Street Surgeon

Some folks turn into serial killers due to something within that is broken. It may be spiritual, a darkness within that swirls about their soul and causes them a twisted excitement as they see the life drain from the eyes of their victims.

Absolutely detestable.

There are those who are broken mentally. Consumed by hatred, or anger, they lash out at a specific typecast victim that is a mortal effigy of those whom they wish to harm but cannot.

Totally pitiful.

Some become serial killers by accident.

Now, I was not supposed to be a veterinarian. I was supposed to be a doctor.  A surgeon. A skilled blade that could help anyone with anything. That was the plan anyway, though much like most of my plans, it kind of deviated along the way.

The path that led me to being unable to go through med school and resorting to animal medicine is about as convoluted as what led me to practicing surgery in the dark of night on people who were sort of willing. Or at least would have been had they been with it. My first unfortunate victim, if some insist on calling him such, was a fellow by the name of Martin. I don’t know if that is a first name or last name. I just knew him as Martin, and he hung out down the block from my office. Every day, he would ask for enough change for coffee until I just told him to come on down and get a fresh cup from my building.

It was through the little conversations over the course of the next couple weeks that led me to suspect he was having gallbladder issues. Now, to be fair, I did tell him he should go to the hospital. I told him it was serious, and that he could die, but he laughed at me.

A few days of his grumbling of midnight pains, and vomiting, as well as some yellowing of his skin, and I had to act. I spent the weekend studying. That Monday, I told him to meet me there later that night, tell no one, and I would see if I had anything in the cabinets that could help. His eyes lit up, and I knew that I had said just the thing to convince him to come in. An offer of pills? The only thing that could have made it a sweeter deal is if I had offered free booze.

That night, he came walking up the alley as I had directed him and knocked on the back door. I looked hard down both sides of the alley to ensure that no one had accompanied him, followed, or was watching before I let him in. He entered the surgery room with some expectation, and he was not disappointed, as I had left a couple blank labeled bottles on the desk. As he leaned over to inspect them, I jumped to action with the chloroform-soaked rag. After I wrestled his limp body onto the operating table, I gassed him to keep him under for a while.

Cutting away his filthy clothes was a chore, and I knew that it would make it even more difficult to keep things sanitary and sterile, but I did my best. Operating by oneself has some drawbacks that a proper ER surgeon would not know about.

The initial incision went well. I cut slowly, and deliberately, doing my best to make sure that I would leave as dignified a scar as possible. Now, up to this point, I have only watched videos and read online texts in regard to the surgery, so I had never seen a gallbladder in real life, let alone had my fingers on one. Even though I thought I was prepared properly about what to expect via research and my experience on animals, a human subject was new to me.

Martin either had a lower tolerance for what I gave him, or I fouled up on how much I should have given him. Either way, suddenly, he gasped a big breath of air, and let out a scream at the precise moment that I was making an incision to remove the diseased organ. I accidentally sliced it open, spilling bile everywhere inside the abdominal cavity. That would have been a disaster by itself, except that Martin was now awake, confused, in pain, and struggling to get away from me. Blood spilling through his dirty fingers as he attempted to hold himself closed with one hand, and push me away with the other, he tried backing away. His shoes, soles smoothed to nothing long ago, slipped quickly on the linoleum flooring, and his head came down on the operating table, and I heard what I instinctively knew to be his neck breaking.

I would be lying if I didn’t stand there for a good few minutes just staring at the mess, and silently cursing at his corpse. A quick cleanup and short drive later, and that is how Martin became my first failed patient, as well as my first kill.

I have gotten quite good since then. Some folks accept my help willingly due to being afraid of getting arrested or committed if they try to go to the clinic or the hospital, so I have the basics down pat. Larger surgeries are a wee trickier, and the willing are hard to come by. So, with some determined survelience, and some careful scheduling, I can usually obtain my patients from the homeless.

While those who survive never seem to report the procedures, those who do not have given me quite a bit of grief. Not only are they testimony to my failures and shortcomings as a Doctor, but they have led to something of a small media sensation calling my failures the work of a modern “wanna be” Jack the Ripper.

