I had hoped to be done with this nonsense but it seems that exnzpat is not going to let me enjoy my summer!
I have received so many emails asking as to exnzpat’s health I should perhaps address that issue first…
Murder in any sense, but especially in reality, is neither sensational nor exciting – what it is – what it really is — is just sad. Let me describe exnzpat’s delusions and from that you will better understand him…
Let me start with the soul that exnzpat claims to have possessed him…
You should know that exnzpat speaks of an evolved human creature from the future that, by accident, traveled backwards in time to the 1930’s and had continued to live amongst us until he murdered his wife and son in the very same house during the 1970’s; then during his own trial this man took his own life in the home; his name was Scudamour.
Scudamour, it seems (according to exnzpat), comes from a human future that is not spatiality orientated like ours, but chronologically oriented. In other words, where you and I see Time as a tightrope that can be walked in only one direction – forward – and Space we see directions of left and right, front and back, and up and down. This Scudamour came from a place that sees only the opposite. Space, it seems in Scudamour’s world, is no more a backdrop to existence as the passage of time is to us. We would think it queer to walk in the sands time and yet keep patience to a clock of space.
Now… and this is where things get strange, Scudamour built and designed the house exnzpat would later buy. This house was constructed in such a manner that the attic is disconnected from the dimensions of Space but connected to the dimensions of Time (if this makes sense). Scudamour designed this place as a refuge for himself until he could find a device to transport himself back into the place whence he was rudely brought. Scudamour’s attic was a place for insertion of and resurrection from death. Scudamour’s being, his true self, used this attic – this lair – as an escape from our universe – it is, exnzpat tells me, a refuge from God and from Hell — and those that enter willingly can, if the desire takes them, exit too — if they can find the door. It is from this place that Scudamour reached down and took possession of exnzpat’s biological entity and murdered the exnzpat family… this he tells me – with tears of love in his eyes – was how it happened.
Now you see the extent of exnzpat’s madness? Well I haven’t even got to the strangest part yet…
Exnzpat also believes that the attic of his rental home violates the very laws of our universe, and because of this, the attic has received “special” attention from Heaven. Apparently, the attics’ existence, even to this day, has destabilized our universe and has shortened our universe’s existence to a finite crackling ending in just a few years time. So, along with Scudamour, living in the attic, was another creature – half angel half human — a beast born out of God’s love for mankind. But, because of the strange machinations induced by the attic’s distortion of our universe, this angel-thing was unable to get a real grasp on Scudamour and take him to justice; and so Scudamour needed to be lured from the attic long enough to be wrestled into Hell. And so, while exnzpat cut his wife and children into pieces, reenacting Scudamour’s original crime, the angel-thing was able to intercede and carry Scudamour off to Hell to await the ripening and the rendering of the resurrection.
Clinically speaking, exnzpat’s physiatrist has told me that exnzpat needs to believe these things to justify his terrible deed. Make no doubt about it; exnzpat is completely and utterly mad. Because, imagine where the above line of reasoning takes you… right to the Hand of God — which did not intercede to save exnzpat’s family from the cruel cutting edge of the nail-puller. But rather, Heaven’s emissary on Earth arrested this phantastical spirit-criminal, using exnzpat’s family as bait — and did nothing to save them.
They tell me, that during the night, at the asylum, exnzpat screams himself to sleep. Now do you understand the sadness of this thing? What horrible pain and what horrible a misery exnzpat’s existence is. Is it any wonder friends, that his mind should distort reality so?
While I have no doubt that it was ergot poisoning that led exnzpat down the path towards his family’s destruction – but it was the murder, plain and simple — murder most sad – that led him to his madness. He is completely and utterly nonfunctional and a danger to himself. I spend a lot of money to keep him properly caged and away from decent society.
Personally, I think… I deserve to be thanked.
* * *
Ahhh… to live the life of a playboy – I wish! It seems that exnzpat cannot leave me be. The asylum called me yesterday and told me that he (exnzpat) wanted to see me yet again! Confound this burden!
But, in a sort of de-facto way he is my employer so once again I jetted west to see him.
* * *
I’m sure you think I’m a monster. But not so, it’s not as if I keep exnzpat in one of those nasty public asylums. Far from it; exnzpat is in one of those very private “rehabilitation centers” one hears about on the nightly news, when some drunken, drug addled, sex addicted movie star “check-ins” for a week of “counseling.” In reality these places actually serve as America’s holding pen for the idiot trust-fund “babies” and the spoilt TV-rich of America’s idle class.
