Psycho by Bruce Savage by Bruce Savage

PSYCHO Bruce Savage 3

About Bruce Savage He is the author of thriller, science fiction and horror novels including the smash hit Casualties of War has been on track to being on the bestseller list in the US and Worldwide since its release. He writes full-time and loves hearing from his fans. "If you took the DNA from authors Stephen King, Tom Clancy, James Patterson, Arthur C. Clarke and H.G. Wells and spliced them together in a ultrasecret government lab controlled by a mad scientist from an alien world and then gave birth to a writer from that combination you would have the one of a kind writing style and unique stories of Bruce Savage. That is author Bruce Savage.â&#x20AC;? Bruce Savage â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Psycho

Books by Bruce Savage The Novels: GODS ASSASSIN DESPERATE MEASURES NO MERCY FOR THE DEAD NOWHERE TO RUN THE DOGS OF WAR FEAR THE ASSASSIN BLOOD OMEN BLOOD LINES BLOOD SACRIFICE BLOOD APOCOLYPSE LEGEND OF THE DRAGON THE SKULL EUROPA'S CHILD RUSSIAN GAMES THE TABLET ORIGIN SHORT SCARY STORIES PSYCHO CASUALTIES OF WAR For previews and information about the author: Visit www.brucesavage.com.

Table of Contents ABOUT BRUCE SAVAGE BOOKS BY BRUCE SAVAGE TABLE OF CONTENTS DISCLAIMER COPYRIGHT FORWARD CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24

1 3 7 11 15 19 25 29 33 37 41 45 49 53 55 59 61 65 69 71 75 77 81 85

CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31 CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 CHAPTER 34 CHAPTER 35 CHAPTER 36 CHAPTER 37 CHAPTER 38 CHAPTER 39 CHAPTER 40 CHAPTER 41 CHAPTER 42 CHAPTER 43 CHAPTER 44 CHAPTER 45 CHAPTER 46 CHAPTER 47 CHAPTER 48 CHAPTER 49 CHAPTER 50 CHAPTER 51 CHAPTER 52 CHAPTER 53 CHAPTER 54 CHAPTER 55 CHAPTER 56 CHAPTER 57 WAIT! FROM THE AUTHOR

89 91 93 97 101 103 107 109 111 113 117 121 125 129 131 137 141 145 149 153 157 159 163 167 169 173 177 181 185 191 195 199 203 207 209

Disclaimer Psycho By Bruce Savage Copyright © 2015 Psycho Paperback Edition This paperback is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This paperback may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite paperback retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without the express permission in writing by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. First Edition 1.0 Bruce Savage – Psycho

Copyright © 2015 www.brucesavage.com All rights reserved. ISBN-10: 151778901X ISBN-13: 978-1517789015 Bruce Savage – Psycho Visit: www.brucesavage.com or your favorite book seller to order additional copies. Psycho– BRUCE SAVAGE

FORWARD Encephalitis Lethargica or von Economo disease is an atypical form of encephalitis. Also known as "sleepy sickness" or as "sleeping sickness" (though different from the sleeping sickness transmitted by the tsetse fly), it was first described by the neurologist Constantin von Economo in 1917. The disease attacks the brain, leaving some victims in a statue-like condition, speechless and motionless. Between 1915 and 1926, an epidemic of encephalitis Lethargica spread around the world; no recurrence of the epidemic has since been reported, though isolated cases continue to occur.

PSYCHO Bruce Savage 17

Chapter 1 James Lee Psychiatric Hospital Raleigh, NC. Dr. William Stephens sat at his desk reviewing patient records when his phone rang. It was late Friday afternoon and almost five oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;clock. He had been there for the last twenty-four hours pulling a triple shift with only moments for a break and just wanted to go home when his phone rang-yet again. What the hell could it be this time? Another food fight in the cafeteria between the paranoid schizophrenics and the manic depressives? Perhaps one of psychotic patients is running loose through the hospital and hacking away at the staff with a meat cleaver from the kitchen? Whatever the emergency was he was the doctor on staff and he needed to answer the phone and find out who needed him now. No matter how tired he was. He quickly reached over and picked up the phone before it was allowed once again to ring and send a bolt of excruciating pain through his sleep deprived brain.

