the fuck is wrong with Ken? He was fine this morning when I checked in on him.”

  Rene shuffled his feet and stared at the floor, his face going beat red.

  Did I mention he was just a kid? Probably drank from his mama’s tit until the day he graduated from school too. Swear in front of the boy and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

  “He ah, well…”

  I pushed my cup ahead a few inches and leaned back.

  “Spit it out, Rene.”

  “He complained his wrists were hurting.” The kid winced.

  I sighed, maintaining the scowl I was known for.

  “So you released his restraints, didn’t you?”

  Rene nodded.

  “Took you long enough.” I finally let my face relax and snorted with laughter.

  “Hey, Ike!” I yelled out, knowing he sat out by the front desk filling out forms for an inmate that passed away last night.

  “What? I’m busy.” Ike called back.

  “You owe me a round at the bar.”

  Ken liked to initiate each new staff nurse we get on the ward. I used to stop the nonsense, giving the newcomers a heads up about his antics.

  I don’t anymore.

  “Well, fuck kid. You couldn’t have lasted another twelve hours, could you?” Ike’s chair pushed back with a large squeak and he hovered over the kid as he
stood at his back.

  “It’s time I get a free round, don’t you think? I don’t get paid enough to cover your tab week after week.” Ike complained, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

  “Then stop making bets with me, you ass.”

  “I’m lost.” The look on the kid’s face was priceless.

  I’d be surprised if Rene lasted long on the ward. If he couldn’t handle it here, he couldn’t handle it on any floor.

  “You got played.” I pushed myself to my feet and nudged the kid out of the room. “Let me guess, he cries a little about his wrists, you feel bad, you check his chart to see if he’s to be retrained at all times, don’t see a note…wait, you didn’t look did you?” I could tell by the crazy look in the kid’s eyes that he broke one of my cardinal rules.

  I stopped in my tracks, arms crossed, legs wide apart and gave him my ‘you-better-be-fucking-with-me-for-a-good-reason’ look and waited for him to tell me what I all ready knew.

  “He, ah…he told me that he’d gotten upset earlier at something you’d said so you restrained him.” Rene cleared his throat with obvious embarrassment.

  “Because I restrain all those who get upset, right?” I rolled my eyes.

  He nodded.

  Well…I’ll give him that at least. Yeah, I do restrain these assholes a lot, but only if they deserve it.

  Ken…he fucking deserves it.

  I’ve been waiting for the bastard to die for two long months now. I swear the man hangs on just to piss me off.

  Everything about his pisses me off.

  The way he smiles. His perfect teeth. The dimple in his chin. The way he watches my every move with his cold calculating eyes.

  Fuck. I’d give anything to smash those perfect teeth of his.

  Put us in a bar and I’d not only destroy that smile of his, I’d wreck his face so no one would give him another glance.

  Yes. I hate Ken. He knows it too. But I want his fucking story.

  Between him and Barbie, they claimed to have killed fourteen teenage girls.

  Four-fucking-teen girls.

  They found thirteen of them.

  The very first one has never been recovered. Her family never given the closure they deserved.

  No matter how many threats, promises, psychiatrists or journalists came in to try to find the identity and body of their first victim, neither Barbie nor Ken would say a word.

  But he promised me he’d tell me.

  That would be his death story.

  I hate the bastard. But that girl’s family, they deserve to mourn properly.

  “Word of advice kid. Always look at the fucking chart and never believe a word that asshole tells you. He’s playing with your fucking mind and gets off on it. That’s what you came to tell me, wasn’t it?”

  Rene nodded.

  “When they want to play with your head, you play with theirs. You don’t always have to be the nice guy. They’re not in here because their model citizens, you know?”

  I look the kid right in the eye, staring straight into his soul.

  “Do you have a sister?” I asked him.

  “I do.”

  “How old is she?” I needed this to hit home.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Bet she’s pretty, isn’t she? If Ken had met her, you know what he would have done? Considered her his prey. He’d kidnap her, rape her and then kill her slowly, making sure to hear all her screams while she slowly died due to his torture.”

  Rene’s eyes widened first with shock then narrowed in anger.

  “When his hands are free, he’ll either reach for your cock or play with his own. You’ll scream in pain, he’ll get off with pleasure.”

  “He doesn’t deserve an ounce of pleasure.” Rene ground the words out, the anger and disgust coming off him in waves.

  “Exactly.” I clasped him on the shoulder.

  Maybe this kid would do all right after all.

  3

  Ken.

  As much as Barbie looked the doll she was named after, Ken too had that handsome California appeal.

  In his day he was muscular with golden blond hair, impeccable abs and a smile to light a thousand watt lightbulbs. At least, that’s how the papers described him.

  Me, I’d describe him as a sociopath with the looks of a god but the spirit of the devil.

