This is a short story I'm working on presently. It is a work in progress. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Marvin K. Perkins

Compulsion

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, OCD, is an anxiety disorder and is characterized by recurrent, unwanted thoughts (obsessions) and/or repetitive behaviors.

I don’t know when it started exactly. It seems I was always that way. The constant checking to see if I took care of a particular task and repetitively going over endless details to the point of appearing totally insane. Worrying on my commute to work that I left the water running or forgot to turn off the coffee pot. Sometimes to the point of turning around and actually going back to the house to make sure. Of course I did in fact turn them off but I felt such relief in knowing for sure I could then continue on with my day. When I was an infant I probably would suck only from my mother’s left breast ignoring the right because that was my obsession. I’m sure I organized my toys in my play pen and arranged them over and over again. If someone tried to move one I would pitch a temper tantrum until that toy was put back in it’s proper position in the pen.

Time is another thing I obsess about. I check my alarm clock numerous times to make sure I actually set it. God forbid I should wake up even a minute late.The constant waking repeatedly during the night to check the clock, always fearful I could oversleep keeps me tired and always frustrated.

And don’t let anyone be sitting in my favorite booth at the Starbucks or my assigned chair at an office meeting or I go into an almost uncontrollable rage inside. Don’t park in my parking space either or there will be hell to pay. I can’t tell you how upset and near the edge of losing it totally if anyone touches any of the pictures or any other articles I have neatly arranged on my work desk.

Germs are my mortal enemy, they terrify me. Any new disease that comes out I am dreadfully fearful I have contracted it. Door knobs in public places loom as terrifying instruments waiting to deliver malady. I do not dare touch them with my bare hands but with the aid of a handkerchief I religiously carry. I can’t get my work done some days because of my numerous trips to the restroom to wash my hands, like a surgeon scrubbing up for a gall bladder operation. And sit down on a public toilet, forget it. I almost soiled myself more than a few times because of fear of them.

My hair is another source of abnormal obsession. I don’t think I really care what it looks like but I just can’t stand for a single hair to be out of place and if the wind blows my hair I can’t rest until I find a mirror to correct the problem. The crease in my pants and shirts must be perfect and nothing less than shined shoes and a perfect “gig” line will do.

One of the favorite pranks my co-workers love to pull is hiding my chair or intentionally moving the articles on my desk that I have meticulously arranged. They just don’t know what I secretly would like to do to them. But I wouldn’t hurt a fly, not me. I’m just a lowly accountant who goes to work everyday and sits in his cubicle like an inanimate object to be pitied and ignored. I don’t even exist to most of these people unless they need the mundane report I am working on that day or to make fun of my name, Michael Jackson . I had the name first, having been born ten years before he was, I tell them repeatedly but that still doesn’t disuade them from making me the brunt of their jokes. I would really like to go and get a gun and come back and blow brains all over the floor but I’m too mild mannered like Clark Kent before he became Supeman to do a thing about it but feel embarrassed. I have never been a popular kind of guy or a person who made friends easily. But I have my discipline and that makes me head and shoulders better than these Neanderthals.

My wife, poor thing is now a hopeless agoraphobic. She was a beautiful and outgoing woman up until three months ago. She was attacked and brutally raped by an assailant that is yet to be caught. Over the weeks she has walled herself up in our house and in fact in her room. She rarely comes out but to eat and occasionally talk to me in a guarded fashion. Of course sex is totally out of the question since her attack and no amount of reassurance on my part ever made any difference.

Monica had gone out for a jog in the park that evening at dusk. It was her habit to run in the park at least five days a week and that day was just routine, nothing special. She was almost halfway into her route when out of nowhere the assailant grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the bushes down a ditch. He was wearing some kind of bizarre and hideous disguise so she didn’t get a look at his face. He savagely tore her blouse and sport’s bra off and cut her shorts and panties away with a knife. He held the knife to her throat as he thrust repeatedly. It did not take long for him to finish his foul business being so excited by the actions of his attack. When he was finished he beat her so savagely she was unrecognizable for weeks after. I’m sure he had intended to kill her but luckily he was scared off by another jogger. The wounds on the outside faded in time but the emotional scars are so deep I fear she will never fully recover from her trauma.

