Screams

Shrieks were coming out of what once was someone’s vocal chords, but now was undistinguishable between fish guts. The creature that had been mutilated far beyond any semblance of humanity said in a harsh rough, barely distinguishable voice, “Why?” There was no answer, from the tormentor, and as he was about to leave, he threw salt onto them. The screams rose up from the figure again, but Byron didn’t heed them.

He walked out the door with a briefcase, and shut it. The room was soundproof, so he could only hear light muffled sounds now. He went through his usual routine, and took off his rubber boots, gloves, apron, and his goggles, then tossed his briefcase off to the side. He tossed them into the sterilizing area, and hosed them down. After he felt they were adequately clean he hung them up to dry on a clothes line. Then he stripped down, and walked into his homemade chemical shower. After he was clean, he got a towel and dried off. Everything was very quiet in his secret room. He walked down a small hall, and out another door that looked like just another water heater. As he locked it behind him he checked it, and made sure that it was still firm, and soundproof as well. It passed his checks, and so he left up the stairs and out of the basement.

As Byron drove to school, he again wondered why he did this, but before he could get into it with himself he was interrupted by someone, yet again. When he was stopped at a red light, someone walked up to his car, sprayed some dirty water out of a bottle onto his windshield, and wiped it with a newspaper. It seemed awfully detrimental to what the bum seemed trying to accomplish, and suddenly Byron saw a flash of several things rush through his head. Looking at the man, he saw it all. His head started throbbing from the information pouring from it. In that pain he looked at the bum with contempt. When the bum seemed finished smearing the windshield, he held his hand out for change.

Byron was so disgusted, he couldn’t help himself. With a fake painted on smile he said, “You know, my wife makes way too much pot roast at home. So, you know if you wanted to, I could call her and see if we could add a fifth chair to our table.” It was all lies. He had no wife and no kids. Byron told him this so that the bum would feel more comfortable.

The man hesitated, but his growling stomach convinced him. “Eh, sure that sounds good mister.” He said as he looked back at the man.

No one was behind Byron, so he took his time. He pulled out his cell phone, and went through a big long routine. He called a fake number, and while he was calling, he turned his cell phone volume to the lowest level, and then he started talking. He asked his ‘wife’ if it was ok if he brought company over for dinner. He didn’t elaborate too much, but at one point leaned over, and pretended to convince her with slight begging. When he hung up, he smiled at the bum and told him, “Go ahead and hop in the car, she said that she would love another guest.”

So, off they rode, back the way Byron had come from. They walked into the house where just minutes ago he had left someone bleeding to death in the basement. As they walked into the house, the bum suddenly got suspicious. Not by anything he saw, because everything looked so very normal, but he was suspicious, because he couldn’t smell any food, or see out of any windows. The next thing the bum smelled was chloroform as Byron held a cloth soaked in it over his mouth. He had a jar with a cloth soaking in it near the door for such an occasion. As consciousness left the bum, Byron carried him to a room near the center of the house.

The room was soundproof, and had stairs that led up to the attic, but in this room there were instruments of different sorts, making it seem like a space musicians used. Byron carried him up into the attic, and after he got him there, Byron tied him up thoroughly. He didn’t want him escaping, not before he was punished.

Byron put on his rubber outfit like he always did, as he waited for the bum to regain consciousness. When he did, just like all the others, he started to panic, and pull at his restraints. However, years of practice had made Byron quite the expert, and the bum wasn’t going anywhere. Eventually he looked up at Byron and asked, “Where am I? What do you want? Please don’t hurt me, I will do anything you say, but please, just…”

The bum didn’t continue, but stopped there as Byron answered, “Want? I just want suffering.”

These few words were enough to strike terror into the bum’s heart, and as he glanced around he saw faint signs of stains scattered about. He feared for what they were. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and he had a feeling he didn’t want to ever find out, but was going to anyway.

This was always the best part for Byron. The first blow he delivered, it always made the biggest effect. He pulled out a box in the side of the soundproof attic, and pulled out something that was in the shape of a cube. It was slightly rusty, and looked like it had never even seen water, let alone soap. Byron took it in one hand, and scraped it against the bum’s skin peeling off small strips. The near indistinguishable item was a cheese grater and he was using it to grate the bum’s arm. As his cries of agony went out Byron continued.

