Killer Party (Part One)

KILLER PARTY

Part One

by

Jerome Noldin

Copyright 2015 © Jerome Noldin

License Notes

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For John

I am grateful for the time we were able to share together

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

My eyes opened slowly, reluctant to let in the harsh light.  I had no idea where I was, or how I got there.  All I could tell was that I was lying on this thick mattress, in a tiny room, surrounded by four blue walls, with one small window.  The wall surfaces appeared odd and bumpy, unlike painted walls.  Instinctively, I tried to feel the walls by putting my hand out to touch the closest one at the end of the mattress.  When I tried to, I realized that my arms were bound across my chest and neither would move.  I looked down to see what was restricting them and even my foggy brain realized in a few seconds - it was a straitjacket.  Then it struck me with great clarity where I was.  I rolled sideways on the mattress and tried bumping my head against the wall, but it felt like nothing more than a firm pillow and the texture was a tough fabric-like canvas or leather maybe.  I was sure I knew where I was now - I was locked in a padded cell.

The shocking realization cleared my vision and I realized the small rectangular window was actually part of a door.  A door with no hinges or handle of any kind.  It just appeared like part of the wall.  I was hot and sticky in the straitjacket, which purposefully rubbed against my breasts and crotch.  I felt like a sausage encased in some diseased animal skin.  It was awkward and uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming emotional barrenness in feeling so incredibly lost.  I felt abandoned and angry.

Then there was the pain, which cut through me and tortured my heart, my very being.  I screamed and beseeched God from the pit of my soul to stop the pain.  I asked repeatedly, but whoever was in charge of approving such requests was occupied elsewhere because I received no response.

My stomach rose into my throat and my tongue felt like it was twice its normal size, threatening to suffocate me.  My heart raced as the room began to spin and swirl and I felt like I’d been dropped into a blender.

The spinning slowed and finally stopped and I began to feel that I had some control over my body.  With nothing to else to do but lay on the mattress, I decided to see if I could learn more about what was on the outside of my padded room.  Cautiously, I stood up, tentatively checking my balance and carefully walked a few steps across the padded floor to the window and peered out.  I saw nothing but a drab, sterile, and empty corridor.  I could see no one; I could call no one.  In frustration, I even tried banging my head against the window as my body trembled and drenched in a film of sweat.  Even that sporadic attempt was unheard.  The window was made of a tough but flexible plastic, and gave softly under the impact of my head.

The dizziness came again.  I leaned against the door for a few moments until I felt stable enough to walk back to the mattress where I turned and slowly eased back down into a sitting position, facing the door.  I kept my feet on the padded floor and started to rock my body back and forth, fighting every scream of panic inside. 

I’d never felt more alone.  Snot dripped from my nose, onto my upper lip as tears slid down my cheeks and clung to my long hair, pasting the thick strands to my face.  Completely distraught, I sat there with my head down, still in a rocking motion for at least a half hour, maybe more.  I had no sense of time.  For all I knew, I could have been rocking back and forth for a day’s time.

Growing inside me was the ominous feeling of being watched and I looked up and saw several people peering through the small window.  Soon I would learn what they wanted and who they were.  They were doctors Thomas, Burns, Roarke, and Mansfield, all of which worked in Hysterical Trauma.  I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying, but I did make out the words Increase Risperdal.

In the hallway, Dr. Mansfield, who reviewed the nurse’s notes, said, Katherine was airlifted in a semi-catatonic state.  She awakened and quickly needed to be restrained.  Somehow, she managed to get out of one, which resulted in the bruises on her wrist and hand.

Yes.  It took four large orderlies and the assistance of two nurses to get her into her restraints, added Dr. Burns, And the sedatives she was placed on weren’t as effective as we hoped.

We’re closely monitoring that too, added Dr. Thomas.

She’s amazing, isn’t she?  Dr. Astoria Roarke, formerly of Brooklyn, New York, added to her colleagues’ conversation, still peering through the glass.

The three male doctors, aghast at the Dr. Roarke’s coy comment, nodded in unison. 

If it took six people to put her down..., Dr. Roarke said, …  I mean restrain her, then her fight or flight instincts must have taken over the sympathetic nervous system which seemingly went into overdrive.

I looked down at the floor because I couldn’t stand to look back at all those eyes staring and discussing me as if I was something under a microscope.  After a few minutes, they quit talking about me, and I knew they were gone when I heard the hard soles of shoes tapping down the long corridor.  I hoped they would increase the dosage of whatever they planned well beyond the maximum amount.  If they did that, then maybe I would be free from all pain.  Maybe I would rot in the ground, or passed from one generation to another inside a small urn, until I was finally tossed into the trash, never to be remembered again.  Either way, the pain would leave me forever.

With such gloomy thoughts flickering through my mind, I continued to sit there for a long while, only with the pain I felt to help pass the time, until I heard a key penetrating the lock.  It turned slowly and a nurse with dark, shoulder-length hair, entered with a syringe on a tray.  She looked at me and smiled, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not.  Did it matter?

She looked at me and said, Katherine, it’s time for your medication, dear.  It will help keep you comfortable. 

