A Psycho and his Disciple Read online

  A Psycho and his Disciple

  Jon Athan

  Copyright © 2016 Jon Athan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For more information on this book or the author, please visit www.jon-athan.com. General inquiries are welcome.

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJonAthan

  Twitter: @Jonny_Athan

  Cover by https://www.TheCoverCollection.com

  Thank you for the support!

  WARNING

  This book contains scenes of intense violence and unpleasant themes. Some parts of this book may be considered violent, cruel, disturbing, or unusual. Certain implications in this book may also trigger strong emotional responses. For example, this book includes a rape scene. On occasion, this novel may be politically incorrect. This book is not intended for those easily offended or appalled. Please enjoy at your own discretion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter One

  Free At Last

  Lucas Walker shambled towards the front gate of the prison, trailing behind the single file line. He squinted as he glanced up at the dazzling sun, mesmerized by the blue sky. The vibrant sky, like a blue curtain, was dappled with fluffy white clouds. His nostrils were blessed with the scent of fresh air – the smell of freedom.

  Lucas smirked and whispered, “20 years... 20 years... 20 goddamn years.”

  The middle-aged man glanced down at himself, perturbed by his lack of style. He shifted his box of belongings to one arm, then he brushed the dirt and wrinkles off his clothing. He was comfortable with being pat-down by an army of correctional officers anyway. He couldn't help but smile as he proudly groped himself.

  The ex-convict had a thin chin strip while the rest of his face was clean-shaved. His dark brown hair was wavy and tousled. He was given a plain white t-shirt, rumpled blue jeans, and dilapidated sneakers as a 'parting gift.' Although he did not like the clothing, he was grateful the garments fit his lean and tall figure. He couldn't remember the exact outfit he wore when he was processed, but he was certain he was more stylish in the 90s.

  Yet, he couldn't help but feel more fortunate than the other three men leaving prison with him.

  At least I'm better off than these clowns, Lucas thought as he snickered. The bald man directly in front of him wore a large white t-shirt and baggy blue jeans. The loose shirt reached down to his kneecaps, like a sundress for men. The man in the middle was dressed like a caddy at a golf club, wearing a plaid shirt and matching shorts. At the front of the line, a man wore a neon red windbreaker and khaki pants.

  Lucas shook his head and whispered, “It's all on purpose, isn't it? Humiliating us. Parading us like a bunch of clowns. This is what the system is supposed to do to men like us. Make us feel different so we want to come back.” He huffed, then he muttered, “Stupid bastards...”

  As the line reached the front gate, chattering ensued between the inmates and correctional officers – friendly conversations. Lucas did not care for his peers, so he ignored them. He puckered his lips and shuffled through his small cardboard box. The box contained two books with distorted covers: a true-crime book about a savage family and a novel about an American psycho.

  A crumbling billfold with $123 was shoved into a corner. ($123 – the remaining wages of his commissary account. It was the payment of 20 years of work in prison.) There was also a diary with a black cover and four condoms. He was advised to practice safe sex, but he was not fond of authority. 'No' meant 'yes' and 'up' meant 'down.' Like a stubborn child with horrible parents, he performed the opposite whenever he was given a demand or suggestion.

  The buzzer from the towering gate disrupted his contemplation. The gate slowly rolled open, clinking and clanking – the racket of freedom. As he strolled through the gate, Lucas' shoulder was grabbed by a correctional officer. He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head towards the officer, trying his damnedest to contain his anger – he didn't like being touched.

  The stubby officer had piercing brown eyes and a shaved head. Like a teenager with too much of his parents' money, he had a haughty scowl permanently plastered on his face. He wore a standard uniform – a navy button-up shirt, black slacks, and black insulated boots. The embroidered tag on his chest read: E. Stone.

  Stone asked, “You've got your bus ticket, Walker?”

  Lucas glared at the man in disbelief – is this man kidding? The correctional officer was, unfortunately, serious. The ex-convict sighed as he glanced down at his cardboard box. He shoved his books aside, then he showed Stone the contents inside. His bus ticket clung to the bottom of the box. A ticket to: anywhere but here.

  Stone said, “Good, good. You use that ticket and get out of here. Get as far away from here as possible and try to live a decent life. I'm serious about this. For some reason, a reason I'll never understand, you've been given another chance. Don't throw it away.”

  Lucas chuckled, then he said, “Sure. Listen, officer, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette I can bum, would you? I've been itching for one since the moment I woke up. How about it? For old times' sake?”

  “No. I don't have anything for you. Even if I had any, I wouldn't give one to you. They're bad for you, Walker. It's cancer rolled up in paper. Smarten up.”

  “Come on, don't give me that bullshit. It's the USA. You're not locking up people for smoking cigarettes nowadays, are you? I mean, judging from the news I've seen, some stupid politicians have probably thought about it, but I'm still free to do as I please, right? Give me a cig, brother. Come on.”

  “No.”

  Lucas chuckled and shook his head, dismayed by the blunt rejection. He joked, “Come on. I know you've probably got some clenched in your asshole right now. Give me a brown cig. I don't care if it smells. The tobacco will get rid of the taste, right?”

