Bad Meat, Page 2

the other nurses looking on in approval in between the big bites he was forced to take.

  The other nurses slid away to check on patients as the man escorted Michael back to his room. It was room 438, the second to last room on the highest floor of the facility’s patient housing. The silent hallway leading to his room was the perfect place for a “revelation”—as the man liked to call it—into Michael understanding the true nature of how disgusting he really was.

  Michael and the man exited the elevator hurriedly. Michael walked fast, hoping not to get another beating, but the man followed behind at a similar pace, staying only a foot behind him. Michael dashed around the corner and picked up the pace, but the man grabbed him by the collar from behind and threw him down to the floor. Michael grasped at nothing as he tumbled backward, and his face hit the side of door 428. He closed his eyes as he felt the man’s kicks in his stomach and on his face.

  Then the man bent low, putting his lips near Michael’s pounding ear. “You make me sick, you trash. You killed innocent ladies, but you’ve got no guts to face a real man.” he whispered with malice. Michael was already sick of his routine beatings. Even though he knew he’d be sent to Dr. Langham for rebelling—which was more like self-defense in this case—Michael punched the man in the face, and then he couldn’t quell the rage that swelled within him.

  Another punch followed the first, and then a series of kicks followed as soon as Michael swept himself out from under the weight of the man and gained the upper hand. It wasn’t until he felt the hot prongs of the taser the man carried that Michael stopped. He fell to the floor convulsing as his muscles twitched in agony. The man gave the seizing Michael another tasing, a few hard punches, and a few strong kicks before leaving Michael at the words “Wait till’ Dr. Langham hears how crazy you’re bein.’ He’ll give you some eletroshock for this. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Michael dragged himself to his feet as the man rounded the corner, and then headed for his room at the end of the hall. He rubbed the blood off his lip and brow upon entering room 438, and at that moment he remembered that he was at least grateful to a handful of people that had helped his insanity plea make it through the system—and the courtroom—successfully.

  He remembered the old man who lived in the apartment next to his who vouched for his upstanding character, his friend Mindy who testified that he’d been going through some troubles for a while then, the bus driver—Mr. Douglass—who drove him to his job at the warehouse each day who said he’d always been a little quiet, but otherwise harmless, and his lawyer, who did a grand job of making his crimes seem more passionate than coldly calculated.

  Michael remembered how his lawyer peppered the testimonies with his dark uprising, starting with his mother’s coke addiction, her attempted suicide, and her dropping Michael and his sister off at the fire station as a last resort. He traced Michael’s life in the foster system, completely separated from his sister Margaret, where he’d been sexually abused and neglected on countless occasions. Then he spoke on Michael’s struggles with drugs, depression, and suicide as the world folded inwards, leaving him in a wallowing pit of desolation and despair, which forced him on his path that led to the insatiable cannibalism that fed him. He made it seem that Michael’s hunger for human was rooted in self-hate and projection and not fueled by the evil darkness that harbored in his heart.

  The emotionally drenched case the lawyer presented to the jury swung them immediately, and it only took nine hours for the deliberation to come back as a guilty, but wrapped up in an insanity plea. Even the judge was heartbroken at the lawyer’s show and decreed that Michael was to spend his days at the asylum to hopefully rehabilitate the innocent humanity within him that had been stolen from him so long ago.

  Michael closed the door behind him slowly and sat against the soft padding. He grimaced at how much he hated being at the asylum, but after taking a moment to remind himself that that place was far better than the state prison system, a chuckle fell out of his mouth. He sat there for quite a while thinking about nothing, but his aching stomach forced him to look down and rub his famished belly.

  It wasn’t famished due to hunger because he’d had his fill in the cafeteria earlier, but it was reaching out to Michael, begging him for meat. Good meat. Human meat. He knew the pangs of that anger, and that hunger, and in those moments of contemplation he embraced them. He’d been good for the period of his detainment up to that day because he’d actually wanted to be better. A new Michael—a change—didn’t sound so bad when he sat in session with Dr. Langham.