One night a few days after the attack, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I was cutting up a frying chicken with a rather large kitchen knife when she entered. I had a little blood on my hands from the raw chicken and was holding the knife up preparing to make another cut. Upon seeing this scene she ran from the room screaming in terror. I followed her to reassure her she was in no danger but to no avail. This is when she began her migration to the spare bedroom where she spends her time. I am alone except when she cautiously ventures out to eat and we talk sometimes. I love her very much but missing her touch and the closeness we once shared is hard to bear……….

The alarm clock sounds at four o’clock tearing me from some much needed sleep and plunging me into the dreaded Monday morning. “God, it couldn’t be four already “I mutter under my breath. But I feel fairly rested having slept pretty well only waking one time to get up and take a leak. As much as I would like to turn over and go back to sleep of course that’s not going to happen. “Get your butt up you slug” I chastise myself. So I roll out of my cold, lonely bed like a soldier at reveille and head for the bathroom to take a shower.

The water is hot and soothing helping me to wake up from the sleepiness that still grips me. I ritually wash each vital area of my body numerous times, shampoo my hair thoroughly and turn off the water. I step out of the shower, dry off and head to the bathroom sink to shave.

Clearing a spot in the foggy mirror with the back of my hand I take a quick look at the reflection. “Damn you’re a handsome devil” I observe. “I can’t understand why you don’t have women throwing themselves at you”, I further comment. Well, they don’t, and in fact I never had a lot of women interested in me is the brutal truth. Hell, I couldn’t even get a date for my own prom. I didn’t have a girl friend for two years after I graduated from high school. Just lucky I met the love of my life Monica, who now has become almost a stranger to me.

I stare again at my reflection and all those years of rejection overwhelm me “I ’m totally useless” I lament. If I disappeared off the face of the earth no one would even give a damn. My wife barely knows I’m alive and my co-workers look through me like I’m transparent. I’m not even sure what my purpose on earth is any more. I wonder sometimes why I don’t just end it all and maybe take some of these other people I despise along with me. But I don’t have the guts to do it. Besides Monica needs me, how could she survive without me?

All right enough of this pity party. I am intelligent, talented, trustworthy, disciplined and dependable. I’m a boy scout in other words. I’m loyal and faithful like a puppy dog. “Get moving and finish shaving” I say. Don’t mess around and be late thinking about this crap.

I finish shaving and start to the kitchen to make the day’s first cup of coffee. I don’t have to worry about putting any clothes on now that the kids are gone. I really enjoy walking around the house in the buff. I think I am a closet nudist or something as much as I enjoy it, but I could never walk around naked in a public place. And how the hell does anybody play volleyball or jog with their johnson flopping around. And ladies with their boobs bouncing surely cause a few unintentional boners to occur on the part of any males who might be viewing their juggling activity. I don’t have the greatest body in the world and displaying the shortness of a certain member of my body would be way too embarrassing

Monica and I used to walk around our first tiny apartment in the nude when we were first married and I still remember the excitement and freedom I felt. Those were the good times. Before the kids, the job that almost seems like a curse, and of course the awful incident that happened those few months ago.

I grab my steaming hot cup of brew and head to the computer to check my e-mail. I really don’t expect any new mail but hopefully one of the girls has graced me with some news. The oldest girl is in medical school in Chicago and the youngest is in the army currently doing a tour in Iraq, which keeps us always nervous and wanting to hear from her. But as usual there is nothing but spam. So I let my fingers do the walking over to Google to check on something. I just finished reading a murder mystery and in the book the author talked about the killer using a homemade silencer when he murdered his victims. Just for the hell of it I typed in “how to make a homemade silencer” and low and behold the first site on the list was called gunshot.net and you would not believe the specific instructions I found there. The site hastened to remind me that possessing an unregistered silencer was against the law but the instructions were right there. This is what it said along with a lot of other very specific information:

