THE DARKNESS WITHIN - PART ONE

Even as the last vestiges of life bled from her mutilated body Wendy Travis's thoughts were only for her family. The tears of terror and pleading, of torment and agony had run their course; the tears that slid slowly down her ruined face were of loss; loss of her husband, loss of her children, loss of the life they had lived and of the future they might have had. Ironically, her thoughts prior to this evening had been centred purely on her desire to win a Pulitzer Price, her work to expose atrocities by US troops in Iraq all consuming. How quickly she'd remembered what really mattered.

Her babies had been the first to die, their ending mercilessly quick. The killer had lingered longer over her husband, slicing the tendons at the back of his heels so he could not run, cutting out his tongue so he could not speak, taping his head to the bedstead so he could not look away, gluing open his eyes so he could not help but see. Thus disabled her beloved Robert had been forced to watch as she was first raped then sodomised, a condom “protecting” her and her assailant. The latex gloves and disposable booties and boiler suit her abuser wore added further to his protection; the forensic guys would find no evidence at this crime scene.

His sexual appetite sated the intruder returned to his lust for blood, stabbing Robert repeatedly until his life literally drained into the carpet. White overalls smeared with blood the monster had set about his final victim, slicing into Melissa’s tanned skin again and again and again, smiling maliciously throughout. Eventually he’d stopped, but for Melissa the respite came too late. The unknown stranger sat on his haunches in front of her, watching her final breaths. Through her tears she looked into his cold, brutal eyes and smiled; her dying vision saw not him, but the gentle, welcoming eyes of Robert.
‘I’m coming darling…’ she whispered.

* * * * * * *

The spark that initiated the fire was innocent enough yet the events revealed by its flaming light were at the other extreme of the spectrum of innocence and evil. Once lit it could not be extinguished, until now, and I alone can kill the flames. In doing so I must also kill myself, hoping, praying, that even as I do so the last of their searing heat will cleanse my soul. But before I do that I must attempt a cleansing of another sort through this, my last confession.

My name is Jonathan Palmer, I am thirty-six years old and until recently I was a Corporal in the US army. Caroline and I had been together for almost six months having met not long after I left the service. We fell in love, we made love, we turned our love into the backbone of our existence and while we still had our separate apartments to all intents and purposes we were living together; I hadn’t seen my place in months. Despite living in New York we preferred to shun the smorgasbord of nightlife on our doorstep, preferring instead our own surroundings and company. We had our different interests but we shared a love of horror, be it written or on celluloid, spending many an evening reading in quiet contentment or watching DVDs and videos.

On the fateful evening that was to rip our existence apart Caroline suggested we watch a video, not of a film but of a discussion show she had recorded off the TV twenty years before. Six aficionados from the world of movie and literary horror (Clive Barker, John Carpenter, Roger Corman, Ramsey Campbell, Lisa Tuttle and Peter Atkins) sat around a dinner table discussing a (presumably) hypothetical movie they would make to mark the new millennium, at that time still ten years away, now ten years ago.

Clive Barker began the discussion with this simple premise: a guy goes into a bookstore and picks up a book about some real life murders, as yet unsolved. On seeing the crime scene photos he suddenly says to himself ‘I did this’; an “innocent” man discovers he is a killer, Doctor Jekyll discovers he is Mr Hyde.

How the discussion continued I could not possibly say for at that instant I discovered my own Mr Hyde. My mind swam with visions of the terrible nightmares that had plagued my dreams for several months as well as recent news reports of a series of terrible killings in the Tri-State area of New York… at that moment I became utterly convinced a savage murderer lurked within me.

*

It will come as no surprise I’m sure that sleep completely eluded me that night. Through all the long hours of interminable darkness I tossed and turned, my frustration further exacerbated by Caroline’s gentle cat like snores.

Again and again the same thoughts ran through my mind: was I really a murderer? Even if it were true, how could I commit such terrible acts without knowing? Logic screamed that it could not be so and yet the thought I might be felt so real, so certain.

By the time the alarm clock finally rang I had convinced myself it was all a delusion, a figment of my deranged imagination, a portent of impending schizophrenia or a pointer towards an undiagnosed brain tumour. Even so a quiet voice nagged at me from the deepest recesses of my mind: you are a killer.