  He’d done his best to enjoy the other meats of the world—chicken, pork, beef—but they never satisfied. Deep within himself, he felt the hunger for something richer. He consoled himself by promising his stomach—his very nature—that he would get better, and that a new Michael would be born, and this Michael would no longer have a taste for human flesh. He was only able to convince himself of that lie for five more months.

  If she hadn’t have shown up that day, Michael could have possibly recovered from his sickness. But the idea of recovering was for naught when the new nurse—Deanna Sharp—walked past the fenced off recreation area on that fine May morning. The twenty-four year old brunette woman seemed otherworldly as Michael glimpsed her slim body perfectly accented by the white hospital uniform. He followed her beauty in trance, and only gathered his senses when his stomach grumbled. Without having to consult himself, he knew that it was time to feed.

  Over the next few weeks, Michael took any chance he could to speak with the woman. It was luck that was on his side because all of the nurses—male or female—and even Dr. Langham were blinded to the fact that the woman was to Michael’s specifications exactly. Under the cover of their stupidity he bided his time in acquainting himself with the woman, laying little traps that would win her over.

  It started with the subtle compliments and small anonymous gifts he left for her, and eventually turned into overt displays of affection that were public spectacle. Even though the nurses and patients mocked him, and he received twice the amount of beatings from the wild man, Michael was able to win her heart.

  Then began the late night meetings. Deanna started to sneak into the hallway on the fourth floor where Michael resided and they had late night chats. Michael put on quite the character. He took deep interest in her life, her thoughts, her dreams, anything and everything that had to do with the woman before him. He even checked out a book from Dr. Langham’s study and began reading and writing poetry for Deanna. In actuality, he found the connection with Deanna more exhilarating than with any other prey he’d had before.

  He often wondered if it could be considered an obsessive infatuation, even love. Over time, he noticed that his appetite for her changed. He no longer looked at the woman as a delicious treat, but slowly began to see her as a woman he cared for deeply.

  Michael marveled at how his heart fluttered when he heard the soft clap of her heels on the stone floor of the hallway. His palms got sweaty whenever she smiled bashfully at his poems, showing off the perfectly rounded dimples on both sides of her face. And when he simply thought of her, there was nothing else that could sway the image of beauty that lingered in his mind.

  He noticed that after the first six meetings, he stopped thinking about eating her entirely. He just wanted to spend time with Deanna, relishing in the joy she brought to the numb existence he’d lived in the asylum for so long. He couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to close the distance that always stood between them and hold her face in his hands. There was always some sort of barrier that kept them from touching, whether it be a wall or a fence of some sort.

  Michael found it very interesting how close he felt to Deanna without even touching her. He felt as if he held her heart against his at all times, making them one inseparable entity. His desire to feel her skin, her soft hair, her smooth face, her slender arms, thin waist, and delicate hands grew by the minute. But every time he made an advance, inviting her to come cl
oser and cross the barriers between them, she retracted in a flurry of words about inappropriate relationships between nurse and patient. Michael loved the soft red hue that swept over her face as she muttered her nervous words.

  One night Michael gently invited her into his room after they’d spent much time sharing poetry and flattering compliments. It was around 3:17 a.m., and there wasn’t anyone awake in the facility aside from the two of them. After a few refusals and much coaxing, Deanna—for the first time—consented. Michael stood back completely stunned as he heard her pull out her master key and unlock the padded door.

  She peeked her head in, and after Michael invited her in again, she nervously pulled the rest of her body through the doorway. Then she shut the door behind her slowly, and the soft click of the lock diffused all the tension that built in that moment.

  First, Michael read her the new poetic pieces he’d been working on for the past few days. Deanna enjoyed the highly spirited vigor that dripped from all of his words. Then they spent some time getting to know each other even more. They asked thoroughly about each other’s families, upbringings, and what their deepest desires and