The only good thing about the media following my work, is it has been described as “Less Grotesque”, and one reporter commenting that I am “Really refining” my skills.  Rave reviews, if there could be any…

 

Random Fact

The thing about human flesh, is that you can almost convince yourself that it isn’t. Sure, when you are eating it raw in bloody bites straight from the torso or the appendage, there is no getting around it. If you are eating it out of necessity, there is typically nothing to justify it in your mind other than the screaming pangs of hunger from your gut, and the weakness in your own limbs. Over the scream of hunger, that soft whisper comes that justifies it. One way or the other, the whisper can seduce almost anyone that it is necessary.

You can fight the whisper for a spell, and maybe even overcome it until you yourself are rescued either by others, or death’s saving embrace. Anyone who gives in to the whisper will inevitably hear it return as a whisper that gradually turns into a scream until they follow its demands. Then after, there is just that cold firm voice of desire. There is no ignoring it. No overcoming it. If they listen when the voice speaks, they will not have to worry about the scream in their head…listen to the voice, eat well, and get a decent night’s sleep.

When you start incorporating it into recipes with other food items? That’s when you know that you can sleep better with yourself at night. Who else, but a well-rested person, can make General Tso’s with a little something extra? Ramen with “beef”. BLT’s. When you grind it up in order to make 5 alarm Chili, or a good old fashioned American cheeseburger with the works…that is the extra effort that comes with a hunger, not stirred by the whisper, but is born of a hunger from the darker regions of the soul…directed with a cold firm voice of desire.

It took me a while to figure out the fine line between lunacy and delicacy, between satiation and gluttony. It took me even less time to determine the best way to hold the knife, to grind the meat, or to which spices work best. The first bite is the hardest. After that, the hardest thing is to figure out where the next bite is going to come from.

Hemlock

     On the outskirts of the city lay a small town with more churches than businesses. On a good day, most folks just blew through the town using the county road. On a better day, they bypassed it completely by using the old State road that lay just outside of town. Most people in the city didn’t even know there was a town just a couple miles away, and people driving through it only knew it was there because of the green town sign along the road. It was the simple green sign used to denote a town, and nothing more. No ‘Welcome to Hemlock’, or ‘The town of Hemlock welcomes you’, or even a name sign with a population.

     On the outskirts of Hemlock, on the last intersection before the small gathering of homes gave way to fields and woods, lay the old Albright’s Convenience store. It had been a place where people could walk to grab an ice cold coke on a slow hot day, or where folks could grab a couple cases of cold beer on the weekend during a beer run when they were not exactly sober. Old man Albright never called the law, and he reaped the rewards when he upsold items to the drunks coming in.

     When old man albright passed away, he left the store to his son, who sold it to the first person to offer cash, and fled as far from Hemlock as possible. The guy that bought it didn’t even live in Hemlock, and the lack of pride or upkeep with his rental properties reflectected it. 

     The new owner attempted to run the store, but ended up just running it into the ground. The ridiculous increase in prices, and the subsequent rise of shoplifting made him just shut it down. Rather than cut his losses and sell the property to someone else, he gutted it, threw in a half-hearted bathroom and kitchen, and rented it for as much as he could convince people to rent it.

     Some seasonal worker families crammed in occasionally, and some desperate junkies hoarded together for the winter a couple times. Every time, the landlord would use threats of informing the law on the residents in order to get what he wanted. He’d get extra money, free labor, occassional sex, and people to move his merchandise. 

     Some residents pointed to the glorified slumlord as the reason why things were ‘going downhill’ in Hemlock. Some of the older families called it quits and moved from the area, hoping to save their children from the flood of Opiates floating around town from the half boarded up houses. Those that stayed often prayed for their community, but it was a losing battle. Everytime one junkie was finally picked up by police, a few more moved in to take their place. 

                                  ~

     Jamie knew nothing of the history of Hemlock, its apparent bleak future, or even the history of her home. All she knew was that her stomach hurt, and she was hungry. Momma was still sleeping on the couch where she had been for most of the day. 

     Before she went to sleep, momma had filled two bowls with Cheerios and three sippy cups with kool aid and set them down in front of the cartoons. 

     The cartoons had gone off.

     Her cheerios were gone.

