Psycho Scott

I once knew the most awful man. To speak simply, he was evil.

Working as a shrink in Downtown Los Angeles you meet a lot of people. This community, rich with privilege and oozing with youthful enthusiasm, had acquired a ridiculous amount of problems. There was a trend that I picked up, “I’m rich and bored so I suffer with my inner thoughts because I honestly don’t know what to do with myself.” This song of self pity was on repeat and I was unwilling to hear any more of it.

To veer into a more interesting field I volunteered to work with the county jail and talk to their prisoners. Naturally I was able to ease into this risky business because I had taken five full units on forensic focused psychology in grad school, so I was equipped. But never would I have been prepared for the challenge I met inside the prison walls. It was as if Scott could feel me coming, he was capable of so much, yet he saved all his sinful desires for one person. That person was me. Why? I cannot say, maybe he liked a challenge and I was the only one who could set up the game. Or maybe he needed to prove to himself and one accountable person that he truly was not human.

I sat with Scott four times a month; we watched baseball and sang old songs he liked. You could say we got real close. We told each other secrets and we opened up very easily to each other. Even though he was an accused murderer I felt like he could have done my job if he had done his life right. So I told him a deep dark secret: “I sometimes get so angry at my clients in the LA area because they don’t know what they’re missing and they just dont know how lucky they are to be in their place, sometimes I-I-I could just kill one and take all their money so I could donate it to charity, make use of it.” Scott laughed and smiled and said “You’re just like me.” Then things got serious because I was only joking and he started: “You’re just like me, I can feel it, the only difference is you’re the type of person that needs to kill out of revenge, to be spiteful and heroic. But besides that, you’re just like me, you like to kill.”

I was so disturbed I gave him one last glare: “You know nothing about me, you really are insane if you think I’m anything like you Scott, have a good life…” and I walked out planning never to see him, ever.

The next week Scott ran out, escaped, broke free, and somehow made his way to my house. He murdered my wife and three little boys leaving a note stating “Here’s my theory, you’ll get so mad after this, I’ll bet you’ll kill me now, TAG YOU”RE IT”…he used the house phone to call the police and sat on my porch in the dead of night eating an apple waiting to surrender. He freed himself having the opportunity to start a new and make something of himself. Rather, he ruined my life by ending my family’s life, and all for what? All for a game? My family died in vain. All because I knocked on the devil’s door and he took a liking to me. By volunteering my time he mistook me as a player in one of his games. Inviting me to a miserable realm I never would have asked for in a million years. What a game it was.