Post by Sammy Kuklinski on Jun 24, 2018 5:12:45 GMT -5
And All the Kings Horses
Audio File of Prison Therapist Antonio Raab.
“Where to begin with Caden Walker? The man is a walking case for a deranged sociopath if I ever heard of one. He isn’t...delusional to say anything. I don’t believe that he actually understands what is happening around him at any given moment. I believe that he simply isn’t...attuned to the rest of the world at any truly given moment. Now, the belief that many of the other doctors have is that he is suffering from some form of Psychosis, brought about by the war. I don't believe that’s the case. I believe that the war simply gave him an outlet. In the way that Rorke would have been better off in the ancient world, so too would Walker, I believe. Walker is a man thrown through time, in an age where his kind are labeled as psychopathic. He is a killer with no real guidance, aside from the trophies he collects, which he views as reminders of those he kills. I’ve asked him if he used to collect when he is in war. He said that he was told to by his generals. When I asked what he used to collect, he said that his trophies were pretty simple. Helmets. Bullets. Parts of their uniform. Then they started getting stranger as he grew more restless. Bits of their hair. Teeth. At one point, he said, he would collect fingers and hands. And at one point, he told me after some cajoling, he actually skinned one of the prisoners of war alive, and kept it with him. I asked what he did with the skin. He wouldn’t answer me. I don’t know if that disturbs me more. Or less. All I know...is that he is looking at me more. A lot more. And I don’t know if I can keep talking to him much longer. I’m requesting to be moved to a different patient. He is...starting to scare me.”
End Tape
Caden ran his palms along the sides of the leather coat he had built for himself, his eyes glancing up and down to check for any discolorations or torn seams. He had worked hard on this one. The beauty of it all was that he had spent a long time on it. Making sure that it was perfect for him. That the fit for it was just right. The coloration was good. The leather itself was well tanned, and had a deep brown hue to it, which he enjoyed most of it all. It reminded him of the good soil of his old farmhouse home. The soil would be a good color at this time of year. Some of the crops would be growing real well too. Probably a few acres of corn at this time. Maybe the lettuce as well. Potatoes. Tomatoes. Caden pressed his palm against the leather a bit more, smoothing out a wrinkle on the left arm before raising it up to the single light that he kept in his workshop. The light shone against it, not piercing through like it would to one of the faux leather jackets that he saw at the big stores and malls in the cities he worked at. Coats with no true craftsmanship. No heart in the design. It sickened him, in some respects. The world had veered away from what he liked. That was natural. The world was different during the war too. The world was different all over. In some respects he wanted the world to be like that. The world being all the same would be unnatural. The good earth of his San Antonio home would feel out of place in those burning deserts where he first fired a gun at a human. The coat still felt heavy, but he would have to get used to that. He set it down, listening to the soft thud of it hitting the wood of the table as he searched along the workshop for his next items. The accessories to add to the coat. All good things needed their accessories.
Audio File of Caden Walker Interview Tape 17
“Mr. Walker, I hope that after our last interview you might be in better spirits?”
“You don’t have to call me Mr. Walker.”
“True, but it would be good to call you that. After all, we aren’t a persona relationship yet, so using last names is more-”
“My daddy’s name is Mr. Walker. Caden works, Miss.”
“Caden then. Well, Caden, has your new cell been good for you?”
“A prison is a prison, Miss. Putting paint over it don’t matter much.”
“I understand that, but I’m asking in comparison to your original prison, is it satisfactory?”
“It’s roomy. Don’t have a cellmate to bother me.”
“Is that why you broke your last cellmate’s jaw? Because he bothered you?”
“Yes, Miss. I don’t like being asked questions all the time. Not when I don’t have to answer them. Not like now. It was after meal time, and I was tired. He kept asking me if I liked what I did. Kept asking me, and asking me. I didn’t want to answer him. I told him to leave me alone. And he didn’t. So, I made him shut up.”
“Then, would you mind me asking that question?”
“I can’t stop you, but you may not like the answer.”
“Did you enjoy killing those women?”
“I did. Why did you add women?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I killed a lot of people. Men and women. Why do you care about the women?”
“The report that we received only talks about the murder and mutilation of the women.”
“It doesn’t talk about what I did in the war then, does it?”
“That wasn’t murder.”
