Inhuman

My drive to the prison was peaceful. The leaden sky overshadowed muted fields with masses of red, yellow and purple nettles. The day was somber and filled with a sense of quiet waiting and perhaps, even dread.

I pushed the thought away—I was always fighting something inside that was superstitious and pagan—at least that’s what Liv says, and Liv Hargraves is always right.

I allowed my mind to go back to her earnest face staring at me across the restaurant table.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to see him, Martin—he’s in a delicate stage of recovery at the moment. Why not give it some time?”

“I would Liv, if it weren’t for the fact that a half dozen parents would like to know where their daughters are buried.”

She shrugged. “Fine, then do what you want—you always do anyway.”

“C’mon, Liv—it’s not like that. I just don’t think it’s as straightforward as everyone thinks.”

“You can’t keep doing this, Martin—second guessing your colleagues. He was assessed by several psychiatrists—I sat in on the sessions.”

She seemed to shudder at the memory.

“There’s something else here, Liv—something we’ve all been missing—I can feel it in my bones.”

“You and your vibes. Did you ever think you missed your calling? Maybe you should be off in some somber Kirk chanting litanies and swinging incense.”

“I doubt a Scottish Presbyterian would be swinging incense—far too papist, I’m afraid.”

“Okay, Martin—but you know what I mean. You’re diagnoses are part DSM and part mysticism—actually, more the latter than the former.”

“I grant you that, but if it weren’t for me, the Abbotsford Slasher would still be making house calls.”

“All right, I defer to your methods—but really, I think you should back off this time—the boy gives me the creeps.”

"He’s peculiar all right.”

The face of Adam Willett leaped into my mind.

He had the saddest eyes I ever saw. The boy had killed more than a dozen girls and not just killed them but also mutilated six of them so horribly they could only be identified through DNA.

The other girls' bodies were never found.

I could still picture in my mind’s eye the scene at the hospital with three psychiatrists, white lab coats hastily flung over green hospital scrubs, all trying to look so damn professional—but I saw all three of them step out—one by one —leaving me alone to face the eyeless rage of hate.

The boy seemed less a person than an elemental—some unfeeling anomaly of nature.

I reviewed their diagnoses—they added up, but the boy didn’t.

I realized I had been lost in my thoughts. Liv was staring at me.

Speak to her. Reassure her, that's what my rational mind told me.

“Did you ever have the feeling you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have—something human beings were not meant to see?”

She nodded. “That’s why I can’t do this Martin—I can’t go with you. I just want him locked up and the key thrown into the sea.”

“I do too, Liv—at least, that’s my first instinct.”

“Then why don’t you run? You follow your gut all the time—why not now?”

“Because he needs me—not me, personally, but someone—someone who’s not going to be repulsed and view him like alien life. He’s suffering, Liv and we took an oath.”

She paused as if struggling within herself. I knew the feeling. She was torn between helping and fleeing.

“You're right, Martin— we took an oath to do no harm—that’s why we’re here. You know that as well as I.”

“He’s sick and he’s in pain," I reasoned with her. "He’s as helpless as a wounded and crazed animal.”

“But what’s the point? He’s going to spend the rest of his life in a cell being video taped and surveilled 24/7. Why not execute him and get it over with?”

“The law for one thing—and the fact he’s ill and needs help.”

I tried one last time to reach out to her with my words.

“Look Liv, I don’t know if he’ll let me in to his horror chamber, but I’ve got to try. He wasn’t responsible for what he did—he was sick and now he has to live with it.”

“But isn’t that the point, Martin—to let him live with it the rest of his life?”

“No, Liv, it’s not the point—if he was deranged when he committed the acts. It’s inhuman for us to make him suffer, especially if he didn’t really know what he was doing.”

She stood up and grabbed her raincoat from the back of her chair.

“Sorry Martin, but you’re on your own with this one. I understand what you’re saying. I even admire you for it—but I can’ t do it. I can’t go back and face him again. Sorry.”

I watched her walk out and dodge raindrops back to her Austin Mini.

To be continued...

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

Photo