The Room (27 page)

scraped the remainder of his food into the garbage can, piled his tray on the cart and went forth into the corridor and back to his cell

quite cunttrary

washed his hands, splashed water on his face, patted it dry and inspected his pimple, looking for indications of its coming to a head

how does it fucking grow

gave it a few tentative squeezes, then a quick, short hard one, stretched the skin around it

with those silver fucking bells

then splashed more cold water on his face, patted it dry, then sat on the edge of his bed, smiling and sucking his teeth.
He crossed his legs, propped his right elbow on his left hand and his chin on his finger tips and looked toward the large crack in the wall that eventually lost itself in the crack that joined the wall and ceiling

and empty scum bags in a row

and waited until the steel door was clanged shut and locked

then sat and listened to the court-appointed psychiatrists describe in technical and lay language the deep and grave emotional disturbances of the two officers, how they would not only experience extreme emotional elation from committing cruel and abnormal acts, but would feel justified in committing such acts. He sat quietly and watched and listened while inside he roared and screamed his approval as he watched the judge, the psychiatrists and officers, glowing as he heard the motherfuckers described as unstable, immature, hostile, sadistic … unfit emotionally to be police officers and skipped and danced as he watched their fucking faces twist and their guts tighten and boil with insane rage, knowing that there would be no defense made, no attempt to refute the testimony of the psychiatrists because orders had been given to their appointed attorney not to fight the dismissal for fear of bad publicity during an election year, for fear that more than just the unfitness of these two officers would be made public; for fear that many high public officials would be more than embarrassed, and so there would be no contest, but just a plea for clemency and when it was all over the judge would commit them to a state mental institution for an undetermined period and when things cooled down they would quietly be released one day, but he would see to it that that day would be a long time coming. A long time coming. He would keep a constant check on them and have them examined by independent psychiatrists and their opinions made public so the authorities would be afraid to release them. Not for a long, long, long-ass time. He would see to it that it would be many years before they walked free in the street. Or even walked free on the hospital grounds. He would make certain that they spent years confined in a locked ward with no privileges whatsoever. None. They would just
sit and look at walls and each other. Thats all. Nothing else. Only walls and each other. Or other hopelessly deranged and violent cases. And they would hear the screams. Yeah, thats what they were going to hear. No music, chirping of birds or even the roar and rumble of trucks and cars. Just screams. And when the motherfuckers were turned into hopeless blobs and eventually allowed to leave, he would see to it that no matter where they went everyone would know who they were, and where they came from, and why they had been there.

And he would start with their families. He knew that right now they were in the process of moving, but no matter where or how far they went he would be certain that everyone knew who they were so when they walked the street and their kids went to school, everyone would point and whisper until they would be forced to move again and he would see to it that the pointed fingers, whispers and cold aloofness would force them to move again and again and again until they were so tired and filled with despair that they were no longer capable of moving but would simply sit in one place and wait to die. Or maybe some night when the kids were asleep they would turn on the gas and the next morning there would be nothing but death in the house. Or even pile the family in the car and drive off a cliff or swerve into an oncoming truck and be crushed. Yeah, others may think that this was the end of the case, but he would see to it that it wasnt. He would dedicate his life to the complete demoralization and destruction of those pricks and their families. O, how he wanted them to live. All of them. He wanted them to live a long, long time. And suffer. Suffer so bad that each second of each day will be an eternity. No matter where they go or how hard they try to hide he will see to it that the world knows who they are and where they are so they can experience the living hell of disgrace and despair, so they can all be crushed by endless time and see the children deny their fathers and eventually reach that time when they will long for death but be denied its gift. They will suffer – all of them – years of torment for every second of pain inflicted on him. Retribution, you sonsabitches. Retribution. And it will be mine. In my way, in my time, it will be mine.

When
the brief proceedings were over, and the judge sentenced them, he was hoping the motherfuckers would fight or yell or something, but he didnt really expect them to. He knew they had been told to keep their mouths shut, that if they didnt they would be indicted for rape and if they were found guilty they could be executed. So he didnt really expect them to protest. And they didnt.

But it wasnt necessary. He knew what was happening inside them. He watched them squirm. He watched the reaction on their faces. And when it was all over and they were led from the courtroom he could see their fear and feel their panic. He knew it was starting. And he also knew it would get worse. Day by day, hour by hour, and then minute by fucking minute it would get worse, and he would be thinking of them every second of every fucking day of every fucking year. Yeah, he would be thinking of them. All of them.

