-------------------------------------------
Blood flows
through water like wisps of smoke in a field.
Frederick Dempsey dunked his head in the
clogged sink, coming up as if gasping for air. He stared at his drenched face
in the mirror, but the reflection didn’t stare back at him. Shaking hands
reached for the paper towel dispenser. No matter how many times the lever was pulled,
nothing came out. Damn janitors never do
anything around here. There was a penny on top of the dispenser, Frederick
took it for safe keeping.
He opened the door to the outside
world. Around him was darkness, with only an exit sign to light the way. Walking
blindly through the halls was no problem, he always stays late. There was a
problem though, and Frederick clumsily tripped on it. There was one single body
leaned on the wall, contemplating.
“Sorry.”
Though there was no answer back.
Frederick, after getting off the ground, looked around for person he offended,
but only noticed a lump on the ground. A lump that, when focused, turned into a
body, and when focused even more, revealed a lobotomy, with half of the brain
touching the outside air. There was a thud and Frederick was out.
---
“Age: twenty-six, height: about five
feet, eleven inches, and pretty lanky.”
“Wallet says Frederick Dempsey. Not
much in here; just a license, six bucks, and a to-do list. Do you really need
to put ‘feed dogs’ on the list?”
“Damn, that’s a huge gash on his
head. I wonder what he hit him with?”
“Mason, he’s waking up.”
Frederick was always the odd one
out, with only his dogs to keep him company. Leaning more towards Asperger’s
and autism on the spectrum. He slowly awoke in a hospital bed blinking
furiously. Knowing he was disoriented, Frederick distinctly reached for his
aspirin, although as soon as he touched where his pocket would be, he felt
nothing but the scratchy cloth of a hospital gown. Oh god, someone died in this yesterday. Frederick found his glasses
on the side table and finally analyzed his surroundings. Everything was white
with black littered around it. Iodoform was in the air. Once Frederick put the
puzzle together, he immediately wanted to get out. A hospital was the last
place he wanted to be. A place where more people can decide what’s wrong with
him. Before he could rush out, he noticed a man and woman dressed nice in a
subtle way.
“Did you find out what’s wrong with
me yet?”
“Whoa buddy, we know who you are,
but we aren’t here to psychoanalyze you. I’m Mason and this is my partner Beverley.
We’re working on the Ice Pick Murderer cases.”
“You gotta stop calling him that.
Look, Freddy, can I call you Freddy? This murderer has killed three times so
far, and I don’t think he’s going to stop now. We’ve read your paper on psychic
driving. It’d be nice to have a psychiatrist consultant on the case; we could
really use your help.”
Frederick, still a little
disoriented, was reluctant. He was still convinced this was just a ploy to peek
inside his mind.
“Maybe you guys should think before
you ask someone who’s also crazy to help you on catching a sociopath. I could
just as easily become one myself.”
“Mason and I want no one else
Freddy. No one understands them like you do.”
“Yeah, we’re desperate to catch this
guy, and we think you’re the one to help us do that.”
“There’s nothing you can do to
convince me to help you. Nurse! Can you please escort these two out? I think
I’m getting a migraine.”
Beverley had to get one last thing
out of her mouth as she was being pulled out of the room. She couldn’t help it.
“You could save lives Freddy. Think
about how many more have to die before you open your eyes and help us.”
---
Soon the caution tape subsided and
Frederick was allowed to return to his office and continue his practice.
Psychology isn’t the easiest when you’re so good at it. Frederick can look at
someone, hear them speak, and know what’s truly going on, understanding their
minds better than his patients. Though, that was the most interaction he got on
most days. Tonight, he was worried about what Beverley had said to him. How many people did have to die before he would be convinced to help the FBI?
The reasoning for not helping them
isn’t because he doesn’t care, it’s because he was afraid of what he would take
out of the case. To Frederick, death was one of the most gruesome, disgusting
things that happen. Getting that close, becoming a seeker of death, was not
something that Frederick wanted. He stepped into his office and walked around,
looking at the library that surrounded him. It had two stories, but the second
was just a ledge overlooking the first just so he could have more room for his
books. There was a fireplace behind his desk and two chairs that sat across
from each other in front of the desk. Definitely a collector of books,
Frederick believed in achieving a vast palace of knowledge. He reached his
chair and dropped down as if he’d just run a marathon, another migraine coming
to him. Taking his glasses off, he rubbed his eyes. It was only nine
thirty-six. He laid back as his chair creaked and imagined.
Early
dawn came smoothly, a slight breeze of cool wind tickling the ears that brought
the smell of sweet pine to the nose. Over the trees, the sunrise aftermath was
visible: a mix of orange, yellow, and a hint of blue. All around are trees.
Trees that surround a river, and inside that river is a man. This man was the
reflection of Frederick. He was dressed in fly fisherman garb: wadders, a
flannel, and some huge rain boots. He flung his home-made lure out with the rod
to catch some food. Fly fishing is easy. All you have to do is lure the fish so
they come to you, almost as if they wanted to be caught. Not much work was
needed, but the reward was huge. The man looked at peace, standing there with
the rushing water having no effect on his balance. The man had caught nothing
and was feeling as though he would call it a day, so he threw his last line and
felt the tug. He pulled, finally happy, straight to the net. This fish wasn’t
going anywhere. The small trout was getting closer and closer to the net and
then finally…
There was a ringing in Frederick’s
ears. The number on the screen was foreign to Frederick, so he shut it off.
