Inglehart's Monsters, Pt. 3

The records were highly censored. I read through all of the records over and over again, black marks were littered all over the pages. Names were deleted even though dates were left there. Names were replaced by numbers, signifiers for each prisoner. The unemotional signifying of the prisoners brought the stark realization of those cameras from my old office: there are no humans here. People littered the solitary prison cells as I looked from the new office from the Tower, but they weren’t humans. They were closer to being an animal caught in a trap. I waited for the gnawing off of limbs.
It had only been about a week since Bart had been placed into the facility here. Inglehart had been specific in keeping what he had done under wraps until we could figure out just what had happened. All of Bart’s symptoms seemed to just point to a complete mental breakdown. I tried to keep him under observation for days in isolation. He never moved from the corner of the room. He only rocked back and forth in the far left corner from my vantage point. This was the work Inglehart had told me would give me the experience I need to work with the prisoners.
The first week I had working with a prisoner came as a shock to me.
The prisoner displayed the typical traumatic disorders associated with isolation; dissociative personality disorder, paranoia and a developing multiple personality disorder. His physical body had deteriorated to a point of what appeared to be acutely related to psychosomatic illnesses, or Munchhausen’s Disease. Prisoner 764 had spent an entire week of his time with me speaking of how he had been sick ever since his second week of his tenure in the prison.
Every other prisoner displayed the same tendencies of dissociative personality disorder, including a personality override. Each prisoner had a minimum of three personalities, one of which appeared to be violent towards themselves, if not anyone within arm’s length.
The last day will stick with me until I die.
The time together had been just as it always was with Prisoner 764. His continual litany of woes and illnesses brought him to the point of death. As I was working on his prescription of opiates, he jumped across the table between us. He knocked over the chessboard. Sinewy fingers wrapped tightly, squeezing my neck. I was becoming light-headed, almost blacking out as the guards ran in, faces hidden by their masks.
I struggled to my feet and screamed at the prisoner. I was swearing, promising, praying that the prisoner would be put into the desert around us to die in the sand. As I was screaming, I barely noticed the guards place a hand on my shoulder. I barely noticed the needle be pressed into my neck. I just remember the black.
****
I woke up in Inglehart’s dining room. The crimson walls and high seatbacks were as imposing as they were when we all first got there. I sat and my bags were placed by the door which we had been forbidden to open.
Inglehart shuffled in looking over his notes.
I sat motionless as he sat across from me. His saggy, wrinkled flesh was contorted into a face of seriousness. He began to tut as he read the notes. Long minutes felt like hours as I watched his bright blue eyes skirt the page in the same place.
He finally looked up at me and had his wolfish smile as he spoke the words which I knew were coming, “You’re going home. You have finished your research.”
I nodded and began to rise.
“Wait,” his voice cut into my muscles as I lowered back into my seat. “You have not been told why. Wouldn’t you like to know what you are allowed to bring back into the world from here?”
I searched his face. He turned his attention back to the stack of papers and began to split it into two distinct piles. He worked quickly and deftly, hands moving only as fast as they could. Finally, he reached the end of the stack. Inglehart smiled at me and made his wrinkled hand push the smaller stack to me.
I didn’t reach out but looked at the other stack. He followed my eyes down and smiled.
“This shows too much of what I am doing here, too much of the eugenic quality of my work. After all, a Jew that believes in purifying humanity is quite an outrage. Especially if that Jew has numbers etched into his skin.”
He leaned forward to meet my eyes, “the monsters I keep here are specifically kept as not to be able to breed anymore. I do not go out of my way like I was forced not to breed, these monsters are whole; a gift I was not given. However, you have caught onto how these men may have no communication and or lobotomies, so I think it’s a win-win. Take your things and go.”
“Doesn’t this take away from the whole fact of being human? You do not give them a chance, you don’t rehabilitate. There is no chance of salvation here.” My voice was becoming shaky as I met his blue eyes.
“Do not play this game. You know as well as I, salvation is a lie. No one has salvation,” he slowly stood up. “That crucifix around your neck is a lie. That was what Bart saw here, no isolation or mental lapse from separation. He saw the human condition; we are born to be slaves and to hate. This is my evolution, my way to breed out the people who cause these problems. No homophobia, no racism, no one there to kill or inflict pain on anyone the way my mother met!”
His voice echoed through the hall as he stood rigidly. Slowly, he sat back down and threw the other stack of papers into the fire behind him.
“Sometimes, those few who have had a chance must be erased to ensure that they never be brought back.” His voice became small as he looked at his shaking hands, “the violent have become a scourge on our society. This is my way to pay it back, to eradicate those violent and to physically force it out of them.” He moved his hands slowly up his sleeve to look at the numbers in his skin, “I stand up in spite of no one doing that for me. No cares what happens to them, just like they don’t care about the victims, they only want to make sure it never happens to them. Selfish machines are all we are. Now go.”
****
I don’t know what happened to the others. I was ushered out of the place. I left after what he said. The desert air filled my lungs outside.
I got onto the bus waiting for me and looked at the gates.
I did not become death, but I had dinner with him.



Fins.