Spirit Ch. 01bysjmhmttep©
Jun 6, 2010
Fragmented Pieces Book I Spirit Chapter One Reflections From a Prison Cell
Heavy Metal Thunder Productions
Copyright protected on March 2010.
The persons, places, entities, and events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, places, entities, or events is unintentional and purely coincidental.
Warning Some stories may contain adult language, explicate violence, adult situations, and some sexual content. These stories are intended for a mature audience.
Fragmented Pieces Book I Spirit
Written by Stacy James Meadows
With Concepts Created by Stacy James Meadows, Larry William Van Hoorebeke, and Donald Edward Van Hoorebeke.
Previously on Fragmented Pieces Book I Spirit... We met with Steven "Shadow" MacGraw, who broke the fourth wall, and gave us the readers an over view of just who he was, and what he does. Now we will go into a prison cell, and will be introduced to Jason Chambers.
"Reflections From a Prison Cell"
The room was dark and only had one bed, two white sheets, a green blanket, and a toilet and a sink, which were combined into a metal contraption hanging on the wall.
Along the wall laid orange prison coveralls, two pairs of white socks, a pair of white underwear, a cheap roll of toilet paper, a flimsy black comb, a white tooth brush with the bristles on it as soft as a baby's hair brush and a flimsy handle, a tube of cheap generic toothpaste, a black ink pen, and some sheets of blank white typing paper, all of which laid in a pile on the cold cement floor.
The room only had one way in or out, the cold grey iron bars and the cold grey iron barred doorway. The rest of the walls were concrete stone. The only light shining into the room was from a distant light down the hallway that came through the cold grey iron bars to barely illuminate the interior of the prison cell room.
On the steel slab hooked to the wall, with the thin mattress on top, which constituted poorly as a bed, a man laid, thinking about how he had gotten there, gripping the only book he had, which, of course, was the Holy Bible.
"Dear Lord, what have I done?" He thought to himself, knowing it was to late.
His mind wondered back to a month and a half ago when it had all started falling apart for him.
Those three women who would have had their lives left to live, if only they hadn't run into him.
He thought of the first woman, Michelle. She was in her mid-twenties, and was one of the prettiest things he had ever seen. Shoulder length, straight brown hair, green eyes, (oh, those haunting green eyes), and a body that men killed for, but didn't themselves kill. She was a mistake, oh yes, a big mistake. He never meant to kill her, no, not such a lovely creature as her, but she had a mouth that talked to much, and said all the wrong things. He knew this about her, and usually just blew it off, but not that night, oh no, not that tragic night.
The pressure was on him that night. He lost his job at the factory, and had been drinking bourbon like water. He went to her only looking for some compassion, and instead, she verbally criticized and cut him down. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
* * * *
Not noticing how drunk he actually was, he had stumbled his way to her apartment door and knocked. A couple of seconds later the door opened a crack, but a chain was in place.
"Oh, it's you." She had said, as she closed the door back, took off the chain, and reopened it again, now fully. Now as he thought about it, if she wouldn't have taken the chain off, maybe, just maybe, it would've all happened differently, and just maybe he would've never killed anyone.
After opening the door she invited him in, and as they sat down on the old soft brown couch, she started in on him.
"Have you been drinking? Your breath smells like a brewery." She asked after sitting down, as her long brown hair slightly swished in the circulating fanned air, and her green eyes peered deeply into his. Now as he thought back on it, he could picture clearly the full beauty that her womanhood had been as she sat there on the old soft brown couch with her legs crossed, wearing the blue jean shorts, that revealed her smooth freshly shaven legs, and the white t-shirt tied in such a way to reveal her belly button.
Thinking back now on how her fine body filled those clothes, and how erotic that vision of her in his head made him feel, only made him feel even more sorry, and more guilty over what he had done to her. Why couldn't he had seen it then like he sees it now? He guessed it was true what they said about hindsight always being 20/20, but at the time it happened he hadn't seen it at all.
