So I'm A Little Strange (583 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryLabels: uberbook
Rating: 2 on 2 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Bigmike (View user info) at 2004-04-08 23:55:52 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"Ok Mr. Jackson, you know why you're here. Let's get down to business shall we?"
Detective Samuels pulled a pocket tape recorder out of his suit coat pocket, hit the record button, and placed the recorder midway between himself and Roger Jackson. He leaned back in his chair and addressed Mr. Jackson quite formally.
"What did you do with the heads, Roger?"
Roger Jackson was about to speak for the first time since they brought him to the station and put him in the little interrogation room. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say to the detective, but the truth seemed out of the question.
"I didn't do anything to them. They did stuff to me".
"What do you mean by that, Roger?"
"Nothing, detective. Nothing."
Detective Samuels was examining Roger Jackson's face, looking for any sign of emotion. He didn't know exactly what he was dealing with here; he just knew that Jackson had done some strange things. Things that would have driven other people to the brink of madness.
"So the heads did stuff to you? Did they look at you funny? Did they mock you? Would they talk to you?"
"Stop detective. Stop right now. You have no idea......."
Roger Jackson looked down at the table in front of him. It was nice and shiny, shiny like the table at home in his basement. The cutting table. It gave him comfort.
"Ok, Roger, let's not talk about the heads right now, let's concentrate on other things. Did you make Sheila Roberts beg for her life, Roger? We saw the pictures, they were quite interesting. Quite interesting. How long was she hanging from that hook before you decided that she wasn't worth talking to anymore?"
"Not long", Roger replied. "Just long enough."
Roger was twisting in his seat now. There was a little bit of sweat beading up on his brow. Detective Samuels thought that this was going to be easy. It shouldn't be hard breaking this rotten son-of-a-bitch.
"What about the blood, Roger. There were cans of blood sitting all around the room. Why did you need all of Sheila's blood? What were you going to do with it?"
"It wasn't all her blood, detective."
Now, there was something they didn't know. When they brought him in today they had found Maxwell House coffee cans full of blood sitting in his basement room. They were all covered with little snap on tops like they were being saved for something special. It was unnerving to some of the cops. Seasoned veterans had to leave the room because they were getting sick. They thought it was all Sheila's.
"C'mon Roger, we know that you were saving the blood for something. We also know that Sheila Roberts was hanging on that meat hook for at least 3 days. Let me tell you what else we know."
Detective Samuels went into all of the gory details of the last few months of Roger Jackson's life.
"We know you abducted at least three women over the last 4 months, Roger. Sheila Roberts, Candace Armelian, and Sarah Blanchford. We know you murdered them brutally and cut their bodies up into about a million pieces. We know that we never found their heads. We know that you saved some of their blood. We found doctors instruments and hospital equipment in your basement. What we want to know is why."
Roger was becoming agitated.
"They were there"
"Excuse me?"
"They were there, you idiot!" screamed Roger Jackson. "They were just there!"
Detective Samuels couldn't believe his ears.
Roger continued his rant. He couldn't stand to sit here and relive the details of his accomplishments while knowing that the detective didn't have the facts straight. It was bothering him to hear that the detective thought he was just a mere killer.
There were things that Samuels didn't know. Things Roger considered telling him.
Roger Jackson's strange behavior started when he was 13 years old. He had abducted a 5 year old boy from a local mall and taken him to an old abandoned warehouse on the seedy side of his home town. He bludgeoned this boy to death with a ball peen hammer that he had borrowed from his father's tool box. After he killed him, he repeatedly raped him and then jammed an old piece of metal pipe into his rectum. He slid lit firecrackers down the pipe for an hour, watching as the paper would come shooting out of the end of the pipe when the firecrackers exploded. What fun he had that day! He was never caught for that one, and the case remains open until this day. Roger also kept a little of the boys blood. He was fond of saving a souvenir of his escapades, and blood was so easy to get.
