A Predator and a Psychopath

by Jay Kerk

  “If the circumstances were different, I would ask you out,” I told her. I used my sexy eyes, but without success. She didn’t take her eyes off the block building we were working on. It was a complex, three-dimensional puzzle, and we’d already passed the one-hour mark.

  “I said, if we could go out of here, I would have asked you out.”

  She looked at me and folded her arms, and my confidence went skydiving. I said, “I would treat you well, show you a good time. We’d have fun for a change.”

  I used to be good at this. Now I’ve become a joke.

  “I can go out. You can’t,” she said.

  Shit, this is harsh.

  “Yeah? Really? That’s cool.” We were silent for some time.

  Then she said, “If you help me finish this before the others, maybe I’ll consider your offer.”

  I got to appreciate her more. She was an artist, and she traveled a lot. She didn’t tell me what they treated her for, and I didn’t ask again. After a few more encounters she became friendly, and after a few more, flirtatious.

  “You know you can ask me out here,” she said one time.

  When I drew closer to her, I watched her body and her breasts when she leaned forward. She smelled of flowers. You had to take a deep breath to catch it.

  “Okay, I will see you at seven,” she said. “Oh, bring your laptop with you. Mine has a problem. You can show me something interesting if you have any.”

  The last thing she uttered threw me off. I assumed she thought I might own some twisted pornography. I wasn’t interested in going anymore. The rules in the center were not to share electronic devices.

  As big a hard-on as she gave me, I decided not to go, to stand her up. I looked at the watch every minute until half past seven. I was sitting in the rec area, and she stormed in.

  “Motherfucker. Standing me up. You think you can do this shit with me, you piece of crap? You’re nothing, asshole. Fuck you!” she yelled.

  I tried to act as if she didn’t direct her shouts at me.

  “Relax, Kelly. It happens to the best of us. Go get a pretzel,” I said calmly.

  She left, cursing me.

  The next day, she bumped me during breakfast, knocking my tray out of my arms. I caught her smiling as I picked up the items off the floor. Over the day, I kept following her, making it look coincidental. I wished I could follow her to the bathroom while she showered. I was so horny, I couldn’t believe it. I imagined bottling my libido and selling it.

  Later that day, I saw her while going to the counseling meeting, so I strolled to make sure we met at the corner. She was wearing low-rise jeans with a wide belt and a sleeveless cotton shirt. She walked faster on purpose, and I missed her. At the end of the hall, we would make a right turn to go into our group meeting room. She surprised me and took a left, so I pursued her. The direction led to the basketball court, typically empty at that time. I pushed the door open, found the court empty, and turned to go back. But as I did, she leaped out and grabbed my throat with her left hand.

  I raised my hands gesturing surrender. “Easy, easy. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said.

  “You don’t scare me.”

  She pressed a shiv against my inner thigh. “Do you want me to cut and spill your balls, or are you going to stop following me around? Speak up, sicko.”

  Yes, even the best leopards are caught sneaking up on their prey.

  “First,” I said, “I’m not a sicko. Second, I like you. If you didn’t shut me out and try to trick me into using my laptop, I wouldn’t be following you. The session has started, let’s go. Truce?”

  I acted calm, but with one jolt I overturned her, taking the weapon, grabbing her neck from behind and pointing the shiv at her cheek.

  Her body was warm and throbbing. I dropped the shiv, relaxed my grip around her neck. I slid my hand down to the front of her body, over a necklace, my fingers smooth and light on her chest, and I rested my hand on her abdomen. Our eyes locked. Her breath was steamy and smelled of cherries. “You’re so beautiful. I have been thinking a lot about this.” I kissed her, and she kissed me back as passionately as I imagined it.

