Page 57 of Burn For Me

Marching into the closet, I pulled out a box that had a bunch of paperwork from the hospital in it. I was going to leave it, but on a whim, I grabbed a folder and opened the red cover. The name was one that I didn’t recognize, but my eyes still scanned over the report. It clearly stated that the person was not in need of psychiatric help, only outpatient therapy.

Placing the folder back, I grabbed the next one, and this time I did recognize the name of a patient that had shown up around the same time I had. The words that stood out were depression and chronic fatigue. There was nothing that said this guy needed to be locked up. What the hell had he been doing in the max security wing of an asylum?

Each folder I pulled out, I quickly looked over before tossing it aside for the next. One thing was identical for every one of these patients—they had no family and no friends. They made the perfect prey.

Reaching into the box, I pulled out another stack, and just like magic, there it was—my name in black and white. I didn’t bother reading the entire report, but I found the recommendation on page six.

Mr. West exhibits signs of extreme abuse and trauma. The patient is not criminally insane but a product of his environment of continual abuse at the hands of his father and mother. After a complete and thorough exam of Mr. West, it is my conclusion that although his actions were extreme and resulted in the brutal deaths of four people, those deaths came about from a crime of passion for protecting himself and his younger brother.

Mr. West was in a state of deep emotional angst, which I feel can be helped with therapy. He will require patience to build up his trust in human contact due to the excessive abuse Mr. West has suffered at the hands of his father, the late Mr. West, and the justice system that did not remove him and his brother from the abusive environment.

It is my professional recommendation that Mr. West stay for a maximum of five years in a minimum-security facility where he can still attend school and build relationships in a healthy and safe manner. At such time, he will be reevaluated, and a hearing will be set to see if he is ready to assimilate into society.

Dr. Miller

My hands shook as I read the recommendation from the doctor I’d first spoken to when I was arrested over and over again, my brain trying to comprehend what the words meant. My body trembled with the rage that was consuming me, but my mind was calm. Dr. Wallace knew I wasn’t supposed to be there—he knew, and he’d still tortured me, and kept me like a pet lab rat. The man was more of a monster than I’d given him credit for, and I’d considered him to be pretty monstrous.

I quickly stuffed all the files back into the box. Standing, I picked up the box under one arm and the duffel bag under the other as I made my way downstairs, my booted feet landing hard and even on the plush carpet. It caused a thump like a giant was coming.

“Why did you do it?” I asked quietly as I entered the living room.

Dr. Wallace had stopped screaming at some point, and his face was flushed red from his obvious struggles.

“Do what?”

Sitting the box down, I picked up my folder and held it up for him to see. Once more, he licked his lips and didn’t say anything.

“Let me guess. I had no living relatives, my younger brother was lost to the system, and I was the perfect prey to play all of your games with, to test out your theories on.” I screamed the last part. My body was as hot as any fire, with the fury of the situation running rampant in my brain. I knew the soul crushing sadness would be next, but for now I fed off the anger. “You paid for all this crap off of the backs of people that never should’ve been in your ward.”

I wanted to tear apart the home with my bare hands, but that would draw too much attention from the noise. Even with the houses spaced so far apart, I didn’t want to take a chance on the cops being called too early.

“I needed to do research. You were sick, Derek. You still are.” He tugged on the ropes. “This is proof of that. And, yes, you’re correct that I chose you because no one would miss you.”

It took every ounce of self-control I had to not leap across the short distance separating them and choke the man to death. I wanted to rip out his still-beating heart and make him watch as I took a bite out of the fucking thing.

Instead, I kept to my plan. No matter what this piece of shit said, I wouldn’t ruin what I had put into place, and with a quick glance outside, I knew I had to get moving. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the night sky had shifted from black to gray, which meant I didn’t have much time.

“I guess it’s fitting, then, that almost no one will remember you, and the few that do will hate you. I’ll make sure that all these files are found and that your wife and daughter see that you chose their deaths over yours. That’s quite the legacy to leave behind.”

“Let me go, you crazy fucker!” Anger was taking over from fear, but I knew the next stage for him would be acceptance, and I didn’t want to miss the show from the safety of my hiding spot.

“For the first time I’m realizing that I wasn’t the one whose been crazy all this time. Goodbye, Phil Wallace. I’d say it was a pleasure, but we both know that would be a lie.” I marched away, ignoring the yelling and screaming. I easily snuck across the grass to the shed and slipped inside. Sitting, I dropped my head into my hands and cried. As the tears streamed out, it felt like something vital was being ripped from my chest, and my mouth opened wide with the force of my silent screams. Truly grasping what I’d lost and the life I could’ve had—the life that was stolen from me—tore away the last fragments of my soul until I felt completely empty.

Dr. Miller had believed me. He’d believed in me and my ability to turn my life around, but Wallace had stolen it all. I was now nothing more than a damaged piece of moving flesh fumbling through life alone and lost. I was officially dead to the world, and only one eighty-year-old woman cared. This was what it truly felt like to be no one.

Taking out my phone, I turned on the app that controlled the little camera inside Dr. Wallace’s living room. He was in the same position, but he was thrashing back and forth against the tight constraints. Pulling forward hard, he roared, and I turned on the volume so I could listen to his wails of fear. He reminded me of an animal caught in a trap. Now, if he really had balls, he’d chew off his own arm. I checked my watch and the corners of my mouth turned up. The time was drawing closer.

As the hands ticked to seven o’clock, I stood to watch through the window, anticipating what was to come. For a moment, all the houses remained quiet, and then there it was—a flicker of orange flared in the window of one of the houses on the far end of the row. With a resounding boom, the house practically exploded. Windows blew out, and smoke shot from the chimney like a torrent of exquisite destruction. A house in the middle was next, and this time, the fire was instant, all the rooms lighting up and glowing before the home acted like a bomb and detonated with such ferocity that it shook the little shed.

“Well, that is certainly going to wake a few people up.” I tore my eyes away from the destruction to see what Dr. Wallace was doing and realized that he was missing. Shit, did he free himself too soon? A brief surge of panic ripped through me as I stared at the empty chair and then back up at his house. And there he was at the back of the house, trying to get out the sliding glass door.

Oh, this was even better. I hadn’t expected to watch him in real-time. Reaching down, I squeezed my cock hard through the black fatigues I was wearing as the rat scampered back and forth as he tried to understand why the door wouldn’t open. He yanked hard against the handle, but the door jamb I’d set up to keep the door from sliding was holding.

Another house exploded, and he plastered his face to the glass to look down the row. His expression morphed into sheer terror as a neighbor that had wandered outside to check out the commotion was impaled by a fiery piece of debris. The man ran a few strides and then landed face-first on the ground near Dr. Wallace and his uncooperative sliding door.

Dr. Wallace stared at the man and then looked up. As he did, I waved at the good doctor from the window of the small shed. The orange flames suddenly bursting from his air ducts had the appearance of liquid streams of deadly fire. They climbed the walls and spread across the floor so quickly that Dr. Wallace didn’t even have time to contemplate his next move before the flames found the edges of his sleep pants and crawled their way up his body.

My cock strained beneath my hand, and I had to grip it hard to keep it from taking over my actions as my eyes took in every detail of the display. I could hear his screams—they filled me with ecstasy. It was the same feeling from Jason’s death, but stronger. It was revenge for what he’d done to me, what he’d done to so many, but it was more than that. This glorious moment was enlightening. I felt euphoric as I watched the man suck in his final breaths.