“Wasn’t it? Just ‘cause we get told to kill them and everyone here agrees don’t make it right. I did things in that desert that would make a city girl like you scream...and you paid me for it. Do you know what it sounds like when you shoot someone in the throat and they don’t die from the gunshot outright?”
“I think this interview is done for today.”
“First they gurgle, trying to scream but nothing is coming out except air and blood. Then this pained hissing noise like -”
“Security.”
End of Tape
Caden smiled as he finished the last stitch, attaching the patches from his victories in Union in a pleasing manner, as well as fully finishing up the last piece of his attire to the coat. A hood, with the bones sewn along the sides and top of it. The hood itself was light, not made from the tanned leather. It was a fabric, soft to the touch. He needed it soft, so that it pulled away from his head easier and so that the bones wouldn’t add a painful bit of weight to it all. He lifted the hood up and down, checking to see if the bones stayed in place before he laid it all out on the table, satisfied with his handiwork. The coat was done. All that was left was a final wear, but he had to save that for later. He needed to work on one other thing. Something else he had been wanting to design for awhile now. Something to...inspire fear. That’s what Miss Sarin had said. That he needed to inspire fear, like the word of God itself. And that’s just what he was going to do. His hands moved towards the pieces assembled in front of him, ready to work, but he stayed his fingers. There was something else he needed to do. Something just as important. He reached past the pieces, and grabbed at the Bible before him. He needed the Word of God itself, before he started on his masterwork.
Caden Walker Interview 29
“Caden. Caden!”
“Sorry Miss, I was thinking of something.”
“It’s ok. Just...you know what they would say if I didn’t try to get your attention. They are already breathing down my neck as it is. You aren’t making things easy for me Caden.”
“Sorry Miss. If I knew how to help you, I would.”
“You aren’t really doing that Caden. You like to be cryptic with what you say, and that doesn’t help me.”
“It ain’t me being cryptic. I just don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know why I do all these things I do. I just do them, Miss. In some sense, it just feels right. Miss Sarin said that its cause I’m a sinner. I ain’t accepted God’s light in my heart, so that sin is making me do all these unpleasant things.”
“Do you think that’s the answer, Caden?”
“I don’t rightly know Miss. It sounds right. So, I believe it.”
“That...isn’t an answer.”
“It’s my answer Miss. If I had any other ideas or answers, I’d give ‘em to you, I swear. But I don’t.”
“You never struck me as a religious man, Caden.”
“I ain’t.”
“But you’ve been talking to Miss Sarin.”
“She’s been talking to me. She wants to help me. Sorta like you. But she brings help in a spiritual sense. Which...honestly, is all that I want. Help, I suppose.”
“So, you are turning to religion for that?”
“There ain’t an atheist in a fox hole. I’ve seen plenty of those, Miss.”
“Well, this has been enlightening Caden.”
“If you say so, Miss. I don’t rightly know what that means, but it sounds like you’re happy.”
“I am Caden. I think we are seeing some good improvement.”
End of Recording
He placed the torn pages of the bible in their respective slots he had worn through on the mask. The mask was a respectively simple design. He had taken a wolf skull, having cleaned it and soaked it in warm washing liquid, letting the tissue and decomposition wash off. From there it was simply a matter of deep cleaning with a knife and brush, and then slicing through bits to make notches to push the holy paper into. And now it was ready. The mask was something special. Designed to Strike the Fear of God into the hearts of those he came across. Miss Sarin had told him to picture how God looked in his eyes. He had seen the paintings of that holy man. And something about the paintings didn’t make him see God. God wasn’t some decrepit old man with a flowing white beard. That wasn’t a God. No. He saw God as a beast. A wild creature, roaming the lands of Heaven, Hell, and Earth. A Wolf. This was God. He adjusted the mask against the Coat, sliding it along until he found the spot where the hooks connected with the loops on the mask, tugging it into place. The mask slid in easily, and was held in pretty well. Now his outfit was complete. He looked at it up and down before smiling. Now, now, he had become the Avatar of the God he believed in. And how those urges deep inside of him screamed. Screamed to be awakened once more as he held out his hand, and embraced it to its fullest.
