The Renfield Syndrome by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 32

He knew Ava was dead, and hiding amongst a small group of lilac trees, Caspian hid while waiting for the eventual screams of panic. Hearing them gave him a feeling of pleasure that relaxed every muscle in his body. He had never experienced a sensation like that. This experience drove him to realize that he would not be able to keep the promise he had made to himself. It acted like a drug, and he needed more.

Soon, the piercing wail of sirens filled the air, and with the fear of getting caught, Caspian left the backyard and, searching for a place to hide, chose a nearby factory. It had been condemned and empty for years, and as large as it was, it seemed perfect. But Caspian knew that the investigation of a young girl’s death would certainly prompt a widespread manhunt. Every place large enough to conceal a human body would be examined, and given the beauty of the now deceased young woman, the search for her killer could go on for weeks. Oddly enough, Caspian was not concerned about where to hide; he just wanted to get as far from the kill as possible. He could not be questioned if he was miles away. But he needed to think things through. He could just go home and watch the reports play out on the news. This might forestall any suspicion of his involvement, but should the police pick up on the slightest hint of evidence, he might find himself in handcuffs. That would be the beginning of a life he wanted nothing to do with. He thought about leaving home, but he was still in high school, and leaving would certainly raise suspicions. There had to be another way.

Finally arriving at home, Caspian entered through the back door, and walking gently across the floor, entered his bedroom. He turned the light on at its dimmest setting only to be startled by Reuben, who sat patiently on the edge of his bed. “Caspian,” he began. “Something you want to talk about?”

He wasn’t sure what Reuben was talking about. As far as Reuben was concerned, it could have been anything—school, the girl who kneed him, or perhaps something deeper. There was also the thought that Caspian may have gone off his medication again. Should that be the case, what he seemed to be preoccupied with could be anything— real or otherwise.

Having entered his bedroom, Caspian tried to think of what to say in answer to Reuben’s inquiry. But did he need to say it? He was psychotic; any answer would work, no matter how irrational.

“I was just out for a walk, thinking,” he replied.

Reuben sat thinking about how vague his answer was and decided to probe a bit.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked. Caspian struggled for words. By now, he was certain that news of Ava’s death had already been broadcast, and wanting to avoid suspicion, he devised a half-truth.

“I guess I was wondering about my future,” he said. “I mean, I’m mentally ill, and I was thinking about what kind of future I’ll have.”

He sat on the edge of the bed next to Reuben, hoping for a response that would indicate a successful redirection of Reuben’s initial question. “Well,” Reuben said. “I suppose I would first consider college. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it might provide you with some direction—at least a start. After that, I guess the most important thing is taking care of yourself. Anything else you do in life won’t matter if you don’t look after yourself. But I suppose the rest is up to you.”

Had it really been that easy? It seemed to be less like psychology and more like a cheap hat trick. But did it work? Reuben was very perceptive and often read people like an open book. As he got up and left the room, Caspian felt the tinge of guilt that comes from lying to the person who cares the most about you. What was he supposed to say? ‘I just killed the girl who kneed me in the nuts and bit off her titties. And by the way, the police are looking for me.’ That probably wouldn’t work.

As Caspian prepared for bed, he was strangely drawn to the painting on the wall, and standing in front of it, he heard a calling to him from within his head.

“You did real good,” the voice said. “Maybe in a few more days it’ll be time for another. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Caspian was mesmerized by the voice, knowing that it was not his own but another that seemed to be guiding him through a life of bloodshed, torture, and fear. Now, in spite of the medication he was taking, he felt obliged to follow it like a sergeant barking orders at his troops. He stared at the painting while nodding his head slightly.

“Yes,” he answered.

His answer came softly, barely noticeable even to himself.

His trance was suddenly interrupted by Reuben’s voice calling him out to the living room, where a story was being broadcast on the news. There wasn’t much information being provided as a criminal investigation was being conducted. The broadcast of a murder in Gloversville brought Dorothy out of bed, and standing in front of the TV, her face paled as what little information was being made available was being broadcast.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Who could have done such a thing?” One might think that standing in front of a news broadcast outlining a crime he had committed would bring on at least a tinge of guilt, but Caspian remained stone-faced with just a hint of a smile. It wasn’t the fact that he was the one police were looking for; it was the pleasure he felt while ripping Ava’s breasts off—each with a single bite. As the broadcast continued, he felt a drop of saliva make its way from the corner of his lips. But before it could slip down to his chin, he quickly brought his arm up and wiped it off on his sleeve. Nothing escaped Reuben’s keen eye, and having noticed it, he began to suspect that something was amiss given Caspian’s behavior and the late hour he had returned. Could he have had anything to do with this despicable crime? Was he even capable of it? Given the history of his behavior, Reuben couldn’t help wondering if it could even be remotely possible. After the news had come to a close, Reuben turned off the TV and asked Caspian to follow him into the bedroom. He followed him in without a bit of hesitation or anxiety. “Caspian,” he began. “I have to know something.”

Caspian sat on his bed and looked Reuben directly in the eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

Reuben prepared himself for the question he knew he had to ask. “Caspian, given your mental health issues, I need to know if you had anything to do with that young girl’s death. You did go to that concert with her, and according to you, she hurt you pretty bad, didn’t she?”

Caspian felt the weight of suspicion pressing down on him, and glancing at the painting on the wall, he heard the words of warning in his mind. “Stay cool. Keep it shut.” It didn’t take long before he had an explanation.

“After the concert,” he replied. “I decided to stay as far from her as possible. Yeah, she pissed me off, but I don’t need the trouble.”

Given the events of that night, Reuben believed him, but not without a minuscule amount of doubt. There was something in Caspian’s voice, something that was hiding the truth, and deciding to pursue the matter at another time, he would study his voice looking for a chink in his armor. Only then would he call him out, perhaps even notify local authorities. But he hoped it would not be necessary, that maybe what he heard was just part of Caspian’s illness, something that could only be expressed in his voice.