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"The Good Nurse"

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Helene Caghlier had been 12 years old when she first dealt with mental illness.  No, not herself,  her uncle. Her uncle that her family never spoke of because he was a stain on their name. Her father's brother or well half brother, she remembered her grandmother sneering under her breath. Before her grandparents had married, her grandfather had an affair. The woman or the whore as her grandmother called her, was the mother of her uncle. Ralph, that was his name Ralph Caghlier. She had been a lower-class woman who had given birth to her Uncle Ralph. Even worse than that, in her grandmother’s opinion, she had been a divorcee. That was something that her grandmother looked down upon almost as much as adultery. Her grandmother was the religious backbone of the family. Something Helene remembered all too well...

The woman in question, that was all Helene knew her by, was The Woman, she never knew her name never even saw a picture. Even worse than that, in her grandmother's opinion, she had been a divorcee. That was something that her grandmother looked down upon almost as much as adultery. Her grandmother was the religious backbone of the family. Something Helene remembered all too well.

The woman in question that was all Helene knew her by, was The Woman, she never knew her name never even saw a picture. But she did hear stories about the woman. She overheard her grandmother scolding her husband like he was a child one night while she visited. He had fucked the woman in the Church Choir balcony. If there was one thing her grandmother despised more than adultery was the corruption that had taken over her church. Her husband had ruined the sanctity of the church with the vile act he had done. 

Helene remembered the screaming quite well. Her grandmother sounded like a woman possessed by some horrid demon. The tone she had in her voice was high pitched and yet also deep and poisonous. She grabbed the crucifix off the wall and began to beat her husband with it. As this was happening, she heard bible verses spewing from the older woman's mouth. Helene watched her grandmother become so unhinged it frightened her. She continued to beat her grandfather with that large crucifix. The continuous rise and fall of the cross followed by a sickening thud ever time it hit flesh. The dense wood split his head open, and blood began to smear all over the walls and ceilings. 

The sound fell into a constant pattern. Whack...splatter...whack...splatter. Helene remembered the blood flying so far as to hit her in the face as she sat on the steps. Her heart had all but jumped into her throat at the warm sticky feeling. It seeped into her eye as the drops dripped down her face. Helene then saw the gleam of silver as the model of Jesus was ripped off the cross. The reflecting light trailed along Helene's face before falling as the idol plunged into her grandfather's eye. 

Helene could not understand what happened to her grandmother that night. Well, at age 12, she did not understand. However, the more Helene studied psychology, the more her understanding grew. Yet, she still could not erase the memory of that night. Sitting there as she watched the gleaming light reflecting off that little silver Jesus as he went feet first into the eye and penetrating it. Then through the eye socket and possibly into his brain. How blasphemous must that have been? To use Jesus to kill a man. Or, was it seen as destroying the wicked sinner? The one thing Helene did not understand as an adult was religion. And how it made people do such unspeakable things all in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, etc. Could you kill someone and be absolved of this horrific deed? No, no, you could not. A killer is a killer, and what she saw that night was a killer taking control of her grandmother. 

The more dead bodies Helene saw throughout Mount Massive, the more she remembered that night. The little Jesus with his arms outstretched and his head bowed almost in sadness at what had transpired. Would Jesus be weeping now? Could he even see what was happening in this place? Helene thought back to the man wandering about his padded cell muttering the lord's prayer. Would Jesus save him, or would that man be allowed to suffer? 

Helene was pulled from her thoughts as they entered through the cafeteria. Probably the staff cafeteria seeing as how there was none for the patients. Yet, the first thing Helene sees are entrails spread about on the counter and the wall splattered with blood. She could see intestines splayed out among the other bits. Her hands curled into tight fists as she tried to regain her composure. Helene had seen many things in her years as a Psychiatric nurse, but even then, some things can still make one's stomach queasy. 

"Jesus..." Waylan said under his breath as he caught sight of the carnage. Only for both their heads to turn towards the self-made barricade of shelves. Their eyes wide as obscene sounds came to their ears. Grunting, panting, and growling. Through the food racks that made up the barricade, they could see what looked like a half-naked man. He was making such sounds, moaning sounds. Waylan could make out another figure lying on the counter and blood. But that was all they could see through the stacked racks. Oh god, those sounds, the sounds that reminded Helene of "Multiple Miggs" just as he threw his cum filled hand at Clarice. 

That had always been her favorite book.

They heard a voice in a hushed whisper saying, "Careful." Careful of what? Helene couldn't help but think as Waylan made his way through the walk-in freezer. Once more to their horror, three bodies were hanging by their feet, hanging like animals or sides of beef waiting to be consumed by those who were hungry. 

The bodies were all male. Average build yet strong. How could all three of them have been taken out so quickly?  The body closest to the exit had blood splattered on his abdomen. His shirt stained with it. There was a nearly frozen pool of blood beneath him. A single solitary droplet sat frozen in time on the tip of his finger. 

Coming around the corner, Waylan was the first out of the freezer; however, he stopped, so suddenly, Helene slammed into his back. Waylan stood utterly frozen to the point Helene had to look around his shoulder. There next to a stained blood wall was a stove. The metallic chrome barely showed in the low light mixed with the deep color of the blood. It looked as if a full-on slaughter happened. Even worse than that, on one of the burners was a large pot. Sticking out of the boiling water was a hand. The smell alone was stomach-churning—the scent of the blood mixing with boiling flesh. Helene heard Waylan gag, but he did not vomit.  "Come on," Helene said softly to him as she gently pushed him towards the end of the small kitchen. The one door leading to the food servicing area was locked. The only door that was not was the door leading to the dining area of the cafeteria. The sounds were growing louder again. Aggressive now in their tone. 

Waylan was shaking as he progressed further into the room. Bodies were sitting at the tables, some with their heads bashed. The serving area had one of the windows broken. Helene looked over Waylan's shoulder and saw the half-naked man standing there. Slowly and quietly, they maneuvered through the tables to try and get a better look. The body on the counter had his head in a microwave. It looked as though the man's head had broken through the plastic window of the microwave. 

Helene's eyes widened as she saw the body's abdomen splayed open. The half-naked man had a circular saw in his hand that he revved up every few seconds. Yet as they drew closer, the head that had been inside the microwave exploded. Helene gasped as the blood sprayed on her face. Her hands started to shake as she remembered that night when she was 12 years old. A brief reflection of light off the saw, just the way the light had reflected off that little Jesus idol, Helene's hands were now shaking. The blood was slowly dripping from her face. A few drops were leaking into her eye and between her pressed lips.

"Don't you look at us. I love him," the man stated aggressively at them as he waved the saw in their direction. Love him? LOVE HIM? What was his definition of love? Helene's rationally trained mind could not focus. What focus? Why would he say he loved him and was doing this? 

Then, the man's hand disappeared into the torn-up abdomen. Blood sprayed about as his hand wriggled inside. Then with a hard yank of his arm, he pulled out the heart. It was no longer beating, thank god for that, but the blood still leaked from his hand like rain.  Helene's own heart raced as she saw the man's mouth open. His jaw was seeming to unhinge like a snake as he swallowed the heart whole. Did he not chew? How did he not choke on the thickly muscled organ? With a loud moan like growl, the man began to ravage the abdomen of the body—Chomping and ripping at the flesh like a lion eating its kill. But the sounds, those sounds...he seemed to be gaining a sexual pleasure the more he ate from the body. 

Oh, what fresh hell was this?