Ascending Psycho. CHAPTER VIII

Chapter VIII

Ascending psycho

Her name is Joy, she’s twenty years old, she said she’d been waiting for a long time to get away from home. She wants to get established in Los Angeles, and then go back to Oregon to get her sixteen year old sister, because she doesn’t want the same miserable life she had. We made an oral agreement, she promised to stay for at least three months and after that, we could make new arrangements. 

I offered her to stay in a small house that was recently vacated and she accepted. She seems to be smarter than Leticia. At least she’s more mature. She has short reddish, brown hair, clear brown eyes, pale white skin. She has a strong healthy body. Attractiveness level, 7.0 or maybe 7.5 Leticia was a solid 8.0. After a week, she’s handling the job without difficulty. She doesn’t speak Spanish. I hope she gets along with grandma.

On Saturday, I invited Joy out for a beer or two. We went to a bar, and it turned out to be gay night, but we stayed anyway. She says most gay people are nice, and that she feels fine around them. When she asked for my opinion, I said I’m neutral, and that I don’t ‘dislike’ them.

“You want to dance?” she asked me casually, probably anticipating being declined.

“I’m not drunk enough,” I replied. I just noticed something, she hasn't provoked me any embarrassing moments, she doesn’t even know how easily I blush.

“I’ve never danced in public in my whole life, I’m sure I don’t know how to dance to any kind of music, but if I’m drunk and if it’s crowded I might give it a try.” I said.

We never found out if I could dance, because we got drunk and forgot about dancing, we returned home around midnight. I stayed with her and we had sex (like I say) or made love (like she says). I think you should only call it ‘making love’ when you’re trying to make a baby. She enjoys long conversations. She does most of the talking. 

She said she was raped when she was sixteen by one of his dad’s friends, and that her dad stabbed him on the back. They sentenced her dad to five years in prison, he did only two. Her mom left them while he was in jail. She’s afraid something like that can happen to her younger sister too. 

In the morning she took my grandma to church, although she’s not catholic. It might be fun to see how they communicate, one doesn’t speak Spanish and the other doesn’t speak at all in Spanish, or in English. 

So far, the murders I’ve committed have been ‘hate crimes’. I hate being insulted and denigrated, I hate being robbed, and I hate betrayals. Lately I’ve been feeling like a shark when it smells blood or like a wolf when it’s extremely hungry. I feel like I could kill anybody without any motive, just for the simple reason to give release to my devious and degraded desires. Could it be possible that killing can become an obsession or even worse, an addiction?

My mom’s letter could be the reason I feel this way. When I finished reading the letter, I wished my dad were alive, so I could kill him again. I’m glad I’ll never know how my dad killed my mom. 

I can’t extinguish my rage, unless I kill somebody. Meanwhile I’ll have to deal with the violent images that flash in my mind several times a day. My mind is troubled. I know it.

Last night I found an unusual note from my grandma on my bed: 

“Dear Angel: When are you going to grant me the enormous glory of another of your fancy feasts?” 

I knew she meant a French dish, like Leticia’s breasts. Can she possibly be thinking about Joy? Well, I love my grandma a lot and I’m planning a ‘big’ surprise for her, but not yet. First I need to find me a victim, but Joy’s not it.

Joy says she feels happy in this town, with its thousands of cows and unknown bad smells, even if it’s a whole world different from Oregon. Before she arrived in Visalia, she’d been on the road for a month. She had many adventures, mostly bad experiences. Especially in California where there’s a lot of ‘psychos’. She says she’s glad she fell into my arms, and that she feels safe with me. Were going out again on Saturday, she says the gay bar it’s perfect, because she’s not looking for a boyfriend and I’m not looking for a girlfriend. 

We’ve been having sex regularly, but now I’m using protection. I don’t want another surprise and I don’t want to get rid of her. I don’t care if she’s been a part time ‘street walker’, I feel comfortable around her. 

“I’m not a prostitute, that word doesn’t fit me at all, not even a ‘street walker’.  I enjoy sex and I needed a job to raise money to continue my journey, I never did that in Oregon. In my case, it was the perfect exchange, money for sex. Normally, I would do it without asking for money, just because I like it, but I still have my ‘dignity’. I never accepted going out with dirty old men, just good looking men like you. I got tired of it, I don’t think I’ll do it again. It was just the convenience. If you’re on the move that’s about the only thing you can do to get money and keep moving. Everything changed because you offered me this job.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I think you’re a nice person. You’ve been very helpful. In the beginning my costumers felt a little intimidated by you. Most of them don’t speak English but now they all seem to like you, because you’re trying to speak Spanish and they think it’s funny.” I said.

“It’s incredible to find so many people in America that don’t speak English, I never saw this in Oregon but I like Spanish people, I like the language the food and their music.”

“But we’re not Spanish, we’re Mexicans.”

“Well, you know what I mean, Latinos, Hispanics, Mexicans, all I’m trying to say is people that speak Spanish.”  And then she continued “Oh, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and your friendship I really needed a break from the instability and dangers of the road.”

“Don’t mention it, you can stay all the time you want.”

After I few beers, I realized how good alcohol helps me to feel relaxed, I feel less inhibited. If I had noticed this, fifteen years ago I’d be a happy alcoholic instead of the recluse, introverted asshole that I am now.

A couple of guys are playing pool in the back, there are more males than females, half the people are in their underwear, even the bartender. Joy must be a good pool player she’s beating everybody, she just found out that tonight it’s underwear night and asks me if I’m daring enough to remove my pants.