Hours went by, and each new thing Byron pulled out of his box brought with it more perverse torture then the last thing did. The Bum had cried so much that he was dehydrated, and prayed for death to come and save him. It never did. Byron tortured him all day and night non-stop. He somehow kept the poor creature on the line right between life and death. As dawn broke, the creature near perfectly resembled the other one left in the basement, but instead of a cry of why, it begged, “Kill me.”

However, Byron wouldn’t placate its cries. As he stood up and took off his rubber outfit, he glanced back, and with a tear in his eye left the attic. As he closed the attic door more and more tears came, and he sat down on the floor of that padded room, and cried. He cried and cried and cried. “This is what you deserve. Man up and accept your punishment.” he choked out through the tears. “All the pain, misery, and suffering. You have to do this. You know you do.” Before he could argue with himself he realized he hadn’t slept all night, and had skipped school. That wasn’t good, and so he quickly wiped his eyes, left the room, then his house, and drove down to school yet again. This time he was left free to his thoughts, and went over everything. All the reasons, all the pain. He had to, he knew he did, and with new determination he arrived at school.

Walking into class, it happened again. Samantha, who sat next to him, had a black eye, and as he looked at her, his head throbbed again. More and more information and more and more pain. He nearly screamed from the pain, however, on the outside, he looked calm, cool, and relaxed. He had always liked Samantha, and didn’t want to do this, but he knew it would be so much better then all the others because of that very fact.

After school was out he confronted her. “Samantha,” he said in a calm and compassionate voice. “Is everything alright?”

For a second nothing happened. The next second was the same, but the third. The third one was different. Samantha broke down and cried. Through her sobbing and tears she said, “He hit me. He hit me. I never thought he would, but he hit me.” She tried to continue, but the tears prevented her from talking.

She rushed forward and hugged Byron as tight as she could, and like an understanding friend he put his arms around her and rubbed her back. Softly he whispered, “Shh. Shh. It’s ok now. It’s ok. I’m here, and if you want, you can tell me about it. I’m more then happy to listen. But why don’t we talk in my car where not everyone can hear, ok?”

She nodded her head up and down, and followed him into his car where she continued. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. How could I ever think he would change?” she said in slight anger.

Byron sat in silence, and contemplated. He didn’t know if he could do it, but he had to. His inner struggle got greater, but in the end, he still knew he had to do it. “You deserve better then him anyway.” he said to her as stared intently at the steering wheel.
She stopped for a second, and looked straight at him. She leaned closer as she said hopefully, “Someone like you?”
Byron nearly shuddered when she said that, and made sure he stayed looking away from her. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he muttered under his breath to himself, “I’m a monster. I’m worse then he is.” he paused a second before he added, “I deserve this.”
She couldn’t quite hear him, so she repeated her question. “I think you would make a much better boyfriend then he did. What do you think?”

Byron knew he had to answer, but he could not. “I, well I.” his voice trailed off, muttering something about there being a lot of reasons why she shouldn’t be with him.

She scooted closer, and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re always there for me. You’ve always cared. You help everyone you can. You are the best guy I know. I just can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see how perfect you are for me.” she said as she kept looking at him and still scooting closer.

Byron was panicking. He couldn’t let this happen, so he said whatever he had to. “I, I can’t do this at school, could we maybe head to my house first?”

She adjusted herself in her seat, and then with a small smile buckled herself in and said, “Sure we can.” she waited a minute as Byron got buckled, and started the car before saying, “Thanks Byron. For listening to me. For always being there to listen to me. It really means a lot.”

Byron had a tear run down his face, and he started to shake, but she must have taken it as just being nervous, because she didn’t seem to notice. He drove back to his house with Samantha in the passenger seat, and he didn’t say a word.

When they arrived at his house he let her in and even shakier then before he asked, “Wou…would you like to head into the basement? We can talk more there. It…it’s soundproof, because I pra…practice there sometimes. That way, no…n…no one can hear what we talk about.”

She nodded, and blushed a little, and then put her hand in his. Byron’s mind was racing, and splitting his head in two. Hesitantly he led her into the basement. When she got down he locked the door to upstairs. She assumed it was so no one would disturb them. Slowly he walked to the locked door in the water heater, unlocked and opened it. He motioned for her to go in, and he followed. He shook so much, and she thought it was strange to have a hallway padded and soundproof hidden in a water heater. She looked at him, and reassured him, “You don’t have to be nervous, you’re going to be fine. And don’t worry, I want this too.”

