Dave and the Sociopath

This is a resubmission as the original was falsely reported and pulled last week. To the person that had it pulled; thanks. For 10 minutes work on my part, it gets to be on the new release list for another week.

A simple case of Heteropaternal superfecundation.

Yet another twisted story from my slightly twisted mind. No, just joking. You will let me know if the noises in my head bother you, won't you? After publishing a couple of gentle ones, the inner cunt demanded out. Umm, this one is pretty nasty, and definitely not for the faint hearted. If you believe in forgiveness, skip it. For those that find extreme btb stories therapeutic, this is my gift to you.

A special note for Luedon. This one will give you nightmares, don't read it.

My thanks, as always, to my editor and partner in crime CTC. I wish the whole world luck in finding such a love as I have.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Nice to meet you on such a happy occasion, Mr. Brown. I'm Doctor Simms. I believe you've been dealing with Doctor Smith until now. She's on a sabbatical in Europe at the moment."

"Pleased to meet you, Doc."

"Now, Mr. Brown, as our admin told you on the phone, we've found a kidney donor with a perfect match. As we couldn't get hold of you or your wife immediately, we took the liberty of getting your mother to bring your children in already."

"That's fantastic news, Doc. I presume the kidney you have will go to Simon?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown. There seems to have been a misunderstanding. We have two kidneys available from the same donor. We can give both of your sons' new kidneys today."

"You mean..."

"Yes, Mr. Brown, the donor is deceased. They died shortly after arriving at the hospital following a road accident not ninety minutes ago. Once we discovered they were a registered organ donor, er, steps were taken to preserve the corpse in such a manner as to maintain the viability of any useful organs. All the signs are good that many, many people will benefit from their death. You have to admire those people that fill out those cards, don't you? Because of someone's forethought and selfless actions, the odds are excellent that your twins will be able to lead perfectly normal lives. The hospital administrators have already checked all the paperwork is in order. We just have to wait a few hours until it is safe for your sons to have a general anaesthetic, then we can start."

"That's fantastic news, Doc. My wife was having a devil of a time trying to decide which of the kids to donate to. She'll be ecstatic that's no longer necessary."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown, you've lost me. I haven't had time to fully read your file yet."

"No, it's me that's sorry, Doc. I should have realised you didn't know. When my son, Simon was diagnosed with Lintman's disease..."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown, I'm not familiar with that one."

"I'm not surprised, Doc. It's extremely rare. It's one of those diseases I jokingly call, lesbian diseases."

"Huh?"

"Sorry to be offensive, Doc. I mean, one of those diseases that are carried by females but only affect the male offspring. Like haemophilia."

"Oh, right."

"Anyway, Lintman's is so rare that there has been next to no research on a cure. It causes both kidneys to fail at an early age. That, as you know, condemns the sufferer to dialysis several times a week or having to undergo a transplant. Simon's kidneys failed last year so he was put on the organ donor registry and started dialysis. We got Paul tested and found out that his kidneys were about to fail as well. That happened last month."

Dave Brown paused to consider the horrible memory of both his sons lying in hospital, hooked up to those infernal machines as their blood was cleansed. He shuddered. That was no life for his precious offspring.

"So, what choice did your wife have, Mr. Brown?"

"Well, we did all the things parents do in these situations, Doc. We had ourselves tested to see if we could donate one of our kidneys to our sons. Neither my wife nor I have any siblings and we only have one parent left each, both too old to donate. Simon and Paul are our only children, so that just left Jane and I."

"I see, and I gather that only your wife was compatible as a donor."

"Yes. My blood type is B, Paul's is Type A and my wife and Simon are Type O, you know, universal donors. So, my kidneys aren't compatible, but Jane could donate to either."

Dave paused, wondering how long it would take for it to dawn on the doctor there was a fundamental problem here. From watching his face, he guessed about twenty-five seconds.

"Yes, Doctor, it's impossible for a Type B father and a Type O mother to have a Type A child, but it is possible to have a Type O child. If you look in your file you will see some DNA test paperwork."

They were both silent as the surgeon leafed through the thick files. Finally, he finished.

