Seven-X (3 page)

“No. Not really,“I told them. “I don’t get myself crazy over this whole God-Devil debate. I kind of like to separate church and state. Especially in a mental institution.”

“But what if that’s the place that they come together?” Billings responded.

Knowing I wasn’t going to answer to that, Haworth proceeded. “Mr. Hansen, would you say the core of evil is rooted in our experience, a chemical imbalance caused by instability in the world around us?”

“Maybe partially true,” I responded, noticing Haworth purposely thumb through a file he created on me. I could see a picture of my ex-wife with me on his desk.

A pulse of fury rushed through me and I was ready to strike!

He did his homework on me and now I’m his guinea pig as he smiled and asked me, “What’s the worst evil you’ve ever committed?”

All I could think of was the evil I wanted to commit on him. I know I had some type of response, but this recording went static again.

As I listen back all I hear is this static buzz. Maybe it’s the white noise, or they are trying to jam the frequency, or modulate the sound, because I hear a low, gravelly voice saying something. I can’t understand it, because it doesn’t sound as though it is English.

I listened back a few times trying to accurately define what I’m hearing. But it’s hard. I can’t really make out what this voice is saying. I’ll break it up into segments where the voice pauses and write it down. After repeated attempts, this is the closest I got. At least what I feel is correct.

“Ego Animo Habitant Quemadmodum Habitarunt Hoc Recording.”

I have no idea what that means. If I break it up, maybe it will makes sense.

Ego Animo Habitant.

Maybe that’s something about an animal, habitat? An animal’s house. A living animal, maybe?

Quemadmodum.

That sounds weird, but that’s what I think it says. I keep listening, and it’s fast and sharp, the way he says it. Quemadmodum. Quemadmodum. What is that? Que means “what” in Spanish. Maybe it’s what? A modem? A mad modem? A listening device? I don’t know.

Habitarunt Hoc Recording.

The house for recording? An animal lives in this house or recording. Is that, right? Could that be right? An animal in this recording. Is that a clue to something?

Maybe it’s some software that garbles the frequency or pitch shifts, creating this effect. I don’t know. It’s weird, but I feel that voice is trying to tell me something.

I need Google translate, because the more I listen the more this voice becomes distinct, almost piercing to me. I feel it deep in my chest when I hear it.  It’s warning me or trying to communicate a vital message.

Ego Animo Habitant Quemadmodum Habitarunt Hoc Recording”

Right after it finishes speaking that message the audio track from my conversation with Haworth and Billings returns clearly. I hear my own voice cracking with emotion.

“I got him to the ground and kept kicking him. Hard. Really hard. In the head, chest, face, balls. Blood was bouncing out of him with every shot.”

I was talking about a fight I had in college in the woods behind campus. I remember now before that frequency jam, we talked about the evil within us that allows us to do things that bypass the filters of our reasoning.

Dr. Haworth wanted to know the worst things I’ve done and what I am talking about now is part of this conversation.

I see myself clearly now and I remember as I listen. It was this unconscious recollection that surfaced and seemed to push through me as I spoke. After seeing that picture of my ex, I wanted to rip Haworth’s head off his shoulders for prying into my personal life, so I stopped looking at him and focused on that statue on his desk of the leopard attacking the man. I could see myself like that animal, ruthless and without conscience destroying my victim. It all seemed to pour out of me as I recalled this long forgotten attack.

Listening again, I feel that swell of adrenaline pulsate with unrestrained violence, which accompanied my words to Haworth and Billings.

“Then I kicked again watching his face pop beneath the jaw. Then I went for the ribs. Not letting anything up as I felt my feet cracking through him. The breath burst out of him. I didn’t care if he died, but I just stopped. I stopped! I stopped and watched him struggle to get air.”

“What stopped you Eddie?” Billings inquired.

“I don’t know…I just He He… stopped defending himself and his mouth was twisted wide open. The blood pooled up around his head soaking into my shoes. And I thought… I thought maybe the cops would come, and I just… I.. Needed to leave.”

“Do you regret almost killing another human?” Haworth asked.

“Not then, no!” I told him bluntly.