  Stone inhaled deeply, then he clenched his jaw. He was infuriated by the crass joke and the allegation. Yet, he fought to keep his composure. He wanted to bite the man's head off, but he opted to grind his teeth instead. Lucas laughed in the man's face, simpering like a devious child with a knack for pranks.

  Stone said, “Get out of here, Walker. Take your bus ticket and get as far away from here as possible. Don't do something you'll regret. Go.”

  Lucas responded, “I'm going, I'm going. You don't have to tell me ten times. I'll be out of your hair...” He paused and snickered as he glanced at Stone's shining bald dome. He shook his head and said, “Well, I'll be out of here soon. I just have some business to finish. I'd like to tie up some loose ends. I want to apologize to the people I've wronged before I disappear. You know how it is.”

  Stone shook his head as Lucas walked away – he didn't believe a word uttered out of the vile man's mouth.

  Lucas was beckoned to by the other correctional officers. Before he could savor his freedom, he was ushered into a large gray van. Two correctional offic
ers sat in the front, ready to drive away and finish the day. His fellow inmates sat in the middle seats. Lucas jostled his way towards the rear, then he flumped into the back seat.

  He shook his head and whispered, “Poor bastards couldn't even spring for something fancier. I should be riding in a limousine or something. At least a truck, damn it...”

  Like a reeking homeless man in a bus, the ex-convict sat by his lonesome in the back. He placed his cardboard box on his right side, then he leaned on the window. He watched as the desert area scrolled past him. A sea of dirt, cacti, and dry shrubs surrounded him. He could see a mountainous region in the horizon, miles and miles away from the prison.

  He said, “That would've been a nice hiding spot if we ever escaped.”

  Lucas huffed as he pondered his life as a man of the mountains. He crossed his arms and shuffled in his clothing, seeking comfort in the cramped van. The monotonous environment and purring engine acted as natural sleep aids. He lost the battle against his heavy eyelids and dozed out of consciousness.

  ***

  “Get up, buddy. It's time to go. I don't have all day,” a correctional officer said. The man removed his blue cap and sniffled as he softly poked Lucas. He said, “You're a free man. I figured you'd be running out of here, trying to cause trouble. Wake up and head out, pal. Come on.”

  Lucas yawned as he awoke from his peaceful slumber. He clenched his jaw and stretched as he stared at the officer. The man stood five-eight with a burly figure. His dark hair was cut high-and-tight and his face was clean-shaved. He was a bit flabby, donning round cheeks and a double-chin, but he was undeniably strong. The ex-convict wasn't going to start a fight with him for disturbing his sleep.

  Lucas glanced at the officer's name tag and asked, “Where are we, Mr. Matthews?”

  Officer Matthews huffed, then he said, “You can drop that 'mister' bullshit. You're not in the pen anymore. We're at the bus station. Get your shit and get going. The bus will be here soon. You don't want to miss it.”

  “What if I do?”

  “Well, don't tell me about it. You're not our problem anymore. Just get out of the van. Get on your bus, go to your halfway house, live on the streets, it really doesn't matter. We're going to be seeing you soon anyway. I'm sure of it.”

  Lucas chuckled and shook his head. As he staggered out of the van, he said, “I don't know about that, Matthews. I'm not too fond of the penitentiary. I think I'm going to stay free this time around. You... Well, you have fun back there, alright?”

  Matthews scoffed, “Whatever. Good luck to you, Walker. You're going to need it.”

  Lucas stood on the sidewalk, overwhelmed by the free world. Buses of all shapes and sizes trudged into the station directly ahead. The station was brimming with people – students, workers, and the elderly. Thanks to their peculiar outfits, his three fellow inmates stood out like a gang of clowns in church. The trio stood near a bench, waiting for the coach bus to arrive.

  Lucas whispered, “I'm finally home...”

  The ex-convict glanced over his shoulder as the van peeled out of the parking spot, heedlessly pulling into traffic. The correctional officers were in a hurry to finish the day's work. They weren't paid enough to babysit a group of hardened criminals who would more than likely recidivate in a matter of weeks.

  Lucas, on the other hand, was eager to begin his day. He strolled down the sidewalk, smirking as he glanced back at the station. There was no way in hell he was going to leave the city on a bus. He pulled the stack of condoms out of the box, then he tossed them on the street.

  A homeless man can practice safe sex with a hole on the ground, he thought, or maybe some kids can blow some balloons for a party. He couldn't help but simper at his boorish thoughts. Condoms could certainly work in creating durable balloon animals, though.

  Most of the buildings to his right were bustling with people. From the storefront windows, he could see into the different restaurants, cafes, and small shops. The smell of scrumptious baked goods and fresh pizza baited his nostrils and teased his wallet. He refused to spend a dime in the simple shops, though.

  His sights were solely set on a neighboring bar. The tavern was open before he was sent to prison, so he only hoped it remained in business throughout the years. He needed a celebratory drink.