He waited until the alleged mental incompetents were led from the courtroom before he stood, adjusted his jacket, shirt and tie and started walking slowly, yet firmly, from the courtroom. He knew the reporters and photographers would be waiting for him in the corridor. He knew that the families of the alleged mental incompetents were advised, very strongly, to remain in seclusion as long as possible, so all the cameras and questions would be directed at him simultaneously. As he approached the doors to the corridor he could see and hear the newsmen, and others, as he had so many times recently. He knew that when he stepped through the doorway he would have to angle toward the side and position himself away from the doors and lean against the wall in his usual leisurely attitude and answer the many questions as rapidly as possible. This procedure had become, by this time, automatic. He lit a cigarette as he angled through the doorway, and carefully put the burnt match in the ash tray on the wall.

Are you pleased with the decision, or do you think criminal charges should have been pressed?

No, I do not think a criminal indictment should have been sought. They are obviously sick men and as such I believe the decision is a just one.

Then you dont think they should be punished?

Well, in view of the fact that nothing has been proven to warrant punishment I do not see how they can be. In any event no matter how severely or long they would be punished it would not restore Mrs Haagstromm to health.

As I understand the term, indefinite commitment, it is possible for those men to be released in a matter of months. Do you believe this is just, under the circumstances?

Yes, I do. As you say it is possible for them to be released in a relatively short period of time, but it also means that they must stay until competent authorities feel that they have recovered sufficiently to be
safely
released into society. This, obviously, may take a great deal of time.

What are your future plans now that this case is over?

To continue my – our – crusade.

What is the next phase of this crusade?

To determine why men such as these are given guns and the authority to use them. In other words a complete and thorough review of the procedures being followed at the present time that determine whether or not a man is the proper material to become a police officer so future incidents such as this can be avoided. You see, gentlemen, there is much more here than meets the eye. To begin with we have no idea what else these two sick men may have done during their time on the force. But just what we do know is overwhelming. A young mothers life destroyed. And it does not end there. What of her family? Think of how tragic it is to them. And what of the families of the men themselves? How will this affect them? What of their children, young and innocent? How will their future lives be warped and affected? And it even goes beyond that. What of the millions of people, young and old alike, who have been following these tragic events, how will their attitudes be affected? How will the institutions and age-old traditions of our society be looked upon by these millions of people? There is just no way we can calculate the damage done by these two sick individuals. It is tragic. Most tragic. But with effort it need not happen again.

Do you plan to take your crusade to other cities, or are you going to confine your activities here?

Well, as you know, I have already testified before the senate of this state and the Senate of the United States, as well as before various agencies in this city. In addition we have made the results of our investigations available to interested parties from all over the nation. To date, we have not only received requests for assistance from various civic groups, both official and unofficial, in all our major cities, but from many smaller municipalities. And I am certain that after the decision that was rendered here today these requests for assistance will increase many-fold.

Just how do you propose to handle these requests?

At the present time we are in the process of establishing a small office that will be devoted exclusively to this crusade. We have had many individuals offering their help in many different capacities. Basically what we propose to do is this: arrange the results of our investigations in chronological order and have them bound in as many volumes as will be necessary – with depositions and carefully indexed. In addition we will issue a separate volume outlining the procedures we followed and what the results were. This will provide a foundation upon which these other organizations can proceed with their own investigations. In addition, we will be available for consultation and assistance should any situation arise where our procedures volume is not applicable.

It sounds like you have a lifes work cut out for you.

It is the least I can do for Mrs Haagstromm …

Now, if you will excuse me gentlemen, I really must go as I have a great deal of work to do.

