When Stephen King and Thomas Harris Did A Cocktail On My Brain

September 5, 2007
Mood: *all smiles*

You clicked the button. Live with it.

But before you read, have you eaten yet? If no, then go ahead and read. If you have, then get something to puke on. Cause this story is gonna make you nauseous; either because of the nastiness or simply because of the sheer suckiness of it all.

Whatever.

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Sounds of Madness

”... finds the defendant guilty on all counts…”

Silence. Baited breath.

“… and hereby sentenced to death by lethal injection.”

The silence was broken by several abrupt sounds; cheers, sobs, applause, murmurs… but there was one noise that stood out. A man was screaming.

It was the defendant.

“I didn’t do it! I swear to God I didn’t do it!! I’m innocent!!”

The afternoon sun filtered through the court window. Its orange tinge played with the faces of the jury; made them look harsh…cruel…

But no more inhumane than the accused.

He was still trashing around, flailing his limbs and screaming at the top of his lungs, spit flying everywhere. The coloured light only served to illuminate the madness in his eyes. Two middle-aged policemen were working to restrain him.

Something caught the man’s eye. He suddenly whipped his head around so fast, he might have injured his neck.

“You goddamned bitch!! It wasn’t me!! You planted the evidence! You did it! You killed Rachel!!”

The woman he was screaming at stood up and cast the wild man a sparing look, then turned her back to him. She headed for the door as the man continued to hurl obscenities at her; she had better things to do than listen to his ravings.

She had just stepped out of the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It belonged to a man in a suit. He looked young, but had an air of professionalism about him.

“Good afternoon, Agent Greenwood. I’m Bart Rutherford, forensic psychiatrist.” He held up an ID.

“You look far too young to be one.”

“Good observation. I’m actually still in University studying for my major. My professor sent me here to observe the hearing.”

“What did you think?”

“Based on what the witnesses’ testimony and the evidence presented, I’d say the jury and the judge ruled right. However, I need to know more, and I was wondering if you could tell me more about the case, given that you were the one who apprehended him.”

“Sure. But would you mind if I go make coffee first? There’s a coffeemaker upstairs, and I could tell you about the case while it’s brewing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

-----

The responding police officers knocked down the door. What greeted them was a hellish scene taken from a nightmare.

Blood was splattered everywhere, and the furniture was strewn about, indicating a struggle. They walked to the dining area, and one of the policemen immediately ran outside, where he purged himself of his lunch.

On a plate in the table was the severed head of a woman. On another plate was a salad mixed with bits and pieces of what looked like human skin. There was a single eyeball on top, presumably serving as garnish.

But what made the officer lose it was the fact that someone had already eaten through half of the meal.

Suddenly, a shot was fired from upstairs. The remaining officers ran towards the sound. They forced open the door, and found Agent Greenwood wounded on the floor, with her gun pointed at a man. The man was brandishing a knife, and etched on his face was a look of utmost hate and revulsion.

At the sound of the door being forced open, the man turned to the police officers and swung the knife in their direction.

Two loud gunshots; and the man slowly sank down. Agent Greenwood had shot him on the wrist and on the kneecap.

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Silence, and the smell of coffee.

Bart Rutherford was quiet, holding his cup with two hands, staring at Agent Greenwood. She was staring at her own cup, seemingly mesmerized by the tendrils of smoke swirling up.

It took several attempts before Agent Greenwood was ready to tell the rest of the story.

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“Now open wide… look, airplane!!” A twisted parody of how one would feed an infant.

The other person was bound to the chair, squirming, trying to escape. The person trashed their head around feebly; avoiding the spoon directed at their mouth.

A spoon filled with meat from that gruesome feast.

But the person’s resistance was futile. Soon that accursed utensil was inside their mouth, and the contents were slowly sliding down their throat.

The person wanted to vomit… was feeling increasingly nauseous as the minutes ticked by. Why was this happening?

As if reading the captive’s mind, the monster with the spoon bent down and whispered.

“You see what happens when people lie? You should never have left me…”

-----

“He made you eat…”

“Rachel. My best friend.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It was a year ago. I’ve undergone therapy and am feeling better now.”

Somehow, time passed without Agent Greenwood being aware of it. Next thing she knew, Mr Rutherford was thanking her, and she was shaking his hand… bidding him goodbye.

-----

The sound of running water.

Special Agent Hazel Greenwood stood bent over the sink. She gathered up water in her hands and splashed it on her face. She remained still for a few moments, then drew in a shuddering breath and straightened up.

She just stood there for the longest time, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had taken on a weird expression… as if she didn’t quite know who or what she was staring at.

She was still, yet her eyes were moving; scanning the image before her. Moving… moving… then they stopped, drawn to something on her neck.

A necklace. With a tooth for a pendant. A human tooth.

Rachel’s tooth.

Hazel tore her gaze from the relic and looked at the mirror again. There was some kind of wild happiness etched on her face; a madness that somehow made her look like something less human.

And was that a grin on her face?

Again, the sound of running water. Now joined by another sound – laughter.

-----

“Fuck you Hazel!!”

“Oh no, Mark. Fuck you. You said you loved me. You lied.” She scooped another spoonful of that horrible salad, and forced fed it to him.

He tried to keep his mouth closed… but failed as nausea gripped him. He vomited, and she used the opportunity to insert the spoon in his mouth.

Her face was blank and her voice sweet as she did all this.

She bent over until she was at face level with him.

“You should have known better than to mess around with me, Mark. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…” She straightened up and patted his head.

“Well, that’s part one done. Excuse me while I make a very important call.” With that, she clamped his mouth shut with one hand and dialled with the other.

‘911 emergency?’

Her voice suddenly switched from being abnormally cold to being frightened. “Hello… I… this is… oh my god. He made me… I need back-up now!! Agent Greenwood. Oh dear god… hurry!”

The call was done.

Hazel then went to the kitchen and retrieved a knife. Mark stared warily at her, unsure and afraid of what she would do next.

“See you in hell Mark.”

All of a sudden, she plunged the knife straight to her stomach. She was bleeding all over the place now. Then she cut Mark loose and scampered up the stairs.

Mark felt like he was possessed. He grabbed the knife and hurried after her. She would pay for this…

His lust for revenge blocked all sense of rationality. He didn’t think. Therefore, he couldn’t see the huge trap laid out in front of him. Didn’t see that he was heading straight for it.

The door was locked. He started banging on the door… it opened.

He rushed inside, and it closed once again.

“I’LL KILL YOU!!”

“Not if I get there first.”

A few whispered words. Mumbles too incoherent to hear through the door.

Then a gunshot.

The door was suddenly forced open. Several people in uniform burst in and pointed their guns at Mark. He spun around, and the last thing he was aware of was a searing pain in his wrist and his knee.

As he fell upon the swirling darkness, the last thing he saw was Hazel looking at him with an expression of wild satisfaction.

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*sounds of toilet flushing*

Yeah I know, it sucked.

I'm a failure... *hangs head in shame*