“Mr. Vintez, some of these lacerations seem quite severe! Can you tell me again how you got them?”
“I’ve told you people already,” Oscar sighed, “I keep the knives on a higher up shelf in my kitchen. I was making dinner, went to grab one, and accidentally brought the whole container crashing down on me. Blades flew everywhere. Honestly, I’m surprised I even survived. I expected one of them to just fall and stab straight into me!”
“Okay,” the doctor replied skeptically, “but you will have to stay here overnight, so we can monitor your blood pressure.”
“Sure thing, Doc.”
As the doctor left him alone in his room, Oscar Vintez half-heartedly smiled to himself. He figured the doctor didn’t believe him, but what was the guy going to do about it? Besides, Oscar was too embarrassed to tell the doctor what really happened to him.
How could he have let this happen? After practicing and doing it so many times, how could he have been so careless?
Got overconfident, Oscar thought to himself. I let my guard down,' he thought, ''and I paid the price. It won’t happen again. Next time, I’ll find a girl who won’t be as keen to fight back.'
Everyone has their own problems in the world, and this was Oscar’s. Every once in a while, he would head to a bar or a club, anywhere he could go to pick up chicks. And unfortunately, he was good at it. Oscar was fairly good looking and could be quite the gentleman, always knowing exactly what to say, when to say it, and even seemed to know who he had the best chance of taking someone home that night. Oscar was rarely turned down.
But when he finally got his catch of the night home, everything changed. Oscar fades into his true personality: a psychopathic serial killer with a flair for the sadistic. Blades were his tools of choice, but he likes to mix things up occasionally with hammers, chemicals, and once even a rat.
Last night, though, was a blade again. Oscar had to work a little harder to get this one to his quite secluded home, so he planned on taking extra pleasure in her final night after she was tied up. He liked to use the kitchen for his fun because the tile was the easiest surface to clean the blood off of in his house. Oscar turned his back to the girl in search of something to spice up the blades for a truly memorable night.
But he hadn’t tied her tight enough. She broke loose, grabbed a knife from the table and began slashing away at Oscar before he even knew what was happening. She got in a few good gashes before he was able to strip her of the weapon, and in anger and frustration, thrust the knife through her throat. This made him even angrier, as he now had nothing to play with. He knew he had to go the hospital for his cuts, as he was pretty sure they were serious. With no time to clean up, he tossed the body out back under the porch, came up with his story, and headed to the hospital.
Oscar couldn’t remember the last time he had been in the hospital, and he sure as hell didn’t remember how beautiful most of the nurses were. And here they were: brunettes, redheads, and even a blue-dye haired beauty. All willingly putting themselves in a building filled with dark, rarely-used backrooms and such a variety of sharp and pointy instruments.
The lust inside Vintez could hardly be contained. But he thought he could hold out for the icing on the cake; he wanted a blonde. Nothing in the deranged eye of Oscar’s mind could hold a candle to the beauty radiated from a face in a frame of luscious, golden locks of long, flowing blonde hair. He may not have seen one yet, but he knew one must be around somewhere.
While lying in his bumpy hospital bed, Oscar imagined and performed in his head every nasty thing and dirty deed he could come up with to each nurse who came into his room to check his blood pressure. He wanted to follow each one from room to room, waiting for them to have to check the basement for a hard-to-find item or head outside for a smoke break in the dark back alley behind the hospital, where they wouldn’t be seen. But there was always too much movement in the hospital to move about effectively, plus he was still recovering from his blood loss and may not have the strength for the whole ordeal.
The day wore on, and Oscar felt as if so many great opportunities had slipped through his fingers. Fortunately for him, his restraint from leaving his room prematurely scored him the grand prize.
A blonde nurse, hair down the small of her back, stepped into his room. Her figure was perfect, with curves that would provide such a smooth surface for a scalpel to slice, and the beauty of her face gave even Oscar a desire so deep that he couldn’t even begin to express it. He was speechless, staring open-mouthed at the embodiment of perfection before him. Her eyes met with his.
“Nurse Phoenix, but you can call me Jasmine,” she looked at her clipboard, “Oscar.”
Smiling, she walked over to the machines Oscar was hooked up to and jotted down some notes about the readings.
