Hole in the Head (Part Three)


15 years ago

“You still haven’t given a clear answer to me,” growled Inspector Murray, his fingernails scraping at the table in exasperation. McKay groaned, rolling his intense, bulging eyes. The five day old orange beard that covered his face itched and gave him a mien of vagrancy which was enhanced by his emaciated frame. He could see that Murray’s patience was growing as thin. McKay had taken few meals in his three days of captivity. He never allowed his body much physical nourishment, believing that depriving his physical form would help to free his mind.

“I’ve made it as clear as I can to your kind. I still protest that I have done nothing wrong. I did my best for my patients; I took the Hippocratic Oath, just as any other doctor would. To harm my patients would be anathema to me, you see? I did not hurt them one bit.” McKay’s words were proud and left him feeling satisfied; the Inspector was rankled by McKay’s cold logic.

“You killed those people, ‘doctor’, and they are far from better. If they had been remiss in their visits to you, I dare say that these charges wouldn’t have been brought up against you.”

“I have told you not to refer to me so sarcastically. I was not born into high society; I could not attend fine schools like other doctors, but that does not mean that my treatments are any more poor than any other physician,” explained McKay righteously. “One day, everyone will see that what I am doing is visionary work. I have managed to improve the human mind through my procedures, you see?”

“We recovered sixteen bodies beneath the floorboards, twelve in the walls, and seven buried in the yard. You were holding two mentally insufficient men in the basement. You call this improvement?”

“I call it a great improvement,” replied McKay as he leaned back in his chair. He thought of the states he had found his subjects in before their treatments: the women were slaves to their base desires, selling their bodies. The men were not much more than apes toiling in workhouses and iron works. He helped enlighten them, even if only slightly. And then there was Mr. Henson, who surpassed all of McKay’s expectations. Passingly, he wondered if the police would find him, and what would happen if they tried to take him into custody.

Murray‘s face reddened and he ground his teeth together. He turned from McKay, slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt. Taking his shirt off, he appeared more like an ape than a man. McKay knew what was going to happen, and he smiled. Anything that helped push his mind further from his body would bring him closer to enlightenment, closer to the level he pushed Mr. Henson to. In a flash, Murray’s hammer-like fist spread McKay’s nose across his face like butter. Bleeding, McKay simply whimpered on the floor, lost between laughter and crying.

The Present

The Red Lion was the pub of choice for any self-respecting policeman. The atmosphere was quiet, the food good, and the drink not too watery. In a dark corner, Stuart and Conners of the Queensbourough Yard’s technical team were quietly discussing the day’s events.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” said Stuart, coating Conners with a spray of crumbs as he spoke. Conners wiped his face and shook his head.

“What doesn’t make sense is you talkin’ with your gob full. Don’t you know better?” admonished Conners. He was all ready having a bad day, and Stuart had the tendency to make any day worse.

“Sorry, milord,” replied Stuart, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we can get back to the convo at hand. The hole in her head is too clean. Her other one: dirty as Fondler Pete.”

“You are a poet, you know that? Your verse is like gold from a cow’s arse. Needless to say, she must have known whoever did her in. The how is still a boggler, though.” Conners delicately sniffed his pint, enjoying the subtle aromas of coffee, licorice, and chocolate. Meditatively, he closed his eyes and sipped his drink.

“Evening, gents,” greeted Inspector Prescott, dipping his head slightly. “Miss. Tollary told me you’d be here for an early dinner. What can you tell me?” Stuart explained the findings to Prescott who listened attentively.

“So we’re looking for a male friend then?” concluded Prescott.

“I’d venture that would be right. She let him in like he was Father Christmas, you know what I mean?” asked Stuart lewdly. Prescott rolled his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly.

“You know, she could easily be any woman you know, Stuart. Could be your sis or ma, could be one of them on our table. A bit more respect, okay?” Conners requested kindly enough.

“Well, I’m sorry once again, milord. Didn’t mean to offend your sensitive nature,” retorted Stuart, punctuating his sentence by drinking down half of his pint in one go.

“It isn’t just my ‘sensitive nature’ that’s offended. We’re officers of the law, and we should have some decorum.” said Conners.

“Officers spend much more time in the light. We’re the unmentionables of the legal system, not much more than licit pants.” said Stuart.

“Even so, we’re part of Her Majesty’s Service, and we should endeavor to act accordingly.” responded Conners.

“Conners is right Stuart,” said Prescott, “I must take my leave now. Thank you for the insight.” Prescott fled from the pub expediently. His abruptness gave Conners pause.

“What do you think we said?” asked Conners.

“I don’t know.” responded Stuart, his brow furrowed. “They never keep us in on the important developments. He must be on to something.”

Part Four

About harrylthompsonjr

I'm a writer, a photographer, and a lover of role playing games. I've moved my blog to wordpress in hopes of actually getting some feedback. We'll see :)
This entry was posted in Weird Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Hole in the Head (Part Three)

  1. Sarah says:

    I like the line “…Murray’s hammer-like fist spread McKay’s nose across his face like butter.” 🙂

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