The Renfield Syndrome by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 61

Charging armies of ages old seemed to move at the pace of the passing day as the sun danced to its apex in the summer sky. Having returned to his car, Caspian found the paint nearly dry and, sitting against the rear wheel, considered his circumstances while occasionally sensing the hunger of what had led him this far. Lunch was now at hand, but resources were thin. Caspian made do with what little he had, and managing a lasting meal, sat back and enjoyed what he deeply felt could be his last. He was unable to explain why he had become overtaken by this impression, but it left him deeply fearful that the events of his life might finally be catching up to him. How that would happen was what scared him the most. He supposed that life is filled with unknowns, and his was especially fraught with more than he would like.

With his lunch consumed, Caspian sat back again, listening to the small family near the water’s edge. Life seemed to be filled with joy for them, and this set into motion an uncomfortable envy. Had things been different, he might be where they are—happy. But a fulfilling life would never be within reach for him; even friendships were impossible to acquire, as he could never seem to find a place to begin. Women were especially difficult to approach, as the monster that now saturated his brain never allowed such relationships without the hunger for flesh and blood. Caspian asked himself if he would ever be rid of the force in him that craved death. The only thing that seemed to keep it at bay was the medication he had been taking, but he had been without it for weeks. A question rose in his mind, one that he did not want answered. Was the monster that had been so bent on merciless killing truly something that lived within him, or was it some dark feature of his illness? Perhaps the monster ‘was’ him. The idea that he could be the thing that acted on women without so much as a shred of decency terrified him. Should this be true, Caspian feared he might never be stopped—by anybody. If authorities ever caught up to him, they would have to kill him in order to bring his terrifying appetite to an end. It didn’t seem to matter what it was that gave birth to the killer that moved within him, and there was certainly nothing he could do to turn the clock back. What he did know was that the times of his life that might be defined as joyous were rare if they existed at all. As many times as he considered taking his own life, Caspian was surprised that he was alive at all. But being alive was not necessarily a plus considering the life he was living.

The cold forced a shiver throughout his body as his eyes opened to the black clarity of the night. Overcome with fatigue, he had fallen asleep sometime during the afternoon and now stared up at a blanket of stars. With the reserve as far as it was from the city, the area was largely free of light pollution, affording the observer a surreal glimpse into the near universe. But the monster wanted nothing to do with nocturnal beauty and roared its demands.

“Get up, fuck head!”

Caspian spoke out loud to it as though conversing with a real person. By now, they were each as real to the other as was anything else. Two separate people occupying one mortal coil, both with issues conflicting with the other. Caspian wanted peace, while the monster craved release from its subconscious prison cell. The voice of rage now reminded him it was time to hunt.

“I said get up, motherfucker!” Having been taken over by the criminal within him, Caspian rose to his feet. If possession had ever been a real phenomenon, it now lived in Caspian as he left the cover of the woods and headed to where he had seen the family only hours earlier. Studying the grassy area, he determined the direction they had taken and followed.

“I need meat,” it grumbled.

It kept its voice low so as not to be heard, and continuing to follow what it believed to be the proper direction, it soon came into view of the small family. They were gathered together around a fire roasting hot dogs and looking up at the stars. The children were especially in awe of a scene they had little understanding of. It was a sight that could have been taken out of one of Arthur Parton’s pastoral paintings with soft forms and summer colors. But the romanticism of the image quickly faded as the partnership between Caspian and the monster fused and took up a sentinel’s position behind a large tree. Nearby was a trail leading off into the woods. It was perfect. The tree gave him cover while he stalked the trail, waiting for the matriarch of the family to pass by. Within only minutes he saw a familiar form walking against the moonlit background of the night. Roughly five feet three inches with long blonde hair, she carefully stepped through the sparse undergrowth as she made her way along the trail.

“Where the fuck is that outhouse?” she asked.

Had the area been bathed in the warm light of midday, she would have found what the night was hiding, but in spite of the flashlight’s broad beam, the young woman never saw what was about to unfold. Caspian allowed her to pass him before leaping out and pinning her to the ground, letting out one word in a voice anyone would describe as crazed.

“Mommy!”

With both hands, he tore open her blouse as she screamed, knowing she may soon be dead. Of course some things are far worse than death, especially for a woman. She struggled against Caspian’s grip, but having done this twice before, he picked up a rock and, raising it high above his head, hesitated. The next moment brought sudden unconsciousness as he dropped the rock and tumbled to the side, his head firmly striking the ground.

Time had been lost to him, but when he next opened his eyes, Caspian felt a sensation he had never experienced. His hands had been restrained by handcuffs placed on his wrists by local police officers. Paramedics arrived shortly, and assessing him, applied a dressing to his head as well as a cold pack to fight the swelling he had acquired during the assault. The monster within him also regained consciousness and roared to the surface.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” The woman he had assaulted was emotionally shaken but otherwise uninjured, and while Caspian would be taken to the local hospital, the young woman declined, choosing instead to remain with her family.

As the police grabbed him by the arms, Caspian, having been taken over by what still possessed him, turned his head and, using one of his fangs, bit the hand of one of the officers. “Fuck!” he said.

Caspian laughed at the officer’s expense as a heavy stream of blood trailed off his fingers. The officer was quick to anger, and drawing his nightstick, placed a well-aimed strike to the side of Caspian’s neck, just under the ear. Raising the weapon again, he was stopped by the accompanying officer, who warned him of the consequences of police brutality. The officer lowered the weapon but chose instead to deliver a sound kick to Caspian’s side. “Fuckin’ son of a bitch!” he said. With the ambulance present, Caspian was loaded onto a stretcher and rolled in. A second set of cuffs was used to make certain he would not be able to roll off the stretcher. The injured officer with his hand bandaged drove ahead of the ambulance and soon arrived at the hospital in Canton. Having been warned of their arrival, the staff prepared themselves by assembling doctors, nurses, security personnel, and the hospital psychiatric team.

While the officer was getting his hand cleaned and sutured, the psychiatric team, backed up by security, was busy with their assessment of Caspian’s mental state. Having already seen the fangs ground from his teeth as well as his behavior, they began with the assumption he was experiencing a psychotic episode. Contacting his family proved impossible, as he was either unwilling or unable to provide any information on how to go about doing so. But as he was uninjured, the psychiatric team thought it best to administer a sedative and decided on an injection of Haloperidol. Not only was it an effective sedative but also a standard antipsychotic as well. The only concern was in administering it, as Caspian was highly agitated and had begun acting out in violence against anyone close enough for him to reach. Through him, the monster screamed at the top of its voice until the head nurse intervened out of concern for the safety of other patients in the emergency room. Her words prompted the invention of security guards who applied restraint to both wrists and ankles. Moments later, the attending physician gave the injection, resulting in nearly immediate sedation. “So, what do we do now?” One nurse asked.

Having now gathered in silence, the psychiatric team considered their options.

“Well,” Doctor Fitzwilliam said. “Where’s the nearest psychiatric hospital?”

Everyone on the team knew every hospital in the state. Unfortunately, the nearest hospital was two hours away. It would be difficult to transport Caspian there without the risk of the drug wearing off and the ambulance crew being assaulted. It would therefore be necessary to provide a police escort in order to furnish speedy transportation.