Dr. Larry Nassar: His Medical License Was Suspended, But His Prison Sentence Was Not

 

Ophelia Cornell: Legendary Serial Killer from "Dungeon of Love"

 

Christopher Charlton, Paiten's Psych Ward Neighbor from "My Favorite Magazine"

 

Air Pain

Six hours of nonstop ass torture was in store for everyone aboard the airline flight to Paulson City. Knees cracked as passengers stood up to use the bathroom. Spinal bones shifted every which way. Neck and hip pain flared out of control. Getting even a few seconds of sleep in the upright position would have been a bigger miracle than turning water into wine. Yet even in shackles and a scratchy orange jumpsuit, Zack Scott managed to drift away with the snoring power of a small kitten. He even had shaggy hair like a small animal, but was nowhere near as cute and cuddly.

For the first time in ten years, Zack could taste the heavenly flavor of chocolate covered waffles covered in maple syrup and mile high whipped cream. A far cry from the worm-infested “meals” at his old prison, Zack mauled that plate of waffles like a grizzly bear and demanded seconds like a king sitting on his throne. And he got his seconds…and thirds…and fourths…and fifths…and…

“I want some fucking beer!” shouted a grating voice that jolted Zack Scott awake. The sudden transition between divine sleep and cold reality caused him to smack his head against his seat cushion. He’d rub his head in agony, but his wrists were chained to the seat, so all he could do to voice his displeasure was let out a minor groan.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gilbertson,” said the blond haired flight attendant. “You’ve had enough alcohol for this trip, so I can’t serve you more.”

“This is bullshit!” blared the suit-and-tie wearing drunk. “I paid good money for this flight and I deserve some fucking booze! I had a bad week of doing something called hard work! Now give me that beer before I rip it out of your fucking hands!”

“Hey, retard!” blasted Zack from the back of the airplane. “Shut your pie hole and let the rest of us get some goddamn sleep!”

“It’s a free country!” yelled Gilbertson. “I worked all week so that welfare kings like you could just sit on your fucking couch watching Netflix! All I want is a goddamn beer! Is that too much to ask or do you want any more of my hard-earned paycheck?!”

“Settle down, Mr. Scott,” said Detective Tony Battles, Zack’s trench coat-wearing handler. “Let the Air Marshal take care of this piece of shit. You just concentrate on getting some shut-eye. We’re not going to be in Paulson City for another five hours.”

Even with the drunken idiot and the flight attendant bantering loudly in the background, Zack and Tony still managed to carry on a hushed conversation between the two of them. Zack said, “How do you expect me to get any sleep around here if this horse’s ass just keeps going on like this? The Air Marshal is fucking worthless!”

“Welcome to the world of air travel, buddy,” said Tony as he patted Zack on the shoulder. “I know you’ve been locked up for a good decade or so, but things have changed around here, in case that security checkpoint bullshit wasn’t enough of an indication.”

“Just let me out of these shackles for five minutes,” begged Zack. “Hell, I could probably bring that loser down in less time than that.”

“I know you can, Zack,” said Tony. “Why do you think you’re in shackles to begin with? You beat the shit out of someone because he cut you off in traffic. His face was pretty much nonexistent at that point. You really think I’m going to just let you out of your shackles like that? Don’t be a dumb ass.”

A hard thwack echoed throughout the airplane and everybody’s wide eyes zeroed in on the downed flight attendant holding her bright pink cheek while the man known as Gilbertson cussed her out in a cacophony of slurred vocabulary.

“You stay put, buddy,” said Tony as he patted Zack on the shoulder and left his seat to confront the drunken passenger.

“Like I have a choice, huh?” smart-mouthed Zack, who struggled in his shackles despite the tightness cutting into his limbs. He was too laser-focused on this task to pay any mind to the struggle going on between Detective Battles and the drunken moron. The strikes, gasps, and wrestling in the background was all just noise to Zack Scott.

