wistful, ethereal sort of way. Dark hair, delicate features, on the skinny side but neither flat-chested nor flat-hipped. To look at her you’d think she was a librarian or secretary or grade-school teacher, the kind of meek little woman who would never harm a fly. You’d never take her for a double murderess and a bloody one at that. The hospital grapevine has it that she chopped up her mother and father because they were too strict and kept her a virtual prisoner in their home. A modern-day Lizzie Borden except that she used a meat cleaver instead of an ax and gave them only a few whacks each. True?
I tried to talk to her today but she pretended she didn’t hear me and walked away. Or maybe she really didn’t hear me, she doesn’t seem to be very aware of her surroundings. She reminds me of a puppy wandering around lost in a fog, I even heard her whimper once the way puppies do.
I’d like to screw her.
It’s been more than two years since I had sex with Lorna. I was never unfaithful to my wife in the eleven years we were married, did I tell you that, Doctor? I’m sure I must have. Completely faithful, hardly even looked at another woman in all that time. We had a very healthy sex life and two years is a long time to go without. All the drugs Nurse Ratchet keeps feeding me have lowered my sex drive, no doubt on purpose, but it hasn’t killed it completely. I’m sure I can still perform under the right circumstances.
Yes, I really would like to screw Miss Pringle.
And I think I will.
With her consent preferably but if she won’t give it soon I’ll have to take matters into my own hands so to speak. I’m good with locks, did you know that? They were a hobby of mine when I was younger. I can get out of this room anytime I want, believe that or not. Late some night I’ll slip out when I’m sure the hall is empty and hurry to Miss Pringle’s room and before she knows what’s happening I’ll be in
her
drawers.
See, Doc? See what you and Nurse Ratchet and the rest of your miserable minions have reduced me to?
November 16—Afternoon
I’ve just returned from another session with the mindsucker. Not a word about Miss Pringle or my threatened late-night attack on her. There certainly should have been if he’s reading these pages, he wouldn’t let such a blatant statement of premeditated assault pass without attempting to talk me out of it or at least addressing the subject. Would he? Is he that cold and unfeeling, that remiss in his duties?
No. No, I don’t think so.
I’m beginning to believe he wasn’t lying to me after all and this logbook really is private.
November 19—Late Afternoon
I managed to get Miss Pringle’s attention just after lunch long enough to hold a fifteen-second conversation with her. It didn’t amount to much, an exchange of only a few words each, but she favored me with a ghost of a smile before she wandered away.
She’s such a sad person. Pathetic, really. I like her in spite of her having filleted Mom and Pop and the zombie state she exists in now. There’s no doubt in my mind she had just cause for picking up that meat cleaver, as I had just cause to do what I did two years ago. If there is sufficient justification for a violent act and in my case if not Miss Pringle’s the person who commits it knows right from wrong no matter what the law and the shrinks say, then that person is not—I repeat, not—crazy.
I feel a kinship with Miss Pringle and I want to be her friend. Her friend, nothing more. I never had any intention of attacking her in her bed, what I wrote was a test calculated to smoke out Dr. Hilliard if he really had been reading these pages. I would never force myself on a woman, I would rather be chemically castrated than commit rape for sexual gratification or any other reason. I am not the monster everyone in a position of authority in this place believes me to be.
Hilliard still didn’t react to my bogus threat at our session today. So now I’m
I tried to talk to her today but she pretended she didn’t hear me and walked away. Or maybe she really didn’t hear me, she doesn’t seem to be very aware of her surroundings. She reminds me of a puppy wandering around lost in a fog, I even heard her whimper once the way puppies do.
I’d like to screw her.
It’s been more than two years since I had sex with Lorna. I was never unfaithful to my wife in the eleven years we were married, did I tell you that, Doctor? I’m sure I must have. Completely faithful, hardly even looked at another woman in all that time. We had a very healthy sex life and two years is a long time to go without. All the drugs Nurse Ratchet keeps feeding me have lowered my sex drive, no doubt on purpose, but it hasn’t killed it completely. I’m sure I can still perform under the right circumstances.
Yes, I really would like to screw Miss Pringle.
And I think I will.
With her consent preferably but if she won’t give it soon I’ll have to take matters into my own hands so to speak. I’m good with locks, did you know that? They were a hobby of mine when I was younger. I can get out of this room anytime I want, believe that or not. Late some night I’ll slip out when I’m sure the hall is empty and hurry to Miss Pringle’s room and before she knows what’s happening I’ll be in
her
drawers.
See, Doc? See what you and Nurse Ratchet and the rest of your miserable minions have reduced me to?
November 16—Afternoon
I’ve just returned from another session with the mindsucker. Not a word about Miss Pringle or my threatened late-night attack on her. There certainly should have been if he’s reading these pages, he wouldn’t let such a blatant statement of premeditated assault pass without attempting to talk me out of it or at least addressing the subject. Would he? Is he that cold and unfeeling, that remiss in his duties?
No. No, I don’t think so.
I’m beginning to believe he wasn’t lying to me after all and this logbook really is private.
November 19—Late Afternoon
I managed to get Miss Pringle’s attention just after lunch long enough to hold a fifteen-second conversation with her. It didn’t amount to much, an exchange of only a few words each, but she favored me with a ghost of a smile before she wandered away.
She’s such a sad person. Pathetic, really. I like her in spite of her having filleted Mom and Pop and the zombie state she exists in now. There’s no doubt in my mind she had just cause for picking up that meat cleaver, as I had just cause to do what I did two years ago. If there is sufficient justification for a violent act and in my case if not Miss Pringle’s the person who commits it knows right from wrong no matter what the law and the shrinks say, then that person is not—I repeat, not—crazy.
I feel a kinship with Miss Pringle and I want to be her friend. Her friend, nothing more. I never had any intention of attacking her in her bed, what I wrote was a test calculated to smoke out Dr. Hilliard if he really had been reading these pages. I would never force myself on a woman, I would rather be chemically castrated than commit rape for sexual gratification or any other reason. I am not the monster everyone in a position of authority in this place believes me to be.
Hilliard still didn’t react to my bogus threat at our session today. So now I’m
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