When he was fourteen, Roger kept a 7 year old girl tied to a tree out in the woods behind his house for three days. He slowly drained her blood one drop at a time. He would fill up old mayonnaise jars with it and bury them at various places in the woods. After she died he raped her a minimum of twenty times before he buried her in a shallow grave where nobody would ever find her.
There were other things. Lots of things far more gruesome and disgusting.
"Fuck, detective, haven't you just had the impulse to do something strange? Something bad? We all have those feelings."
"Not me", Detective Samuels lied. The detective knew he had these thoughts. He was having them right now. He wanted to strangle Roger Jackson for what he had done to those poor girls. He wanted to do insanely bad things to this man.
"Look detective, I like the heads, but they don't like me. I have to cut them off because I can't stand it when they spit at me; when they call me names."
Now it all came flowing out as Roger felt the truth release him.
"I skinned them you know. I skinned them alive before I raped them. It was energy, detective. ENERGY!!! I felt it in their pulses; I saw it in the way that the blood would shoot out of their jugular veins or femoral arteries. The blood would come out like a fountain and I would watch as it landed on the floor or on the wall or on my clothes. Oh it was fantastic, detective! Blood is metallic, did you know that? It tastes like pennies unless you have too much of it, then it tastes like....well....it tastes like domination."
Detective Samuels sat there across from Roger Jackson with his mouth wide open. His revulsion was growing with every word Roger spoke.
"You know how easy it is to skin a human body detective? You make a few cuts here, a slice there, and then you just peel back the skin. Our skin is very resilient detective, very tough. It makes for a nice bedspread."
Detective Samuels had closed his mouth. He casually glanced at the recorder to make sure it was getting all of this.
"I'm very good at it you know, good at skinning. Good at killing. Good at fucking. They loved it while I was fucking them. They told me so, even after they were dead they told me. I could still hear their screams of ecstasy as I was pounding their bloody carcasses. Then the screams stopped and the heads started to complain. That why I had to get rid of them."
Samuels opened a roll of Rolaids and popped a few into his mouth. He wasn't sure if it would help settle his stomach or not but he needed something.
"So where are they, Roger? Where are the heads?"
"You really want to know, detective?"
"Yes, Roger, I really want to know."
Roger scanned detective Samuels face for just a moment, gauging whether or not he was ready for the information that he was about to give him.
"Lamps, detective. I make them into lamps."
Detective Samuels took a long hard look at Roger Jackson over the next few seconds. He rolled this thought around in his head for a minute and then he asked,
"Where are these lamps, Roger?"
Roger smiled.
"I sell them, detective. 29.95 a pop. Goth kids love them. I can't keep them in stock. It's a great way to shut the heads up. They try to talk me out of it but I sell them anyway. I can't stand fucking listening to them."
Roger didn't want to ask the next question, but he had to.
"How many have you sold, Roger?"
"I did three thousand dollars in sales last year detective. Skull lamps are good business."
Detective Samuels did the math in his head.
"You sick fuck. You mean to tell me that there are over a hundred victims skulls sitting in teenagers bedrooms or apartments right now?"
Roger looked relaxed, almost calm.
"That was just last year, detective. I've been doing this for 8 years. I've built quite a business with my lamps. Had some great sex too. Also, I've become quite handy with a knife and a hacksaw."
"You are one twisted piece of shit Roger. One completely and utterly mind numbing piece of shit and I hope they give you the chair."
Detective Samuels had heard enough. He got up from his chair, grabbed his recorder and walked out of the room. He needed a bathroom break but he wasn't sure if he had to piss or throw up. His stomach was churning and the Rolaids didn't help.
Roger watched him as he left the room. After the door was closed, Roger leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He looked around the room and it was then that he noticed the little video camera that was mounted up in the corner. It had its eye trained on him and he knew it was taking videotape.
The last thing that he did before the detectives came and took him away was look up at the camera, smile, and say,
"So I'm a little strange, detective. Sue me."
These exact same words were printed on the cover of a special edition of Time magazine no more than a week later.
User Reviews
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2004-05-25 19:06:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was my favorite post of Ubermadness.
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2004-05-19 17:40:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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