Run For Your Life
Warning: Readers' discretion is advised. The following depicts graphic scenes of violence and gore.
1966
Well, I'd rather see you dead, little girl, than to be with another man
He could feel the nerves throughout his entire body react as he rushed down the hallway, avoiding eye contact. His shaking hand pulled the key to his office out of the pocket of his lab coat. Adjusting the key with his right hand, he managed to force it into the lock and turn. Pushing open the door and yanking at the key, he fell into the office. He went to his desk and found a crystal glass filled with water and splashed it onto his face. Running his hand through his slightly damp hair, he laid down on his couch and went to sleep. He needed to do it again.
You better keep your head, little girl, or I won't know where I am
James Potter was not a simple man, but he lived by a simple set of rules. He was the doctor and everyone else were the patients. There were others who claimed to be doctors but they were fakes, liars, phonies, pretenders. James Potter, Dr. Potter, was the only doctor.
You better run for your life if you can, little girl, hide your head in the sand, little girl
According to society, Dr. James Potter MD, FACS was a world-renowned neurosurgeon. Widely known as the best neurosurgeon, or surgeon in general, in the world. He had a mortality rate of two percent, which was at least ten percent lower than the national average. He had an incredible understanding of the brain, spinal cord, and nerves. Other doctors who watched him operate would often say that his work with a scalpel was masterful. Surgery was what the man was built to do.
Catch you with another man that's the end, little girl
Not to mention he was a handsome man, known as one of the most eligible bachelors. It was big news amongst the medical community when word got out about his salary. In 1965, when he was hired, the average doctor made upwards of eight grand, the average neurologist made twenty-eight thousand, and James Potter made just over ninety thousand dollars a year. The average person in the United States made four thousand dollars a year. Many people said that sort of salary would bankrupt the hospital, but with his fame, brilliance, and charming smile, he was a solid investment.
Well, you know that I'm a wicked guy and I was born with a jealous mind
In reality, Dr. Potter MD, FACS was a world-renown neurosurgeon. Widely known as the best neurosurgeon, or surgeon in general, in the world. He had a mortality rate of four percent, which was at least ten percent lower than the national average.
And I can't spend my whole life trying just to make you toe the line
You might ask, where did the extra two percent come from? Your initial thoughts of Dr. Potter lying for fame are wrong. Then your next thoughts about there being some sort of mistake on the records are also wrong. The extra two percent of dead patients have no record. Not anywhere. They probably have some sort of birth certificate, maybe a high school degree, but beyond that, there would be nothing.
Unless of course, there was a missing persons file for them.
You better run for your life if you can, little girl, hide your head in the sand, little girl
After two hours, he awoke. His decision to do it again already had slowed the shaking in his hands. He immediately changed his clothes from a professional white button-down and a silk black tie to a flannel button-down, tucked into a pair of light blue denim jeans. Then he left the hospital, leaving his briefcase in his office.
Catch you with another man that's the end, little girl
James drove for about forty minutes in his army green pickup truck until he reached a beaten-down old bar.
He smiled as he looked in, it was mostly older men drinking with old friends, but there was one girl with long blond hair sitting at the bar. He approached.
Let this be a sermon, I mean everything I've said
"You come here often?" He asked, leaning onto the bar next to her. He knew it was a bad line, overused and overplayed. But he had found that when women thought he was bad at flirting, they became more comfortable in his presence, which was necessary if he were to be successful.
"First time, actually." She responded in a thick European accent. "Where you from?" He asked with an endearing smile.
"Germany." She answered, returning his smile.
"And what are you doing here in the States?" He asked.
"I wanted to see the free country." She retorted.
"And what do you think of it?" He questioned.
"Not so free. Too many rules. Almost as bad as the USSR." She joked.
James grinned down at her. "Oh, don't say that. I think you just haven't had the right tour guide."
"Are you the right tour guide?" She asked with an eyebrow raised.
"I may be." James laughed, pressing a hand to her back.
"I don't even know your name." She shook her head and faced the bar.
He held out his hand and said, "Craig Anderson."
She turned, eyeing the hand, then greeted it responding, "Finja Wagner."
"Beautiful name." He responded, still holding onto her hand.
"Almost as beautiful as 'Craig.' She mocked.
James laughed loudly then looked at her, cocked his head, and said, "Let me give you a tour."
"I don't know..." She responded uneasily.
"Please?" He asked with a large, trustworthy smile.
"Okay." She flipped her hands in the air. "Better than sitting alone in my apartment."
