The Strange Session

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Occasionally, even serial killers need a support group.

Submitted: July 21, 2016

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Submitted: July 21, 2016

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The Strange Session

By Joseph Logsdon

Even after Humphrey entered the alleyway, his eyes full of hatred and anger, he knew that something wasn’t quite right. He stared at the decayed door, not in the least frightened of what awaited him, or so he told himself. There was some part of him that wanted, more like needed, to express himself as an individual, freely and without consequence, in order to satisfy his urges. He knew that behind the door, beyond the reaches of the outside world, existed a place of safety, where he could truly reveal himself as an individual, a person to be loved and accepted, regardless of race, gender, status, personality, or background.

Not easily frightened, Humphrey slowly turned the knob, out of his mind with frustration and agony. The door represented a lot of things to him, most of those things impossible to describe or contemplate, at least partly due to his fear of the unknown. He looked into the room, guided by his desire to be accepted for who he was, instead of what he appeared to be. He stared into the eyes of a woman, her gaze overpowering all of his thoughts, both the innocent and the unclean, all manner of decency slowly coming to an end. She had dark hair, his favorite color and shade. There were two other men in the room, each of them looking as if they had been through rough times. They sat in a circle, the three of them appearing perfectly content, with ominous smiles eventually forming on their faces.

“Hello,” the woman said, an unusual amount of pleasantness in her voice.

“Is this the right place?”

“What part of the internet did you go to, might I inquire?” she asked.

“The dark part,” he replied, shutting the door behind him.

“The dark part, or the really dark part?”

“What difference does it make?”

“All the difference, luckily for everyone here,” she said, rising out of her chair.

“I haven’t offended you, I’m hoping?”

The woman walked towards him, rather amused by the way he presented himself, right along with the way he stood and shook. She touched his hand, extremely keen on wanting to seduce him, the reason for which remained unknown, all but a few individuals having any knowledge of her plans. She guided him towards the men, not even slightly intimidated by his large presence, the source of which remained a complete fabrication, created only for the purpose of protection and survival.

“Have a seat, won’t you?”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to mention, just to get things out of the way, breaking the ice and what have you, that I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing. Is this going to be kept a secret?”

“You can say whatever you want here, gruesome details and all,” she answered, returning to her chair.

“Well, no matter how I go about thinking about it, this way, that way, whatever way you please, it always amounts to the same thing: death and destruction. Can you cure me of that?”

“Well, what’s your name, first of all?”

“Humphrey, Humphrey Torrance,” he answered, taking a seat across from her.

“I’m Joan, your therapist and trusted friend, always ready to give you advice, obviously including advice that, well, to some people, mainly those who don’t understand these things, such as the cops, especially the cops, might seem out of the ordinary, possibly downright devious. It is very important that you, as well as my other clients, Bill and Ted, who are sitting next to you, understand that. You have problems, all three of you, and it is my job, hard though it might be, to guide the healing process, so that you might lead happy, healthy lives, all thanks to the power of God,” she remarked.

“Wow, that was quite a speech,” Humphrey stated.

“So, now that we have that out of the way, who would like to go first?”

The three men looked at each other, reluctant to confess their sins, the majority of them clearly being extremely offensive, if not downright illegal. Bill had a rather youthful appearance, contrasting greatly with Ted, who was a much older man. They kept staring at each other, not especially eager to express themselves to the world.

“I’ll go, I guess,” Bill said, a clear reluctance in his voice.

“What’s your story?” Joan asked.

“I’m very young, no more than twenty, with my whole life ahead of me, or so they constantly keep saying,” he said.

“Who?”

“I hate my parents, my dad more so than my mom, shameful though that might be to admit, but I’ll admit it anyway, for the sake of clarity. When I was little, too young to defend myself, it was always his way or the highway, no in between. He was a very short man, more or less the size of a midget. He beat me constantly, most often without explanation, only the brutal power of his fists for answers. It was a terrible life, so forgive me if I, in my misery, start to cry. I grew up hating my father, also learning to despise midgets, any and all sizes of them: fat, skinny, among all the rest of them,” he cried.

“We’re here for you,” Ted said, placing his hand on Bill’s shoulder.

“Over many years, I began to despise everything about midgets. I became obsessed, there’s no question about it, with finding and punishing midgets, on occasion killing them, making them feel the way I felt as a child, as a method of satisfying my twisted need for constant gratification, supplemented by my need, more like want, for death and destruction. They’re evil, their eyes full of hate and destruction, all of them just waiting for the opportunity to strike. One of these days, a day not too far off, they’ll take over the world,” he exclaimed, his eyes bulging with fear.

Humphrey glared at Bill, hardly managing to keep a straight face, given that his story, by every indication, seemed to be almost unbelievable. Tears were in Bill’s eyes, real tears of heartbreak and trauma, or so it appeared. Humphrey continued to remain silent, at the very least puzzled by the strange behavior of everyone in the room, the therapist most of all.

“That’s very heartbreaking, probably one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard, and believe me, I’ve heard a lot of tragic stories. Ted, I know you’re awfully nervous, understandably so, but would you like to go next?”

Ted didn’t respond, instead preferring to keep his eyes low and unfocused, his behavior similar to a frightened puppy dog. There was a look of sadness within his eyes, its power subtle at best, whereas at the same time, there seemed to be a surprising strength within him, maybe even just enough to trigger a confession.

“This is very hard to say, harder than just about anything I’ve ever said, and that’s saying something. When I was a young man, around the age of Bill, I experienced my first sexual encounter. It was with a priest, a male priest, roughly thirty, possibly forty years ago. During those years, unlike today, I was very cowardly, just cowardly enough to let him take advantage of me. I began to hate him for making me feel that way. To me, it just seemed degrading, the sure sinfulness of it all,” he cried, holding his breath.