“Stephens, what is it?” Dr. Stephens said gruffly as he answered the phone. “You need to get down here quickly doctor!” The excited voice of head Nurse Albright sounded in Dr. Stephens ear. “What is it this time?” Dr. Stephens asked massaging his temple in an attempt to prepare for another headache. “Your patient is speaking!” Came the reply. "He’s speaking? It’s working! The treatment is working! I’m on my way. Make sure you record everything he says. Everything!” Dr. Stephens excitedly replied. "That’s not going to be hard to do doctor. He’s repeating the same thing over and over again.” "What’s he saying?” Dr. Stephens asked. "I remember now. I remember now. That’s all he keeps saying over and over again Dr. Stephens.” "I remember now? What could he be remembering? Get in touch with that sheriff over in Roanoke. He wanted to be notified if there was any change in the patient. I’m on my way.” Dr. Stephens replied and hung up the phone and headed for his office door grabbing his white lab coat as he rushed to see a patient he had a deep interest in. This patient could win him the cover spot on the New England Journal of Medicine if he is right about the treatment and experimental drugs that he had been giving him.

Chapter 2 Roanoke Island, North Carolina “I want my fucking money!” John Canton hollered at Timothy Wing. He sold the fishing boat to Timothy. A 40-foot rusted, leaking, had seen better days of a fishing boat along with various fishing equipment and nets for the sum of $50,000. It was a done deal. Timothy had given his word that the boat and equipment would be paid off within two years or he could take the boat back- more like would take the boat back. But Timothy's luck at fishing was about the same as his luck with women- Shitty. He was a divorcee, well unofficially. His wife took off with another man. No one has seen or heard from either of them since then. Timothy had agreed to make the payments on time. Once every month until the boat was paid off. Unfortunately, the amount of fish he had been catching hadn’t been enough to keep up with the payments, as well as his own expenses. “If you don’t have the money you owe me by Friday. I’m

taking the boat back.” John said sticking his finger in Timothy’s face. “I don’t have time for this shit or your damn excuses. Get me my money or that’s it!” “You’ll get your money dam ‘it! I’m doing the best I can. The catches haven’t been that large. It’s not my fucking fault.” Timothy replied. His face was covered with sweat. The hangover he was working off wasn’t helping him resolve the problem. “You have till Friday. That’s it no more!” John said turning and walking away. He got into his truck and lit up the tires spraying dirt and rocks in Timothy’s direction. “FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Timothy screamed as the 79’ Ford pickup sped out of view. He turned and walked back to his house. At least that was paid for. At least his father left him something useful in his will. It was one of Roanoke’s historical landmarks. Built in the late 1600’s by colonist. Beautiful then, but now desperately needing of up keep. A new roof. Paint all around. Hell a new everything! As he got to the front porch his yellow lab started to bark at him. He turned his anger from his argument with John Canton to his dog. “SHUT THE FUCK UP ROCK! You worthless mutt! I ought ‘a put you on a hook and use you for bait. Maybe then I’ll catch some fish.” Rock stopped barking and backed up and then went back to lying down on the porch. He quietly positioned himself between a rusted lawn chair and the railing. Never taking his eyes off of Timothy for a moment. He knew from past experience not to anger him. Rock knew that when Timothy was like this it was best to just stay away and stay quiet. Timothy took hold of the front door knob and threw open the door then slammed it behind him as he walked in. “Fuck! How am I supposed to get Canton's money by Friday?” Timothy screamed out loud. “I’m screwed! I am so fucking screwed!” He said picking up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that was half full sitting on the