  I sent Rene off to check on other patients while I headed toward Ken’s room.

  Since things had been quiet for the past week, I’d put my staff to work cleaning. There was only so much to clean before you realize it ain’t worth it, but it kept them busy at least.

  The hall still smelled like piss.

  But that was from another patient who pissed himself this morning while in his wheelchair.

  The walls would always look dismal and gritty. Nothing but a new paint job would fix that and that wasn’t going to happen. Not in my lifetime.

  “I hear you, Jack. You’re like a fucking buffalo walking down the hall.” Ken yelled at me.

  “Aww, if I’d known you missed me that much, I’d have brought you flowers.” The sarcasm dripped from my lips as I entered his room.

  I caught the smile on the bastards face.

  “I knew you would come. That kid—”

  “That kid won’t let you play with him again, I promise you that.” I interrupted.

  Ken shrugged. “It was fun while it lasted.”

  I eyed the man, the sheets, the bed. The blanket still had the creases from being folded and the sheets were bundled up around his waist like they normally were.

  At least Rene had cleaned up before coming for me.

  “I hope you enjoyed your little fun time.” I quoted the air with my fingers. “I promise that will be the last time you get off before you die.”

  “Promises promises.” Ken swallowed but I heard the tremor of fear.

  He knew me well enough to know I wasn’t joking.

  “About that.” Ken licked his chapped and red lips. “I’ve had enough.”

  I just stared at him. Enough what? If he was trying to taunt me, it sure as hell wasn’t working.

  “If I tell you my story, you’ll pull the plug, right?”

  I tightened my lips but didn’t say anything.

  “That’s the deal, right?” Ken’s voice raised slightly, his voice hitched at the question.

  This time it was my turn to shrug.

  “Not fair man. I thought that was the deal.”

  I snorted.

  “Deal for whom? You? You’re that special? I’m sorry. Let me go get you your gold star.” I turned as if to leave. That’s when Ken started to laugh.

  “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

  I turned back. “Takes one to know one. Asshole.”

  We measured each other up. I wasn’t about to back down and where the fuck did Ken expect to go?

  “You want my story or what?” Ken finally broke eye contact.

  I scratched the side of my neck.

  “You’re not scheduled for another dosage for another hour. Why don’t I come back then and see if you can play nice.”

  “What’s that to mean?” His eyes narrowed as she looked at the line going from his med bag into the vein on his arm.

  “I’m not in the mood to be fucked with. That’s what it means. You have a story to tell and I have the power to give you the peace you’re looking for.” I pushed my shoulders back, feeling the crack along my joints and smiled.

  “What if I have one last dying wish?” He looked down at his jewels then back at me, his brows lifting in a silent plea.

  “Guess that depends on how good your story is.”

  I walked out then.

  Yes. I’ll admit it. I’m an asshole.

  Could I be nicer to him? Sure. Didn’t mean I would.

  Would I give him that dosage of relief I’d promised? Sure. I might be an asshole but I didn’t like seeing people in pain.

  Even if they deserved it.

  Wa
s Ken really ready to die?

  I think he was.

  Not everyone dies in their sleep. Nor do they die from obvious illness.

  I’ve watched people on this floor die from sheer will. Once they decided it was time, it was time.

  The brain is a powerful muscle. When used right, you’d be surprised at what it can do.

  Like tell your body to stop working because you willed it to.

  I’ve also watched people pass away in their sleep with a blissful smile on their face as I gave them an extra dose of their medication.

  They were dying anyway. I’m just helping them along the way.

  Would I do that for Ken?

  No.

  If he was ready to die, then he’d die. But not by my hand. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  Although…I did have a message for him that might scare him to death.

  I rubbed my hands with demented glee.

  He could try to mind fuck me all he wanted but in the end, I was the one to fuck with him and I couldn’t wait.

  4

  By the time I returned, dragging my chair along side me, Ken was more subdued. I was surprised. I expected him to be ready to talk but he looked like he wanted to sleep rather than tell me his story.

  “Should I come back?”

  “What, do you have something else better to do?” He jerked his hands roughly against his restraints. “I sure as hell don’t.”

  “Yeah, I could spent my time having a shit and jerking off to the latest porno I downloaded on my phone.”

  His eyes sparkled. “We could watch together.”

  “Dream on.” The idea of watching that with him - fuck that shit.

  Ken smirked. “Then sit your ass down and start writing. Gotta admit, I kind of like having my own personal secretary.”

  My grip on the chair tightened as I thought about walking away and letting the fucker…

  “I hate you.” I muttered instead.

  The pure and honest look of disgust on Ken’s face at my words said the feelings were reciprocated.

  “What will you do with my story when I’m dead?” He asked.

  “What of it? You’ll be dead.” I feigned indifference.