     She looked at momma. The no stick was still in her arm, and momma had made sure to drive the rule home that Jamie was not to go near the no sticks. Jamie had cried for the longest time, and her hand was sore for the rest of the day after momma smacked it when she picked up a no stick one day.

     Jamie did not like the no sticks, and not just because of the memory of the pain in her hand the last time she touched one. She didn’t like how momma fell asleep everytime momma played with one. Sometimes momma had friends over, and they all took turns with the no stick. The last one always dangled it from their arm until they woke up again, or were carried outside. 

      The thought to cry until momma woke up popped into her head, but she knew momma wouldn't like that at all. The last time she tried that, momma had been so mad. No, she would just wait till momma woke up. Whenever that would be. 

     She took a drink out of her last cup. It was almost gone. Usually Momma was awake again before all the cartoons were off, and would get something to eat. She would shuffle into the kitchen almost like the mummies in Scooby Doo and put something together. It wasn’t like the food that was at Grammy’s, but at least it was something. 

     As if agreeing with this thought, her stomach grumbled. She downed the last of her juice, and looked back to the TV where people were arguing in a room. She didn’t know what they were yelling about, but at least they weren’t hitting each other. She hugged her stuffed unicorn, Mr. Sparkles, tighter against her grumbling stomach, and tried to make sense of the people were yelling. 

                                 ~

     Momma’s cell phone rang again. She could see Grammy’s face on the screen, and as much as she wanted to slide the green circle, she knew momma would be upset that she had touched her phone while she was sleeping. After Grammy’s face disappeared, the phone chirped as it had done the last few times she had called, and then lay silent. 

     Jamie watched momma for a moment as she slept. She had fallen asleep like that a few times before. Sitting on the couch, leaning against the armrest, with a small pillow as a cushion. Jamie thought for a moment before walking to her room and grabbing her blanket off the bed. When she had fallen asleep on the couch, momma always gave her a blanket to cover up and keep warm while she slept. Momma would be so proud of her that she remembered to do the same for her. 

     Jamie took momma her favorite blanket. It was her Unicorn Blanket. It had a bright white unicorn with long flowing pink hair that was flapping in the wind around a sparkling golden horn that had purple glitter on it. Jamie and momma had named her Bessie, after Grammy and Pappap’s pony Bess on their farm. 

     Jamie climbed onto the couch and pulled Bessie up her momma, careful not to get near the arm with the no stick, and tucked it in around her neck. She then gently kissed momma’s cheek just like Momma always did for her, and smiled. Momma would be very happy she had brought in Bessie to cover her up. She felt so cold.

     Jaimie looked at the window as she climbed down from the couch. The sun was fading, and it made her almost as sad as she was hungry. Momma had said they would walk to the park today, but with it getting dark, she knew it was almost bedtime. Momma was going to wake up just in time to put her to sleep. She sat back down in front of the TV where people were driving cars really fast. Maybe momma would make her a snack before she had to go to bed. 

                                ~

     The headlights of the car splashed across the walls through the window, and lit up the room. Jamie’s heart pounded in her chest, she grabbed Mr. Sparkles, and ran over to momma to shake her. Momma might yell about her being too close to the no stick, but she was more scared of whoever came with the lights. She still wouldn’t wake up.  She looked over to the door, as she heard the first knock. Momma had put the extra bar on the door before she was playing with the no stick. Momma said she did it to keep out the ‘Bad guys’. Jamie thought that some of Momma’s friends were bad guys because of the way they yelled at each other. One had even hit momma. Pappap hadn’t been too happy about that when he found out. When momma had taken Jamie to the farm the day after the man had hit her, Pappap went red in the face, and went inside. When he came back out, he was stuffing something black into his belt. 

     As he started pulling away in his truck, making a cloud of black smoke from the exhaust, and spraying gravel everywhere, Momma had yelled at him to stop. Grammy was crying a little, but she didn’t yell. She just started to carry Jamie inside the house, asking if she wanted something to eat. Before they had walked through the door, she heard Pappap yell from his truck that he was going to ‘Teach that boy a lesson’. Jamie never figured out what lesson it was, because the man who hit momma never came back to their home. 

