Post by Deleted on Feb 3, 2017 0:48:12 GMT -5
The Truth
Galveston Police Department
Interview #3, February 2nd, 1990
[Playback]
“Now Leonard, I just want you to repeat what you told me a few minutes ago, ok? I know it’s not easy, but you’re safe now. I promise I’ll protect you. I just need you to tell me again, what happened. Then we can make sure Jerold pays for what he did, ok?”
Leo spoke softly, “Otis.”
“Hmm?” The investigator asked.
“He called himself Otis.”
“Yes, Otis. His real name is Jerold Winters. He’s the man who kidnapped you.”
“He took my mother away from me.”
“I'm sorry, Leonard, the only way we’re going to be able to ensure the man who took you from your mom pays for what he’s done, is if you tell me now what you told me earlier. We need a record, ok?”
The sound of Leo’s cries can be heard followed by sniffling.
“I’m so sorry Leonard, please, ensure we can put him away for the rest of his life. Tell me again what you told me earlier. Just like we talked about and he’ll never see the light of day again.”
“Otis kidnapped me from in front of the mall. My mom was shopping. He told me she was dead,” he pauses as he cries.
“Try to continue, Leonard.”
“He locked me in the basement of his house. Kept me there for, I don’t know. A while.”
“Seven years,” The investigator added.
He sniffled, “Yeah, seven years. While he had me there he made me do things.”
“What kind of things, Leonard?”
Silence.
“It’s ok Leonard. You’re safe now. We need to know so we can put him away. I’m not going to let him hurt you again. What kind of things did he make you do?”
“Sexual...things. He forced me. He hurt me. Hurt me a lot. I bled.”
“What did he say when you asked to leave?”
“He said that...That people would know.”
“Know what?”
“What he did to me. Said they’d call me a...faggot.”
“Because he raped you.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for being so honest, Leonard.”
[End Playback]
Present
Indianapolis, Indiana
Stoker and Alexxa sit alone together at White River State park in Indianapolis. They’re far removed from the noise of the city, but are still caught in the glow of the street lights. It’s just cold enough to give Alexxa a shiver, but Stoker seems unfazed. He’s looking out at the skyline before them and lets out a chuckle as he shows his teeth.
“We draw closer to this contest,” he chuckles, “Closer to what I’m sure will be Dom DiBona’s defining moment.”
“His? Why?” Alexxa asks.
“This strange necessity ‘heroes’ like him seem to keep. They need ‘defining moments’ and ‘glory’ like you and I need oxygen.”
“You must cause him chaos. Pain. Suffering. He must be taught what it feels like to be at the mercy of...someone…” Alexxa looks down at her knees.
“Someone without mercy?” Stoker asks, “He will be, I promise.”
“Maybe then he’ll learn. It’s up to you to teach him,” Alexxa says in a hushed tone.
Stoker lets out a booming laugh, “I’ll only help him gain a better understanding of his own limitations.”
Stoker stands up and shakes his head, looking at the city lights. Alexxa stands up behind him and walks to him, nearly close enough to rest her cheek against his shoulder. She wants to be close to him.
“What the fuck more does this world want from me, huh?”
“You’re important. You’re a survivor. You inspire those who have been through hell, because you lived to tell the tale,” she whispers.
He lets out another booming throaty laugh, “You’re the only one who sees that,” he turns to her and uncharacteristically looks into her eyes, “Why are you still here? What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. You’ve already given me so much,” she says.
“I gave you a beating. That’s all I remember giving you.”
They stare into each other’s eyes. The stare is unwavering.
“When I was very young, something happened to me. Some boys. They...took advantage of me. I was dumb. I was this dumb girl who walked into the situation. For the longest time, I blamed myself. I thought I deserved it. That I had it coming.”
A tear wells in Alexxa’s eye.
She continues, “But then I learned about this boy. This boy who survived years of torture. Years of molestation.”
Stoker’s eyes don’t move. He might as well not even blink. He glares at her as if he’s seeing more than just her eyes.
The tear rolls down Alexxa’s cheek, “He survived it and he moved on. His story inspired me. His name was Leonard Stoker…”
Stoker swallows hard.
“It was you. You saved me. You’re my wolf. My protector. I’d do anything for you.”
Stoker remains silent as Alexxa wraps her arms around his waist and leans into him. He finally wrapping his arms around her, holding her.
“I never want to hear that name again. You understand?”
“I love you,” she whispers.
He cringes and lets out a weak chuckle, “No you don’t.”
She pulls away and looks into his eyes, “Yes. Yes I do. I love you because you know the same suffering I do. You know.”
Before she can continue, Stoker pulls her to his chest again and holds her close and tight.
“Enough,” he growls, “We can’t have this right now. There’s work yet to be done.”
He imagined he could let her in, but knew he never would.
To be continued...