"Oh, my gosh. I've heard of this, but never seen it. Heteropaternal superfecundation."

"Yeah, that's what our family doctor called it as well. Call me biased, Doc, but I call it something else."

Dave took the doctor's raised eyebrow as a sign to keep going.

"I call it, 'having a slut wife who fucks two men within five days and each of them father one of the twins' syndrome.' I'm sorry, Doc, but I only found this out a couple of weeks ago. It's still a little raw. Yes, I do know that I'm Simon's biological father but not Paul's. Discussions are still occurring between myself and Jane, but we decided to shelve the fighting until the kids are healthy again.

"So, going back to your original question, Doc, Neither I nor any living relative can donate a kidney to my children. My wife, Jane, can donate to either child. I got her past her religious beliefs against organ donation, but she has been torn about who to donate to."

"Religious beliefs?"

"Yes. Jane belongs to one of those minor religious sects that are uncomfortable with transplantation. It was a battle between her pastor and myself that I won eventually."

"I know what you mean, Mr. Brown. Just this morning a patient was brought in here that was a Jehovah's Witness. They'd lost a lot of blood but steadfastly refused a blood transfusion. Honestly, in this day and age, no one should die of a broken femur."

At that moment, their conversation was interrupted by the announcing system.

"Doctor Simms, please report to reception, Doctor Simms."

"Please excuse me, Mr. Brown, they're playing my song. Make yourself comfortable until I return."

++++++++++

While waiting for the surgeon to return, Dave let his mind drift to the absolute disaster his life had become in a few short months. Until late last year, he thought he'd had a happy and contented life. Then, in quick succession, he found out he had first one, then a second, son with a life-threatening illness. At first, he and Jane had stood shoulder to shoulder in adversity, as they'd always done as the loving couple they were. That changed a few weeks ago when Dave was glancing through the children's files, desperately looking for a solution that didn't include them being dead or tied to a dialysis machine for god knows how long.

That was when he'd looked at all the blood types with an unblinkered eye and remembered high school science. He'd checked with the family doctor and forgiven him for not bringing it to his attention. He'd contacted Dr. Smith and got her to confirm his fears from the DNA testing. He'd confronted Jane.

Although it wasn't until after they married that Jane became drawn to god, the religion she was deeply committed to had a lot to say about honesty. When confronted with the irrefutable implication she'd had sex with two men within a short period of time to conceive the nonpaternal twins, she'd tried to convince him there must have been a mix up in the hospital nursery. Dave didn't have to point out the little tags that were affixed to the twin's ankles in the delivery room; the same tags that had to be cut off to be removed; were the same two tags they still had in their scrap book. It was obvious Jane was lying through her teeth.

Dave remembered cajoling Jane with increasing aggression until she finally broke down and admitted she'd had sex with an old boyfriend the night before their wedding. Dave was too stunned to even listen to her pleading apologies that it was a one-off, drunken mistake she'd regretted ever since. That it was the core reason she'd got religion, so she could beg the forgiveness from god he was too terrified to ask of her husband. He was in another world when she promised to spend the rest of her life making it up to him.

He was alone inside his own head where treasured memories were sickening and dying all around him. He'd respected Jane's request that they not see each other for two days before the wedding, thinking it a harmless, cute tradition. He remembered the all-night sex session they'd had on the night of the wedding. Now, he knew she was already pregnant by someone else at the time, the memory was just sickening. All the memories of the jokes they'd made before the twins were born were poison. Their laughter that if they had twin girls, they would name them Honey and Moon to honour when they were conceived. Also consigned to the scrap heap, the tradition of their annual sex fest. When, every year they packed the boys off to a grandparent and he stayed in bed with a wild animal, from the night before their wedding anniversary until sunrise two days later, before returning to their conservative and rather dull sex life for another 363 days. The fact this was the anniversary of his being cuckolded was now apparent to Dave.

They say that Sociopaths are made, not born. Nevertheless, by the time Dave had snapped out of his reverie, one had been born. It was a premature birth and may yet die before it could take many breaths, but it was there in the room where a loving husband and father once sat.