The words she spoke felt familiar, as if I’d heard them many times before.  She lowered my white linen pants and swabbed the spot with an antiseptic pad, injected me in the right buttock, pulled up my pants, and turned to leave.  By the time the door closed behind her, the room began to swirl again and I was already drifting off into the land of dreams and forgetfulness, though, I was thankful I could forget what had caused my soul to be so tortured.  My only thought, wondered where Tristan was.  I needed him now.

Chapter 2

The advertising executive, Carter Tesch, was a handsome 32-year-old man.  He styled his wavy black hair slickened to the side and wore expensive suits.  The suits, of course, highlighted his muscular physic.  Nevertheless, Carter never believed that he would get lucky at the party he attended, in a lavish modern mansion you’d find in Beverly Hills, where he was attending a fund-raiser for work. 

He received a text from Tiffany Dells, a young woman he had his eye on at work, to meet him upstairs.  She was new to the company and worked in the marketing department, but despite all the advances he made toward her, she wouldn’t give him the attention he had hoped to get.  One day, he sent her flowers and later saw them in her wastebasket when he went to speak with her that day.  She thought of him as the typical playboy. 

He walked through the two red doors and found the room marked with a star that she texted to meet her in.  He straightened his tie and eagerly opened the door and entered the room.  It was a fancy and well-decorated bedroom, designed in a classic mosaic style.  The room sported a small bar and a black leather couch along with two sitting chairs, all of which matched.  He saw no sign of her, but heard that someone was in the bathroom.

Just as he crossed the throw rug, something gave to the pressure of his right foot and an ear-shattering blast of an incredibly loud sound, like a hundred air horns assailed his ears with a violent cacophony that stunned him so completely, he was riveted to the spot.

The intensity of the noise was so great it felt like his ears were going to burst.  Shaking in pain, he covered them with his palms, but that did little to counter the awful wailing sound invading his entire body and every object in the room.  After the longest half-minute of Carter’s life, the vicious noise suddenly stopped.  Hesitant, Carter uncovered his ears, fearful that it would only resume, but in fact, it did not.  Instead, his attention was drawn again to the rug, whose edges were rapidly curling up around him like the mouth of sack being closed with a drawstring steel wire.

His confused brain made no sense of the bizarre action and failed to generate a flight response, leaving him motionless for the few seconds that he might have used, to escape by jumping off the rug.  In panic, he tried to throw his right leg over one of the rising edges, but it was far too high.

Oh, God!  He cried, This is some really fucked up shit.  What is happening to me?  He remained trapped and terrified, helpless to do anything while the rug continued enclosing his lower body, only to stop after it had tightened around his thighs, rendering his capture complete.  Speechless with horror at the situation, yet sensing there was more misery to come, the entities of Carter’s brain and body simply became numb and immobile.

Carter’s premonition was correct, because shortly after, he heard the bathroom door open and in walked a scarecrow, whose existence had been blotted out of his mind by the horror he had just experienced.  The scarecrow wore a tattered half-coat, a flimsy black hat covering its long straw-like hair, and a visage grim burlap mask with sad black eyes that turned downward on the outside corners.  Its mouth formed a mocking half-smile and it was loosely sewn together; half with coarse yarn, and the other side, uneven yellow teeth protruded though.  On the outstretched arms of this fearsome creature, the hands bore black leather gloves and held something in one of them.  It had the innocuous look of a T.V. remote control, except that it differed by having only several large colored buttons.  He held it out and pointed it a Carter, who cringed instinctively, realizing that something awful was about to happen.  Carter could only stare in horror at the scarecrow’s hideous mask, wondering what was to come next. 

Who… or what… are you?  Why the fuck are you doing this?  Carter screamed in agonizing terror.

The scarecrow gave no response, but pressed one of the buttons, the ceiling fan now rotating over Carter’s head.  The moment ended when the scarecrow pressed another button and the screeching sound of metal on metal echoed while the fan blades slowed dramatically, now taking several seconds to make a single revolution.  Carter looked up, toward the sound source, and saw strands of wire coming over the tips of the fan blades.  Each group of strands had a heavy iron weight attached, pulling the wires down toward the floor.  As the wires came even with his eyes he realized that this was not ordinary wire, but razor-edged barbed wire, interspersed every few inches with a compact skin-ripping twisted barb.

Slowly the fan turned while the weights drew the barbed wires down, eventually reaching the floor.  The massive weights dragged, bumping and scraping along the floor in a circle around the hapless Carter, who could do nothing but watch helplessly and wonder what horrible simulation of a maypole meant to his destiny.  The silent scarecrow gave the answer through a push of another button on the remote.  Each of the fan blades began to tilt down toward their own center of rotation, bringing the upper ends of the barbed wire strands closer and closer to each other – closing in on Carter.

It was frighteningly clear what was going to happen next:  His upper body and handsome face, were going to be wrapped in barbed wire, just as the rug had trussed up his legs.  The torment to his body and now to his mind, fragile from the terror created by the insane acts of the scarecrow, forced a ragged scream of protest and plea from the anguished man.  NO!  Oh God, NO!  Carter screamed through an intensified horrific sound.  Nevertheless, the scarecrow stood there impassively, monitoring the inexorable closing of the barbed wire mesh around the doomed and helpless man.