“It’s all come together. Truly. Those losses I suffered were purposeful. They were losses that were used to awaken me to the reality of this place. This horrible hell that we are all in, it’s all with a purpose. All with a drive. A goal in mind. At the end of the day, there is nothing else left but to accept that fact. That this whole terrible place that we call earth is a hell for people like us. It’s a violent, bloody, and cruel thing. This hell we call home. We butcher one another like cattle, some with words and some with weapons. We scar and torture one another and leave the broken bodies as testaments to our accomplishments, because that is what they are! They are trophies to us! Those bodies that we leave behind, we point to them with pride and tell the entire world. And...when people like me are born. People who make those trophies more obvious. We are shunned and locked away, because no one wants to be reminded of the horrors they leave behind. No one. That is our true sin, as I have been taught. That we leave behind these trophies but don’t want to accept them as what they are. So, I am branded a killer. And it’s true. I am a killer. I’m a killer and when I killed for all of you, I felt dirty and wrong. I killed because the country that I fought for told me that I needed to do it. I killed because they said that if I didn’t, that I was betraying my country. Betraying my people. Betraying everything. So, I killed. I butchered men who were told the same by their country, and I was called a hero for it. That isn’t what a hero is. I came home, to my family, and felt...wrong.
And when I worked outside of the military, I discovered why I felt wrong. I felt wrong because the killing in the military, in that damned desert, meant nothing. It served no purpose. Everything that I fought for, all those ideals and other bullshit that I fought for, meant nothing. Because in the end, when I started killing again, when I began to kill for me, the world turned on me. It turned on me for the skills that it had taught me. The country I fought for, that called me a hero, called me a monster. And I was made to look like a freak in a cage for the world to mock. I wouldn’t be made that freak again. I needed to find a reason. Find a person for all that killing that I had done. Why would I kill if it made me out to be some sort of monster? I needed a purpose again. So I searched, and I searched, and...I found that purpose. I found that purpose in a very beautiful place.
Miss Sarin showed me that purpose. She told me of God. And she said that the reason why I felt so wrong, felt like nothing that I did truly mattered, was because I wasn’t killing for a true reason. I killed to appease myself, so was killing innocent people. I was going against God. I needed to kill for him. Needed to kill to bring his light and darkness into this world. This corrupt hell that we live in. And that brings me to what is coming. What is coming so close. So close that the chaos of it is beating in my skull, and singing in my blood. Guerilla Warfare. Sort of fitting for me in a way that it’s called that, isn’t it?
“This is a contest between several of us, to prove who in all of us, can prove ourselves to be worthy contenders for that Union Battleground Championship. A title that signifies you as the best in the company. I’m not the type of person to care about such trivialities as being the best in the company. It’s what it represents to the rest of the world that is important. You see, the belt itself is a sign that what I believe and what I fight for is correct. That what I do, when it comes to how I fight and why I fight has mattered. There are people going into this fight that I’ve faced off against before. There are plenty of challengers. Plenty of fellow warriors. Plenty of sacrifices. And that’s what this is all about, at the end of the day. A true sacrifice to God. This is what I’ve been waiting for. The chance I’ve longed for. My entire life I’ve sought out a purpose. A reason for why I am like I am.
And this is that purpose. This is that reason. I’m not going to squander this chance, for anything. Nothing in this world will give me the satisfaction that this might. Fighters, warriors from all over the world. Fighters I’ve never faced. Fighters that have become...more personal. I’ll tell you something. I’m very excited to go against the Right Hand once again. Joe Stanton has made life very difficult for me and my family, and for that he has proved my path to be the right one. For those beloved by God will face many trials and tribulations. This is my trial. My Tribulation. And one that I am excited to face off against it. You have proven to be...fun, Stanton. And above all things, I want the satisfaction of tearing apart those that stand in my way. All of them. And at the end of it all...I will be the last one left standing. Broken. Bloodied. But victorious. And it is here that I will become God’s chosen soldier. His true sword. And it is that which I want above all things. A meaning. A purpose. This is what will give me that meaning. That purpose. Guerilla Warfare...I can’t wait.”
With a dark smile crossing over his face, a sort of placid peace came over his eyes. His hands moved along the coat before tugging it on. A perfect fit, just like he had thought it was. He had made sure of it after all. The coat slid over his entire frame, drifting into play until it was fully on. With that same look of absolute peace he let the hood fall over his head, the wolf mask drifting down across his face as well.
“Nothing. Will be the same. Again.”
As he turned around, facing away from the camera, the final piece of his ensemble became plainly visible. A screaming face, sewn into the back of the coat as the centerpiece. An homage to the past life he had. A trophy. And he’d have plenty more trophies soon. At least 19 of them in fact.