“Please continue, for your own good,” Joan said, patting him on the back.

“The older I got, the more obsessed I became, and before too long, I found myself having murderous thoughts. I began to kill priests, first secretly, then more openly. I would rape them, sometimes even going as far as to castrate them, before finally ending their lives. Rest assured, I made it easy for them, some might say even too easy. I killed them swiftly, so very careful in how I disposed of the bodies, with how I alluded the police for months, a smile usually on my face. I was always sure, you bet I was sure, considering how people view murder, to never mention it to anyone. For quite a few months, I was on top of the world, enjoying life to the fullest, not really caring about the consequences, until a few days ago, when I finally realized that this life, though it is exciting, I can’t deny that, really isn’t much of a life at all,” he cried.

“All the way around, that’s just awful,” Joan said, sympathy in her voice.

Humphrey covered his mouth, the laughter nearly unbearable. He looked at all three of them, just astonished, simply astonished, at how pathetic they all were. His amusement soon got the attention of Joan, one of the leading experts on criminology, or so she told herself. Joan soon found herself on her feet, at least part of her rendered speechless, utterly frustrated in the face of his arrogance, altogether at the expense of everyone in the room, Bill and Ted undoubtedly suffering the most.

“Do you think this is some kind of joke?”

“It’s just funny,” he chuckled.

“Funny is a relative term, more frequently used for destructive purposes than anything else, outside of maybe a saloon or nightclub, a place where things are usually kept pretty friendly, except for the occasional, you know, little fight. In a fit of rage, you thought you could just come in here, your face contemptible and defiant, like something out of a movie, and make a mockery of this meeting. I don’t tolerate such behavior, quite to the contrary of most therapists, who try to blame the victims, in most cases so they can look good to people. Before we end this session, it would be best, for the sake of everyone here, you included, for you to tell your story, now and for all to hear, so you can finally be at peace with yourself, just long enough for you to realize that you are in need of help, your every demeanor crying for attention, indicative by just the way you sweat and breathe,” she huffed.

Already confronted with a very difficult situation, one that he couldn’t escape, Humphrey contemplated his next move, whilst at the same time trying to remain calm, something that proved to be better said than done. He experienced the death of his pride, which made him feel, against all of his other instincts, isolated from everyone in the group, ninety percent of his fear more than justified, when considering how hateful Joan appeared to be.

“Up to a month ago, more like a week, I was just an average guy. On Saturdays, after driving a truck all day, I would come home, sit by the television, just as millions of other Americans do, and try to relax, usually unsuccessfully. My urge continued to grow rapidly, thanks to my horrible sense of everything decent and moral, two virtues that I’ve never really had the pleasure of knowing. I started to believe, quite unexpectedly so, that I was missing something important, most obviously my sense of dignity. I saw women everywhere, and the more I saw them, God curse my heart, I started to get this feeling of anger and resentment,” he confessed.

“What did these women look like, by any chance?”

“They had dark hair, early thirties, usually with a rather pale complexion, and that’s about all I remember. My first victim, she looked a little like Gene Tierney, was someone I knew personally. The first day we met, probably a year ago, I fell in love with her. It became so painful to watch, because it soon became clear, despite what I had done for her, all the time we had spent together, months of getting to know each other, that she was in love with another man. She left me there, all wet and standing in the rain, reduced to a simple fool,” he cried.

“What happened to her?”

“What do you think happened? I waited for her to get done working. She always used the left elevator, out of the fear that if she used the stairs, she might be attacked. There was very little struggle, not so much as a scream coming from her mouth, which proved to be very good for me. Well, think what you might, I still love her,” he confessed.

Joan changed her tone, at the last minute going from calm, something that had always been a disguise, to harsh and brutal. She grabbed his shoulder, the look of a wild animal in her eyes. She became overwhelmed with a type of vengeance, justified only because of her hidden agenda, an agenda that had been planned for many weeks, only recently managing to come to the surface. She slapped him once, twice, a total of three times, before finally calming down, hate still very much on her mind. 

“This murder will be dedicated to the light of my life, my sister and friend, Martha Sparrow, who you killed without mercy. You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? When I discovered who you were, roughly three weeks ago, I thought about going to the police, letting the system handle it, until I finally realized, and I’m glad I did, that the only way to deal with people like you, murderers who think they can get away with anything, literally anything, is to take matters into your own hands. I brought you here, Bill and Ted as my witnesses, so I could finally rid the world of your evil. She was innocent and kind, qualities that you clearly don’t have, and probably never will have,” she moaned.

Greatly outnumbered, Humphrey remained motionless, overpowered by Bill and Ted, two men of great strength and vigor. She took a knife out of her pocket, pure joy inside her eyes, more noticeably within her heart. Joan held the knife in the air, intoxicated by the moment of victory, for it soon became clear, perhaps more than at any other time, that the vengeance had conquered every aspect of her soul. She looked upon him with disgust, one step further into achieving her ultimate goal.

“You’re very good in the sack, my sources say,” she taunted, licking her lips.  

“What are you looking for, revenge or a fuck buddy?”

“Don’t talk back,” Joan demanded, once again slapping his face.

“Once or twice a year, maybe every so many months, a woman will tell me that, quite often when drunk,” he moaned.

“I’m very happy to hear that, more than you could possibly know. Your testicles, that’s right, you heard me correctly, will be the first things to go. After I cut those off, your ears will be next, more than likely followed by your tongue. I’m going to take it all, every bit of your dignity, until you finally realize what it was like for Martha, my sister and friend, the one you killed, to experience such horror. Say farewell to her lips, hello to my knife,” she chuckled.

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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