He walked faster, and rushed ahead of her, he had to start or he wouldn’t be able to do it. He opened the final door, and as she got close he shoved her inside, and then locked it. She fell on her face right in front of the mutilated body, and as soon as she realized what it was she started screaming. Byron was leaning on the door and crying as he whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, but I have to.” He walked out of the hallway, and put on his rubber outfit he kept down in the basement, and grabbed the briefcase he left in there. He carried it back, left open the water heater door, and slowly opened the locked door he had shoved her in. Samantha burst through, knocking him to the ground and tried to run away, but he had managed to grab her ankle. She screamed and kicked, but it was no use he was stronger. And as he dug through his box with tears pouring down his face, he pulled out a tent stake and stabbed it through her ankle he held. She screamed more and more, and he picked up the box with one hand, still holding her leg, and hit the stake with it, driving it deeper and deeper through her leg, and then into the ground. After her leg was secured, he jumped up and sat on top of her. She was crying so much. He pulled out another stake, and stabbed it into her elbow. As she felt the pain, she reached over to try and pull it out, but he was already slamming the box down and digging it in. By the time she had a chance; it was too deep to move. On and on, he pinned her to the ground as they both cried and cried. Then he made sure he punctured both her lungs, so that the air would slowly escape, and she would feel a slow death if left alone.

He went on and on, torturing her more and more, and did far worse to her then he had with anyone else, but he made sure to keep her alive. After a few hours, he pulled out a cell phone, and called 911. He told them what he did, and was currently doing. Then he dropped the phone on the floor and continued with his work. The police arrived 5 minutes later, and found every door on the way to him unlocked, or open. They had to tackle him off of what was left of the poor girl. As the paramedics were rushing her to the hospital, she passed away.

Byron was incarcerated, and as he was questioned they just didn’t get it. “You had gotten away with your sick little game for years. Why turn yourself in now? What changed?”

Byron sat silent, and after they repeated their questions several times he answered. “I gave up. I was too weak for my own punishment, and quit.” They were baffled, and took him for insane. In fact, when he was tried that is what he was sentenced as, criminally insane. So, he was sent to a maximum security treatment center for life.

After one year, his therapist, Siegfried Linke, wrote up a report on him, and in it he explained why Byron did what he did better then Byron had himself.

His report summed it up like this, “Byron is an extremely intelligent human being. His IQ is one hundred and seventy. I believe his high intelligence contributed to his problems, because it gave him a way to reason everything, and to operate without being caught. Byron is not a sociopath, but has a deep seated hatred for himself. In fact, he is the most kind and caring person I have ever met. He has a powerful gift for empathy. This gift goes to the extent that he can physically feel pain others experience. He suffered through this ‘gift’ for years, but it slowly ate away at him. He could feel the pain he inflicted on others, and eventually his vision distorted so he saw himself only as a monster that needed to be punished. For years he physically harmed himself, but it wasn’t enough for him. Three years ago, he found the greatest way to punish himself. Torturing people. With his kind and caring nature, harming others ate away at him inside, and he saw this as the punishment he so craved. For three years he continued his ritual of self torment. It got worse for him when he saw others in suffering. Looking into them, he could see all their pain, sadness, everything bad in their life, and it tore at him, making him remember all his horrors he had inflicted to others himself. With each person he murdered, his hatred of himself became greater and greater. So his need to punish himself grew greater and greater. On the day he was captured by the police, he found the ultimate way to torment himself. Samantha was a girl at his school, and he liked her, a lot. He knew that he would be devastated if anything happened to her, so he had to kill her. His hatred of himself gave him no choice; he had to punish the monster he saw himself as. However, he questioned it constantly, and even went to the extent of giving up. He sees himself as too weak to punish himself fully, and that is because he called the police, and told them what he had done so he would be caught. He could not take the punishment he felt he deserved. He is slowly doing better, but I do not think there is much we can do about his pure hatred for himself. So, in conclusion, I would recommend he stay in maximum security for treatment. Sedation might prove useful, and if he doesn’t improve over the next five years, I would recommend either electroshock, lobotomy, or a combination of the two. Byron is a very sick man who needs help, but I do not know if we have the right tools to help him.”

Five years later Byron had a lobotomy. Because of which, he no longer hated himself, but he had also lost the ability to speak and function normally. His brain functions had decreased significantly, and he seemed happy. After all, ignorance is bliss.