Back Door

Back Door

By Mordecai J Banda



His countenance was like the rest of them all: Smug, unremorseful, completely at peace. He implied what most convicted serial killers implied: My intellect is fine by me, and I have nothing to regret.

In truth, it was the system that he found comfort in.

The man knew the beautiful massive books of the justice system would save him in the end. Sure, he’d be locked away forever, but he would be alive and well, and hopefully paroled at an old age. The killer smirked; maybe if he had any sense remaining he would find a final victim.

The court was somber, and the lawyers hammered at each other. Each simply wanted to win the case. The case was tried, and due to the slightly circumstantial evidence. He would serve a hundred years, a lifetime indeed, but the killer almost smiled at the mention of possible parole after sixty years of serving the term. Of course, on condition that he behaved.

The families were slightly satisfied, others obviously wanted to see his head roll, but Mr. Morris had been tried by the justice system, and he had nothing else to answer to. The five dead children rotting in various dump sites would never be found, and the killer would never share the deepest darkest intimacies he shared with each of the children.

He rose in his shackles, and was led away by two bailiffs. He looked at the floor, keeping his face blank. It was either that or the smile that he struggled to keep under check. He could feel the eyes of everyone following him, and the cameras as well. He made a motion as if to wipe something from his mouth, and flashed a quick small smile. He controlled his facial muscles and went on.

He loved this world.

He was out of the courtroom.

“I sure hope they have books in prison…” He commented lightly.

The bailiffs remained silent, ignoring him.

“I wonder if they have the bible…”

Suddenly there was a pain in his wrist; he was being forced another direction all of the sudden,

“Hey, watch it...” Mr. Morris scrunched his face in annoyance, the two men pushed him against the wall, and for a moment Mr. Morris was afraid,

“Wow, wow, no touching. I’m not sure your friends wouldn’t like that.”

Mr. Morris looked along the corridor and noticed the lighted walkway was devoid of any people. One of the men tapped on the wall, and almost immediately a slot slid open to reveal a doorway. Someone stepped out in the same orange prison garb as Mr. Morris. This man also happened to have the same stout body frame, and when he glanced at the two bailiffs, nodding slightly, Mr. Morris’s eyes widened, because this man was him. He looked exactly like Mr. Morris.

“What in the world’s going on here?” Mr. Morris tried to sound annoyed.

The three men remained silent. The bailiff shoved Mr. Morris into the doorway,

“Hey… Help- Mmmph.” Mr. Morris’s scream was stifled by a white cloth, and hands handled him as he slipped out of consciousness.

Mr. Morris woke up in pain. He opened his eyes and breathed harshly as he felt his shoulders, back and thighs ache. He realized that he was being hung suspended in the air by crude chains pulling against him. Someone was removing a metallic thing from his suddenly shaven scalp. And he cried out as something cold was pulled out of his spine. In his spread-eagled position he could only stare up at a glaring lamp.

“Sir, memory retrieval complete, we have his Modus Operande.” A young voice conferred.

“Who the hell are you? Let me go!”

“Brief him, and then begin. Give him Level Four treatment.” An almost bored voice said.

What the hell? Mr. Morris struggled to look around, but all he could do was look at the damned lamp.

“… sir?”

“Do it. One of the children he killed was a son of a friend. I owe him.”\

“Fine, I’ll brief him.”

“Mr. Morris, as you know, you murdered five children with extensive toture, and seeing that the justice system has practically let you walk, you’ve gained the attention of Back Door Justice.”

The man suddenly stabbed something into Mr. Morris’s spine. Mr Morris Screamed.

“We’ll proceed to inflict four times the pain you caused the children, non-stop in the period of one week. Then we shall execute you by physical asphyxiation…”

A face suddenly loomed over Mr. Morris.

“Hello.”

It was the parent of one of the kids he had killed, Mr. Morris knew her face well.

She smiled through tired red eyes, “I’ll hold your nose and mouth, and watch you struggle….” She promised.

“Okay, we shall begin.” The young voice announced.

And then there was pain. With the first hit of it, Mr. Morris’s bowels released, and he wet his pants.

And that was just the first ten seconds. Out of Six-hundred thousand four-thousand eight hundred.