It awoke to a now silent wife. It spread its wings, feasting on a landscape of broken dreams and shattered memories. Love was nowhere in sight.

"Who was it, Jane?"

"I... I'm not going to say, Dave. It's not important. It happened once, it's over and I have loved only you for fifteen years. If I tell you, you will do something stupid and end up in prison when the boys and I really need you."

She kept her new found promise and no amount of threats and talk of guilt would prise the name from her, or indeed, any other details. Dave gave up. The Sociopath looked Dave's wife in the eye.

"If I ever find out who it was, he's a dead man, Jane."

Jane didn't doubt it.

Although Jane refused to believe it, their marriage was done at that moment. The thought of losing one or both children was bad enough. The thought of losing the only man she'd ever loved was unthinkable. As soon as she was away from the father of one of her twins, she phoned the father of the other, to warn him. From that point on, Jane's life had three foci. Nurturing her sons, making peace with her god, and frantically trying to make peace with her husband. With no god and a clear conscience, Dave had only one focus. That included pretending things were normal until the boy's physical health was assured.

The three-week old sociopath awoke and looked around the austere, utilitarian office. It smiled at the memory of how easy it had been. He'd simply waited until his wife collapsed, exhausted from crying, then looked at her cell phone call log. One call, twelve minutes after Dave stormed out that day, to another cell. Thus began the Sociopath's hunt for Dave's nemesis. The family address book revealed nothing. Bizarrely, a fridge magnet and Jane's old high school yearbooks supplied the answer. Any doubt what the phone call was about was quashed by other clues that seemed harmless when presented at the time. The reason their family doctor hadn't brought any discrepancies on blood types to Dave's attention was that he was the perpetrator of the atrocity. Finding him as one of Jane's old classmates, just sealed it. The cold, calculating Sociopath, supplied the plan from there.

To an outside observer, such as Jane's father or Dave's mother, the next two weeks were nothing special. The twins felt loved and cherished. But when they were alone, Dave ignored Jane's pleas for forgiveness while he did everything he could to ease his children's suffering. The Sociopath plotted. While Dave begged Jane to ignore her religious beliefs and agree to donate one of her healthy kidneys to either child, the Sociopath bought a pistol, edited recordings, and learned how to steal cars.

The two weeks were obviously torture for Jane. Dave lost count of the times she repeated that it was a one-off drunken mistake that she deserved forgiveness for. It was exactly the same number of times he told her that, until she gave him the name and he had restitution, he couldn't forgive her. The first few times, Jane stuck to the story she didn't want to lose Dave to prison but that story changed one day. Abruptly, the admission became she had begged the other sperm donor to come clean, but he was married himself now and was threatening her if she exposed him. Exactly what he was threatening, Jane again refused to be drawn on. Dave, the man, desperately wanted her to come clean, so he had some small chance of maintaining his marriage. The Sociopath, with whom Dave was constantly battling for supremacy, already had a name but wasn't quite ready to act. When she couldn't get the forgiveness she craved from home and husband, she threw herself into her religion. Subsequently, Dave thought she was neglecting her children.

The Sociopath in the hospital office reflected on his actions of a week ago. He'd spent a week staking out his nemesis's place of business, noting that he commonly stayed for an hour after his receptionist went home. It was a Friday when the Sociopath acted. Walking in the unlocked door of the family surgery, he strode straight into the doctor's office. The medico leapt to his feet at the surprise intruder. His stance relaxed slightly when he saw it was just Dave. A man smaller and slighter than himself. Past memories caused the doctor's face to relax into an expression that was half smile, half sneer.

He was wrong, Dave was not in the room.

The uncivilised man leapt. Rage gave his fist strength as it crashed into the side of the doctor's jaw. The knee into the face of the stooping man wasn't strictly speaking necessary but was satisfying none-the-less. Stomping on the prone guy's left knee was justified to immobilise him until their conversation was over. With the Sociopath's basal desire to hurt this man satisfied, Dave crept into the room. The now normal battle for supremacy of their shared body ensued, while they both waited for their former respected family doctor to rouse.

