The Renfield Syndrome by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 8

Classes were soon done for the day, and with the toxin securely in his pocket, Caspian made his way home. Now, for the next step, he would mix the powder with water, and after boiling it in a large spoon, let it cool. The question was where he would get the type of syringe he needed. He couldn’t walk into a pharmacy and buy them without a prescription, and the school science labs didn’t stock them. Caspian considered going to a hospital and stealing a few, but with security cameras scattered everywhere, there was the risk of getting arrested—a glitch in his plan.

It wasn’t until he went for a walk in a local park a few days later that he happened upon a small group lying about a bench. One was lying on it while several others were gathered around on the ground. Approaching cautiously, his eyes suddenly looked to the ground, where a used needle and syringe lay on the dirt. The syringe was empty, obviously having been used recently by one of those who lay on the ground. One still wore a tourniquet around his arm. Without the time to release it, Caspian believed he was dead. Investigating further, he uncovered a strip of cloth, no doubt used by another as a makeshift tourniquet. He wrapped the syringe and needle in the cloth and carefully slipped it into his pocket. Should he get stuck with the needle, there was every chance of contracting a bloodborne disease—an unwanted consequence he didn’t need. As he turned to leave, he heard a faint sound, as though a sigh from a kitten. He thought he might be imagining it when he heard the sound again. Turning around, he scanned the people who still lay about as though dead, and among them was a young woman, likely twenty-six years of age. Caspian walked over to her, and examining her, discovered her appearance to be gaunt, her teeth black with some missing. Over time, she had substituted food with heroin and was now suffering for it.

The young woman looked much like the others—thin, gaunt, half-starved, and near death. But his attention was strongly fixed on the young woman who seemed to be clinging to life. Now Caspian had an idea. He would end her suffering and at the same time satisfy his growing need to take his anger out on others. This was the perfect opportunity to exercise both, and seeing no one else in the area, he picked the young woman up and carried her into the nearby woods. He had no intention of raping her but picked up a rock and whispered to her. “There’s no reason why you should live like this—not anymore.” Holding the rock tightly in his grip, Caspian held it high, and mustering all his strength and anger, beat the young woman's head and face beyond recognition. Should her body be discovered, no one would know who she was. Her soul drifted off to a world where she would exist alone, her afterlife existence compounded by the drug-induced misery she experienced in her earthly life. When her skin had finally turned a pale yellow, Caspian knelt down by the side of her head and whispered again.

“Isn’t that better now?” he asked. “Besides, you don’t need these assholes. Look where they got you. But I set you free.”

When his words were met with silence, his anger peaked again.

“You could at least thank me, you fucking cunt.”

Getting to his feet, he gave her bloody head a solid kick as if to provide a last moment of punishment for the life she led. Surveying the area, Caspian turned and walked into the woods so as not to be seen leaving the park. Taking the covered syringe from his pocket, he carried it with him as he made his way home. Once he arrived, he closely inspected his upper leg for any puncture wounds and found none. A dirty needle meant disease, and the idea of being biologically connected to those he found crude and disgusting made him feel sick. Now, breathing a sigh of relief, he took up everything he had collected for the task at hand. He would prepare the solution at the right time when his mother was too drunk to notice the needle penetrating her skin.