  CHAPTER 8:

  A GRAY RAINBOW

  The days weren’t so bad with Kelly around. She was fun and light. She would impersonate the therapists and some patients. We shared our smoking hideouts. It was exciting to sneak around the guards for a smoke before hanging out in our rooms, like teenagers. After a while we became inseparable. We exercised, ate, and read together, but we didn’t sleep together. Two months passed, and we didn’t fuck; she had a no access policy and she wasn’t willing to explain.

  Kelly was of eastern Asian origin; with blonde hair except for the two inches nearest the scalp. She had a southern accent. Her overalls look didn’t match how she sounded, but I got used to it. As days went by, I developed feelings for her, and they grew with time.

  I searched for her online, but she didn’t seem to exist. She never told me why she enrolled in the treatment, although I persisted in asking. She asked me a few times about my past, and I lied. I feared that if she knew my history, she would stop wanting to be around me. I became attached to her and wasn’t willing to risk separation. Confidentiality was one of the key selling points of this place. Nobody knew why you were here except for specific therapists. Even the group therapists didn’t know.

  Gary wasn’t doing well, and the treatments came with terrible side effects. He said things were okay on the survival side; however, the treatment became worse than the illness itself. He said he left me a letter, and when the time came I should read it when in need. I hoped that he’d get through.

  I fought a lot with Kelly. We were different. One time she pressed me hard about my past and I insisted that I’d told her everything. She kept pressing, and I got defensive. I thought if I told her and we broke up later, she would leak my story. Ironically, when I shouted, she said, “Jason, relax, honey. Everybody knows about you. Your case was on the news all the time. So unless someone here is totally nuts, they know who you are. It’s simple. If you hadn’t been on TV, then maybe you could have kept your story a secret.”

  The revelation shocked me. I thought about how confidently I had walked the halls of this place, thinking my past was well-hidden. I spent the next few days alone, avoiding all activities and interactions.

  The visiting area was close to the communal area but separate. I passed by regularly to get a glimpse of what the outer world looked like. One time I thought I saw Lisa’s father, Deen, so I hid behind the wall and peeked. We were worlds apart, and no way he could visit anyone in the center.

  After a few minutes of focused staring, I decided it wasn’t him. He resembled Deen, but this guy was thin while Deen wasn’t. I walked between the tables, keeping an eye on him, and suddenly he smiled. Not a threatening smile, but not a happy one, either. I thought about the smile. What did it contain? He hit me with a juice bottle, knocked me down, and kicked me. The security guards took him off me. You could imagine the things he said.

  After the incident with Deen, I became more insecure and ashamed. People who didn’t know about me now knew. I spent more time in my room, and Kelly visited me frequently.

  You remember how people made you feel, more than incidents or things, which is how our brains process memory. I was happy with Kelly. She accepted me for what I was. It was as if I had died and gone to heaven, and all was forgiven. She slept with me and I thought it was out of pity.

  Therapy progressed well, and my scoring changed to very good. “Spectacular progress,” they said.

  For me, the relationship remained steady, and I shared great moments with Kelly. It was real for me. I wanted to get out and rent a place together, live a peaceful life. She might help me search for Mathew.

  She asked a lot about my past, and she tried some hypnotic stunts with me. She had a deep insight into my condition. I told her about my plans for when we left, and she said, “I’m leaving next week. I have already d
ecided so.”

  I went mad and then felt broken. I asked her why she hadn’t told me before, and she pleaded with me not to be mad. She gave me her real name so I could look her up when I got out. Her first name was Kelly, but she had a different surname. Her real name appeared nowhere online, as if it had been erased intentionally.

  On the last day, she said she was some kind of doctor and had a relationship with a patient that led to her license being revoked. The turbulent changes devastated her, and she lost her lover. She slipped into a turmoil of sex and drugs, but she refused to give me the details. I burned inside, knowing she might have been passed around in fuck gangs, high and unaware.

  “What do you mean sexy and dangerous? How many? For how long?” I repeatedly asked, and she refused to respond. She said it didn’t matter if she understood why and could identify the signals to prevent such slip-ups again. Another time she mentioned her past didn’t matter because she had feelings for me.

