Dreams and Reality Set 3: Cannibal Dreams and Butchered Dreams

by Hadena James

  “No need,” I answered. My hand was having difficulty unclenching on its own. Malachi took hold of my wrist, as I used my other hand to uncurl the fingers. It hurt, but I’d endured worse. Once my hand was open, I peeled the scabs off for a second time. The nurse left the room. I think it was the noises involved in opening my hand. The doctor frowned even harder at me, but said nothing. Malachi let go of my wrist. “Thanks.”

  “You’d do the same for me.” He said.

  “No, I would actually open your hand for you.” I told him.

  “I had considered that.” Malachi admitted.

  The doctor brought our attention back to him by clearing his throat. A new nurse came into the room. She had a tray with different torture devices that I recognized as medical tools.

  “We really should give you a local.” The doctor told me.

  “It will take ten minutes for full effect. I want these out now. Like three hours ago now. I can take the pain, I cannot take having the teeth in my fingers. I feel like they are burying themselves deeper into my flesh as we speak. They’re like parasites, boring into me. We do not have time for a local and I do not care about scars. Just get them out, please.”

  “Ok,” the doctor sighed and took hold of my hand. “You know, I could be doing more damage to your hand, right?”

  “It will be fine.”

  “What if they aren’t teeth, what if they’re bones?” The doctor asked.

  “Then they are not my bones. The teeth broke off and lodged in my hand before I began beating the suspect with a chain.”

  “Oh,” the doctor got a weird look on his face. “The hospital is buzzing with info that a law enforcement officer nearly ripped the jaw off someone.”

  “How? He went to University Hospital.” Malachi said.

  “Doctors talk, especially about things like this.”

  “Yes, it was me, he tried to bite off my fingers, so I dug them into his mouth, breaking off his teeth into my flesh and then I forced him to let go by nearly ripping off his jaw. Now take the teeth out of my fucking hand!”

  “Calm down,” the doctor told me. “Do you want a sedative? You’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

  “No, I want you to remove the teeth from my hand. Then I want you to X-ray my hand, figure out how many bones are broken and if it can be fixed, then I want someone to fix it to the best of their ability and then I want to go back to work and catch the serial killer I’m actually after and not some speed freak who likes to bite off people’s fingers!”

  The doctor let go of my hand and backed away from me. Malachi touched my shoulder. His face was hard.

  “You are going into a full psychotic episode. You need to take a breath.” Malachi told me.

  “I am not.” I answered.

  “Yes you are. The rage is consuming you, making you paranoid and angry. This goes beyond the calm, Aislinn. This is not a road you need to go down. I need for you to remain sane. Do you want a sedative?”

  “I do not want a sedative,” I said, feeling myself start to calm down. “You’re right, I’m having an episode. I need a moment.” I was going to say more, but my phone rang. The number was listed as “Private.” Only one private number called me.

  “Well?” Malachi asked.

  “Hello?” I answered the phone, ignoring him.

  “Are you alright?” Patterson asked me.

  “I nearly ripped the jaw off a serial killer this morning. I beat him with a chain afterwards. I think I broke every bone in my hand and I have the killer’s teeth embedded in my fingers. Now, Malachi thinks I’m having a psychotic episode because I’ve moved from the dark calm to a place of complete rage. Based on that information, what do you think?”

  “How were you kidnapped?” Patterson asked.

  “I was Tasered with my own Taser by a meth head. Somehow, he got into my motel room while I was showering.”

  “You lived. I’d say that’s a good day. How long will you be in the hospital?”

  “A day or so.”

  “I know how much you hate hospitals,” Patterson answered. His voice suddenly sounded tired. “I’d help if I could.”

  “I’m sure you would, which is why our suspected serial killer is under lock and key. If you kill cops to get to him, I will take it as a personal affront.”

  “Understood,” Patterson answered. “However, considering what you did to him, I think he got what he deserved. I have other matters to attend to anyway.”

  “Tell me about Virgil,” I sprung the question on him.