kitchen table. “Well, at least I still have you my friend. There’s no better friend then Jack.” He said as he unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his lips and guzzled down a good portion of the contents. His drinking had escalated since his wife left almost a year before. Almost to the point where he was too drunk to get up in the morning and go fishing. Many a morning was spent with him puking his guts out over the side of his boat. He had become the talk of the island, the brunt of people’s jokes, and the main topic of gossip at the local diner the Korn Hut. That was where the locals would go and talk. His wife Cindy had run off with a writer who stayed on the island for a short while. She became captivated with him the moment she met him. All he had done was tell her about the book he was writing about the legend of the missing colonist of Roanoke and that was that. She was his! Anything would have captivated her. Hell, a tourist asking for directions to the aquarium would have done it. She was tired of the island and wanted adventure and he was it. Years of marriage had ended with a writer and a promise of adventure. This stuck a knife deep into Timothy’s heart and gave him a good reason to hate writers. Years of trying to please her and give and get her what she wanted. Promises made, but never kept because of his shit luck. “Well hey! You know what Jack?” He spoke to the bottle of whiskey he held in his hand. “Fuck’em all! I don’t need her. I don’t need that fucking piece of shit boat. All I need is you good buddy.” He put the bottle of whiskey to his lips again and took another drink then slowly staggered into the living room and planted himself down in an old tattered recliner still holding the bottle of whiskey in one hand. Never letting it go or spilling a drop. He looked over to the end table next to him and picked up the picture of his ex-wife. “Fuck you! For better or worse. Till death do us part! I

hope you’re happy with Mr. Dictionary. FUCK YOU!” He hollered at the picture and in a fit of anger threw the picture against the wall. The picture slammed into the wall and glass from the frame shattered and sprayed about the living room. He calmed down for a moment and gave out a quiet laugh and then took another drink from the bottle. And then another… And another… Until the bottle was empty... Until he passed out... For the moment the tempest was at bay.

Chapter 3 Ralph Lane impatiently looked out his windshield at the traffic ahead of him. "Cars, trucks, buses. Cars, trucks, buses.” he said to himself over and over again as he sat patiently waiting for traffic to finally move. “I just had to buy a gas guzzler didn’t I? We just had to move to Boston?” He said to his wife Eleanor who sat quietly in the passenger’s seat of the Ford Explorer reading her husband's latest manuscript. “Huh?” “What?” “What did you say honey?” Eleanor said as she turned her attention from the manuscript to her husband. “I said…I had to buy this frig’gin gas guzzler? Didn’t I? With all this damn traffic, every damn day. We had to pick this

vehicle. Might as well of just handed over my credit card and wallet to the gas station attendant.” “We? I told you not to buy the damn thing. But you wanted it because of the stupid toys. 'Tricked out' I believe was your exact words.” Eleanor chimed. “And moving to Boston wasn’t such a bad idea. Boston is a perfect place to live and further your career.” “Well, I should have listened to you.” Ralph replied. “The next time I promise; I’ll listen to you.” “Yup, Whatever Ralph.” Eleanor said shortly then turned another page of the manuscript. She knew that this conversation would happen again. Just like it always did. Whenever Ralph spent money he always put aside what was practical for what sparkled and glittered. If it had a button or a flashing light, he bought it- especially collectable model cars. Their apartment was filled with gadgets that he only used once and then lost interest in. A virtual gadget pack rat she would call him. “Finally! Thank you traffic gods. We’re finally moving again.” Ralph said letting out a sigh of relief. They were heading home after attending a writer’s convention at the Fleet center. It was a necessary trek he and his wife would make from time to time to help push his latest book and hob knob with publishers, other writers and agents and get the latest scoop on what was happening in the literary world. He was a descent writer having made it to the New York Times bestseller’s list twice now. Not number one yet, but the ball was rolling. Sooner or later he would be there at the top. It was only a matter of time and the right story to put him there. In a few short minutes Eleanor and Ralph would be home. Home sweet home. A quiet little apartment on the West Side of Boston-rent controlled. It was what they were looking for when Ralph decided that they should move from Maine to Boston. One of Ralph’s friends from college had lived there before them and passed the apartment on to them before moving out to Los Angeles. It was a great deal at $2,000 a

month. They had their own parking space and a terrace with a wonderful view of the city. Waiting for them at home would be a message on their answering machine. A message that would affect the rest of their lives.