That set something off in Reverend Billings. He got up and walked over to me stating, “Do you understand that this type of behavior may be the result of a demon working though you.” Surrendering to his will, enabling his power over you.”

“I don’t believe that!” I laughed, not mockingly or on purpose, just uncontrollably, which got Billings inflamed as he fired back at me. “You stated that you had no self-control while fighting and you couldn’t remember everything that happened.”

That goaded me to throw it back in Billings’ face. “I was drinking, man! Everyone fought. It’s what we did to settle things!”

Then Dr. Haworth chimed in arrogantly. “So was it a chemical reaction? A cerebral imbalance brought on by alcohol intoxication and external stress. An imbalance so intense and so acute that it would cause you to engage in unpredictable and violent behaviors.”

“It is what it is!” I erupted. “Two guys fighting over a cheating bitch! No devils, chemicals, or psychosis. Fucking human nature… Shit happens! I concluded, letting out a grunt while trying to compose myself in the midst of their assault.

Taking notes of my response Haworth continued in his monotone assessment, “Do you often swear when you’re upset or is this part of your normal vernacular?”

“Is that another demon at work?” I told him using my sarcastic Texan accent to dig in my point. “Little Focker. The swear demon. Oooh,” I shuddered watching the eyes of Dr. Haworth squint with anger. “According to your ass-nalysis, he’s working through me right now, huh Doc. With all them devils looking for homes you boys should be in real estate.”

“I wish it were a joke Eddie,” Reverend Billings said solemnly backing away from me.

Dr. Haworth continued taking notes as an unsettling silence engulfed the room. Finally, Haworth looked up stating coldly, “Mr. Hansen, We would like you to take a few tests now, along with some precautionary vaccinations.”

“You’re shitting me!” I said aloud, thinking there is no way I’m going to submit myself to this.

After another silence, Reverend Billings quietly excused himself, submerged in deep thought and a sense of disappointment in my answers.

Dr. Haworth casually leaned over toward me and shut off my recorder. The office door opened to reveal my security escorts.

JOURNAL ENTRY: 

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 8, 2010 - 9:45 PM

I can’t believe I spent three hours being tested like a lab monkey. Height. Weight. Blood pressure. All the usual shit and I say that literally, having provided samples to the staff for review. If this is a pissing contest with Dr. Haworth he got my first shot, in a cup no less, ready for examination.

That bastard’s probably drug testing me to see if I’m lying about using. I’m clean! If the glove fits, you must acquit. 

No stone was left unturned in there. I got the full physical with all the bells, coughs and whistles.  At least one of the nurses was kind of hot. A young blonde in her mid twenties.  She didn’t say a hell of a lot, but she helped pass the time and kept me from losing my temper.  

I’m not the type who likes being poked and prodded, and I felt like I was on display the whole time. Window dressing, a guinea pig being set up for a treadmill run.

I knew they were watching me to see how I react. It felt like Nurse Hottie was part of this experiment like she was waiting for my reaction. She’d do something ditsy, drop cotton balls, bend over, whisk her hair, laugh at my stupid jokes, then I’d catch her look over at one of the cameras like I didn’t notice.  I didn’t care because she was the only one with any semblance of a personality.  Everyone else robotically attended to me as if I were a lab rat. At least she smiled. 

Now my arm’s sore and I feel woozy. I’m a little nauseous, like something’s off. Maybe it was all those vaccinations. 

Or it could be the fact I’m starving and can’t eat anything. I’m forced to fast so they can take my blood in the morning. There’s not even any food in the place where they put me up. 

Speaking of which,  I’m in the guest house from
Psycho.
   I’m shacked up in this little cottage about a half mile from the institution. I guess I’m still officially on their property because I’m fenced in and the guard’s gate is about a quarter mile up the road. It keeps me isolated from the madness of the facility. 

You’ve got to see this decor. It’s shabby-chic mystique. There’s a leopard print blanket over this old iron bed, which looks like the patients put together, because the cross is upside-down. The blood red pillows and sheet set are straight from the Martha Stuart Insanity Collection at K-Mart.  