Somewhere in his soul, he knew he would screw up his plea deal by breaking free from Tony’s grasp. He knew that the only way he could taste those chocolate waffles again (aside from in his dreams) was to be on his best behavior and let the law take over. His starving taste buds didn’t take nearly as much damage as his pulsating eardrums, however. Every growl and slurred word from the drunken passenger caused Zack’s mind to explode with madness. This was worse than being in solitary confinement. It was worse than getting his ass kicked by the CO’s and prisoners. Freedom was so close, yet so far away, dangling over him like a juicy steak in front of a hungry pit bull.

Gilbertson’s rage fueled Zack’s intense struggle to the point where the prisoner accidentally elbowed Tony’s magazine off of his seat and revealed a shackle key underneath. The convict’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. Now his mind really was fucking with him. Was this a loud and obnoxious airplane ride or a stint in the hole? He reached at the key while the shackles cut into his wrists deeply enough to draw blood. The slick fluid gave Zack a few more inches toward the key. And a few more. And a few more. He got it!

Zack wasted little time in unlocking his shackles. With one hand, he eased the key into the lock and twisted hard enough to draw more blood. One more twist and his left arm was free. The rest was just child’s play at this point. He twisted the key so hard in each lock that he was almost in danger of breaking it off. His final restraint was the one binding his right ankle to the seat. He twisted again and this time the key snapped in two.

“Damn it!” Zack shouted. “God fucking damn it!” His thunderous voice had usurped Gilbertson’s and the fearful passengers as being the loudest. The prisoner kicked and stomped within the confines of his singular shackle until it broke off and he was finally free. He wasn’t thinking about delicious breakfast items this time. He had a mindful of insane voices shouting death threats in his ear. His vision was dark red. The blood on his wrist didn’t distract him in the least. His teeth gritted so tightly that he could have chewed through the shackles if he wanted to. This wasn’t a bloodthirsty felon. This was a starved lion with teeth the size of tusks.

Zack jumped out of his seat and shoved various passengers out of the way on his path of destruction towards Gilbertson, who was shoving away flight attendants and passengers himself while laying a thudding beat down on Tony Battles’ face. Tony could just lay there and die for all Zack cared. Then again, so could Gilbertson. The drunkard turned around long enough to see Zack Scott in his prison suit and Charles Manson mug flying through the air with his elbow raised. Once the prisoner landed, he brought the elbow down across Gilbertson’s terrified face, shattering his nose, breaking off a few teeth, and popping one eyeball out of the socket. Blood and bones spilled all over the airplane floor.

The passengers and flight attendants backed away in horror while Zack Scott stood over Gilbertson’s prone body with bloodlust on his face and a hard-on underneath his suit. Tony wiped the blood out of his own eyes and gazed up at his prisoner in horror. The convict smiled upon his handler and shrugged while saying, “I guess that means the end of my plea deal.”

Tony shook his jowls before nipping up to his feet and grabbing Zack by the jumpsuit. The raging force of the detective was enough to pin the still smiling Zack against the bathroom door. “You’re damn right it’s the end of the plea deal, you sick fuck!” Detective Battles shouted. “I’ve got a new deal for you, pal! You’re going to do the hardest fucking time this planet has to offer! It’ll make Guantanamo Bay look like a massage parlor!”

Zack’s arrogant expression refused to change while the passengers and flight attendants watched the scene unfold with pants-wetting horror. Tony leaned in close to the convict’s ears and whispered as smooth and sensually as a rapist cell mate. “Do me a favor, sweetheart. Don’t tell anybody that I left the key there on purpose. Otherwise, the new plea deal will fall through and you really will do hard time.”

Zack whispered right back at Tony, “Don’t worry, honey-bunny. Your secret’s safe with me. Should I lick the back of your ear to make this even more romantic?”

