Maniac

Chapter 1 - The Suspect

Before the madness, before the horror that still haunts me to this day, I used to live in a small flat in the state of Massachusetts. The date was 1963 and it was just me and Wendy in the apartment - a dear friend since long ago. Wendy would get up at five every morning to prepare for work and would often be seen preparing lessons on the weekend. We weren't very social people (Wendy and I), but every now and then we would host an evening with our two closest friends - Alice and Bethany. We would sit by the fire on my 1950's couch with a glass of wine in hand, and talk about the rare interesting things that occurred in our lives. We were the most ordinary people that you would happen upon in your lifetime, we all had normal jobs and would go about our daily lives with only the stress of work on our shoulders.

It was a Sunday morning; Wendy was out in the kitchen preparing the following weeks lessons and I was still in bed listening to the quiet sound of the birds chirping on the small apple tree outside my window. I could see Wendy from the bed, she was up on a bar stool in the kitchen. I could smell the strong scent of coffee and realised Wendy had already thought ahead, one of Wendy's school mugs sat on the table next to my bed. The dark blue emblem printed on the mug had started peeling due to age. I sat up and took a sip of coffee - still hot- and Wendy had apparently noticed this as she got down from the stool and came towards me (still holding her pen). "Your boss called, I told him you were asleep. He made sure that I told you to call him back." I nodded in reply, I wasn't ready to start talking, I had only been awake for just under five minutes and I liked to slowly rise from slumber on Sunday mornings. Wendy had sensed that I would rather sip coffee and stare out the window at the cloudless sky, than talk to anyone right now.

I knew I should call my boss, incase it was urgent. I picked and dialled his number. Phones had literally only been out for three years and I always secretly got excited when I got to use one. I could hear the quiet hum of the phone and then I heard his voice.
"Yes, who is it?" He was never very formal when using a telephone, I think he still hadn't come to terms with the idea of it. "What do you want?". I replied almost instantly before he got the chance to hang up. "It's me David, Lana Winters". "Who?" He screamed down the phone.
"Lana Winters, I work for The Lowell Sun newspaper, I'm a journalist there, you apparently called earlier regarding work!" "Ah yes, Kit Walker. A young man, who is now suspect to killing his wife and two other woman. He is being moved into captivity today at four o'clock sharp, where they will decide what to do with him. I'm sending a team down there and I want you to be the main head on this story. Do what you do best and I'm sure you will bring a great story to my desk some day. Have a nice day Mrs Winters" and just like that he hung up and I had a new story to follow.

It was four o'clock and the team as well as many other news company's were crowded around under what seemed like an tunnel or alleyway. I stood in front of the car, talking to Ralph about how this story could be a major breakthrough in my career. I put out my cigarette on the concrete underneath me and turned my head around to take a glimpse of what sounded like the arrival of Kit Walker. "Get the tape recorder ready Ralph, and pass me my notepad will you! quickly!" I told him. A large crowd came stumbling round the corner into sight. The sound of footsteps and journalists yelling questions echoed off the walls. Through the many heads and the bright flashes of three or more cameras I could see him, Kit Walker, in what seemed to be a straight jacket. His hair bounced of the top of his forehead and he seemed to be showing the expression of a stubborn, confused man. As he and the crowd made their way past, I didn't even bother trying to get into the mob and yell questions. He wasn't saying a word. I could see up ahead he climbed the steps to the Court house where he would spend the next couple of hours restrained in the straight jacket, doing the best he can to prove innocent.

After only an hour and fifteen minutes, the doors to the court house flew open and a huge crowd ran up to Kit, throwing questions and begging for answers! I didn't know why I even bothered, the only thing any of the journalists were told is that he hasn't been proven guilty and is being sent to a "sanitarium for the mentally-ill."

I sat down at my type writer thinking of ways I could start the draft to my story. I started by including my personal thoughts on the matter in which stated how harsh the punishment of sending Mr Walker to an insane asylum was. When he did nothing of a nature that would even be suspect to a mental illness. I needed to find which institution he was sentenced to. Then I would be able to get inside information about Kit Walker that no-one else has even dared to get a hold of. I started my research by finding out the names of all local institutions that would be appropriate for a patient of Kit Walkers crimes. After finding and listing seven possibilities, I would then look further into the institutions and proceed onto bribing men in high positions of the court for answers. I was a journalist, it had to be done.

It was a Monday evening and I was on my way to the town hall where I had arranged a meeting with a member of the high court. My high heels hit against the marble steps that led up to the main building. As I approached the desk a deep voice yelled out. "Lana? Lana Winters, I'm Joseph Russell. Come this way!" He led me to an office labelled 'Joseph Russell - Court Supervisor'. He pulled out a small chair in front of his desk and notioned me to sit down. He then walked around his desk and sat in a huge leather chair. His office smelt like stale chips and smoke and had a very cosy stereotypical office feel. After discussing various topics about the town, I subtly brought up the topic of Kit Walker and his sentence. "Well, I'm not really aloud to say anything as it undergoes legal confidentiality. But." There was the word I was looking for. "But. I will tell you this. A good place to go if your looking for an institution for the mentally ill, would be Briarcliff." He then handed me a piece of paper that read '11:30 am is when he will arrive'.

I liked being a journalist for two reasons; I liked to write and express my ability and also I liked researching and doing sneaky things in order to achieve information.