“I’m not drunk enough.” I replied

“Seems to me that you’re never drunk enough, come on, drink up, two more beers and we’ll be playing pool in our panties, come on!”

"Hey, I'm not wearing panties." I said.

"Ha, you know what I mean."

I’m not even brave enough to take communion at church and here I am, shooting pool in my shorts, surrounded by gay people, nobody cares, and I feel great. If my dad could see me now he would kill me for sure. There’s a guy who’s been paying for our drinks without interruption. He’s been staring and laughing at us. I don’t know if he’s after Joy or me, and I can’t tell whether he’s gay or not. When he finally approaches us, instead of grabbing my hand to introduce himself he grabs my balls and says, “nice package.” I must be a little inebriated because I think it’s funny, in my normal state my attitude would have been different, very different, he turns out to be a charming guy, Joy and him act like old friends. 

He says we can call him Al or Fred or Alfred, but I call him Fredo because he looks a little like Fredo, from the movie the Godfather. All is clear now, he’s after my bones, but if you’re not gay you’re not attracted to homosexual sex. It bothers me seeing two guys kissing each other, two girls not so much, but I could never have sex with another man, not even drunk. He invites us to his place, but Joy declines and says that she’s too drunk, then she calls for a taxi cab to take her home. I stay a little longer. Fredo might be expecting a sexual encounter with me, but I have other plans, more exciting plans and instead of going to his place I take him to my butcher shop.

If he could see what I have in mind for him, he would feel safer in hell. 

At the shop, we’re happily drunk and I smile each time he grabs ‘my package’. I put on my apron, I got my knife and I start sharpening it while I say, “You’re going to be my slave for the rest of the night.” and he says, “ooh, I like it. You’re so cool. I like your games, you can do whatever you want with me.” 

I told him to sit on the stool. I covered his eyes with his own tie, put a rag in his mouth and covered it with duct tape. Then I tied his hands with a brown electrical cord and put both of his hands on top of my butcher’s block. Then I grabbed my heavy and reliable machete and with savage force, like a guillotine, in an instant, both his hands were severed from his arms. It was a glorious bloody sight! 

For at least a full second he didn’t react. Then he tried to uncover his blindfolded eyes, it was indeed a surreal and bizarre vision . . .  with the sensation of still having his hands attached to his arms, he was trying to remove the tie from his eyes and the duct tape from his mouth, but all he was doing was to rub his stumps all over his face. He was screaming to the top of his lungs, but nobody could hear him because his mouth was still gagged. He started to jump wildly like a chicken without its head. His actions were a total sign of impotent desperation. Then he began to run, but where do you run to, with your eyes covered and no hands to help you avoid crashing into a wall? He did crash into the metal door of the refrigerator and bounced back facing me, and then with a potent blow and a swift swing of my machete, he really didn’t have a head anymore.  

Al, Fred, Alfred or even Fredo didn’t exist anymore, our lives converged only for a few hours and now he’s gone. Satan sent him my way at the wrong time. Who could you blame, was it a decision Joy or Fredo or I made? Was it a casualty that all three of us had to be at that bar tonight, that Joy invited me to that specific bar or that I accepted the invitation, or that Fredo chose me as a possible sexual partner or that Joy got too drunk and didn’t join us? I could have pushed him away when he touched my crotch for the first time. Just a different choice would have changed everything.

Fate, destiny or whatever it is, that determines your future put Fredo in my path and now he’s gone. He found his inevitable destiny.

Happiness returned to the faces of my homeless friends, some of them were calling me ‘Don Angel’, they formed an orderly long line to get their hamburgers. There were enough for everybody. I saved two portions of ungrounded meat for my grandma and me.

A strange feeling had crossed my mind a few times. I believe that my grandma, without doing anything irrational, could be even crazier than me. I was about to test her true limits. She’s never been mad at me, I’m sure I’m her hero, she idolizes me. I’m the only person she loves in this world, but I’m sure it’s mainly because I’m all she’s got.

That night, I fulfilled my grandma’s wish for a fancy feast. I prepared another exquisite dish, out of her French recipe book. The main ingredient was Fredo’s penis and testicles for my grandma, and for me several thin slices of fillet, taken from his buttocks combined with various fruits and vegetables. I took extreme care in shaving and cleaning Fredo’s member. For the inside I chose a zucchini, stuffed with Roquefort cheese and for the testicles stuffing I used the sweetest and biggest peaches I could find. I put it in the oven at 350° for ninety minutes and then I surrounded the plate with steamed vegetables and my favorite fruits, grapes and tiny squares of apples and pears, all sprinkled with cinnamon and a few drops of honey. Hmm, mouth watering, right?

When I served the plate to my impatient grandma, with an astonished look, she jerked her body an inch backwards, as if she had the hiccups, and after a brief instant, with a subtle smile, she took my plate and gave me hers, and she began to eat with her singular elegance and excellent manners.

 My grandma wasn’t so twisted after all. 

I didn’t touch that plate, it looked totally gross. Instead I grabbed some cereal and milk and kept looking at the grotesque organ, and I thought that maybe even Fredo’s boyfriend wouldn’t have eaten it.

*Next week: Knocking on Hell's Door. (Chapter IX)

 Edmundo Barraza

Visalia, CA. 10-22-2012 

http://edbar1952-accomplishedignorant.blogspot.com/

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