Chapter 10 The tenth psychological consultation

Wow, I had a major breakthrough last night, doc.I'm half asleep and I'm sleeping on the bed, you should feel comforted, wake up suddenly urgent to urinate, and run to the toilet quickly.When I came back from the toilet, I thought about what I had just done, and I suddenly became sober.Of course I was too happy to sleep again. Going to the bathroom in the middle of the night is just an old habit, but it means that my habitual movements are gradually returning, which is a good thing, right?Maybe it means that my whole person is back.Don't worry, I remember you telling me to try to accept the fact that I may never be able to return to the way I was before I was kidnapped.But this is still progress.

Maybe the urination was successful because I was half asleep and didn't have a chance to think for a while.I've always liked the idea of ​​dancing like no one else is.For example, if you are alone at home and a strong song is playing on the radio, you may sway to the beat, feel better, feel the rhythm, blend into the song, move your feet to the music, raise your hands, twist Lift up the electric motor buttocks.If the same scene turns out to be in public, you start to think that everyone is watching and judging you.Are you worried, is my ass shaking too much?Am I on the right beat?Are they laughing at me?Then simply do not jump.

Every day I was locked up on the mountain was a trial.He rewards me with extra favors when he's happy.If I don't do things fast enough, and I don't do them perfectly, that's rarely the case, because I'm too careful to do things, and I get slapped and the benefits are taken away. While the psycho was busy evaluating my behavior, I was also busy secretly analyzing his psychology.Even after he confided to me about the mother-child interaction, I still couldn't figure out the key to his emotions, anger, sorrow, and joy, so I could only memorize each situation secretly and file it in the memory bank for further investigation.Parsing his needs and wants became a full-time job, so I studied the undertones of his diction, the cadences in his voice.

Living with my mother for a long time, I can judge the alcohol concentration by seeing how much her eyelids droop, and I have developed a unique skill.In addition, I also learned from my mother that predicting other people's behavior is not a careless thing, just like getting along with a tiger, you never know that you will be its playmate or feast.Everything depends on his mood.Sometimes I do something wrong and he barely responds.But sometimes I make a smaller mistake, and he throws a tantrum instead. Around March, when I was about six months pregnant, he came back from hunting and said: Come outside and help me.

Outside?Do you mean outdoors?I stared at him dumbfounded, looking for signs that he was joking, or that he wanted to execute me outside.But he was expressionless. He threw me one of his coats, and a pair of rubber boots.Put it on quickly. My coat was still unzipped when he grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door. The fresh air hits my nostrils, and I feel like I'm hitting a wall, my chest tightening in amazement.While I tried my best to observe the surrounding environment, he led me to a place about six meters away from the hut, and there was a dead deer on the ground.Since the sun was shining brightly that day, the white light reflected from the snow made my eyes water, and all I knew was that this was a clearing in the middle of the forest.

I was stinging from the cold wind.The snow wasn't even ankle deep, but I wasn't used to the outdoors and my legs were bare.I waited for my eyes to gradually adapt to the light, but before I could distinguish the surrounding scenery, he pushed me to kneel beside the deer head.There was a hole behind the deer's ear, and blood was still oozing out of it, and a knife mark on the neck dyed the snow pink.I couldn't take it anymore, but the pervert turned my face to the corpse. concentrate.You kneel on the back of the deer for me, turn it over and lay it down together, and then you are responsible for grabbing the hind legs and spreading them out so that I can cut the belly, understand?

I understand what he wants me to do, I just don't understand why he asked me to do it he never asked me to help him.Maybe he just wanted to show me what he was capable of, or rather, what he could do to me. But I nodded, trying not to look at the ashes-covered pupils as I passed the deer's eye, and squatted down on the hind legs, holding the stiff hind legs.Smiling and humming, the pervert knelt beside the stag's head and together they turned it over, belly up. Even though I knew the deer was dead, I was horrified to see it lying helpless, with its legs spread apart and without dignity.I've never seen an animal carcass up close.The fetus may have sensed my distress signal and started to move.

Watching the pervert stabbing the deer's genitals with a knife and slicing up the meat like butter made my stomach churn.I smelled blood as he circumcised his genitals, and saw him slit his entire abdomen open.The picture that repeatedly appeared in my mind was that he was slaughtering me, with the same peaceful expression on his face.My body twitched and he gave me a glare. I whispered: I'm sorry, I gritted my teeth against the cold wind and forced my muscles not to move.He continued humming and dissecting. While he wasn't looking, I looked around the clearing.There was a great expanse of fir trees all around us, their branches weighed down with snow.Footprints, drag marks, and what appeared to be sporadic bloodstains disappeared on the side of the hut.The air smells clean and damp, and the snow is crackling under my feet.Having skied in the mountains all over Canada, I know that the snow in the interior has a different smell, less humidity, and even a different touch.The snow is not thick, coupled with the smell of snow and the terrain, I hope that I am still on Vancouver Island, or at least on the coast of Greater Vancouver.