Tony’s eyes shot up while he surveyed the zombie-like expressions of everyone around him. “What are you all looking at?!” he belted. “Get back to your seats! This is personal business!” Get back to their seats they did, including Zack, sans shackles. He overheard the detective getting statements from several people, including the slapped flight attendant (Susan Martin) and the Mr. Happy Hour himself, Andrew Gilbertson. Those two names would appear in the Sunday morning paper. Tony Battles would be a popular name in that article too. What about Zack Scott, though? Could he in all good conscience put himself in a news story and jeopardize his new plea deal? Eh, fame and fortune were overrated. Chocolate-covered waffles, on the other hand, didn’t get enough credit.

Having a Cold One

Whoever built a funeral home at the end of this abandoned highway was creepy, low, and rotten…and an imaginative guy. Casey Carter had a phantasmal grin on his face as he drove through here in his hearse with a dead body in the back. Some of his teeth resembled wolf fangs, others were golden or diamond-encrusted. His gray puffy horseshoe hair looked like a tumbleweed ready to blow down the highway as Casey drove with the windows rolled down. The smell of death was in the air that night, and that was just the mortician’s bloody lab coat and latex gloves. Heart-racing organ music played on his stereo and that gave Casey an even bigger grin, reminiscent of a wild animal ready to devour an injured rabbit.

It seemed as though it would take some serious plastic surgery to remove Casey’s grin, but all it took was a hard bump over a pothole and the deflation of his front passenger’s tire. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled demonically as he pulled over to the side of the empty highway. Once the hearse was stopped, he pounded on the steering wheel like he was in a championship boxing match. With hands as meaty and calloused as his, it seemed like an apt description. The undertaker let out a monstrous growl before throwing open the door and stomping towards the back to get the spare tire.

Corpulent Casey Carter fumbled with his keys so much that it looked like he was playing pocket pool. Maybe he was. He unlocked the back door and instead of reaching for the jack and the spare tire, his hideous smile returned as he gazed lovingly at the casket he was supposed to deliver. “Oh dear Beatrice, you are so radiant and beautiful even in death. You’re just like a ray of golden sunshine!” he whispered.

Speaking of radiant lights, a bright one shone from behind Casey while a gruff voice yelled, “You there! Put your hands up! Turn around slowly! That cutie girl is mine!” The undertaker did as he was told, but not without losing his jack-o-lantern smile, which complimented his bushy black and white eyebrows perfectly. His eyes widened with delight as he recognized the man who was holding him up.

With little more than a candle-lit pumpkin-themed lantern to reveal his features, the gray prison jumpsuit, slashed up face, and greasy brown hair gave away the profile of escaped convict Jay David, who licked his lips as if he just ate a bucket of fried chicken, all while gazing lovingly at the casket. With a prison guard’s pistol trained on Casey, Jay said, “Step aside, sweetie pie. That bitch is mine for the taking. I’m having a cold one tonight, motherfucker!”

Casey laughed like a demonic hyena and said, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds, Mr. David!” The prisoner’s demented slasher face turned into one of disgust. “Well, what are you waiting for? You clearly came here look for some fun. How many years have you been locked up? It must be so lonely in solitary confinement. Yes, you’re a popular guy on the evening news, but not so popular with the ladies. Well, the live ones, anyways.”

Jay laughed right back at him and said, “You’re a sick son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. If you weren’t taunting me right now, I’d probably have a beer with you. I’d probably crack the bottle of your head and throw you under the bus, but I’d still have a nice cold beer with you.”

“Now why would you do that to your best friend, Mr. David? Prisoners don’t like being around snitches like you. If you wanted to ‘have a cold one’ so badly, why don’t you just go back to jail?” chuckled Casey.

Jay squeezed the trigger and blew off a chunk of Casey’s hair, causing the mortician to drop to his knees and let out a few sarcastically frightened coos while holding his cheeks. Those coos turned to laughter and “Woo-hoo’s” as he slowly returned to his feet. He looked his adversary in his confused eyes and said, “Let me guess: you don’t miss twice?”

