Criminal Origins

by Banops

The Same Thing in a New Place

Wake up Leland. It's time again. You must continue your path of righteousness.

His eyes flutter open and he looks about him. The trunk of a small car makes for a terrible bed.

A stabbing pain runs down the back of his head, through his spine, and ends at his legs and feet. The pain comes from a bludgeon wound. His very own uncle had done that. Quite a spot of handiwork for the old codger, he had forgotten how strong his uncle was.

He tries to caress the spot on the back of his head where all his pain comes from, but to his dismay, his hands are bound behind his back and his mouth is taped over… What luck. What rotten luck.

Leland feels the reverberations of the moving vehicle he is stuffed in. The motor hums and whirs loudly, only worsening the pain caused by the bump on his head.

A feeble attempt at struggling in his binds lets Leland know that the only thing holding his hands together is a short length of tape or rope, tape or rope probably obtained from somewhere in the barn house he had just been in.

You must carry out your retribution plays a familiar voice inside of his head.

Leland lets out a muffled cry as the car hits a pothole, bouncing him around the inside of the trunk.

Claustrophobia: Leland never really knew he had it. Or maybe it was just being stuffed in this small trunk that had him more on edge. Or then again, maybe it was the demonic voices in his head, urging him to carry out retribution, or continue down his path of righteousness. The same voices that had drove him to commit the many atrocities in the preceding months. Either way, he starts panicking and throws a fit. He slams himself as hard as he can against the box of a trunk, making as much noise as he can.

Exactly how long that continues, he can not say for sure. But suddenly and eventually the car screeches to a halt. Leland hears two voices, muffled, but recognizable. One voice is his Uncle, Malcolm Vanhorn. The other is that of the former detective Ethan Thomas.

Ethan Thomas… Oh Ethan Thomas. This man that has kept Leland here sane. If by sane, one means: a serial killing psychopath. Sanity always has been relative for Leland though. Especially since he had been merely following the voices in his head, the ones that drove him to kill.

Oh but don't be scared. He focussed his spree on the evil men. Well, mostly. He had tried his best to only kill those who had taken many innocent lives themselves. He killed serial killers. This was… and still is Leland's divine retribution, or so the voices say.

Actually they were never really that specific, they just wanted him to do harm to others. So he chose the path he could most easily stomach. He does admit he did get a bit carried away with it though.

Too bad along the way he ended up killing two cops and framing Ethan for it.

Some things are unavoidable. Leland muses to himself.

The voices grow louder, and now they are shouting. A clicking sound later and the trunk pops open… revealing exactly the two people Leland heard approaching: his uncle, and detective Ethan Thomas.

Ethan carries a pissed off look. His black hair is slicked back with grime and blood. His left hand is dripping with blood as well. This stems from a missing index finger only recently cut off. Cut off by his truly, Leland himself.

Thomas's right hand, well, his right hand holds a gun. A handgun actually, one that glares fiendishly down at Leland, shimmering in the light of the moon and stars. Moon and stars: that is all Leland can see behind his two captors. That, and the open country road.

Thomas points the gun skyward but fastens a death gaze on Leland. His intentions are clear. He will be carrying out his own retribution. Or maybe revenge… however one looks at it. One thing is for certain, there is no empathy, no forgiveness behind his eyes. Only malice towards the deranged serial killer.

Malcolm, the uncle, puts his hand up to try and stop Ethan from making the rash decision, "Thomas, don't! He was a good boy. We were all good people." Pleads Malcolm. "We were able to fight it back, most of us… My nephew was not as strong. He fell victim, and destroyed - so many things. We fought to save him. I must continue to do so."

Ethan points the gun at Leland and looks angrily at Malcolm and says, "I don't care whether the sick fuck is in his right mind or not!"

"Think of what you are doing!" Continues Malcolm. "Both of you have a chance for redemption."

Redemption huh, thinks Leland, what absolute shit. And he giggles hysterically to himself under the tape gag.

"Redemption!?" Ethan interjects, "Listen old man. You used me just like he did." As he finished that sentence he gestured toward Leland with the barrel of the gun. "You… you used me to save your precious nephew - a… a serial killer. You… You're no better than he is!" By now his full attention is on poor defenseless Leland, lying in the trunk all tied up.

And Leland stares into the barrel of the gun, giggling like a maniac under the tape. He stares deep into the eyes of hatred, the eyes of malice, the eyes of revenge and spite.

Part of Leland wants to be shot… to stop the pain in the back of his head, to stop the voices. And so he welcomes the offer set in front of him, the barrel of a handgun trained on his head.