Present
Location Unknown
Your eyes open to see brown burlap illuminated by a shaky light. Suddenly the burlap is ripped away to expose Stoker looking on with a light over his shoulder. You look down and find your hands tied down to the arms of a chair and as you look back up it’s quickly clear that you’re at Stoker’s mercy.
Stoker smiles, “Welcome home, boy. It’s been a while. Your mama told me you were running around in your cape again pretending to be Superman. Ain’t that a thing?”
You try to look for an exit but can’t see anything in the darkness beyond the light. Stoker smacks you in the face to gain your attention.
“Don’t you think it’s time to get angry and start fighting back, boy? Don’t you think it’s time for you to stand up and quit living your life through ‘all things’ make believe? Don’t you think it’s time to start taking things seriously? Hmmm? I’m going to help you, right now.”
Stoker reaches behind him and swings hard, striking you right in the cheek. The impact turns everything bright white for a moment as you absorb the impact. You feel pain wash over you.
“You had to go and prove me right, didn’t you? You couldn’t amaze me and prove that there was still good in this world, could you? Suddenly you’re using foul language and you’re talking about how much you hate me, aren’t you? Haha. Good. Hate me. I don’t care. It doesn’t fucking matter, insect.”
He smiles wide, showing his fangs.
“You can swear up and down that “the man you’ll see in Indianapolis isn’t you” but you don’t have anyone fooled. You are this rotten-to-the-core selfish little bastard with daddy issues and nothing will ever change that,” Stoker grabs you by the hair and tugs your head back and gets right in your face, you can smell the stench of his breath, “I just want you to remember that I don’t hate you. I don’t love you. I don’t give a fuck about you. You’re a broke dick dog who needs put out of his misery. That’s all you are.”
He shoves your head back and strains your neck before driving a backhand right into your cheek. You feel his knuckles immediately raise welts on your face.
Stoker turns around and puts his hands to his knees as he lets out a soft chuckle. He turns back to face you, pushing a few wild strands of hair out of his face.
“To think you’d accuse me of trying to project my fears and insecurities upon you. Where’d you pick that up? Psychology for dummies? You are completely unaware of the fact that as you’re sitting there telling me how much you hate me, you’re proving my point? Is it lost on you that every time a cuss word passes through your lips and you consider vengeance and violence, that you’re my puppet singing and dancing?”
Stoker approaches you and pokes your forehead and repeats poking until you feel his finger nail breaking the skin.
“You don’t see that, you blind fuck?!” You feel his spit hit your face as he yells.
He reels his head back for another laugh and then slowly lowers his head until his eyes are locked with yours.
“Oh but then you bring God into this, don’t you? You think that a cross is going to make me weep? Have you read the bible? Tell me. I want to know. Why? I have. There were times, well, I needed that book to keep me sane. There were times when that book? That book was all I had. See, you have me confused with someone else. You see what I look like and how I carry myself and you assume I’m the Devil? Well let me tell you boy, I’m not the Devil, for you? I’m God’s Wrath. Ever read the old testament? I doubt it. It...was...about...me!”
Again, Stoker spits in your face.
“You know what really pisses me off about people like you? I’ll tell you. People like you, you only bring up the Lord and the Bible when it’s convenient for you. You use God. You use the Bible. You’re not better than that fucker Donald Trump pretending to be a Christian because it suits his needs. You don’t really believe it, but you know you need it to project that you’re not just another rotten pile of excrement. Further proof that I was right about you all along.”
Again he laughs and drives a left hook into the other side of your face. This time as your head rocks to the side, you see a tooth clear your mouth.
“Now, you brought up something interesting. Edgar Allan Poe. You used his name as a weak insult, but I found it entertaining. You see, he wrote a story called the Telltale Heart. It’s about you.”
Again he laughs, heavy throaty laughs.
“You, the narrator, you claim you’re sane, but you’re suffering. The old man you live with has an eye that frightens you. You’re plotting the murder of this old man, all the while, claiming you’re sane. For seven nights you open the door and shine light on the man’s eye, but it’s always closed on the eighth night, you wake the old man. You hear the old man’s heart beating and it causes you to strike, You kill the old man.”
Stoker drives an elbow into your jaw, knocking another tooth free.
“After dismembering the body and hiding it beneath the floorboards, you’re confronted by the police alerted by a neighbor. The police walk through the house and into the old man’s bedroom. You, feeling your own guilt taking control, grow convinced that you can hear the old man’s heart beating from beneath the floorboards. Yes. You grow so nervous and maddened by the sound of a heart beat that simply isn’t there that you have a break down and confess.”
He chuckles.
“Why is this relevant for you? Because no matter what you think, no matter what you say, you will eventually break down and you will be forced to admit that Dom DiBona is just another two faced heathen.”
He grabs you by the ears and now he’s right in front of you--face to face.
“So...Don’t you think it’s time to start taking things seriously?!”
He headbutts you, knocking you out.
End.