The convict rushed up to Casey and pressed the gun up to the old man’s scraggly chin. He said with clenched teeth and an itchy trigger finger, “Don’t you fuck with me, you goddamn nut job! You want to live to see another day? Huh?! Step aside, shut your mouth, and let me have the bitch in the box!”

Even at the threat of getting his head blown off, Casey chuckled, slowly stepped back, and said, “Okay, sweetheart, you win. The bitch in the box is all yours. But you have to promise you’ll let me watch. I love to watch!” The oratory ended with Casey blowing a wet kiss at his captor.

Jay squeezed off another shot and this time hit Casey in the arm, causing the old fart to double over and emit a blood-curdling scream as he kept his coat sleeve over his wound to stop the bleeding. The scream continued in the form of babyish crying, even going so far as to suck his thumb and call for his mommy.

“Yeah, and I’m the one with mental problems. Give me a break,” said Jay while shaking his head. He cast a hypnotic gaze at the coffin and crawled inside the hearse like he was possessed. “Alright, baby girl,” he said in a raspy whisper. “It’s just you and me versus the world. I’ve been waiting for this moment a long, long time. Jerking off just isn’t the same. Then again, neither is getting corn-holed in the showers. But you know that already. Of course you do, because you put me in that hellhole. Well, now that you’re dead, Miss Beatrice, you and I will be together until the end of the world. I love you, sweet princess. I love you so much!”

Jay set down his pistol and lantern and ripped the coffin lid off with hulking strength. Instead of a “bitch in a box”, he got a face full of green poisonous gas, which has him hacking up blood right away. The fumes got so bad that he tumbled out of the hearse and landed on his back. He violently coughed some more and even rested in a puddle of his own vomit, which tasted like rotten prison chow. Once he was done barfing and coughing, he was so lightheaded that he was ready to pass out in his own filth.

The convicted necrophiliac had his hands firmly held behind his back while cuffs were tightly bound to his wrists. “On your feet, you sick prick!” shouted a much less creepy version of Casey Carter. With one Herculean jerk, Jay David was pulled to his feet, but still had a head full of clouds.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming, did you?” whispered Casey, whose arm wound turned out to be a ketchup stain. “Bulletproof lab coats: what else will they come up with? Of course, you can’t get that kind of equipment unless you’re part of a special group, like I’d say, the Paulson City Police Department.”

“You’re…you’re a cop?!” said Jay as he breathed heavily with a sore throat and nose.

“For a guy who spent most of his life tricking the police, you sure are slow to catch on. You’re damn right I’m a cop. This whole thing was a setup. Like a moth to a flame, motherfucker. Like a moth to a flame!” Casey punctuated that last line with his in-character laugh before chucking Jay in the back of the now-clear hearse and locking the doors.

Accompanying Jay’s winded breathing were a girlish sob and kicking legs. “It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair!” he shouted as Casey got in the driver’s seat and pulled away. “Why can’t women say yes to me? Just three little letters! Y-E-S! It’s not that hard! I didn’t want to kill them, but they gave me no choice!”

Detective Carter slammed on the brakes and caused Jay to lurch forward headfirst into the “casket”, causing even more dizziness and heavy breathing than before, not to mention a small drip of blood. The cop said, “You know what? You’re probably just going to keep escaping from prison anyways. You’ve done it half a dozen times already. I don’t know why the prison guards keep doing the same thing over and over again. So you know what? I’m going to do them and the whole world a favor and deal with you myself. You and I are going for a ride. Not just any ride, but a nickel ride! Buckle up, sweet cheeks! It’s going to be bumpy!”

Jay shouted an extended, “No!” before Casey slammed on the accelerator and drove over the bumpy road, all with a flat tire, making this ride even more bouncy and miserable. Jay was hurled into the casket edges and hearse walls with such force that his bones shattered and deep gashes were forming on his body. Sparks from the flat tire grinding against the pavement shot inside the hearse and burned Jay like a branding iron on his fresh wounds.