Oscar had to say something. “I’m not usually like this,” he said to her, forcing a stutter to feign innocence, “but you must be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
She giggled again, and Oscar tried to imagine what that giggle would sound like coming from her throat in a glorious scream.
“A lot of men have told me that,” she replied. “I’m getting pretty used to it now.”
“I have never spoken truer words,” Oscar said truthfully. “I never lie about such things.” This statement was not quite as truthful.
Nurse Phoenix blushed, blood rushing to her face in a way Oscar appreciated in a way only someone like him could. She ripped a small piece of paper from the clipboard and scribbled something on it.
“There’s an emergency pager in the stand next to your bed. This,” she handed the small piece of paper to him, “is my pager number.”
There was a small patch of caked blood on her arm that Oscar saw as she reached over to him. He found this little detail adorable.
“I’m on call tonight. When the clock reads midnight, page my number. I’ll be here as fast as I can.” She winked at him before walking briskly out of the room.
'Too easy,' Oscar thought.
It was already seven o’clock, but midnight felt like it was days away.
- BEEP BEEP BEEP*
Oscar shut off the alarm he had set on the clock. It was 11:45PM. Just enough time for Oscar to prepare himself. The sleep had done him some good. He felt much more refreshed, as if his body had doubled its healing speed while he was out. Oscar didn’t really have any plan for the night ahead of him, but he knew one thing; blood will coat the floor by daybreak. He knew this night could be the end of him. There was no chance his actions would go unnoticed, but he felt as though if he were to end his life for anything, it would be to see this woman’s beautiful body in shreds. Oscar got out of bed and stretched for a bit. He could move almost freely and without pain, which made him even more confident of what the night dangled before him. He looked at the clock, 11:59PM. He hopped into bed and got the pager ready, number dialed. Midnight. He hit the send button, and waited for his prey to come to him. And waited. And waited. Oscar stared at the door intently, expecting it to open any second. After what must have been ten minutes, he went to grab the pager to send another page. But when he saw the clock behind it, it said it was still midnight. That can’t be right, he thought. As he went to look back at the door, his heart skipped a beat. A dark figure caught his eye. Jasmine was standing right next the door, shaded in a corner where the light hardly reached. His heart calmed as it realized this, but began to race again as Nurse Phoenix stepped into the light. She was dressed in a skimpy, tight nurse’s outfit, and he could tell she was wearing to underwear of any kind. Her green eyes locked with his as her every step clacked loudly beneath her stiletto heels. Oscar was entranced as she moved closer, hardly daring to make a move as that which he wanted most dearly to drain the life out of glided straight into his hands. “Lay back,” she commanded in her silky voice. There was nothing around to efficiently restrain her, and Oscar didn’t want to make too much noise just yet, lest he be interrupted before he even began so he obliged. “Close your eyes.” Head back, eyes shut, Oscar felt her get on top of him. Then he heard what sounded like a belt. She was wrapping the attached bed restraints around his wrists. Oh, the irony, he thought. She pulled a little tighter, shifted, and then tightened the one around his ankles too. One more shift, and she leaned in close to Oscar’s face. He could smell the perfume on her, and cursed it for hiding the lovely smell of her flesh. Then she tightened the restraints again. This time, it felt as though it almost broke his wrists. Oscar bolted upright as far as he could without being able to move his wrists. “What the fuck?!” he growled at her. Jasmine gave him a sly smile, got off of him, and did the same to his ankles. Oscar was pissed, but he figured she must have to do this to some of her patients, and this must be how tightly she does it regularly. But she would feel his displeasure with this soon enough. She turned away from him, showing her perfect blonde hair going down her back. She reached for the zipper just below the back of her neck and slowly began pulling it down. But something wasn’t right. As the back of her outfit began to open, Oscar saw the skin of her back in between strands of her hair. It was gray, and almost black in some spots. She turned around, and Oscar’s eyes filled with fear. What had once been a face he so longingly wished to dismantle had turned into a face that looked as though it had been dead for years. Greenish-gray layers of skin peeled from her cheeks, and the eyes staring back at him were no longer green, but milky white throughout. She removed the nurse dress that seemed to take some of her