"Oh trust me, it will be much better." He chuckled, leading her out of the bar. "This is me." He pointed at his green truck that was parked at the side of the building. She walked towards the passenger side of the car and he followed her. He began to open the door for her and as she started to get into the car, he covered her mouth with a cloth and she quickly fell unconscious.
Baby, I'm determined and I'd rather see you dead
He threw the cloth onto the ground and lifted her body into the back of his truck. He then covered her with a black tarp so passers wouldn't be able to see her. He got into the driver's seat and drove towards his land.
His land was one square mile of northern California's finest land. It was rife with nature and wildlife and had cost over a year's worth of his salary. If anyone were to ask why he had bought the land, he would explain that it was perfect for his favorite hobby, hunting.
You better run for your life if you can, little girl, hide your head in the sand, little girl
He pulled into the driveway that led up to his mobile home. James put up the sign on his door that said, 'Gone Huntin', then pulled out the wheelbarrow from the side of his trailer. He placed his shotgun, hunting knife, and flashlight in the bucket. He went to the back of the pickup truck and pulled the girl out, still unconscious and still covered in the tarp, and placed her into the wheelbarrow. He walked into the woods for about fifteen minutes, all the while humming. He had found that he was quite a fan of The Beatles. They had a certain, swank to them.
Catch you with another man, that's the end, little girl
Once he reached his destination, he unscrewed the top of the grate. He threw the body over his shoulder and climbed down the ladder.
I'd rather see you dead, little girl than to be with another man
He pulled on the switch, which started the hum of the lights. The room that was now visible, had a large table in the middle, a tray of tools next to it, and a collection of different objects in jars lining the wall. He carried the woman to the table and placed her on her back. He removed her clothes and starting with her forehead, he pulled a leather strap around her and tied it tight, then he moved onto her neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, waist, hips, thighs, knees, calves, and then ankles.
Lastly, he placed a rolled-up rag into her mouth.
You better keep your head, little girl
He then climbed back up the ladder. James dumped his hunting gear on the ground and wheeled the bucket back to his trailer. When he returned to the bunker, he saw her eyes were now wide open and she was struggling against the leather straps.
Or you won't know where I am
"It would be much easier for me if you would stop squirming." James lectured her. Hearing those words, she started to scream, of course, it was muffled by the gag in her throat. He snapped on a pair of gloves and grabbed a scalpel, not bothering with sterilization or a blood transfusion. He wasn't planning on keeping this one around for too long.
You better run for your life if you can, little girl
Dr. Potter started his incision from the top of the left brachium and sliced until he reached her carpus.
Finja's eyes were now drenched in tears that kept falling as she tried to scream through the pain of her fileted arm. The doctor continued to cut into the patient, meticulously carving at the nerves, seeing how the squirming reacted when he hit one. He then moved onto the shoulder and clavicle. At this point, Finja had fallen back unconscious because of the pain. He made one slice across both shoulders and began peeling back her skin so he had a view of her rib cage.
He could see the heart beating, the lungs filling with air, and the diaphragm bending. The majesty of the human body.
Hide your head in the sand, little girl
The doctor then broke the ribs, creating a better view of the heart and lungs. Then he stabbed into the heart and watched the cavity overflow with red, sticky blood.
His makeshift heart monitor gave out a squeal and the blood stopped its flow. His perfect four percent mortality rate was now four point zero eight.
Catch you with another man
He drained the blood into a few different bags before it was able to hemolyze and threw the sealed bags into his cooler. Then he flipped the body over so that the open chest cavity dripped onto the floor below him. He carved into the muscular back and he pealed out the spinal cord without severing it at any point. Dr. Potter brought the cord to his workbench. He carefully took out a drill and made tiny holes in each vertebra. Then he took a piece of fishing wire and strung it through the holes. Once he was finished he connected a hook to the top. Dr. Potter placed the hook onto a nail that was sticking out of the wall of his cellar. He took a step back to examine his work. The bones were hanging in perfect symmetric order. It was beautiful.
That's the end, little girl
Dr. Potter turned back to the dismantled body. He had no use for the rest of it. James crammed the body into a large black trash bag and dragged it up the ladder and out of the bunker along with a shovel. James walked what he could best guess was east for roughly five minutes until he abruptly stopped and began digging. Once he was thoroughly happy with the hole he had made, he dumped the contents of the bag and began covering it with dirt. When he finished, he brought the bag back to the bunker and began to clean up the mess he had made. By the time he finally climbed out of the bunker and began his walk back to his trailer, the sun was starting to rise.
That's the end. little girl.