  “There’s nothing to tell. He’s my brother.”

  “He’s supposed to be dead.”

  “So am I.” Patterson answered.

  “No, you’re supposed to be in federal custody, like your sister.”

  “I am nothing like my sister.” Patterson became angry, his voice becoming strained.

  “I believe you.” I soothed his ego.

  “I look forward to meeting you, in person, granddaughter. Now, I need to go.” Patterson hung up.

  I looked at the doctor. “Let’s get this over with. I promise not to have a meltdown. I need to think and I cannot do it with these injuries.” As an afterthought, I looked at Malachi, “Patterson said he had to go. I’m guessing he is about to kill someone.”

  Transporter

  Patterson didn’t notice the cold or the freezing rain that was starting to fall. He sat in his car, thinking. Aislinn kidnapped by a serial killer. He’d let her down. In the years that followed Callow, he’d always been there to prevent such things. When Gerard Hawkins had broken into her apartment, Patterson had been outside, waiting, watching through the window. If Hawkins had gotten the upper hand, he would have moved heaven and earth to keep her from getting hurt. Yet, his vendetta had taken him elsewhere in recent days and she’d been abducted, again.

  First Nyleena and now Aislinn, he was losing his touch. He was getting old. Patterson knew that his mind was going. A doctor would confirm it, eventually, probably when he landed on a slab. He wondered if Xavier would do the autopsy, since it wasn’t an SCTU case.

  The blame for this most recent incident wasn’t entirely his fault though. Malachi had been there. That other agent had been there. And she’d been put up in some seedy motel that was not secure.

  It bothered him, because he liked Malachi. Malachi was good for Aislinn, he helped keep her sane. Maybe he wouldn’t kill him, just remind him of his duty. It didn’t matter at the moment though. He’d come back to them, later. Right now, he had someone else to deal with.

  He took aim as the van transporting his son, Joseph, exited the parking lot of the sheriff’s department. Patterson didn’t have the sniper training that he felt he needed for this job. He’d never been a hunter. During the war, he’d been infantry, a foot soldier, marching towards the enemy on the ground.

  The first shot hit the side window near Joseph. The window didn’t shatter and the bullet didn’t penetrate the glass. He didn’t stick around for a second shot. He loaded his gear into his car and left. No one would suspect the old man behind the wheel of a Lincoln, driving the speed limit.

  They didn’t. He slipped through the net and drove into town. He was back at his hotel in less than ten minutes. Despite his calm demeanor as he entered the hotel, he was seething inside. How could he have not realized that they would have bullet proof glass on the transport van? It was a stupid mistake. A rookie mistake made by a rookie killer, but he wasn’t a rookie. He was a good at this, it was what he did best.

  He rethought his current situation. Perhaps this whole thing with his granddaughters had him off balance.

  The urge to kill, and it was an urge, a physical need no different than eating or sleeping, surged through his body. It made his hands tremble, like a man needing a stiff drink to start the morning. The heart in his chest beat too slowly. His mind could think of nothing else.

  The urge would have to be slaked. He couldn’t get to Joseph, but there were others and these others would suffi
ce. It wouldn’t be as satisfying. The urge might need two or three victims, sacrificed to quiet it. He’d been here before, after killing Lyla, he’d run away, because his bloodlust wasn’t satisfied and he hadn’t wanted to harm his children. She hadn’t been a satisfying substitute for his sister, Gertrude.

  Leaving the hotel, he disposed of the rifle after wiping it down and removing the other bullet from the chamber. He pocketed it without much thought. The list in Columbia was short, primarily consisting of Joseph. However, there were others in neighboring areas. Now, he headed south on 63, headed to the capitol, Jefferson City. There was an old friend there that he hadn’t seen in a while. It was about time he did.

  It was a half-hour drive to the city and another ten to the friend’s house. Patterson parked in the drive, not worried about neighbors. If they wrote down a license plate number, they’d find it belonged to someone named Gertrude Clachan. Since the news had already announced that Patterson Clachan was the elusive, yet brutal serial killer still on the loose, it didn’t matter.

