Falling For Evil

Part one

What must it feel like to be a psychopath? to become trapped in an ever escalating uncontrollable downward spiral of violence, to be psychopathologically compelled to inflict untold pain, torture and immeasurable suffering on the innocent, the easiest of prey. Unlike the majority of us, where there should be a conscience, inside the heads of a psychopath there is nothing but a void, a sinister black hole.   

 Serial murderers are the polar opposite to the virtuous and the honourable, for they are cowardly, weak-willed, ruinous, maleficent, lacking any moral compass, sexually discontent, subconsciously full of a twisted desire for revenge for the self-perceived injustices and sorrows that society as a whole has, they feel, heaped upon them. 

   Worse, many of these mentally distorted monsters are possessed of predetermined schemes and black plans to kill again and again. In my view, they are way beyond evil, yet they fascinate so many of us at the same time. 

  Like me, I do this because I'm fascinated by them. My name is Adam Williams, a psychotherapist who tries to treat criminals' mental states with medicine and talk therapy. I try to get into their minds and find out why and what makes them tick and treat as necessary. To even try to understand or even begin to attempt to study, communicate, interview or interrogate homicidal psychopaths, you have to think like them so that they can identify with you. It is of little use sitting at the edge of the abyss and peering over, one has to take the plunge to become one with their warped mindset, then they identify with you, and you ‘get it with them, but it is no bed of roses, for theirs is a sickening, stinking, infernal underworld, the dreaded place of the dead. 

   When you are talking to these vicious criminals, they will often study you through unblinking eyes. They sniff the air, your smell, fear and weaknesses. Sometimes I have felt their evil tentacles of thought squirming their way into my head. It’s as if they are lizard-like, tasting you, and if you upset them, more often than not their hatred for all that you stand for comes radiating towards you as hot as a kitchen stove. If you get it wrong, if you push the wrong buttons, these killers can lose the plot. They could rip your head off. 

   When dealing up close and very personal with these highly unpredictable people your own death could be only a heartbeat away. Often has been the case when I am alone in a small locked room with these unshackled killers, if they’d erupted I could have been killed before the guards could even have unlocked the door to get me out. And for them there are some kudos to gain from ‘taking you out’ well, it won’t affect their prison sentence or death-row status at all, will it? Therefore, it really boils down to the instinctive matter of psychological checks and balances. While they are weighing you up and down, you are measuring them too, and, as each killer is so psychopathologically different, the gameplay or mutual interactions are equally diverse every time. 

   Many of the killers I have talked with boast, gloat, smirk, giggle and laugh as they go into minute detail about their crimes. They revel in their notoriety. Bathe in it. Other serial murderers glare, snarl and give one the eyeball as if to say, (Don’t you fuck about with me.) This is a close-up and personal time with the psychopath trying to exert control. Intimidate, threaten and bully. None of this has ever fazed me because, you see, deep down they are weak, pathetic, little people and cowards at heart. The trick is to just look back with a blank expression and say, "So what?" while thinking What an asshole. After a short while they get it. Period! They realise that all they say and do during the session doesn’t impress one jot. They imagine they have control while the fact remains that you do. They are staying behind bars while you can breeze out any time you wish. They are eating crap prison food while you are off to a restaurant for a fine meal and cold beer. Their next holiday will be yard time for an hour while you are off to sugar-sand beaches, clear azure seas and swaying palms. Fiji, actually. That's my next vacation. But I didn't realise that in all this time conversing with criminals or the other kinds of people (Ones who need to talk about how miserable their days are) that I would come across someone so fascinating I'm looking forward to our next meeting. 

    "The stress is in my head, so I know where the FUCKING STRESS is. The fucking gnawing in there. The doctor says there’s nothing fucking wrong with my head. FUCKING QUACK CUNT!" I don't know what it was about him that had me so enthralled. I should be able to figure this shit out, but for the life of me I can't. Instead I'm grinding my teeth waiting for him to make that next appointment. I'm masturbating to the fact that he will and that he will grace me with his beautiful mind and even more beautiful face. Maybe deep down I'm not that much different, I'd like to think I'm not, but yet I sit and wait for his call.