No Closure

“Don’t worry, Jeffrey, you’re not dead,” the voice very familiar from behind him.

Jeffrey stared at his body lying on the white tile floor, barely alive, his head beaten to a pulp. It was supposed to be the prison gym shower but looking around showed him that he was in a train station, much like Grand Central. Instead of travelers, though, there were psychiatric patients and angels. He knew this place, he watched the film several times before he lured and killed his prey. After three years the old feelings began to emerge again, the obsessions were lit afire in his belly.

“There it is!” exclaimed the man behind him, and he knew it to be George C Scott, or, in this case, Detective Kinderman. “I gotta say, my boy, you are a superstar in these parts! We have been watching you monkeys since time immemorial, and Cain has nothing on you!”

“Am I in Hell?” he asked calmly.

“Oh no, no, no… You’re still alive, sort of. But, the decision has been made that your punishment is not to be punished at all. You see, Jeffrey, you’re special because you have remorse for your victims even knowing that, if given the choice, you’d do it all over again.” Detective Kinderman pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, and Jeffrey realized he himself was seated, though what he was sitting on he had not a clue. There was an excitement in the detective’s eyes as he continued speaking. “You have that feeling in your guts again, I can see it.” He leaned back and took a lung-filling breath, eyes closed. As he exhaled, the detective continued leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees.

“You know, Jeffrey, our admiration for your work runs deep. If there was a Satan, then goddamn he’d be excited to have you! But alas, that is nothing more than a grand human delusion.” And the detective let out a hearty laugh. “We, however, are as fascinated with you as any ultimate evil could be.”

“Are you aliens?” asked Jeffrey. His mind was working furiously to understand what was happening, and he could only recall once in his life ever feeling this way. It was that morning in November of ’87 when he woke up with bruised hands and staring over the corpse of Steven. It was most disconcerting.

“Hahaha!” bellowed Kinderman. “All the best tropes from you humans!” And his laughing continued for a few more moments. He wiped a fake laugh-tear from his eye and leaned to stare Jeffrey in the face. “We have a gift for you! Not only is it an homage to you,” he looked down at the floor as he finished, his forehead crinkled with concern. “But it is also an homage to poor Steven.”

Jeffrey’s eyebrows lifted in a betrayal of his thoughts and looked at Kinderman. “I was just thinking about him… Who are you?”

The detective looked at Jeffrey again, his expression earnest, “Yes, Steven… The only victim you couldn’t enjoy. Well, my boy, prepare yourself!”

Kinderman straightened and flourished his arm like a Price is Right model. There, in front of them, was a black table. On the table were the painted skulls of his victims, an empty spot on the table for the victim he was never able to lure. On either side was burning incense and the complete skeletons of Ernest and Oliver. The blue globes shined bright on their extensions on the lamp behind the table. It was Jeffrey’s altar, the one he had never finished. The only thing missing was the plush, black leather chair; but the feeling of zen that he had intended for the altar’s use flowed over him like the light of a sunrise.

“It’s glorious, Jeffrey! Sick, demented, and beautiful…” said Kinderman with a breath of awe. “But I got some bad news for you, sunshine.”

The strange cube that Jeffrey was sitting on suddenly began to vibrate, and he looked down at it, his face calm but quizzical.

“It’s a punishment cube, boy. We couldn’t understand how best to punish you, but this ingenious device helps us do that. Just watch!” Another smile spread across Kinderman’s face, barely holding back the laughter behind it.

And Jeffrey watched as the skeletons became animated, their sinew and flesh appearing on their bones out of nowhere. Slowly the victims made their way towards him, their faces becoming clear. In unison, they said, “You destroyed us to become whole, Jeffrey. You are not allowed to be whole!” The corpses turned, sledgehammers in hand, and began destroying the altar. Each loud crack of wood was like a knife to his being. When the destruction stopped, he looked up to see that altar sitting there just as it was moments before, Oliver and Ernest once again reduced to their bones.

“That’s gotta hurt, eh, Jeffrey?!” The laughter once again bursting from Kinderman’s chest. “This, however, is just the beginning!”

“God help me,” Jeffrey whispered. He had always thought that, at some point, he might find peace from the sickness that was his soul. His analytical mind was always capable of rationalizing his life, but there was no rationality here. He had pined for God in prison, hoping to find absolution.

Kinderman stood in a flash, the chair falling to the ground behind him as his knees snapped to. He brought his face to within inches of Jeffrey’s, the wicked humor evident on his face. “There is no God, you dark, beautiful creature! There is no absolution! There is only US! HAHAHAHAHA!”

It was then that Jeffrey realized he was lying down, a glass barely held by the hand of his extended arm half full of bourbon and flecks of a white powder settled on the bottom. Though he was conscious, he was unable to move. Drugged, yet awake, he heard another familiar voice.

“Hello, Jeffrey, it’s Steven.” The voice was calm and ghostly. And for the first time Jeffrey felt fear welling up inside of him. He had never known what happened with Steven that night, and he realized now that it wasn’t an accident.

“Are you ready?” Steven asked. And behind him Detective Kinderman continued to laugh gleefully.