     After the second knock, Jamie ran to her room and threw herself into the closet, pulling the door almost completely shut behind her. She wanted to keep it cracked a little in case Momma woke up and started to look for a place to hide with her. Jamie burrowed deeper into the closet as the knocking on the door turned into pounding.There was a voice outside the door, yelling something, but between the tv and the pounding, Jamie didn't know what they were yelling. She clung tight to Mr. Sparkles and strained to hear. She could feel herself begin to cry, but tried to stop as she wiped her tears away. She would show momma that she wasn’t scared. Or at least, she wouldn’t show her that she was.

     Jamie felt like she had been in the closet forever before the pounding and the yelling stopped. She peeked out the crack in the closet door to see that the house was no longer filled with the light from the window. The light from the TV screen was once again the only source of light in the house. She looked towards the old Paw Patrol lamp on the table by her bed, and thought about turning it on, so at least she would have some light while she hid. However, she did not want anyone to know where she was in case they had snuck in. Momma had told her once that some people were sneaky, and she couldn’t trust them.

     Grammy and Pappap were different, though, Jamie knew. They always had surprises, and fun things to do. They didn’t act like any of momma’s friends did. They never yelled at her, or grabbed at her...or anything else. Grammy and Pappap would hug on her, and kiss on her, and give her the best cookies and chocolate milk before bed time. She loved their farm, and the animals, and her room there. 

     Not to mention that they never had any no sticks there.  

     Jamie stepped out of the closet, holding Mr. Sparkles close, and walked over to momma. She had slept through the whole thing. Looking over to the window, Jamie could see nothing but dark, and could only hear the voices on the TV. Now that her fear had left her, her stomach reminded her that she was hungry. Maybe momma wouldn’t mind if she tried to find a snack of her own. Maybe she would even be proud of her for being a big girl and getting something for herself while letting momma sleep. She was using her potty chair like a big girl, just like mommy taught her, maybe she could make food like a big girl. 

     With that exciting thought in her mind, she went off to the kitchen to see what she could find. 

                                   ~

     She woke with a start. The was more pounding and yelling, and the entire house seemed to glow with lights. The bright white lights as before, but also a bright red and blue swept through the house as it blinked. Mr. Sparkles was sitting by the open bag of potato chips they had devoured before they had fallen asleep.

     Before she could grab him and stand up, there was a loud boom against the door. She squealed and dove to Mr. Sparkles. As she turned to go towards momma, there was another boom, and the bar that momma propped under the door knob flew back and clanked against the floor as the door burst open. 

     She froze as the room house was filled with so much light she almost didn't see the dark shapes of people rushing in at her. Several stopped at momma, but she screamed as one of them came directly for her, picked her up, and started to take her outside. 

     “Momma! Momma!”

     She fought against the shadow man as she reached out, screaming for momma to wake up and save her. The man held on to her, firmly, but gently. 

     “Shhhh...shhh ...its ok, little one,” he said softly. “I have someone who wants to see you.”

     “Jamie!”

     Jamie stopped struggling, and spun around in the shadow man’s arms. Eyes adjusting to the lights, she saw Grammy and Pappap by their truck behind what she now saw were police cars. Grammy ran forward and grabbed her from the man’s arms. Jamie saw his badge as he turned to run back into her home. Grammy and Pappap held onto her, kissed her, and stroked her hair, as she stared out over the cars and flashing lights, watching as the shadows seemed to dance in them. 

     Grammy took her to sit in the truck, and pulled out her phone and let Jamie play with the Angry Birds. Jamie looked up at Grammy after a moment of playing, and saw her staring out the window at Pappap, whose hands were on his hips and head bowed down.  Jamie snuck a peek towards the house where police and some others were still coming in and out, and Grammy gasped and started crying when they pulled a long table out with a blanket on it. Pappap fell to his knees, shoulders shaking, which cause Grammy to start to cry louder. Jamie didn’t recognize the table though, and she didn't know why everyone was so upset to see it. They never had one with wheels on it. She wondered if Momma had it hidden in a closet, and if that is why the policemen were there. 

     As Grammy started to cry harder, she pulled Jamie into her arms and squeezed her tightly. Briefly, Jamie could smell cookies on Grammy’s shirt, and she wondered if Momma was going to wake up so they could go have a snack at the farm. 

                                    ***