  I liked to think she was sincere when she said she had feelings for me, this was something I kept alive in my memory and used it as a constant motivation to push myself to get out of here as soon as possible. I’d thought no one could ever love me, let alone be in a relationship with me.

  The last two months were agonizing, boring, and uneventful. But at last, I was getting out. Searching for my son excited me. Starting a new life and finding the truth. Anything was possible, including having Kelly by my side. The only problem was while waiting for my release, I could not be in touch with her in any way, she promised to visit but never did.

  Luke found me a new home. I couldn’t go to my old house for many reasons, it was smeared and too painful.

  On my release date, we expected journalists, but I didn’t care. My medicine bag was prepared, my prescription renewed, my follow-up sessions planned. And all I focused on was Mathew, Kelly, and the truth.

  I wanted to call Kelly and say, “Babe, I’m getting out!” But I decided to wait until I was settled in my new place.

  PART 2

  JERRY

  CHAPTER 1:

  WHO AM I?

  I liked to take a panoramic view of my life every now and then. One could call it a sanity check. This time, I wanted an external eye, a fresh opinion, an unbiased assessment of myself and my philosophy.

  I contacted a web psychotherapist on a secure website - difficult to find - because I could not walk to a nearby therapist, as it was not secure and traceable. Supposedly, therapists are the best at understanding people. She advised me to get a notebook in which I had to write the important things I discovered, my theories about life, and the exercises she assigned me.

  Instead of a paper notebook, I got a new model tablet that the manufacturer advertised as being uncrackable. Encrypted, with joint biometric and password protection. They deliberately designed the tablet not to connect through WiFi. The only way to connect to the Internet was through a cable.

  I powered on the tablet and started my first exercise:

  Who am I?

  I’m Jerry. I’m a human being. A superior one to the flock of the worthless.

  I’m in my late twenties, and I’m a hypersexual being. We are all hunters and gatherers, but we descended from a diverse genetic pool, I belong to the elite hunters. In every tribe, in every nation, my ancestors fought savagely to protect their group.

  Nowadays, they have no more use for us. They’ve replaced us with tanks and drones. We’re castaways. But the drive remains within us, the few of us left. We have a massive lust, we’re hungry to mate and multiply, thirsty for blood.

  They hunt us, prosecute us, make an example of us. In the last one hundred years, they’ve erased thousands of years of savagery and viciousness, and they’ve transformed societies for nesting robots, gatherers, thinkers, and feeders. The hunter gene, the killer instinct, the raiding elite is endangered; most are unaware of themselves and their potential, and instead, they accept mediocrity. The hunters of yesterday are now teaching Pilates.

  How do I live with my nature? I seek pleasure in the dark. I propagate by donating sperm. Shameful. We were once at the head of the flock, and the leaders dreamed of marrying their daughters to us.

  We’ll endure for now, but in time we shall rise again.

  If I could get one message across the world, it would be: “Lady Death is sweet but misunderstood. When she visits you, she is eternally tender and soft. She does not inflict pain. She relieves you from the suffering. Embrace her as if she is your savior.”

  My phone buzzed to alert me of an incoming message from Vicky.

  Vicky: “Hey, babe, how are you? I woke up thinking about you.”

  The second one: Tongue and kiss emoticons. “Special boy. Wink.”

  Third: “What are you doing? I miss you.”

  Me: “Nothing much, working. Miss you too. What’s on your mind?”

  Vicky: “My friends are talking about loyalty and monogamy, that kind of shit.”

  And, “Bitches want it all but want their men to stick around. Ughhh. I’m so mad.”

  And, “They said men cheat more, or at least they have historically.”

  I didn’t understand why she couldn’t send all the texts in one message.

  “And do you agree that men cheat more?” I replied.

  Vicky: “No. Possibly the same.”

  And, “As long as the couple communicates what they need and how they want it, the relationship will survive.” A winking face.

