the bench and without hesitation, slit his father’s throat, causing the carotid arteries to spew forth pulsing rivers of blood until the gurgling stopped and he knew that Curtis Adler was no more.
As he kneeled beside the body, the cut-throat razor resting on the floor about a foot above the head, Bryan’s mother opened the door of the shed and entered. She absorbed what she saw before her and approached her husband’s body, her face white with shock. Suddenly, she dropped down and grabbed the razor in her right hand. She thrust it outwards, toward Bryan with tears in her eyes and for a moment, he resigned himself to his fate. Then he watched in amazement as she drew the blade away from him and with one deep, even stroke, sliced her own arm diagonally from wrist to elbow, creating a long gaping wound in her arteries then calmly sat on the floor and stared into her son’s eyes as the life drained out of her. Bryan didn’t move a muscle. He just sat and watched, emotionless and clinical, until she expired before his eyes. After his mother slumped over dead, Bryan washed his hands and face, collected his few meager belongings and set off on foot down the long dirt driveway, onto the small country road to which it led and just kept walking until he eventually came upon a freight train with empty boxcars and began a hobo’s life for the next few months. These details had been completely unknown to anyone but Bryan himself until he was eventually caught many years later and confessed all his crimes, including the one from which his psychotic murder scenario had originated.
Nobody went to the Adler farm, as had been the case for many years prior. It wasn’t until the electricity company was installing new power poles in the area that a company representative discovered the skeletal remains of Ruth and Curtis Adler about three years after their deaths. The police, lacking any real evidence, aside from the rusty hammer, decided it must have been a murder suicide and since there was no evidence of any other inhabitants, the matter was concluded then and there.
Bryan lived and learned the clever ways of the hobo, with the help of a kind-hearted and experienced hand and he was a very quick learner. He developed heightened cunning, speed of thought, physical prowess and a growing desire to repeat what he had done to his parents. He lived this way for several months until one night, the police raided a small hobo encampment and Bryan was caught and taken into the care of Social Services as a minor. He was then passed around from foster home to foster home until it became obvious that he would have to stay in a group shelter, since no foster family would tolerate his cunning, anti-social behavior.
Once Helen had developed a strong sense of her patient, the actual face to face sessions began in earnest. Despite having no real choice in the matter, Bryan had willingly submitted to any and all forms of therapy that Helen felt appropriate for his treatment. This was another reason for her to suspect that he had ulterior motives in actively dealing with her instead of just resigning himself to his fate of internment for life without the possibility of release, as meted out by the court three years earlier.
In addition to the cocktails of potent anti-psychotics as well as some experimental drugs, his treatment included three sessions per week of psychoanalysis, including hypnotherapy. His treatment continued in this vein for over two years and at times, Helen actually thought she saw some glimmers of hope but these hopes were usually dashed by the time their next session came around. Basically, Bryan’s psyche was damaged beyond repair and try as she might, Helen knew she was essentially wasting her time with him but despite her gut feeling, she continued experimenting with the various combinations of drugs to glean as much scientific information as possible from her willing volunteer.
In one particularly chilling session, Bryan
As he kneeled beside the body, the cut-throat razor resting on the floor about a foot above the head, Bryan’s mother opened the door of the shed and entered. She absorbed what she saw before her and approached her husband’s body, her face white with shock. Suddenly, she dropped down and grabbed the razor in her right hand. She thrust it outwards, toward Bryan with tears in her eyes and for a moment, he resigned himself to his fate. Then he watched in amazement as she drew the blade away from him and with one deep, even stroke, sliced her own arm diagonally from wrist to elbow, creating a long gaping wound in her arteries then calmly sat on the floor and stared into her son’s eyes as the life drained out of her. Bryan didn’t move a muscle. He just sat and watched, emotionless and clinical, until she expired before his eyes. After his mother slumped over dead, Bryan washed his hands and face, collected his few meager belongings and set off on foot down the long dirt driveway, onto the small country road to which it led and just kept walking until he eventually came upon a freight train with empty boxcars and began a hobo’s life for the next few months. These details had been completely unknown to anyone but Bryan himself until he was eventually caught many years later and confessed all his crimes, including the one from which his psychotic murder scenario had originated.
Nobody went to the Adler farm, as had been the case for many years prior. It wasn’t until the electricity company was installing new power poles in the area that a company representative discovered the skeletal remains of Ruth and Curtis Adler about three years after their deaths. The police, lacking any real evidence, aside from the rusty hammer, decided it must have been a murder suicide and since there was no evidence of any other inhabitants, the matter was concluded then and there.
Bryan lived and learned the clever ways of the hobo, with the help of a kind-hearted and experienced hand and he was a very quick learner. He developed heightened cunning, speed of thought, physical prowess and a growing desire to repeat what he had done to his parents. He lived this way for several months until one night, the police raided a small hobo encampment and Bryan was caught and taken into the care of Social Services as a minor. He was then passed around from foster home to foster home until it became obvious that he would have to stay in a group shelter, since no foster family would tolerate his cunning, anti-social behavior.
Once Helen had developed a strong sense of her patient, the actual face to face sessions began in earnest. Despite having no real choice in the matter, Bryan had willingly submitted to any and all forms of therapy that Helen felt appropriate for his treatment. This was another reason for her to suspect that he had ulterior motives in actively dealing with her instead of just resigning himself to his fate of internment for life without the possibility of release, as meted out by the court three years earlier.
In addition to the cocktails of potent anti-psychotics as well as some experimental drugs, his treatment included three sessions per week of psychoanalysis, including hypnotherapy. His treatment continued in this vein for over two years and at times, Helen actually thought she saw some glimmers of hope but these hopes were usually dashed by the time their next session came around. Basically, Bryan’s psyche was damaged beyond repair and try as she might, Helen knew she was essentially wasting her time with him but despite her gut feeling, she continued experimenting with the various combinations of drugs to glean as much scientific information as possible from her willing volunteer.
In one particularly chilling session, Bryan
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