There are generally three sections to a firearm silencer:
The first stage of the firearm silencer usually consists of something that will absorb and dissipate heat rapidly. It also allows for part of the compression to be reduced due to the quick cooling of gases.
The second stage of the firearm silencer usually consists of rubber or plastic washers or discs that help slow down the bullet to sub sonic speeds. It also helps reduce compression.
The third and more complicated stage of the firearm silencer usually consists of tall wooden washers with rubber discs between them or thick chambers of soft plastic. The end of this stage has a low wear rubber cylinder to slow down outgoing air.
The entire firearm silencer is contained within a one and a half inch 300 PSI (Pounds per Square Inch) plastic PVC pipe

I had no idea it was that easy, I should buy me a pistol. A 9mm or .45 would be good. I am familiar with those from my days in the Navy. If I needed to cap some of these fools that give me grief I could do it without making much noise. Why do I think these things, I’m a good man. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’ve never even been in a fist fight in my life much less shot anyone.

I also Google “waiting time to purchase a hand gun in California “and find out there is a ten day waiting period. I find out there is a gun shop downtown not too far from my office as well. Hmm, that’s interesting. I might just check some guns out today on my lunch break. I visit a few more sites and call it quits. It is getting on towards six o’clock and I have to be getting dressed and heading downtown to the office where I slave. Thank God, I took the time to press my shirt and pants last night so all I have to do is jump in them and head out the door.

I’m in the living room taking my car keys from the hook I keep them on when Monica comes out of her room. “Good morning dear” she says almost in a whisper. I say good morning. “Could you stop by the Walgreens and get my prescriptions filled for me” she says as she hands me the empty bottles. “Would you like some Italian food for dinner, I’ve got a taste for lasagna for some reason”. I say of course hon, that sounds good to me I’ll stop by Angelo’s on my way home.

I pull her close and give her a tender kiss on the cheek. I say softly, “God, I miss you babe, I wish you would come back to me. I know a terrible thing happened to you that I can’t possibly understand but I know I can help you through this if you give me a chance.” “Just give me a little more time, I’m not strong enough yet, and I just need to be alone now”, Monica says almost in tears. We release our momentary embrace and she heads back to the seclusion of her room.
I grab my keys, step outside and of course lock the door . I make it to the car before compulsion draws me back to the door to check to see if I indeed locked the door. I try the knob three or four times and in fact I did lock the door of course. “What an idiot” I mutter. Shaking my head as I walk I make it back to the car and unlock the door. Getting in carefully making sure I don’t hit my head.
Finally I’m in my car heading for the slave pit downtown….


The rapist awoke early this morning, kisses his sleeping wife on the cheek and smiles a sadistic smile. His wife is unaware of the type of monster she sleeps with every night, who hides his evil from her with a vale of goodness she can not penetrate. His two beautiful little girls sleep down the hall, also unaware a monster abides with them in the perceived safety of their own home.

His compulsion is wakening again and he needs to satisfy that obsession the only way he knows. He holds his throbbing weapon in his hand, it burns with passion and he knows what he must do. Again today he must go on the hunt in search of prey to satisfy a need that consumes him. He is compelled, there is no choice and he knows he will obey his compulsion like a slave beat into submission by the master’s whip.

He rises from bed wearing the mask of a hard working family man and goes down stairs to make coffee and breakfast for his family. His wife and the girls still slumber upstairs while he labors silently below. He knows what they like, eggs, bacon, toast and pancakes with strawberries and maple syrup. The aroma of the coffee and frying bacon permeates the air and soon the girls will be down stairs hungry and begging daddy for pancakes and chocolate milk which he will be happy to provide lovingly for them. His lovely wife will also be down soon looking for a cup of his fresh brewed, piping hot coffee.

Sure enough here comes the two little girls gleefully laughing and yelling. “We want pancakes daddy, are the pancakes ready?” “Yes, they’re ready,” daddy says,” how many do you want? “Two, two,” the girls plead in unison. “With maple syrup and strawberries and chocolate milk to drink?” daddy replies. “Yes daddy, please” the girls again reply in unison.

Daddy is serving the girls when his wife comes in and has a seat at the breakfast bar. “How about some bacon and scrambled eggs dear? And I know you want some of this fresh brewed coffee.” The husband asks his wife. “That would be great, thank you sweet heart.” The wife answers.