Though, almost instantly, the same number called back. It was six forty in the
morning. He answered the phone and, as expected, it was Beverley. I should make my office phone private.
“Freddy, I need you down here stat. This is the worst one yet, please.
We need you out in the field with us. Just this once.”
Reluctantly, “Alright… Alright..
Yeah. Where are you?”
“Fifth street, more towards sixth,
and Freddy, prepare yourself. It’s ugly.”
---
Frederick arrived to the blinding
red and blue lights that surrounded a horrific scene. Beverley and Mason could
be seen around what was left of two corpses, but it wasn’t the fact that there
were two dead bodies that made the scene horrific. It was because of what had
been done to them. They were lobotomized like the murder in Frederick’s office,
but this time the brains were completely out of their heads with the brainstem
still attached to the spinal cord through the skull. The bodies were arranged
to show a piece of art: they shaped an ice pick. Pure mutilation. Frederick,
repulsed by what was looking back at him, slowly trudged over towards the two
detectives, holding in the sickness that could project from his mouth at any
second.
“Well I’m certainly awake now.”
“Beverley already examined the
bodies. Both are psychiatrists. The mutilation was done post-mortem. Both
brains are still attached, looks like it was carefully cut out. This guy
certainly has surgical knowledge. The bodies resemble an— “
“An ice pick yeah. He must’ve heard
your nickname, and by looking at this, he doesn’t really like it.”
“Freddy, we need you to interpret
the evidence. Tell us what he’s thinking.”
“You want me to reconstruct the
crime?”
“Whatever you need to do. I’ll clear
everyone out and give you some room.”
As Mason cleared everyone from
inside the caution tape, Frederick stood there, staring at the ice pick that
lay before him. He closed his eyes and interpreted the evidence, looking
through the lens of the ice pick murderer.
Two
men who pick at hopeless minds. They sicken me. How could anyone in this world
devote their life to shifting through people’s brains and rearranging the
furniture. Leaving the man inside his house, but making his surroundings
foreign to him. I go to each of them individually. Stress marks around the
necks suggest that I strangled the life out of you. I wanted to look into your
eyes while your breath was slowly taken from you. As your life force shrunk
into nothingness. After both bodies were lifeless before me, I proceeded to
humiliate them as they humiliate their patients. Picking apart the brains just
as their practice suggest they should. This isn’t for me; this is for everyone
to see. A symbol, a work of art that suggests these two were wrong. Clowns in
the name of science. Their humiliation entails a lobotomy to the most
aggressive degree. I cut open the skull, revealing the most precious organ.
Carefully having the brain still attached to the cervical vertebrae, I pull the
brain from the skull. Creating a functional human, just undeserving of our
precious organ, but why in the shape of an ice pick? What did I hear that term
from? That horrid term. They want to label me. They want to make me into
something, just like the two psychiatrists before me. I want this symbol to be
recognized, seen by all. Using theatrics is the best way to showboat my design.
I want to mock my nickname, showing I’m not someone to be trifled with. An ice
pick formation will mock the psychiatrists and the people trying to catch me,
theatrics. The term still bothers me. I hate that name. I AM NOT IN THE WRONG.
I AM IN THE RIGHT. I AM…
Heavy breathing filled Frederick’s
office, as he suddenly came into consciousness. His heart beating faster than
it ever has before. He couldn’t control it, the breathing controlled him. As he
tried to focused on where he was and what was going on, his breathing slowly
ceased to be above his resting rate. How
did I get in my office? He had never lost track of time like this before.
His clock said seven seventeen, and the sun had disappeared from the sky. I lost an entire day. He called
Beverley:
“Hey did I seem weird when I left
the crime scene?”
“Well you seemed your usual weird
self. You actually gave Mason and I some great insight about what the Ice Pick
Murderer was thinking, and I bet it’ll be easier for us to catch him now.
You’ve saved lives Freddy. Just remember that. Are you okay? You sound
stressed.”
“I just woke up, but I’m fine. I
just wanted to know how I helped out.”
“Yeah you were very helpful, and,
listen, I won’t make you do that again. I know it’s hard for you to get that
close to a killer’s mind.”
“Thanks”
“Hey you haven’t seen Mason anywhere
have you? I can’t seem to reach his cell.”
“No, I haven’t seen— “
As Frederick muttered those words,
his eyes darted around the room and they stumbled upon a lobotomized Mason.
Frederick was speechless, and dropped his phone. He looked down at his hands,
and they were covered in dried blood. At that moment, Frederick noticed a
scalpel and sewing supplies on his desk, both riddled with dried blood. Mason’s
body was sitting up next to the fireplace, with his mouth sewn shut. Theatrics. Frederick eyes darted around,
interpreting the evidence. They landed on the mirror above his fireplace, his
reflection staring right back at him.