skin with it. The torn areas didn’t bleed, but oozed a black slime so slowly it seemed not to move. The parts that Oscar used to define a woman were all but gone on her, rotted away or torn off with the outfit. He looked up to see that even her hair had changed, from the glowing blonde to a tangled mess of gray wire. Oscar tried desperately to tear himself from his restraints, but he couldn’t budge them an inch. Jasmine didn’t giggle at this, but cackled with a raspy throat that sent rotting bits of flesh from inside her flying out. She walked over to Oscar and pulled a restraint out from behind the top of the bed, held his head back with jagged fingernails that dug into his skull, wrapped it around his head, and tightened it. “Tonight,” she wheezed, “you are mine.” She leaned in and shoved her tongue down Oscar’s throat, choking him. He gagged not only because of this, but from the taste. Her mouth tasted like rotten fish glazed with shit. His stomach tried unbearably hard to throw up, but her tongue still blocked its path. Finally, on the verge of suffocation, she pulled out and the contents of Oscar’s stomach emptied onto the floor. He could swear he saw a chunk of her tongue in there. “What are you?” Oscar pleaded. His throat was still on fire. “I’m Nurse Phoenix,” she croaked as she grabbed a scalpel from inside a nearby table, “and I’m here to take care of you.” She placed the blade of scalpel just above Oscar’s wrist and dragged it down, digging it in. The blade felt as though it were on fire. Every nerve ending in his arm went wild, telling his brain to project more and more pain to his arm. It shook violently but still without being able to truly move. Oscar screamed in pain. “One inch deep,” Jasmine said in a scratchy, sing-song voice. She reached underneath the bed and pulled out a bag of medical supplies. In almost one swift movement, she set up a drip and dug a fat tube into the incision on Oscar’s wrist. The bag said “Adrenaline.” “No more sleep.” Oscar’s heart rate grew impossibly fast. He felt like his chest was about to explode, and the burning still hadn’t stopped. Jasmine continued to smile her wretched, disgusting smile at Oscar as he lay in shock. Once more she reached into the bag and pulled out a small tablet, tehn reached for the scalpel again. “For some fun,” she sang once more as she dug the scalpel deep into Oscar’s gut, opening a hole to his stomach, “drop just one.” She dropped the tablet into his stomach and it immediately took effect. An unimaginable pain swept outward throughout Oscar’s body, an agonizing pain that would have made him pass out were it not for the adrenaline drip. He wanted to cry out in pain, to cry out for help, to cry out for so many reasons, but his voice was stuck. “See it stain,” Jasmine rang in his ear. As she leaned the head of his bed up, he saw what she was talking about. All his veins had darkened to black. His stomach, which looked to have been bleeding profusely previously, was now oozing the same black goo that came from Jasmine’s torn wounds. Some more vomit escaped Oscar’s mouth, some black sludge along with it. She reached into the bag one more time, emptying it. She had pulled out two full, fat syringes with tips at least four inches long. The fluid inside was a dark red, darker than blood, and thicker. She got on top of Oscar the same way she had done before, and suddenly, the pain began to lighten. He could no longer feel the burning, and he couldn’t tell what his heart rate was very well because he couldn’t hear the monitor. He could hear nothing, in fact. Silence enveloped him, leaving just he and Jasmine together. She put her mouth right next to Oscar’s ear. Quietly, she whispered slowly with a smooth voice, “Feel their pain.” She leaned back, drew a syringe back in each hand, and then lunged them forward, stabbing them into both of his eyes. Oscar couldn’t hear his own screams, but he could certainly, feel the cold metal tips in his eyes. Then, he also felt the injection. The piercing metal had reached his brain, so the fluid splashed in and out of every wrinkle in his brain. His head was spinning; his mind was out of control to the point where he had no control over his thoughts. All he could see in his mind was his victims, from his first to his last. He saw every last one. Then, he was them. Oscar was in the position of every woman he ever touched, watching himself slash, stab, pound and tear apart every inch of his own body. Every method he ever used to produce the tortured screams of another person was being used against him. Every stab wound, gouged eye and slashed throat produced by his mind registered to his brain as if it were really happening, only to be reset and done again. Oscar was trapped in a perpetual state of his own pain, lost in the early seconds of midnight of that fateful night. He would die, of course, once the adrenaline drip ran out. But the good nurse wasn’t about to just let that happen.