The rest of the morning goes along routinely. They get the girls ready for daycare, drop them off, and the husband drops his wife off at her job. Then he is alone at last and heading to his place of employment. Let the hunt begin….

.
Damn it I can’t believe how some people drive . “Watch where you’re going [naughty word removed]” I scream out the window. I wish I had that gun so I could blow your head off. Oh hell, what is this crap up ahead, a detour, you’ve got to be joking, I know I’m going to be late now. I can just see someone getting my parking space and if I don’t have time for my Starbuck’s latte I’m really going to be pissed. Come on this can’t be happening, not on Monday morning but that figures. Can this day get any worst? Crash, oh hell an accident right in front of me, thank God I could stop in time. Slam, but not the lady in the silver Lexus behind me, talking on her cell phone and adjusting her war paint as she smashes into my rear end. Bang, you’ve got to be kidding here comes another car skidding sideways and knocks my blue Cadillac Sts into the median strip where I end up scratching my head wondering what the hell happened. 911, somebody call 911 I think the lady who was rearranging her face might be hurt. I have a cell phone and dial 911 and explain the situation and tell them we need the police and possibly an ambulance. Now I’m really late so I grab my phone and call the slave pit and tell my master I’m in a four car pile up and am going to be late. He grumbles but acknowledges my situation saying I need you here as soon as possible. I rummage through my glove compartment, find my registration, insurance information and get out of my caddy to assess the damage before the cops arrive on the scene. Oh well, I think I can at least drive the damn thing. I’ll worry about the body work tomorrow.

Hell, here they come at last, it’s about time, I’ve got to get to work my boss is already steaming. Over here, ass wipes, I need to get going, I’m late, I’m very late. Where is that guy, the one who skidded across the interstate and knocked me into the center divide. There he is at the top of the hill talking to the cops when they should be down here talking to me. Wait a minute, why is the culprit driving off, that can’t be good. Here comes the cop now, it’s about freaking time.

“Officer is there a problem, why did you let that guy go? He’s the one that caused the whole accident.” I plead. “He claimed his car wasn’t involved in the collision with yours and I see no noticeable evidence that he did indeed strike your vehicle, sir” the cop replies. “So I had to let him go, I had no choice” the officer further exclaims. “That’s bull” I say,” “ he caused the whole thing”. I can’t convince him and of course he gives me the ticket, so once again I’m on my merry way to the office, now running an hour late. This day and week is not starting off very well, what else is going to happen…


The rapist, is now free to roam, having dropped off his wife and children at their perspective designations. His compulsion is strong, almost blinding, as he drives down the street on the way to his place of business. His lust for the prey is like a lion on the hunt with the smell of blood in the air. He has in mind a couple of potential victims but he must move slowly, carefully and with stealth for he is a cautious and patient stalker who has no attentions of being apprehended before his has his fill.
He remembers the one who got away. The one so sweet, a witness to his evil and the only one who still lives to give his description to the authorities. He must find her and finish his incomplete work. For the kill is the most exciting part of the game and he will not be denied his final victory.

He must maintain his composure, his family man mask must be kept securely in place to keep the world from seeing his hideous ugliness that lies just below the surface. For he is crafty and cunning like a fox and no lowly so called officer of the law could ever match wits with the likes of him. He can come and go at will for he is the pillar of the community, the ultimate familly man. What a perfect disguise, no one could ever guess his identity, not even and least of all his own family.

Mr. Rapist had been tracking a particularly tender looking morsel, ripe for the picking only a few blocks away from his place of business. He had noticed her one morning on his commute to work while stopped at a red light. Ever since that day he had been tracking her every move waiting for the right moment. Most people are creatures of habit and this lovely creature was no different. She kissed her husband goodbye at the door every morning at 8 o'clock and then retreated into what she thought the safety of her home. At 9 o'clock sharp she would come out the door to her car and head off to work. He followed her one day and discovered she worked as a bank teller at the Bank of America not too far from where she lived. And irronically he had an account at this very same bank, what a coincidence. The simplicity of the situation made him laugh, what a fun game it was indeed.