  He got out and walked slowly to the house, using his cane for support, despite not needing it. Once in front of the door, he used the head of the cane to rap sharply twice upon the wood. It left a slight indentation that made Patterson smile.

  “Go away,” the voice inside shouted.

  “And if I refuse?” Patterson answered back. He heard movement inside. The door opened. The older man sighed at the sight of Patterson.

  “Do I know you?” The man asked. He was in his fifties, with a large beer belly and a bald head. Patterson instantly disliked him.

  “Patterson Clachan,” Patterson answered.

  “You’re wanted for murder,” the man said.

  “I know,” Patterson walked past him, into the house. “How have you been, Roger?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I know a lot about you.” Patterson took a seat.

  “I should call the police.”

  “You should, but you won’t.”

  “Why won’t I?” Roger narrowed his eyes at Patterson.

  “Skeletons,” Patterson answered. “Lots of skeletons.”

  “Not as many as you,” Roger didn’t call the police. He took a seat in a chair across from Patterson.

  “True, few people have as many skeletons as I do.” Patterson thought for a moment.

  “Are you here to kill me?” Roger asked.

  “Yes,” Patterson shrugged.

  “Who are you to play judge, jury, and executioner against me?”

  “Just the man who knows your sins,” Patterson answered. “I may not be in a position to judge you, but to play executioner, well, that’s what I was born to do.”

  “And what sins do you think I‘ve committed?” Roger asked.

  “Twenty years ago, my granddaughter was kidnapped by a man named Callow. He enjoyed sexually torturing the children and killing them.”

  “He acted alone.” Roger sneered.

  “Oh, I know that, but he had a video recorder set up in his torture chamber and a camera on a tripod. He videotaped all of his exploits. The problem is, they didn’t find the tapes. I spent eighteen years trying to figure out exactly what happened to them. They weren’t catalogued by the police. Then I found one of them. It was in a box at a garage sale, imagine my surprise. I very nicely asked the garage sale person where the tape had come from and after some time, he told me he’d bought it from you, for $200. I tried to turn it over to the authorities, but they wouldn’t listen. He was an old man, senile, possibly suffering from dementia or some other brain eating disease. Unfortunately for you, I’m not. Here’s what’s going to happen, I’m going to torture and kill you and leave the tape next to your mutilated body. My granddaughter and her friend are going to find it and put two and two together. Consider yourself lucky that you’ll be dead. You don’t want to face the two of them, they are psychotic and feed off each other’s negative psychotic energy. When they find the tape, you cannot imagine how much rage they are going to experience. At least if I torture you, it will end quickly.”

  “Why would I sit here and agree to let you torture me to death?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, you don’t have a choice,” Patterson moved like a jaguar going for the kill. He rapped the cane against the cheekbone of Roger, the peddler of child porn. Roger’s face crunched with a satisfying thud.

  Patterson pounced, he didn’t have any rigging with him, but he had duct tape and rope. He bound the man’s hands together first, tying the knots so tight the fingers instantly began to swell and the hands change color. He did the same at the ankles, then pushed him into the chair. He waited to gag him. There was some information that he wanted. He positioned his cane over Roger’s hand. Roger was blubbering.

  “Roger, I just have a few questions, which you are going to answer or it gets worse.” Patterson stood over the other man. “When police searched Callow’s house, they didn’t find any tapes, not even one of Aislinn Clachan. How is that possible? How did you get there and take the tape after she escaped?”

  “Go to hell!” Roger spit on Patterson. Patterson wiped away the offensive liquid with a gloved hand. The gloves were plush black leather. Being spit on was nothing new to Patterson, he’d been spit on several times before. It always annoyed him.

  “Now, now, Roger,” Patterson looked at him. “We’ll have none of that. It goes much easier for you if you just tell me what I want to know. I’ll give you one more chance, what happened to the tape of Aislinn Clachan?”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway.” Roger protested.