He couldn't see it at the time because he was quite literally a run away semi-truck that just plowed through a stop sign. A beast deep inside of him was about to rip apart whatever flimsy cage it was in, and be released upon this poor unsuspecting woman.
"Yes... Yes, I have. I... I lost my job at the factory today." He said trembling slightly with anger at her as he said it. The monster inside of him began to rattle the cage. Sweat began to flow underneath his beige corduroy pants and fancy blue button up dress shirt. How dare her even question him about if he had been drinking. She drank to sometimes, and besides, what business was it of hers any ways? He thought to himself for the moment, but keeping his anger under control, even though the deadly fire of anger was already beginning to burn in his veins.
"I told you the way you were acting there that you were going to lose your job. I told you. Taking two hour lunches, going in late, and goofing off a lot. They were bound to fire you sooner or later. Now you come here, to me, drunk, probably thinking that I'm going to have sympathy for your sorry butt, but you know what? You'll find none here because you're a sorry excuse for a man. So just leave right now before I call the cops, and have you thrown out "
That was all it took. The bars holding the monster in broke apart. Suddenly, all of this rage had filled him and he reached out and grabbed her by her throat, choking her, and slamming her body into the nearest wall.
"Why can't I get any respect out of you?" He yelled as he let he go, and threw her to the floor hard.
The beautiful young lady had been stunned and couldn't believe what had just happened to her, as she laid on the floor gasping for air. He saw the white extension cord plugged up to the fan, and quickly pulled it apart. The beautiful young lady was now groggily trying to get up, as it slowly started to sink in for her what exactly was going on. Her hand was out reached trying desperately to grab the red phone on the coffee table beside the old soft brown couch, when he came up, and threw her to the floor again, this time pinning her down with his own body, as he began to hog tie her up, and as she tried futilely to fight it.
He then drug her into the kitchen, and pulled out the biggest knife he could find out of one of the kitchen drawers. He stood her up over the kitchen sink, her bare stomach pushed against the counter with her head looking at the faucet.
"You stupid whore, are you going to show me some respect ? " Jason had screamed at her, with the blade of the knife pressing forcefully against her throat.
"Fuck you You bastard " She screamed at him in an act of final defiance.
He slit her throat from ear to ear, and watched sadistically as the blood poured into the sink, and the signs of life left her eyes.
Suddenly, guilt and realization hit him, like a run away train smacking into a concrete wall at full speed, and he began to panic.
"My God What have I done? I'm going to get the chair for this No, calm yourself down. The police can't arrest you if no body is found."
Leaving the now lifeless body hunched over the sink, with the blood still trickling down the drain, he quickly searched the house for some way to hide the body, he found a big suitcase in the closet. Starting to sobber up now, an idea hit him, like electricity turning on a light bulb in his head, that if he cut up the body and placed it in the suitcase, each body part wrapped in a garbage bag to keep blood from leaking out of the suitcase, he could take the suitcase and hide it somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
Grabbing the suitcase, he went into the kitchen and opened it up on the floor. After a brief search in the cabinets he found where she kept the garbage bags. He laid them by the sink along with a hand saw, and began the difficult task of cutting her body up into parts, placing the parts into garbage bags, placing the garbage bags into the suitcase, and cleaning up all of the blood, and any signs of wrong doings.
After finishing, he closed up the suitcase and began to leave with it when he noticed her house key hanging on the wall. Locking the door behind him seemed like a good idea, so he grabbed them and the now very heavy suitcase, and locked the door behind him as he began to go down the stairway. Luckily, no one was around as he made his way to his car parked just outside, and threw the suitcase in his trunk.
Quickly glancing around to make sure no one saw him, he got into the car and drove out of town for about thirty miles. Finally, after going down some abandoned dirt roads, he found the perfect quiet location, and began to dig a deep hole with a spaded shovel he always carried in his trunk because he always used it whenever he got stuck in mud or snow, along with the couple of two by fours, and a bag of cat litter to get his vehicle free.