Two things stopped the medico leaping to his feet when he fully awoke. One was the intense pain in his knee. The other was the sight of a pissed off patient pointing a pistol at him. Being basically a physical coward, all the fight left him before he'd expelled the gasp he'd drawn on seeing the gun.

"Don't kill me, they were Jane's idea."

Dave was confused. In his mind, he'd only wanted to know how hard his future wife had resisted the time this predator had seduced her on the night before the wedding. Knowing how sexually repressed his wife was most of the time, he knew she must have been conned by a master.

"Tell me how you did it?"

Suspecting that the longer he talked, the longer he lived, the cowering coward spilled the whole plate of beans.

"I was her first love and she was mine. We dated for a while in high school. I took her cherry."

This wasn't unexpected. Dave and Jane hadn't talked about their previous experiences. The medic still had a tone of panic in his voice as he continued.

"I didn't see her again after I went away to England to med school. That is, until I saw her out with her girlfriends the night before her wedding. I couldn't help myself. I cut her out from the pack and made a play. She was drunk. I took her back to my place about ten o'clock that night and fucked her raw."

Dave couldn't describe the sense of relief he felt. This was better than he'd ever expected. The medico misinterpreted Dave's facial expression changes. He suddenly realised that in his panic, he'd said things that reduced his chances of surviving this confrontation. He had to either paint himself in a better light or smear the mud around, and he had to do it fast.

"We fell asleep and woke up about 4:00a.m. By that time the alcohol should have well and truly worn off. She fucked me for another hour before sneaking off back to her parent's house."

Dave absorbed this additional information, desperately trying to decide if Jane was still off the hook or not. The panic-stricken, recumbent victim of his assault, filled the ensuing silence. Without having time to think, he decided complete honesty was the best policy.

"The next year was all Jane's idea though."

"What?"

"Yeah, a couple of days before your first anniversary, she rang me wanting to get together again the afternoon of your anniversary. Jane and I spent all afternoon fucking. She said it was so hot the previous year when she got to fuck two guys in twenty-four hours, that she wanted a repeat. We've done it every year since then. Just once a year, mind you. She jokingly calls it her once a year, three-hour sabbatical. Now, she just texts me the one word, 'sabbatical' and I text her back where and when. She told me the whole thing is very erotic. She's super turned on when she's with me because of the anticipation of doing you straight afterwards. Then she's super turned on with you because of the memories of me that day. Whatever, it's the best sex I get all year I can tell you."

Shattered, Dave fled the room. Unfortunately for the doctor, the Sociopath remained. He used Dave's memories to remember every one of the thirteen anniversaries, and his wife's uncharacteristic wanton behaviour. He remembered last year when it fell on a Sunday and Jane had spent the morning 'shopping with friends'. In Dave's absence, the Sociopath knew what to do. He reverted to the plan.

"Are you willing to donate one of your kidneys to my son Paul or do I have to remove it from your corpse?"

The prone man saw death in the eyes of the man standing with the pistol, who he mistakenly thought was called Dave. In the clarity that sometimes comes in these situation, he thought quickly and replied.

"I can't. I lived in the UK for more than six months back in the nineties. Because of the risk of BSE, I can't be on the register, I can't even donate blood."

He saw hope fading in the eyes above him. That was when he shut his eyes as the madman raised the pistol and aimed it right between his eyes. The report, when it came, was deafening. When he dared to open his eyes again, Dave was kneeling at his side, staring in his eyes.

"Today is not your day to die. Your day will come, but not until I know Simon and Paul no longer need me to fight for them. Run away, dead man. When this is all over, I will find you and I will kill you. Your time will come quicker if you go to the police or have any contact with Dave's wife. Don't bother trying to take your wife with you. By tomorrow she will have an edited copy of the recording I've been making since I got here."

With that, he removed the recorder from his pocket and turned it off. Even in his terror, the medic thought something about the last monologue was very strange. Why had he called Jane, 'Dave's wife'? He WAS Dave. Things may have been clearer if he'd heard the Dave composite, arguing with himself as he left the building.

"Shit, I'm glad I convinced you to only load blanks."

"Prick. I wanted to see his brains smeared on the carpet. Now go away, you'll only hold me back for the next bit."