  “That’s true, I am going to kill you. It can be slow or fast, your choice. For example, I can remove your eyes while you’re still alive if you prefer.”

  “My eyes?” Roger looked skeptical.

  “My mother used to use them to make soup stock. I’d open the ice box door and there would be a jar of eyes in the fridge. It was creepy. So, now I do it, I’ll take out your eyes and put them in the fridge. It’s up to you whether I do it while you’re alive or dead. And Roger, it really hurts to have the optic nerve cut while you’re alive. Also, one minute you can see, but there’s a horrible pain and the next, you’re blind and it hurts even worse.”

  “You’ll have to give me more information, I don’t know the kids by their names.”

  “She was the one that escaped, Roger. She’s the one that killed Callow and escaped.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Roger looked solemn for a moment. “Mark didn’t tape her, at all. Most of the girls had tapes made the first or second day he had them, but not that last one. He called me the second day and told me there wouldn’t be a tape. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he couldn’t go near her once he had her in his possession. That little bitty girl frightened him. I guess in hindsight, it was justified. When he did finally get up the nerve to kill her, she ended up killing him, with a plastic spoon of all things.”

  “Another question, Roger. How many tapes were there?”

  “Total?” Roger looked at him. “Hundreds. Mark would tape a session or two, then pass the tape along to me. Since he kept the girls for as long as possible, they each had multiple tapes. You found one at a garage sale?”

  “The children were moving their father into a nursing home. They didn’t realize what it was, they thought it was a movie recorded off TV, but I recognized the name of the ‘actress’ in it as being one of the girls killed by Callow. One more question, Roger, and this is very important, did you participate?”

  “Hell no. I haven’t even seen what’s on the tapes. I just knew Mark and Mark wanted to move the tapes, I helped him do that.”

  “Good,” Patterson brought his cane up and brought the handle down on Roger’s hand. Roger screamed, Patterson shoved a sock into his mouth and put duct tape over it. “You know, Roger, you shouldn’t lie. It breaks the bonds of trust. Since you told me about Aislinn, I’ll still honor our agreement and take your eyes after you’re dead. But the rest
of it, you’re going to be very much alive for. The video I have has your voice in the background, telling Mark Callow that you have a buyer for the girl if he wants to sell her instead of kill her. Did you guys sell any of the girls?”

  Roger shook his head emphatically. Patterson brought out a knife, showing him the blade. Roger shook his head “no” again.

  “Let’s hope not Roger, because if I find out you lied to me, I’m going after your children and grandchildren after I’m done here. And I will find out. I always do. So, do you want to change your answer?”

  Roger shook his head “no” again. Patterson nodded once. The blade plunged into the skin between two ribs. He turned it sideways, pulled a large set of needle nose pliers from his trusty bag and inserted them into the wound. Carefully, he opened them, feeling the weakened bones break. With the ribs broken, he goes back to the knife, making the wound larger, cutting a large slit over the rib bones. Patterson smiled at Roger.

  “This is going to hurt, but you should die quickly,” Patterson inserted his gloved hand into the wound, the bones ripping at his gloves. His fingers touched Roger’s beating heart. Patterson closed his eyes, clamping his hand around the pumping organ. It was racing. He pulled until the heart was out of Roger’s body. Roger looked shocked for a moment, then his eyes glazed and all signs of life were extinguished. Patterson put the heart on the kitchen table, before returning to the body. He removed the eyes and put them in the fridge. Roger wasn’t worth much more than that.

  For the final touch he placed the video tape, now covered in bloody glove prints, on the table. The spine read “Touched by an Angel” and had the old man’s name next to it, like a property stamp. The top label said “Guest starring K. Lassiter.” Kari Lassiter had been kidnapped two weeks before Aislinn. If only Aislinn had been kidnapped first, the entire thing could have been avoided. Now, they’d connect the two murders, if they hadn’t already. Patterson was glad. He wanted everyone to know why he had killed both of them.

  Nineteen