  And, “What’s your say?”

  “I agree. Respect and openness go for both,” I replied.

  Vicky: An emoticon face with tears of joy. “Allison’s face is beet red. LOL.”

  “Why?” I replied. I loved gossip.

  Vicky: “She slept with Becca’s boyfriend over the weekend.” Devil face. “Becca doesn’t know, but she suspects it.”

  “Allison gave herself away.”

  “If a fight breaks out, I’ll record it for you.”

  I took a quick note. Familiarize yourself with her friends.

  “Shit. What will you do? I thought Allison had a boyfriend,” I replied.

  Vicky: “Nothing. Not my shit. She does!!!!! And he is hottt. But she does not believe in monogamy.”

  Vicky: “Will you stay faithful to me?”

  I ignored her and returned to my tablet, but a few minutes later the phone buzzed.

  Vicky: Middle finger.

  Vicky: “Come on, babe.” Hearts.

  A few more minutes.

  Vicky: “Ben. I’m waiting.” Three angry faces.

  “Hold your horses,” I sent, and then, “I told you we can’t figure this out now. Too early for us, we haven’t cracked the surface yet.”

  I hoped she got the message. I had been patient enough with her, and couldn’t tolerate the situation anymore.

  Vicky: “I know.” Hands over the face.

  “I have a surprise for you. I told you I’m getting ready.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Oh yeah, the wait is over.

  I wrote, “I’ll always be faithful. I want us to stay close. If I ever want something more, I’ll tell you.” Kisses.

  Three pictures were now downloading. Delicious. They were of her crotch, as she sat on a chair, phone between legs and wearing a skirt. Dark, but I could still see.

  Vicky: “Commando. And Shaved!!! As you like it.” Tongue emoji.

  Vicky: “Words. Tell me.”

  “Yummy. Fresh. Can’t wait. So tonight?” I replied. We hadn’t fucked yet, and it was about time. I didn’t know how I waited for a month.

  Vicky: “Send me yours.” Banana emoticon.

  “My V is burning, I don’t know if it is normal.” Fire. Red face.

  “I’m not promising, but maybe if you play your cards right.” Wink.

  “Can’t. At work.” I replied. I was at home, in my basement, but I didn’t want to send her anything. Too risky.

  Vicky: “I’m in class!!! Find a way.”

  “Peop
le around. Impossible. What time should I pick you up?” I replied.

  Vicky: “Ditching last period. 2 p.m.”

  “Same thing, underground parking. K?” I replied.

  Vicky: “Yeah...” Thumbs up. “No one will see. They can’t wait to leave. Nobody stays a minute after classes end.”

  She was a good girl. Hot, but the anxious type. I wished I had met her a couple of years earlier, but things wouldn’t have worked out back then. She was fifteen and still too shy.

  I pulled out Ben’s details to review them, not that I needed to – I’d made them up – but just in case I had forgotten a small detail.

  I transferred Vicky’s photos to the laptop and moved them to the encrypted external storage in the closet. I jerked off to them, my second time of the day. The storage capacity in the closet was over 500 terabytes, the many hard disks hooked together were all in organized folders. I also transferred new content from the closet to a primary backup every week. The primary backup was in an apartment ––hidden within many worthless memorabilia items.

  I left nothing exposed in my basement. The laptop either traveled with me or was placed in the faux wall. I had a desktop computer serving as camouflage and accounted for my time in network mission games. The drawers had the phones and the tablet, paper, and pen.

  I had created an emergency safety measure for the hard disks in the closet by stripping them of their cases and exposing their interiors. I’d placed them all in a reinforced plastic container with sensors, and then I mounted two large flasks of corrosive acid within the container. If anyone tried any password-cracking activities on the laptop or the desktop, or tried to break into the encasing container, or entered the wrong password on either computer a couple of times, a fuse would light and allow the acid into the container. Total time to the expungement was about forty seconds.