A mounted deer head headlines the back wall with a beautiful hand carved table below. The table has this bevel of circles going across and each one has a little stone dot in the center, almost like an eyeball. On top of the table is a crushed velvet liner and circle of black candles which surround a black bowl filled with herbs. Of course, no room is complete without an obligatory leopard statue. 

Dr. Haworth must have this weird leopard obsession because I see them everywhere. This one is bronze. It’s sitting, starting at me. The more I look at it, the more it feels alive. 

He looks like he’s waiting for his prey. Observing me in a calm but powerful position, in total control. He’s even watching me closely as I type. The more I look back at him, the more I feel like he’s moving toward me ready to strike.

The most unusual part of this place though, is the only window looking out. It’s shaped like a triangle and catches the glow of the lights from the institution. You can see straight down Madness Avenue. 

So I’m sitting, hidden inside these purple walls, ready to entertain myself and get out of my thoughts. But the ancient TV in here doesn’t have cable. I can’t even make any phone calls to the outside world.  I’m only connected to the guard gate or receptionist in Ward A and cell phone service is a fantasy at this point. 

I do however; have a vast array of psychology and religious books at my disposal, all tucked into a little bookcase, which, as I notice has the same-circled carvings as the table. 

But I’m not in the mood to read. I want cable. I want TV.  I want to veg out and watch comedy central. I need a laugh. I need something stupid-funny to knock me out of this anxious mind-set.  What back-ass town has no cable, no Internet and no cell phone reception? Nobody even cares. They think an iPhone’s shaped like an “I.” The Beverly Hillbillies were more technically advanced than this primitive tribe of lunatics. 

At least there’s a VCR here. Yep! A VCR. Just like grandma had. And I found a stack of old movies stored in the cabinet below. Here’s what we got.

“The Exorcist.” Very nice. “Rosemary’s Baby.” Very appropriate considering what may be inside here.  

“Jacob’s Ladder.”  What do you know, Doc Haworth has cult classics. What else we got?  “Altered States.” “Session 9.” Never saw that one. “The Brood.” And last but not least. Drum roll please… “In The Mouth of Madness,” with Sam Neill. 

Am I’m sensing a pattern here?”  

You know what I think?  I think that this is all on purpose to focus my mind and thoughts into their game. Media has power to make us think, even conform to patterns of acceptable behavior and in here I’m the guinea pig in the maze, the monkey under the microscope. So my choices are movie night at Mad Villa or keep exploring for more clues to the game.  Let’s explore, shall we?

On the little counter of this kitchenette is an old boom box with a cassette player. It looks very nostalgic. Let’s see if it even works. I’ll check the radio first. See what’s out here… 

Static… 

Static… 

Damn, I got nothing.  

No radio stations come in out here. Go figure.

Why would they even put a radio in here? Do they want me to know how isolated I am? 

There’s got to be something.  

Let’s try AM. 

Still nothing. 

Nothing.  

Wait. Wait. I think we got something. 

660 AM.

You got to hear this. It sounds like two hillbillies out in the woods killing something. I’m getting my recorder.  Listen…

“If you don’t plan to mount the head, you got to keep cutting all the way to the hollow, fleshy junction of the neck and chest cavity.”

“Short strokes right. I’m using my fingers to push that belly open as I cut, right?”

“Once most of the organs are exposed. Sever the diaphragm.”

“Got it.” 

 They’re ripping the flesh open. That sound is nauseating. I think that animal may still be alive. I hear groaning. A sad, pained moan. It’s sick. 

Wait!… Listen. There’s another animal digging around. It may be a hunting dog. What’s going on?

I think they shot a deer. I think that’s it. Listen! 

What the hell is that pounding?

“I use a camp axe to separate the rib cage and pelvis. Wedge the lower edge of the axe into the sternum, then pound the back of the hatchet with the sledge hammer.” 

Oh God, that hick is pounding open the ribs. That sound is turning my stomach. I’m turning this off, taking a shower and going to bed. I’m done. I had enough stimulation for one day. 

“This is Eddie Hansen signing out from the Uphir Behavioral Center, December 8th, 2010.”

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010

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