To prove once and for all that I was wrong I contacted an old friend of mine whom I’d known since before my time in the army. Sally Medway was a hypnotherapist and her reputation alone, above and beyond our friendship, convinced me she could put my fears to rest. So it was one week later, with Caroline visiting out of state with her parents for a few days, I waited in a doorway opposite the entrance to Sally’s office and consulting room. Her last appointment was just leaving along with her secretary; unseen in the shadows I heard Sally’s instantly recognisable voice call out:
‘You can leave the door unlocked Helen, I’m expecting a friend. Don’t worry, we go back a long way, I’ll be quite safe.’
‘Sure thing Dr Medway,’ Helen replied. ‘Have a good weekend, I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘You too Helen, goodnight.’

Ten minutes later I was sat comfortably in a high backed leather chair, totally relaxed and on the verge of a hypnotic sleep.
‘When you awake,’ came Sally’s voice, distant yet reassuring, ‘you will remember everything, you will remember…..’

*

I suddenly found myself in a stark, bare concrete room. Two of my buddies sat either side of me in a semicircle of utilitarian chairs while the fourth person in the room stood before us. Despite sporting a pristine white lab coat he had the unmistakable bearing of a senior military man: Professor James Caleb, my commanding officer.

‘Well gentleman,’ he began, ‘here we are at the beginning of a new and exciting journey. By the time this program is complete you will be the backbone of the army’s latest covert weapon. A secret force capable of sewing terror amongst the civilian population of our enemies, you will draw upon the darkest forces of your psyche to commit terrible and bloody acts in their own backyard, spreading panic, causing unrest, tying up valuable resources.

‘The drug we have developed will enable you to draw upon your inner monster and yet operate completely separate to it. You will each be a modern day, real world Dr Jekyll, deep undercover, undetected by authorities hell bent on their search for a virtually non-existent Mr Hyde. You will know nothing of the atrocities you commit, your conscience will not be troubled, no slip of the tongue will ever give you away. So powerful is the force the drug will release even your physical appearance will temporarily change; the killer’s face and body will not be your own. Furthermore, you will have no memory of the important work we are about to undertake…’

Still locked in my hypnotised state time suddenly shifted; the room was the same but the atmosphere was palpably different.
‘Well gentleman,’ intoned Professor Caleb, the anticipation inherent in his earlier speech replaced by a note of barely concealed triumph. ‘We have reached the end of our time together, now we sit and wait. You are about to be honourably discharged from the fighting forces of our great nation. As far as your memory tells you you will never have worked on this project, you will merely believe you have served your time and returned to civilian life.

‘When called upon to serve your country once more the darkness lurking within you will be summoned into the light. You will not remember these episodes and you will continue to live an apparently normal life. Yet at the same time you will be performing a priceless service to your country. Goodbye gentleman… and happy hunting.’

Once again time shifted, this time so did the location. I found myself in a bedroom I did not recognise looking into the face of a woman similarly unknown to me. Fear was etched into that face, her eyes bright and terrified against the blood that seeped from an ugly wound on her forehead. She knelt at my feet, naked and afraid, her torn clothing strewn around her. Blood adorned everything, upon and around her body; the walls, the floor, a broken mirror, the dishevelled double bed behind her, the hunting knife clutched in my hand. They say the first cut is the deepest yet even as my blade stuck at her throat we both knew how wrong that song had been.

*

With a start I awoke from the sleep Sally had put me in; like the aftertaste of a nightmare the coppery smell of freshly spilt blood seemed to hang in the air. Momentarily disorientated I leapt up from the chair, broken glass crunching beneath my feet.

Sally’s office was in chaos, a maelstrom of violence centred on the space I had so recently occupied. All the other chairs in the room were overturned, their padded seats ripped apart as if by savage claws. The doors to the glazed bookcases were torn off, the glass broken into a hundred vicious shards, and their contents were vomited across the floor. The computer and the desk lamp were now on the far side of the room, chunks of missing plaster testament to the force with which they had struck the wall.

As for Sally, her naked and broken body lay draped across the swept bare surface of her desk. Her skin was a maze of savage lacerations, doubtless inflicted by the larger piece of broken glass now jutting from her throat. At the sight of her I howled an animalistic cry of anguish, falling to my knees amidst the detritus of ripped off clothing and tumbled stationery, amongst the pools of slowly congealing blood.

Wracked by sobs I recalled those last words I’d heard Sally speak as I went under: ‘you will remember’. I did remember… and all I remembered was true.

TO BE CONTINUED…..