Chapter 4 Sheriff White and Deputy Pratt stood looking down at the ground on the side of the road on Route 12 trying to come to a conclusion. “What do you think it is Derrick?" Deputy Jim Pratt asked as they both stood in the muddy ditch along Route 12 starring at the mangled corpse of what appeared to be some kind of animal. “Whatever it is, it sure as hell wasn’t hit by a car.” Sheriff White said pulling back his baseball cap and taking off his sunglasses. “I can guarantee that whatever this use to be, wasn’t hit by no car.” He kneeled down to take a closer look at the mangled carcass and took out his pen. Gently he folded back a clump of blood soaked fur. Uncovering what appeared to be marks left by a sharp instrument. “You see-you see- right there! What I’d tell you Jimmy.

Those marks had to be made with a knife or an axe.” Sheriff White said pointing with his pen at the slits on the body of the carcass. “Who the hell would do such a thing to an animal?” Deputy Pratt said looking away from the corpse. He could feel his stomach starting to churn and he knew what was coming- if he kept looking. “I have no idea Jimmy. Go get the trash bag out of the trunk of the cruiser. I’m gonna take this over to Doc Clinton’s place and see if she can tell us what the hell it is and what happened.” The Sheriff said. Jimmy did what he was told. He wanted to. Just to get away from whatever that mangled mutilated mess was. This was part of the job he disliked the most. Having to deal with death and having to see it. Car accidents with twisted mangled bodies. Fires with burned corpses and murders with mutilated victims were more than he could stomach. The Deputies stomach was churning harder by the time he reached the top of the embankment. “Almost at volcano level now, aye Jimbo!” The voice in his head echoed. “Three-two-one and we have ignition.” Before he could get the keys to the trunk of the cruiser off of his belt chunks of vomit shot from his mouth. He could feel bile burning his nostrils. “Oh, God!” He cried out. “Are you gonna be all right Jimmy?" Sheriff White hollered to him from below. “Goddamn! If I ain’t never seen anyone puke as easily as you.” Sheriff White said climbing his way up the embankment. “Go sit in the cruiser Jimmy. I’ll take care of this. Damn it! You threw up all over the frig’gin trunk.” Sheriff White said taking off his hat looking at the trunk of the cruiser. “I’m sorry Sheriff. I just see something like that and it just hit’s me.” Jimmy replied. His face had turned pale. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and mouth.

“Just go sit in the cruiser.” Sheriff White said. He put his key into the lock of the trunk and reached inside and pulled out a trash bag. Jimmy sat in the cruiser looking at him feeling embarrassed and inferior until the Sheriff disappeared for a few moments and then he could see him carrying the trash bag with the mangled corpse back up. He could see the Sheriff was breathing heavy. At the Sheriff’s age being in shape was the least of his concerns. After a moment of struggling to position the carcass in the trunk the Sheriff slammed the trunk shut. The driver’s side door opened up and the Sheriff climbed into the cruiser. “You feeling any better now?” The Sheriff asked still breathing heavy. “A little bit. I’m sorry Sheriff.” Jimmy said apologizing again. “I know you don’t have the same stomach as a lot of people. But you’re cleaning that mess off the car when we get back to the station.” “Not a problem.” Jimmy said. The Sheriff started the car and then they headed for Doc Clinton’s place the local Veterinarian on Roanoke Island. The only vet on the island. She would be able to tell them what the animal was and what happened to it. If a car didn’t hit it then why would someone mutilate an animal like this? Most importantly is- was this the end or the beginning of their killing spree?