After two hours of digging, which gave him a lot of time to think, he was finally finished burying the suitcase, and came to the conclusion that it would get rid of all suspicion if Michelle had decided to just move away. Even if she had some close friends, which he was almost sure she didn't, they wouldn't get really suspicious if she just up and moved away. Her job at the hospital, as a receptionist, would just assume she had quit after she didn't show up for about a week.
They would probably mail her the final check that she had earned, where it would sit in her post office box until it got to full, and then her mail would be sent back to the senders after about a month. He wouldn't dare interfere with her mail because that would give a likely trail to him, and he didn't want to answer any government questions he couldn't possibly answer to their satisfaction.
Though he could pawn her expensive things, sell her car to a dealer, and give away her clothes to Goodwill. The next day he did just that. Before disconnecting the phones and answering machine he checked it for messages, which there were none to his relief. No one was around as he emptied out everything in her house in mid afternoon. They were probably all at work, totally unaware of the gruesome murder he had just committed the night before.
He had spent the entire morning gathering her clothes and taking them to Goodwill. Then he found all of her papers, and personal effects, which he trashed in a trash dumpster on the other side of town, but not before remembering her social security number to have all the utilities shutoff, which he did by calling them on a pay phone, and not revealing who he actually was. The afternoon was spent having some used furniture men come and pick up the furniture to sell to someone else. The rest of her stuff he sold to a pawn shop down the street from her apartment house. The car was the hardest thing of all to get rid of, but through some street work he found a chop shop, and sold it to them, so they could use it for the spare parts. He was sure they weren't working totally legal, but neither was he, and he needed to get rid of the evidence.
Even the money he got from all of this would have to disappear. He stuffed the money into an envelope, and mailed it anonymously to the first charity he could find. Lying there in his prison bed he couldn't even remember which charity it was, just that he got the address scribbled quickly onto the envelope, slapped three stamps onto it, and mailed it off without drawing to much attention to himself. Of course, there was no return address on it, that would have been very stupid on his part, and he definitely wasn't stupid.
After everything was gone, he went around to a couple of the neighbors and asked who the landlord was, telling them that he was going to marry Michelle, and that they were moving in together into his place. She, of course, conveniently was to busy right now visiting with her relatives, and preparing for the big wedding day. This was a cool cover story he thought because people would think she was all right, and later on if anyone came looking for her, he could say that she went back to Washington state to live with her relatives there. This is the story he used when he returned the keys to the apartment back to the landlord. Like he had figured no one had gotten suspicious of anything, and most of them even gave him their congratulations. He had pulled it off.
Or so he thought.
There was a week of feeling that he had gotten away with it before suddenly feeling like everything was beginning to fall apart around him. Apparently, a lady named Janet was close friends with Michelle, and had been on vacation for a week to go to her great grandmother's funeral and take care of some personal family affairs, which he suspected contained some time at a beach with her current tan looking fresh, and even peeling in some parts on the back of her shoulders.
At least, that's what she had told him when she suddenly appeared at his doorstep wearing a cheap pair of sunglasses, a pair of white ladies sandals, a pink flower designed sleeveless sun dress, and matching hat in which her long black shoulder length hair was pushed behind her ears and down her back, and she was asking him about Janet. Thinking that this could be trouble, but that keeping to the plan should work, he told her that Michelle had gotten mad at him and went back to Washington state to live with her uncles or something. She seemed to accept this, and apologized for bothering him. She left, but something in the look on her face told him that she didn't buy it and would be back to cause more trouble.
Sure enough she did come back to haunt him. A few days later he had gone to go get some groceries and when he returned home he found his place had been broken into and things all over the house had been moved around, as if someone had been looking for something, like clues as to where Michelle had went to. He knew right off it had been Janet, but the real proof was when he found strands of black hair, just like Janet's, on a nail in a pole to the stairs of the basement. She had bumped her head into it like he sometimes did when he went into the basement without remembering it was there. There was no evidence here he thought to himself, so he shouldn't have had to worry about her, but something deep inside told him different.