  As he walked, Lucas whispered, “What the hell is wrong with all of these people?” He glanced down at his simple clothing, baffled. He murmured, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Lucas was mystified by the changes in style and manner. Most of the young men wore skin-tight clothing. Skinny jeans and tiny t-shirts seemed popular among the group. He even spotted one young man wearing a dress down to his kneecaps – a fashionable choice, a social statement. The ex-convict was captivated by the young women, though. He blatantly ogled the women wearing low-cut shirts and skimpy skirts.

  Yet, no one noticed him leering and judging. The pedestrians were glued to their cell phones. They quickly tapped and swiped the touchscreens. They only uttered a moan after bumping into each other. The music blaring from their headphones did not help their concentration. They were moving through the world while being trapped in a different realm – a realm of disrespect for others.

  Lucas didn't seem to mind, though. He did not feel disrespected by the oblivious group of youngsters. He was, however, suffering from a severe case of culture shock. He felt like he had been locked away in a time capsule for 20 years and he was finally unearthed on a different planet. Still, thanks to the news, he expected and accepted the massive changes before his release.

  Lucas stopped at a four-way intersection, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. He glanced into his cardboard box and stared at his bus ticket. For a second, he considered returning to the station and taking a long trip to his designated halfway house. The thought did not last long in his mind. He crumpled the ticket, then he threw it aside. The ticket was dragged by the wind, swept away with the rest of the garbage cluttering the road.

  As he crossed the street, Lucas whispered, “Free at last. Time for the 'welcome home' party...”

  Chapter Two

  A Drink at the Pub

  Lucas leaned over the bar and said, “I was locked up for 20 years. 20 goddamn years, Isaac. Do you know how much time that is? Huh? That's... That's almost half of my damn life. Imagine that bullshit. My freedom was taken for half of my life.”

  The stool groaned as Lucas flumped into his seat. He took a swig of his beer, drinking from an opaque mug. The filmy mug would surely fail a health inspection, but he didn't mind. He wouldn't care if roaches used his beer as a swimming pool as long as the alcohol entered his system. He simply nodded as he drank and stared at his friendly bartender – Isaac Brown.

  With a white towel slung over his shoulder, Isaac used a different towel to clean a mug. The black-haired young man wore a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black vest, and black slacks. Like a great bartender, he listened without judging. He seemed like a caring young man with a decent head on his shoulders.

  Isaac said, “Sorry to hear that, man. It sounds like you had it rough.”

  Lucas laughed, then he said, “Oh, I've had it rough. I had it very rough.” The pair shared a chuckle. Smiling, Lucas furrowed his brow and asked, “Don't you want to know what I did? Huh? Aren't you a little curious?”

  “It's my job to serve and listen, man. You can tell me if you want, but I won't force you. Your business is your business.”

  “Well, I don't mind sharing. I mean, I served the time already, right? What do I have to lose? Respect? Shit, I can take respect if I want it. No, no, I don't mind telling anyone. But, it's something I can only share with special people. You understand? I have to... I have to spill my heart to people like me – only to people like me. Otherwise, no one will understand. You get it, don't you? Yeah, yeah, you get it...”

  Lucas took another swig of his beer, then he glanced around the dingy tavern. Pool balls thudded at the tables, mugs clanked
against each other, music blared from the vibrant jukebox, and people chattered and bantered. The bar, despite its croaking hardwood floors and dusty walls, was filled with people celebrating life. It wasn't a party for Lucas, but it sure felt like it to him.

  As he turned back on his seat, the ex-convict caught a glimpse of a man sitting at the far end of the bar – Dean Crow.

  From his boyish looks – soft skin and silky black hair – Lucas assumed the young man was no older than his mid-20s. Dean had a slim face and dull brown eyes. He wore a red-and-black striped sweatshirt, black jeans, and black boots. He appeared enigmatic, difficult to decipher like a hieroglyphic on a pyramid.

  Yet, Lucas could see a shade of himself in the young man's eyes. He appeared lost and angry, frustrated with the world. A man without a home could always find shelter in a pool of alcohol.

  Lucas grabbed his mug and strolled towards the end of the bar. He sat beside Dean and said, “It's a busy night in here. A lot of people – a lot. Sort of makes me uncomfortable, you know? It doesn't feel right for a man like myself to... to socialize with people who aren't like me. You understand what I'm saying?” Dean scooted away in his seat, dragging the stool with him. The ex-convict smiled and said, “My name is Lucas. Lucas Walker. What's your name? Huh? You got a name, don't you?”

  Dean absently stared at the rows of alcohol on the wall behind the bar. He responded, “My name is none of your business. Leave me alone.”

  “Oh, come on, don't be like that. I think we've got a lot in common. Believe me, I can see it in your eyes. I can read your soul. I'm just trying to be friendly.”

  Dean sneered in disgust and said, “Don't bother. I'm not looking for a friend. Leave me alone.”

  Lucas cocked his head back like a walking pigeon, mystified by Dean's sheer insolence. He had bumped heads with arrogant men before, but the young man at the bar was different. He was cut from the same cloth. Being disrespected by Dean was like being stabbed in the back by a brother – shocking and painful.