Chapter 5 Eleanor Lane fumbled with the keys to the apartment as her husband Ralph stood behind her waiting patiently for her to open the door. From the corner of Ralph’s eye, he could see that they were being watched again. “Why does she always do that?” Ralph said to his wife. “What are you talking about?” “Mrs. Pickney down the hall. Why does she always open her door and look at us every time we come home or leave?” “I don’t know. Maybe she’s just a nosy old lady. Like I’ll be someday.” Eleanor replied with a smile. She unlocked the door to their apartment and stepped in. Ralph followed but stopped for a moment to stick out his tongue at Mrs. Pickney who was still watching them. Mrs. Pickney quickly shut her door after realizing she had been discovered. “So what will it be tonight honey? Shall I make love to you endlessly until the sun comes up or we could watch the Yankee’s kick some ass on the Red Sox?” Ralph said. He gently guided his hands around his wife’s waist and softly

kissed her on the neck hoping to get his wife in the mood. “Oh Ralph.” Eleanor said in a playful voice as she took his hands away. “You have such a way at wooing women. Don’t you?” “Well you know it’s in my genetics. I was designed to be every woman’s dream guy.” Ralph replied as he moved in again in attempt to kiss his wife’s neck. Eleanor moved away sending him the message that she had other things on her mind. Ralph got the message but ignored it determined to get his wife interested in being with him. “What is it? Come on?” Ralph asked knowing there was something on his wife's mind other than love making. “I think tiger; you should check the message blinking on the answering machine.” Eleanor replied removing his hands away again that had found their way around her waist. “Message? What message?” Ralph said finally giving up on getting his wife in the mood. He turned around and walked to the cordless phone hanging on the wall. A light was blinking on the display. “Maybe it’s Paul? Please let it be Paul!” Ralph said pushing the play button on the answering machine. The prerecorded message played. “Hi! This is Eleanor and Ralph were not home please leave a message.” There was a beep- and then a man’s voice started to speak. Ralph’s prayer was answered. It was Paul Benton- Ralph’s agent. "Ralph. It’s Paul, I need you to call me as soon as you can. I have a job for you. I think you’re going to like this. Give me a call. I’ll be in my office until six. Thanks.” A beep sounded again as the message ended. “I wonder what kind of job this is? I hope it’s not another biography for some half-ass politician. I really hate those. Absolutely without a doubt hate those.” Ralph said. He dialed Paul’s number and listened as the phone rang several times before Paul answered the phone. “Benton.”

” Paul- it’s Ralph. What’cha got for me?” “Ralph! How’s it going? I was talking to a couple of friends of mine at Newcastle and they’re looking for someone to do a screenplay on Roanoke Island. A murder mystery kinda story. I told them I had the perfect guy for the job.” Paul said. “I don’t know Paul. You know my writing style. I’m not that into writing fiction. You know I write non-fiction. How big is this deal?” Ralph asked. “Big enough that they’re willing to pay all expenses for you to go to Roanoke to do research and when it gets produced you’re probably looking at about $150,000 for yourself.” Paul said knowing that would wet Ralph’s lips. “$150,000! Well, that’s nothing to sneeze at. Let me talk it over with Eleanor and I’ll call you back in a minute.” “Alright- but I need to know soon. The sooner we move on this the better. I’ll talk to you later.” Paul said hanging up the phone. Ralph put the phone back in the cradle on the wall and turned to his wife. “So what did he want? Is it a job?" Eleanor asked. “Well, he wants me to write a murder mystery about Roanoke Island. I have no idea where the hell Roanoke Island is but it’s all expenses paid by Newscastle and when it’s produced we’re looking at $150,000 in our pocket.” Ralph said. “Take it! Take it Ralph!” Eleanor replied. “We definitely need that money. Our bank account isn’t looking as good as it did when you made it onto the New York Times bestseller list. Especially after helping pay your mom’s medical treatments for cancer and paying off our bills. We need that money- take it!” “Ok- so you think I should just toss aside all of my morals and ethics about writing fiction and brain candy stories just because someone offered me a couple of bucks?” Ralph replied. He had a big grin on his face that told Eleanor he was joking around. “Take it Ralph or you definitely won’t be seeing these for a long, long while.” Eleanor said pointing to her breast. She

was a natural woman and hated wearing bras and she wasn’t joking. When Eleanor turned off she was off and there was nothing but ice in the bedroom for Ralph and Ralph knew it. “Ok- I’m going to call Paul and tell him we’re taking the job.” Ralph said quickly picking up the phone and dialing his agent’s number. She had easily convinced him.