If she had stopped with that he would have left her alone, but she didn't. That's when she began to follow him around everywhere he went. Whenever he left his house, he would see her somewhere close by acting like she wasn't following him, but he knew she was. Something had to be done to stop her. Apparently, it had worked semi-well before, and hopefully it would work again, maybe even a lot better this time around. He knew he had to kill her, if for nothing else, but to keep his already fragile sanity.
On one of her attempts to follow him, he gave her the slip and followed her instead; straight to her own apartment. For two days straight he watched her apartment through the windows of a hotel room across the street. Maybe he had unnerved her or she felt that she would take a break from following him for awhile because she now hardly left her apartment. Through her own apartment windows he could tell she didn't have a boyfriend or husband, and from what he could tell no real close friends. Something about this plan bothered him, something just didn't feel right like he was missing an important fact that he should be made aware of, but he knew there was no other choice.
She would leave thirty minutes everyday at two-thirty in the afternoon to go to the post office and check her mail. The fire escape window was always open to let fresh air into her apartment in the hot summer afternoons. That's when he made his move on the third day. He made his way quickly to her apartment window and let himself in. Luckily, no one saw him from outside.
Once inside of the apartment he began looking around the house. He found an extension cord in a drawer in the kitchen, and a knife in the wood block on the counter, a big butcher's knife. This time though, instead of murdering the lady by the kitchen sink, it would be easier to kill her in the tub away from open windows. He quickly gathered a suitcase from her bedroom closet, garbage bags from her laundry room cabinets, and instead of a handsaw this time, the only thing he could find was a meat cleaver from the kitchen, which he hid under the sink in the bathroom. This lady likes to cook a lot. He remembered thinking briefly before he got into position to strike at her just when she would come in through the front door. He hid around the corner not far from the door and the bathroom, where he could get her quickly and drag her into the bathroom, without anyone happening to see him from outside through the windows.
He had also shut the windows, and hoped that the walls were thick enough to muffle any sounds if she happened to get a scream out. A nearby neighbor might come to her rescue, and that just wouldn't do at all. He hoped he could keep her from making any loud noises.
He remembered waiting ten minutes anxiously for her to return. The ten minutes seemed like an eternity. He remembered thinking that maybe she somehow knew he was here, and had gotten the police to get him. Several times he wiped sweat off of his hands on either his blue jeans or his old brown long sleeved work shirt. With the windows shut, it was getting to damn hot in the apartment, or was it his nerves? He didn't know, but she was taking to long. He began to panic, and that's about the time the door opened, and he was half ready to lunge and grab her, and half ready to go through the fire escape window and run from the cops. Noticing it was just her in her black jogging suit, he decided on choice number one.
She entered carrying her mail and closed the door behind her with her left white tennis shoe covered foot, as she began to look through her mail. She didn't realize anything was wrong until after he had lunged out and wrapped the cord around her neck. The mail flew out of her hands, and futilely she grabbed at the cord around her neck as he pulled her quickly into the bathroom.
Having control over her, though she valiantly tried to fight and struggle free, he threw her into the tub, and still choking her he slammed her head repeatedly into the side of the metal bath tub until she was knocked into unconsciousness.
After he had been sure she was out, he went under the sink to grab the knife, and then slit her throat's juggler vein wide open with one hand, and held onto her dark black hair lifting her head up with the other hand. As he cut, her body tried to fight it, but he managed to hold on, and watched sadistically, as blood ran from her open neck wound, and any signs of life left her body. He wondered to himself if he was beginning to enjoy this sick and twisted murder stuff a little bit to much. Maybe it was the thrill of getting away with it. Was this what serial killers enjoyed, and was he beginning to become like them? No, this was just something that had to be done in order to cover up an innocent mistake that he in his drunkenness had made. He didn't want to turn into a serial killer, but he didn't want to fry in the electric chair either.