Dr Knives (iv)

They said I was crazy. Can you believe that? Would a crazy person have planned it all out so meticulously? Would a crazy person have such a steady hand?

I'll admit the first one was slap dash. That might have been the actions of a madman. I was very keen that Taylor should go under my knife. I was convinced that brain had a lot to teach me, or so I rationalised it to myself. I laid very little ground work there, and lured the patient to my special clinic as quick as I dared.

I look back and it couldn't have been better, really. It all worked out exactly as if I had planned it as carefully as I planned the others.

The mask I wore over my nose and mouth did nothing for hygiene, but it did help to hide my expressions from Taylor. Disgust at the ripe smell of unwashed body, eagerness when I went to work with my knives. An enormous smile when blood trickled down Taylor's forehead, at the neat line carved into skin and bone. And, at the access, at last, to the squishy maze inside.

Would an insane person have kept Taylor alive so long?

It gave me great satisfaction to mess about inside that skull, and watch what, if any, changes ocurred on the outside. It didn't take long for the eyeballs to empty, and the mouth to grow slack. I ferreted, and poked, and occasionally judiciously snipped. All the while trying to regain a look of intelligence in those features, so I could lose it again. A scientist must always be ready to test himself, his theories, and his processes. Replicating a result is very important.

Would a crazy one have kept such detailed notes?

I know I am different from some people, but that's not enough, is it? Who gets to decide what sane is?

The beauty of my work with Taylor was that I didn't need to use the restraints after hardly any time at all. I could make this bit twitch, or render other bits still, as I pleased.

After Taylor, I resolved to be cautious, and exercise (ha!) the utmost restraint. If I failed, it wouldn't take long for even the most sluggish law enforcement to spot if lots of runaways started going missing from the same place, or after having contact with the same man.

It was easy to do, not least because I did keep Taylor alive for quite a while. Taylor was my pet, my guinea pig, for... well for ages. My urge to ask questions, to investigate, to test... These were generally satisfied by poking around in the brain and seeing what's what.

All this time, the only place runaways disappeared to was comfy hotel rooms, or B&Bs. They always reappered after a day or two, looking fed and well rested. It's important to build trust in the community.

In the end, someone discovered what I was up to, quite by accident. I'll never forget the feeling of a torch slicing through the gathering dark, and landing on my latest patient.

Just like Taylor, this one had gone slack in the face. Blood trickled generously. I inserted a blade into the crack there, and levered the top of his skull open. That was precisely the moment the beam of light landed on us. They'd got us bang to rights.

I'm not permitted work to do in here. No patients. No pens or books, even, let alone scalpels. The walls are soft, because they say I'm crazy. Can you believe that?