She took her lunch everyday at precisely at noon and came back at one. At 5 she was finished for the day and headed home. She apparently had no children and her husband didn't get home until at the earliest 7 o'clock in the evening. She was the perfect prey and soon her time would come.

Today seemed like the right time to satisfy his insatiable need and lustful hunger for forbidden flesh and pleasures too long suppressed. He knew her routine. He was watchful ever patient but his patience had come to an end now it was time to act. He was cautious but could wait no longer, now was the time.

He was watching across the street and saw her at the door kissing her husband goodbye for the day. Little did she know that a surprise visitor awaited across the street and soon she would be in his arms. But alas, it would not be a pleasant experience for her but it would be her last.

Mr. Rapist, saw her close the door and gave her a couple of minutes to get comfortable in the house. He could just imagine her disrobing and getting ready to shower and preparing for her day. The excitement was overwhelming, but he must maintain his composure for there was work to do. He eased out of his vehicle, looked both ways and slowly walked towards the door behind which lay the prize. He continued to look from side to side as he walked looking for signs of anyone who might witness his intrusion but he saw none. The coast was clear as he reached the door and began his entry.

He was a master locksmith and there was no door lock that could stop him. Locks on doors were there only to keep the honest people out and were little or no deterent to a man with his special skills. Just like clockwork he was in the house. He could hear water running in the upstairs bathroom that suddenly stopped. He could hear footsteps that he assumed were hers headed to the bedroom and heard the sound of the television as it was turned on.

He moved ever so slowly, not making a sound. The element of surprise is always the key and she was in for the surprise of what was left of her terrifying life....


As you might guess I am very late arriving to work and in no mood to hear any crap concerning the reason for my tardiness. The elevator is taking for ever, I can't believe how slow this stupid thing is. Boy, I sure could use another cup of coffee but no way in hell I'm going to stop at the Starbucks now. What I could really use is a stiff shot of rum or maybe two or three shots, but obviously that's not going to happen.

Finally the elevator is here, "about time, anytime today", I complain out loud. I push the button for the 10th floor and watch as the floors go by and finally I reach mine. What a day, this day can't get any worst, at least I hope not. If I hear one bad joke about my name I can't be responsible for what I might do. Just let me get to my desk and get started working on whatever accounts receivable file is in my box. That's all I ask this morning.

I get off the elevator take a right then a quick left and there it is, the office from hell. I walk through the door displaying our name San Diego Accounting and Management Services Inc. and start the trip to my cubicle hopefully without incident. As usual I walk through the office pretty much invisible to most of my coworkers which is just fine by me. I don't have but one friend, Jimi Lewis. He is pretty much of an outcast in the office himself. He's what you might call the "black sheep" of our office family, but I find him to to be a very stimulating conversationalist and a cool guy. He is the only afro-american that works in my part of the office or as he calls himself the only "chip on the cookie". I have a strange bond with him for some odd reason. He's like a guy from the streets and for some reason I find that exciting. He has the cubicle next to mind so we talk a lot which makes my time at least somewhat bearable.

Oh hell. here he comes I should have known I'd encounter at least one prick on my journey. The one and only office clown and all around jerkoff, Lester Madison. He has a dumpy little fat body and a bald head that is way too big for it. His eyebrows look like they could use some attention with a weed wacker and his scraggly mustache droops over of pair of very thin dried up lips. His clothes look like an unmade bed but he has the unmitigated gall to walk with a swaggering strut.

"I thought you died" he taunts as I walk by his work space. "I guess you ain't going to beat it anymore, huh Michael?" he further elaborates. I knew that one was coming since Michael Jackson the "king of pop" had just died over the weekend. Not to be bested by a bozo like Lester, I come back with " the rumors of my untimely demise are greatly exaggerated." He however is not taken aback by my clever comments, and quickly retorts, "the only thing bad about you is your breath."

I've heard enough of this and quickly finish my excursion to my work area. I am at least relieved to see that none of my practical joking, fun loving butt wipe dwellers of this office domain have moved any my personal articles that I keep meticulously postioned on my desk. Thank God for small favors.







more to come....
















© Copyright 2009 marvin