To be sure, I’m no fool. Exnzpat is my life-blood, I know this. I would be remiss in my duty as “Guardian” if I dared to shuffle him off to some public asylum where the orderlies, who are your run-of-the-mill uneducated minimum-wage indolent pack-horses, spend the majority of their time stealing from and beating-up on their patients; not to say I wouldn’t do it (it would be remarkably more cost-effective if I did), however, if it were not for the unfortunate lime-light these public “facilities,” that from time-to-time come under, did draw attention to the unhappy fact that my “wealthy” client is locked up in some such horrible place. So, to be safe I spend those extra dollars to make sure that no one, not one soul, ever hears from, knows about, or has even the inkling that exnzpat is still walking this planet.
Now to the nature of exnzpat’s call and the reason for this new post; exnzpat wants me to take him back to the rental. Now this, I should remind you, is the place that he murdered his family…
The rental sits in a quiet residential neighborhood in the mid-west. It is shuttered up and forlorn as an abandoned child. The windows are boarded and the door chained; the key held by the local sheriff. No one goes there – no one!
This last Halloween the sheriff wrote me and told me of his concerns: that the local kids would try to sneak in on Halloween night, and perhaps, do some damage. It was a valid concern, which I appreciated (the house was still worth something; not much, but any dollar is a good dollar I say). The sheriff promised me he would send a patrol at intervals throughout the night. We needn’t have worried. The local teenagers know better. It’s one thing, the cops were told by a local crowd of brutish boys, to spend Halloween in the nearby graveyard telling ghost stories into the night, but a whole other thing, altogether, to spend one minute, one second even, anywhere near the “old exnzpat place.”
I had considered bulldozing the place but that part of me that knows that one day I can eek a penny from it at some future time stays my hand.
Exnzpat wants me to take him back to the rental. Apparently, up in the attic, is a box containing some letters he wants; he claims that these letters will somehow vindicate him. And he, because of his blindness and his deafness, wants me to get them for him. But, get this – he wants me to take him along!
It’s not that I’m afraid of exnzpat – as crazy as he is – and as the weeks have passed I should tell you that he has become, dare I say it, eerily calm. I have never seen this side of him before – and neither have his doctor’s.
Now I should tell you what I told exnzpat – there is no cardboard box in the house; neither in the attic nor in the rear bedroom. The police did a thorough search. Everything that was not nailed down was removed and placed into evidence. I do remember a cardboard box –but it did not contain any letters and I told him as much. I remember it well…
About thirty minutes later, after the judge dismissed us, and exnzpat was on his way back to his padded cell, and I was back in my office. Matt E from the Prosecutors Office walked in carrying a large cardboard box. Matt was the acting prosecutor for the State in the exnzpat murder case.
“Too bad you’re on the losing side this time,” he said with a laugh.
“Yeah! Did you see that guy? What a freak!”
“What did he say to you?” Matt asked – and I almost answered.
“You know I can’t tell you that. What’s in the box?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, just the evidence from the murder scene — look, I’d like to get this thing over before tonight. I’ve got a date with Becky. It’s pretty much a shut-and-closed case.”
“Becky? Becky, from the County Clerk’s office? “
“Really? How did you twist her arm?”
“Just my natural charm – you want see the box or not? This way we can get the plea-agreement over and done with and I’ll be on my way,” he said pushing it with his foot towards me.
I looked in the box. There was an assortment of used food stuffs, a lap-top, and some blood stained work tools that were sheathed in investigative plastic.
“What kind of tool is that?” I asked Matt.
“I think it’s called a nail-puller. It’s what he used… the place was a freaking mess.” Matt reached into the box and removed a small rectangular saw with small sharp little teeth, “he used this to cut up the bodies.”
Matt handed me a thick manila envelope. “These are the crime scene photos…they are pretty graphic…I suggest you don’t eat before you look at them. Also, inside are his confession and the investigators reports. Enjoy.”
I took the envelope and asked, “Becky, huh.”
“Yeah, Becky.” He paused and then added, “Didn’t you ask her out last week?”
“She said she had a thing.”
“Man, they always say they have a thing — tough break.” I didn’t look up but I knew he was smirking.
I had been staring at the box. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something in the box had triggered my memory — what — I couldn’t be sure of – but I knew it would come to me. And then I saw it — very clearly – a half eaten loaf of Pumpernickel Bread proudly produced by the “Sunny Day Cereal Farm of Arkansas.” “Who the hell eats Pumpernickel Bread?” I thought to myself. Then a wonderful germ of an idea came into my head.
“Sorry, Matt. There will be no plea-agreement today. We’re going to trial.”
“You’re doing this because of Becky aren’t you?”
“See, you in court Matt,” was all I could manage through my excitement.
* * *
Regardless of his incarceration, exnzpat’s curious request is doable. I just need the sign-off from a Judge and permission from two of his doctor’s and it’s a done deal. And it’s not that I’ll be alone with him. I’ll have at least one Sheriff’s Deputy and a couple big orderlies from the hospital to accompany us – so there is no need for me to be afraid – but yet…
Because you readers know exnzpat best I thought I could ask you – should I take him? Should I do as he asks? And if I do – is it safe?
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