By the time Casey reached his new destination, Jay Nathaniel David, a thirty-one-year-old rapist and murderer, looked less like an intimidating criminal and more like a pile of human wreckage. Blood and bone powder flooded the back of the hearse. Organs splashed against the walls. Teeth rolled around like dice in the most violent game of craps.

How did Detective Carter react to this? With a million dollar smile and a finger to his lips as he shushed the dead body and softly said, “Don’t tell a soul. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my bonus pay!”

Oswald the Giant

Zack Moraga didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be found guilty for a murder he didn’t commit. He didn’t deserve to be locked up in the smelliest god-awful dungeon for five years. He also didn’t deserve to have his only chance at freedom come at the price of hunting a giant with little more than a jagged dagger and a measly crossbow. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t lay a giant even if he had a fiery catapult and two battering ram teams. He was all alone out there in the Dread Wight forest with two crappy weapons and a death sentence disguised as a window of opportunity.

The poor prisoner didn’t even try to track down this “Oswald the Giant”. He just sat on a tree stump in the middle of this foggy forest and sulked with his spiky-haired head in his hand. What did he really do to deserve all of this? Why was he wearing leather blue prison armor instead of a decent outfit? Didn’t anybody even remotely entertain the idea that Zack Moraga might be an innocent man? All he was at that point was a statistic. An outcast. A walking corpse. These negative thoughts caused a sigh to slip from his chapped mouth.

Finally after a few hours of moping on that tree stump with nothing but his thoughts, the ground began to shake. At first it was a gentle rumble. But then as the beast got closer, the tremors knocked Zack off of his stump and sent him into a mad dash for safety. He was barely one step ahead of the giant as it put its foot down for another violent quake. And another step. And another step. While this would be considered moseying for a giant, it was an exhausting sprint for Zack, who fell off the dirt trail and into a ditch.

The would be giant slayer laid on his back after so much exercise and breathed heavily. His ribs were sore from the cardio and his feet felt like he was walking on swords barefoot. He was done for. This is what a corrupt justice system in medieval times amounted to. For god’s sake, if the giant wanted to kill Zack, why didn’t he do it already? Get it over with! Quit letting the anxiety build up!

And then the giant laid down beside Zack on the dirt trail and rolled on his back. He let out an animalistic yawn and then a longwinded…purr? Wait a minute. Giants don’t purr. Sure enough, Zack opened his sore eyes for a few seconds and saw that the “great” and “fierce” Oswald the Giant was an oversized tiger-striped cat who purred and played like any other domestic animal would. But for now, he was sleeping.

A cat? The high courts wanted Zack Moraga to kill a giant cat? What for, exactly? Was his heavy stepping really that much of a threat to the royal kingdom? Was there a sudden shortage of fur? How about meat? Were people that starved for a good meal? Whatever the case was, the imprisoned warrior shook his head and achingly pulled himself to his feet. There wouldn’t be a better time to slay the giant than right fucking now.

Even though his body was sore, Zack managed to find the strength within his tired bones to climb up on Oswald’s belly using his fur coat. The big gut rose and fell slowly and evenly. The purrs were mixed in with the snores. This cat was definitely unconscious. But sneaking across the moving belly without disturbing him proved to be difficult work for Zack.

He tried to maintain his acrobatic equilibrium whilst tiptoeing across the beast’s stomach. Thinking this kill was already his, the hunter pulled out his crappy dagger and raised it in the air, hoping to get a good stab to the throat. He was almost there. He could feel the sweet taste of freedom. And then Zack stumbled on his ass and awakened the kitty giant, the rusty blade dropping to the ground below.

Oswald looked at the strange creature on his belly and lifted his head to try and lick him off like a flea. “Oh, dear god! Why?! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” screamed Zack as he was getting bathed in feline saliva. The goopy fluids caused the jailbird to stick to Oswald’s tongue and be flung high in the air after the cat spit him out.

While in the air, the cat giant batted him around like a common toy with all four of his fuzzy paws. Zack Moraga continued to curse and scream since the harsh motion (along with the spittle) was making him sick to his stomach. A final wave of Oswald’s paw sent the fighter off to the side of the dirt trail into the ditch once again.

