Chapter 4: Ten Years

(October 14th, 2041)

I've never mentioned this before to anyone; not even my therapist who's supposed to know everything about me. (Ever since I was assigned to death row, which I willingly accepted and still do, I've had a court mandated therapist.) His name is Ralph Monican. Some lanky ass man with coal black hair, a long nose and the biggest fuckin' smile I've ever seen.

He always greets me with that weird smile and to be polite, I return it. But in all reality I'd give anything for the man to stop doing it. It reminds me of my father, back when I was a young boy... I never used to have these murderous thoughts you know. But that's an entirely different story. In this one, I'd like to discuss Bruce.

Yes, I am aware that I have already spoken of him in brutal detail, but this is necessary. It's something so damn chilling that it kept me awake for days, maybe even a week or two after hearing it... Let's get started.

(Present day / December 14th, 1991)

(I forgot to mention a major detail about Bruce. He's dead...Yup! The mother fucker died after sealing his mouth shut; for how long you ask? You shall find out, just keep on reading.)

As to how Bruce is able to manifest himself among the living, I have no idea. Remember when I mentioned he showed up just as Rachel and I were talking to Simon? Well, let me clue you all in as to what he said after she and our new protege left. The conversation was as eerie as all hell even for me.

He stood there, towering over my by at least a foot or so and was gazing down at me. (Or at least I thought he was, since his eyes were gouged out.) Anyway, he broke down into tears... I'm not even fucking joking! That big ass mammoth of a man dropped to his knees and burst into fucking tears.

Of course they weren't any usual set of tears; no, these ones were bloody. He said, "I-I d-d-on't want to k-kill anymore!" His face was buried in those giant hands of his as he sobbed. I didn't know if he was even able to talk, but at this moment his mouth was torn completely open. He had that vicious looking scar running up his face and that nasty gap in the very front of his gums. (Even to this day I wondered if the spirits let him talk, or if he forced his mouth back open. If it's the second guess, then the man's a more of a badass then I thought.) Whether it was this or the ghastly site of those dangling rotting teeth; something made my stomach churn.

I felt so bad for the man; well man/spirit. 'Cause what he said next fuckin' chilled me straight to the bone. "I've killed my wife and I slaughtered our son and daughter in the most brutal way possible. B-But I c-couldn't h-h-help it..." He was looking at me now at this point and I wanted to do nothing but run as fast as fucking possible from that room. (I'm not gonna lie, I feared for my life too. That was before I understood his story however.)

Somehow his presence dropped the temperature at least twenty more degrees than usual. (I suppose that's because he's so huge and he's dead... But I'm not a fuckin' paranormal expert here!) He followed his last statement with, "A-After th-they were m-murdered by m-m-me, I-I c-couldn't stand t-t-to live with m-myself anymore... I d-deserved to be tortured... I-I d-d-deserved to b-be punished!"

He put so much emphasis on that last word. The way he said it with such authority and yet, such despair... My heart was breaking for him. He continued, "I-I sealed my mouth shut...with acid! I ripped th-the top off of a c-car battery a-and I d-d-dumped it all over my m-mouth! It f-felt horrible! But I deserved it...I deserved every-single-moment of torture. And then I had to wait until I perished; that...that took a while. Longer than I could even imagine! It wasn't until a few weeks later, that I realized I was dead!"

At this moment Bruce found an old moth eaten chair which was folded up and sat upon it. His massive weight caused every inch of that chair to creak. He looked at me with concern written across his pained face. I could actually see the sadness in it, even though it was so horribly disfigured.

"I've been dead for over ten years... Ten fucking years! I-I can't catch a break... I-I-I can't! The fucking voices in my head w-won't stop. W-Why? W-Why did I h-have to have th-this p-problem? I'd give anything to not be trapped on Earth any more... It's my own personal hell! The voices won't let me leave until people stop moving into that fucking house! Though no matter how many people I kill, they just keep on moving in!"

That's when I asked him the question that was burning deep in my mind. "How is it you're able to manifest yourself like this?"

At this point Bruce seemed to calm down a bit. He actually smiled, if you could call that gashed up mouth movement a grin, but I'll give it to him. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I felt so guilty after I killed my family and I only want the people to stop moving in so I can finally be at peace. I also want to stop killing because it's destroying me. I can't stand murdering people, especially the young ones."

I wasn't sent to Hell but I wasn't accepted into Heaven either. I've been stuck in limbo for so fucking long, yet I cannot leave. I can't even bare to sit here for too long, because another family is moving into that house. Even now, as I sit here, the voices are acting up in my head. They're already muttering incoherently; the only words I can pick up are, 'house, moving, new family, kill, kill, kill...'"

Although he didn't answer my question directly, I understood. He's in limbo; purgatory if you will, and is able to show himself to the living because the spirits will him to do so. And until he finishes his contract, they won't let him go. It was at this point that I wanted to help him out even more. I know that I'm a murderer and I don't normally feel things, other than lust and love for Rachel, but I felt something different at this moment. I was so crushed by this man's story. So much so that it even began planting a seed in my mind. I began to realize just how horrible I've been and yet, I can't stop killing either.

At least Bruce had an excuse, but even he didn't use that card. He's just a tormented soul who wants to rest in peace and that means he's got to keep killing and killing. I figured I could do him a solid and try to close down that house; that's for a different chapter. For now, I gotta get going since I gotta go work at the laundry area. Until then, this is Shane Sorinthia signing off.