He nodded and shook hands as flash bulbs exploded and cameras ground. He walked briskly and purposefully down the corridor and through the doors into the sunlight. He stood momentarily on the top step looking up at the blue, cloudless sky, then descended the steps and walked through the parking lot toward his car feeling the clear blue of the sky, hearing the cameras and flashing lights and reliving the scenes in the courtroom and caressing the solid, unshakeable strength in his gut and the joy of being alive that vibrated through his being as he saw with absolute clarity the
purpose of his life and the goals and rewards that wait at the end of the clearly defined road, knowing with absolute and complete confidence that nothing could deter or prevent him from following that chosen path

and when the teacher pointed to the denominator of the fraction and asked him what it was he said, the plural, and the other kids laughed and the teacher frowned and asked again and his head burst into flames and he stared at the fraction on the blackboard hoping and waiting for the answer to leap at him and come out of his mouth and he stammered as his head shook and the chalked figures became blurred and floated gently and the teacher asked someone else and he sat in his seat and burned as the teacher continued the lesson,

the rotten bitch. One fucking minute shes teaching spelling and the next shes with the fucking fractions. The fucking asshole. And anyway, who gives a shit what its called,

jerking himself off the bed and stomping to the door and looking through the window at the fucking signs then continuing his journey from door to wall and wall to door,

and fuck you and Pee Wee too. Big fucking deal. I missed a tackle and he made a few lousy yards. So fucking what? Who needs it? Who needs anything. Dumb fucking cunt.

how does your cocksucking garden grow

Rotten bitch. There was more than 1 number. I wasnt really wrong

stopping in front of the mirror and attacking his pimple, his eyes watering as the pain of ground glass stabbed him until he had to lower his hand and stomp back to the bed and drop on the edge and hold his head with his hands and stare at the huge pimple on his cheek. It looked like a snow-capped mountain glazed with ice and was so swollen it looked as if it would burst. And even without touching it he could feel the piece of wire twisting itself inside. He bathed it with hot water for many minutes then patted it dry, then maneuvered his fingers around it, tentatively prodding with the edges of his
fingers until he found the proper position then started squeezing, his face twisting and his eyes closing from the pain. He stopped, keeping his fingers in their position, and breathed deeply wishing he had a pin or needle he could lance it with so he could get the fucking thing started, but there wasnt a fucking thing in the cell he could use so he attacked it again with the edges of his fingers until he once again was forced to stop and catch his breath. He attacked again, determined to continue to squeeze the sonofabitch until it burst no matter how much it hurt, and when he was about to stop because of the pain he pressed his eyes shut tighter and squeezed harder and harder until he could hear it cracking then opened his eyes and watched the white, wormlike pus wiggle and crunch its way out then suddenly lowered his hands and leaned on the sink, his head lowered, his eyes tearing, and panting. He blinked his eyes clear of the tears then raised his
head and looked at the twisted tail hanging from the white lump on his cheek. He wiped it off with a piece of toilet paper and inspected it before squeezing it, gently at first, feeling its firmness and substance, pressing a little harder and harder until it was flattened. He looked back in the mirror and once more positioned the edges of his fingers and squeezed with short, hard jabs and heard another one crackling out, watching it grow longer and longer as the tears dropped from his eyes, and continued to jab at the huge, white lump as it gave birth to another wiggling tail that slithered along his cheek until it was a couple of inches long and he stopped and gently removed it from his cheek before it broke. He looked at it stretched across the toilet paper for many moments before testing it with his finger tips and once again attacking the parent body relentlessly. His eyes were jammed shut and he could hear the crackling and crunching turmoil, and feel the needle-like pain pricking him, and could visualize those thin, white bodies crawling away from the constant and increasing pressure, and he wanted to scream as the pain jabbed deeper and he squeezed harder until he heard a sharp crack and a whooshing explosion and he heard the core of his festering lump splat against the mirror. His hand grabbed the sink and he shook his head trying to clear his eyes and get them to open so he could look at the fruits of his victory. He blinked many, many times, and continued blinking as he raised his head and looked at the twisted and mangled mess on the mirror. For many minutes he just looked and enjoyed. Eventually, when his eyes dried and cleared, he could see the endless convolutions like a miniature brain. He continued to stare and study the twists and turns until he noticed the light reflecting from a thin, almost invisible hair stuck in the middle. It was so small and thin that he could only see it when he held his head at a particular angle, yet that little sonofabitch was the cause of that festering lump stuck on the mirror, and all the fucking pain and misery he had to go through to get rid of the sonofabitch. All the fucking bullshit just because a little fucking hair had to grow in instead of out. If the fucking thing had grown like it was supposed to he could have just cut the fucking thing with his razor and it would have been no different than any one of a million hairs that he had cut while shaving, but this motherfucker had to grow in and fuck him all up and put him through all that fucking misery