Darkness seems to swirl around the two, Leland and Ethan. Malcolm slips out of Leland's sight and all he can see is: Ethan, the gun, and the strange darkness whirling around the two.

And then one loud explosion erupts. Like one cold, hard knock on the door between life and death.

But the voices, they continue. Even after everything goes black for Leland, the voices continue.

You belong to us Leland, they say, you have always belonged to us. Death does not stop that. You will carry out your purpose. If not here on Earth, than elsewhere…

***

"Get it… get him some water." Words from something or another, calm and collected. It is a silky voice, a pleasant voice, but also cold and articulate. Leland picks up on the unfamiliar voice with interest.

Not yet ready to open his eyes, he waits listening to the sound of movement. He hears the sound of someone shuffling around. He lets that sound envelop his mind, allowing the jet black world around his closed eyes swallow him. He wants to drift back into unconsciousness.

But no more sleep for Leland as his head is lifted up by something long, skinny, and for some reason… soft and furry. Almost pillowy, or cloud like actually. It moves his head up just enough for his mouth to press up against the edge of something, probably a cup or glass. And in the water flows into his mouth. Except some of it dribbles out the side of his mouth and wets the area beneath his head.

"Careful now." Hums the voice.

"Is there anything you can do for that nasty looking hole?" This question posed by a another voice, timid, calculative and caring. And just as pleasant to listen to as the other voice.

Nasty looking hole? Wonders Leland. What are they talking about?

"Not right now," says the first voice, "I'm doing what I can to stop the bleeding."

Bleeding? If only he new what the hell was going on.

Before he could open his eyes, the furry arm thing lifted his head again and poured more water down his mouth. Leland accepted the water hastily.

But something feels horribly wrong. He moves his tongue around his mouth feeling his cheeks. That's when he realizes the problem, a very unsettling problem.

"Oh my, dear, you mustn't do that to your wound." Said the first voice. Leland is calmed by the sound of the heavenly voice. It is such a sweet voice, such a caring voice. He feels something damp press up against the cheek he keeps tonging. It is a washcloth. Another odd thing: Leland can actually taste the damp cloth through his cheek, as if there was a hole there. A big hole.

The very thought of a fist-sized hole in his face jars Leland and he finds himself overwhelmed with memories of the past few events playing inside his head. And with that shock, his eyes shoot wide open. He jolts up from his laying position gasping for breath… Only to actually be able to breath through the side of his mouth.

My precious face… SHIT. Oh God, my face.

He tries to put his hand on the enormous hole in his head, but a long soft appendage yanks his hand away from his face.

"That will only make it worse dear." Said the heavenly voice.

Despite how pleasing the voice is, Leland still fills with anger. He looks to where the voice comes from and nearly does a spit take at what he sees.

Following the appendage to the source, he sees that it isn't an arm of any sort, but rather a leg that runs into the body of an enormous horse, a horse unlike any he has ever seen. One with shorter, more graceful features… such as a shorter snout, larger round, almost human-like eyes. Weirder yet, the horse's mane seems to be floating on some invisible currant and is pastel colored, striped with shades of pink, green and blue. The fur on the horse is white, and so is the long horn sticking out of its head.

In shear crazed disbelief, Leland finally chuckles "A… Unicorn?" And then he lets out a forced laugh that carries through the room much further than anticipated, echoing about the room.

His mind is still clouded with the grogginess of sleep, so maybe he is just seeing things. Yes, another hallucination, that must be what he is seeing. Sure it's different than the flitting shadows he is used to, or the black sludge and demonic warriors…

Actually, were those just hallucinations, he wonders, and is this really another one? Is this just another image put into my head by the voice in my head?

He had spent much in his past trying to see the reality of his past hallucinations, but they always faded away after some time, and he usually found himself curled in a ball bloodied and nearly broken.

This is a much kinder sight. And despite how real the scary visions from earlier felt, this felt even more real. And somehow at the same time surreal. If he could just reach out and touch the horse, maybe he would know for sure it was something tangible.

Something tangible, not another hallucination…

This can't be real can it? Said the voice inside his head, the killers voice. This is the first time it has ever sounded this way. It had said that with sarcasm, a trait he had never heard before. And then it says, Of course this is real…

Of course this is real, thinks Leland with out much certainty, How could it be fake?

How could it be fake? It looks real enough.

But then again. He always did have a hard time distinguishing fact from fiction...

Comments

[SkankMaster]

That hole in his cheek sound partly convenient :P
Sliding food into your mouth through it :D
But it can fall out too :(