When Lester Paks was a little boy, he was diagnosed with Stereotypic Movement Disorder. Rather than the more common repetitive behaviors associated with SMD, such as hand waving, rocking, or fiddling with fingers, Lester’s affliction was more severe.
He could not stop biting himself.
While SMD was often associated with mental retardation, Lester had a higher than average IQ. But something in his brain compelled him to stick his fingers, hands, arms, and even feet, into his mouth and gnaw.
Medications and behavior modification therapy had little effect. In the first grade, his disorder escalated sharply. Instead of limiting his bites to himself, he began biting other things. Furniture. Appliances. Pets.
It culminated when he locked his jaws onto a classmate named Jesse Sloan, and it took six people to pull him off.
Lester went into an institution after that. They kept him drugged up, and when that didn’t stop the biting, they removed his baby teeth.
When his adult teeth grew in, he was given an orthodontic device that prevented him from opening his mouth more than a centimeter. After more drugs, and therapy, and nine years in the institution, he was finally able to get his disorder under enough control to be released. Puberty had arrived, and blessed Lester with a large stature. At age fifteen, he stood a foot taller than most adults.
Lester celebrated his release by running away from home, removing the orthodontic block with a hammer and pliers, and abducting a forty-year-old woman at a gas station. During his two days with her, he learned about the joys of sex, of causing fear and pain, and of biting without any restraint at all. Her cause of death was listed as exsanguination—blood loss resulting from over three hundred of his special little kisses.
Lester was caught, tried as an adult, and had an incredible break. A brilliant doctor testified in his defense, and got him free. Later, the doctor was able to cure him of his SMD. Lester still had the compulsion to bite, but he no longer desired to bite himself. This meant he could finally live out a lifelong dream without fear of self-mutilation.
It took countless sessions, sitting in front of a mirror with a power drill and a nail file. But when he was finished, twelve of Lester’s front teeth had been sharpened into points that rivaled any predator in the animal kingdom.
The biting became much more fulfilling after that.
Lester’s mouth locked onto the girl, and he applied pressure. Not much. Just enough to draw some blood. Lester had never had sex without blood.
He’d also never had sex that was consensual. This Georgia girl was the first person to ever come on to him. And though, like the others, she seemed afraid, she also seemed very willing.
Because of that, Lester had no immediate desire to chew her into little pieces. The idea of an active participant was so exciting that he was able to keep the biting urge in check.
Except for that one little nip. A bit of blood to help with the lubrication.
When he mounted her, she made sounds like they did in the movies. Instead of the begging, crying, and screaming he was used to, she moaned and squealed and sounded so sexy that he quickly reached climax. Afterward she held him, kissing his neck, and in a highly erotic turn of events she even gave him a small bite.
Yes indeed, this Georgia girl was something special.
“Lester is taking Georgia girl home.”
Her eyes got big, and she sucked on her lower lip. “To your playroom?”
“Yes. But Lester won’t hurt Georgia girl. He likes her. He wants to show her something.”
Her hands moved down, grabbing him. “Lester already showed Georgia girl something. And she really liked it.”
Lester blushed, and then felt the stirrings of a second arousal. But this wasn’t a good place for sex. The feral people were around. They feared Lester, but there were too many, so he had to stay on guard.
He climbed off of Georgia girl and pulled up his overalls. “Lester wants to show Georgia girl the pet. Lester thinks Georgia girl will like it.”
The girl tugged up her pants and stood, and for a brief moment she looked scared and Lester thought she was going to run. That would be bad. Lester would have to chase her, and then he’d take her to the playroom and tie her up and hurt her very badly.
But she didn’t run. Georgia girl reached out and took his arm, resting her cheek against his elbow.
Yes, she would like meeting the pet. And afterward, Lester would introduce her to Doctor. But Doctor wouldn’t give this one to Subject 33. Not this one.
This one, Lester was going to keep.
Sara found the next ribbon in the direction Martin said it would be. After hours of fruitlessly searching for the damn things, her relief was palpable. But so was her fear. Every moment they remained undiscovered seemed like borrowed time.
The trio moved slowly, stopping often to listen if they were being followed.
All they heard was screaming. Meadow’s screaming.
Sara walked with her shoulders rigid, her fists clenched.
Please, stop screaming.
Every wail was worse than a slap. As a psychologist, she knew about the mental processes involved in certain instances of child abuse—research she boned up on to better understand Georgia, who put a child in a clothes dryer. The trigger of Shaken Baby Syndrome was usually a frustrated caregiver who couldn’t take the crying, and began to resent the very life they were supposed to protect.
For God’s sake, just stop.
While Sara’s tendencies forced her to help those in need, she finally understood what prompted those otherwise responsible adults to act so abusively.
After listening to the screams for more than ten minutes, Sara began to lose control. She recognized it happening, knew the reason why, and still couldn’t stop it. Rage coursed through her, and it wasn’t directed at whoever was hurting Meadow.
It was directed at Meadow.
Just shut up, please just shut up. Why won’t you fucking shut…
And then the screaming stopped. Sara stood still, listening.
Crickets and nothing else.
It also came with a real measure of relief. But at the same time, Sara feared it meant Meadow’s death. The fear trumped the relief, the weight of the realization threatening to sink Sara into the ground. Having one of her kids run away was bad enough. But Meadow actually dying? Dying when it was her job to protect him?
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Sara fell apart.
Laneesha sidled up to her. She’d been walking with her fingers in her ears, and in the moonlight her face glistened like a wet plum. Sara hugged the teen, who hugged back, and they spent a moment sobbing.
Martin touched Sara’s hair.
“We have to keep going, hon.”
Sara nodded, wiped a fist across her face, rubbing away tears, and began searching for the next ribbon. As she walked, she raged against the conflict going on inside of her. One part, grateful the screaming had ended. The other, angry at herself for being grateful. Add this shame to the horror of murdering a man, and Sara questioned her capabilities to counsel children, or anyone else for that matter. Her job description required empathy, along with the ability to dispassionately disconnect. Sara seemed unable to do either.
That made Sara even more disgusted. On top of everything going on, she had to throw herself a pity party.
“We should be there soon,” Martin said, coming up behind her. He spoke deliberately, a measure of pain in his voice. “How many ribbons have you counted?”
“Ten or eleven.”
“If we’re going in the right direction, the campsite should be very close.”
“Or we’re heading toward the lake, and will have to retrace all of our steps. We need to pick up the pace, Martin. If there’s any chance Meadow is—”