Zack hit the ground hard enough to finally trigger a storm of vomit from his already filthy mouth. After about half a minute of puking, it was pretty much just dry heaves, which went to show how poorly prisoners were fed under this justice system. How badly they were defeated was also evident when Zack laid in a puddle of his own (and Oswald’s) oral filth and didn’t care about life anymore. It was over.

“Who am I kidding?” he said to himself. “This was a setup from the start. I don’t know how to slay a giant, much less a goddamn cat. Fuck this. I’m…going…back…to sleep.” He let out an acidic yawn and started to pass out when Oswald was nudging him with his wet nose.

“Stop it, leave me alone!” said Zack weakly. “Just kill me already! It’s over! My life is over! Why are you taking so long?!” Oswald was licking him again and the saliva didn’t smell any better than it did before. “Why?! Why must you do this to me?!”

After a while of licking, Zack was clean of his vomit, but not of cat spittle, so it was a minor victory at best. Oswald then grabbed Zack by his shirt collar with his teeth and tucked him into his belly before snuggling around the suicidal warrior. Along the way, Zack heard his crossbow drop on the ground as well, but he wasn’t going to lift a pinky in order to pick it up. To be honest, Oswald’s furry cuddle was more comfortable than any straw bed in that crappy dungeon. It didn’t take long for Zack to fall asleep in the cat giant’s loving hold.

The entire night had passed over the Dread Wight Forest and still Zack’s handlers didn’t see any progress made. The two seven-foot tall knights clad in steel armor and carrying war hammers were trudging through the forest in search of their ill gotten prisoner. “I told you we couldn’t rely on that pathetic weasel to get the job done!”

“What did you expect? He’s one guy with the most basic weapons we can come up with. Do you really think he stood a chance? Besides, there really was no hope for him after all. This had death sentence written all over it.”

“So the whole thing was just one sick joke from the start?”

“Pretty much. Now where is the little bastard? I’m hungry and I don’t want to stay in this wretched forest any longer.”

The ground shook and knocked the two towering knights on their asses, yet they kept steady grips on their war hammers. Before them stood Oswald the Giant, with his teeth showing, his drool flowing, and his hisses and growls coming at intimidating paces. Even so, the two knights weren’t the least bit scared. They laughed at the kitty giant before getting up and dusting themselves off.

“Come on, you giant turd! Let’s see what you’ve got!” shouted one of the knights before that same knight felt a sharp pain going up the crack of his ass. He danced around bleeding and screaming like a little girl until he eventually lost his footing and spun out into the ditch below to die.

The other knight noticed that the source of the anal pain was a crossbow bolt, one issued only to prisoners of this “death sentence”. The steel-clad warrior looked around and saw Zack Moraga leaning against a tree with his arms folded and the smoking gun (or cocked crossbow) in his hand.

“You sick bastard!” screamed the remaining knight as he stampeded toward the unflinching Zack with his war hammer ready to strike. The seven-foot warrior felt a hard smack against his back and flew into another oak tree with explosive force. The pain was horrendous, so much so that turning his head to see who smashed him was a chore itself. It was Oswald and his giant paw, no doubt.

As soon as the knight peeled himself out of the tree, he fell over in a weakened state and was ripe for the picking. Zack waddled over to him and lifted his head before saying, “Justice is finally served!” That was the last thing the knight heard before he felt the jagged edge rip his throat to pieces, bleeding him out and suffocating him at the same time. He died instantly.

After the two handlers were disposed of, Zack threw aside his weapons and looked up at Oswald with a big smile on his face. He hadn’t smiled in such a long time and it felt good to do so. The now ex-prisoner climbed up on Oswald’s back and said, “Take me home, kitty-pie. I have a baby girl who’s dying to meet you!”

The jolly gray giant meowed and purred as he trotted across the forest, fully intending to take Zack home where he belongs.