The pervert talks to me as he dissects.It is better for us to rely on the sky to eat, because natural food has no impurities and has not been touched by humans.When I went downtown, I bought some new books to teach you how to smoke and canned meat.We can finally be completely self-sufficient, and I never have to leave you behind. I'd rather be dumped by him, but I have to say, it's exciting to think about doing something new, anything. After cutting the whole body, the stomach sac bulged out, and he looked up and said: Have you ever killed, Annie?Holding a knife in his hand was scary enough, so he had to talk about the feeling of killing?

I have never hunted before. Answer my question, Anne.Our eyes meet over the dead deer. No, never killed. He grabbed the end of the handle and swung the knife like a pendulum. When the knife swung upwards, he would repeatedly ask: Never?never?never? Never had lie!He swung the knife upwards, held the handle as it fell, and stabbed it into the dead deer's neck until the end of the blade.I let go of my hand in shock and fell backwards on the snow.Seeing me struggling to sit up, he didn't say a word.As soon as I returned to the squatting position, I quickly grabbed the deer's leg and waited until he got angry and scolded me for letting go, but he just watched me.Then his eyes moved down to the opening of the dead deer's belly, to my belly, and met mine again.I started to tongue out.

I hit a cat with my car when I was a teenager, not on purpose.I came home a little late that day, and I was really tired. I was driving and heard the muffled sound of the car, and I turned around and saw the cat being thrown on it.I saw the cat drop to the ground and run into the woods.I quickly pulled over and stopped.The pervert stared at me, and my words came out in a rush. I went into the woods to look for it, crying cat, cat, but the cat had gone away.When I got home, I told my stepfather that he took me to look for it with a flashlight. After searching for about an hour, I couldn't find it.He told me that the cat was probably fine and ran home by himself.But the next morning, I got under the car to have a look and found a lot of blood and hair on the axle. Impressive, he said with a big smile.I never thought you had this potential. No!accidentally No way.I think your headlights hit the cat's eye and you see the reflection and wonder for a split second what it's like to kill.You suddenly hated that cat so much, you stepped on the gas pedal to the limit.I think the moment you hit it, you hear the bang, it makes you feel powerful, you feel certainly not!No, of course not.I feel so guilty that I still feel guilty. If that cat also likes to kill, will you feel guilty?It was probably busy looking for prey at that time, have you ever seen a cat abuse its prey?What if the cat is sick and homeless, and everyone hates it?Will you be less upset, Anne?What if you can see that the owner has abused the cat, deliberately starved it, kicked it frequently?He raised the volume.Maybe what you did to it was a good thing, have you ever thought about it? It almost sounded like he was asking for my approval for something he had done in the past.Was he trying to confess something bad, or was he just trying to prank me with psychological tactics?The latter is more likely, so when I finally spoke, I didn't know whether it was me or him who was more surprised. Have you ever killed someone? He reached out and stroked the handle of the knife.Very brave question. Sorry, I just never met one uh, you know.I've read a lot of books and watched a lot of TV and movies, but I've never had a face-to-face conversation with someone who did it.It's not hard to look genuinely interested, because I've always been fascinated by psychology, especially abnormal psychology.A murderer can definitely be classified as a pervert. What if you actually met someone who did that?How would you ask him? I would like to know why.However, maybe sometimes they don't know it themselves, or they don't even understand the reason? I must have got it right, because he nodded flatly and said murder was funny.Human beings have laid down a lot of rules to delineate the boundaries of allowing killing.He smiled hastily.Killing in self-defense?not guilty.Find a doctor to judge mental abnormality?not guilty.Killing husband but having premenstrual syndrome?Find a good enough lawyer and you will be innocent. He tilted his head to look at me, rocking his heels back and forth on the snow.What if you could predict the consequences of things and stop them in time?What if you could predict things that no one else can see? for example? What a pity you didn't see the cat, Annie.Death is just an extension of life.If one witnesses death and sees that death opens up a whole new realm, one understands why one should limit oneself to this present realm. He still hasn't confessed to the murder himself, and I doubt I should stop there, but I've never been good at timing. How do you feel?The taste of killing? He tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows.Thinking of planning a murder, huh?I didn't have time to deny it, he continued to talk, but the topic was different from what I expected.My mother died of cancer.ovarian cancer.She rotted from the inside, and finally I could smell her death.He paused for a second, his eyes dull and lifeless.I was thinking about the next question, and he said again: I was only eighteen years old when she fell ill.His husband died two years ago.I took the responsibility of taking care of her on my shoulders and knew how to take care of her better than anyone else.However, she kept crying for her husband.Even though I told her he was gone, that he didn't care about her, that he didn't care about her as much as I did, she kept telling me to go find him.I have done so many things for her, she even.I've seen what he did to her.I saw it with my own eyes, and now she was crying for him. Did I hear wrong?You first said he was dead, then how did you tell her he was gone? He often leaves for several months, several months, and our mother and son live a good life.I'll know when he's coming home because my mom will ask me to help her dress for my husband and put on makeup.I told her that I don't like her makeup, but she said, as long as he likes it.He wouldn't even let me eat at their table.I knew she wanted me to have dinner, but he told my mom to wait until he was done.In his eyes, I was just a stray dog ​​brought back by my wife from the stray dog ​​home.After dinner they would go into the bedroom and close the door, but one night when I was about seven years old, the door was left ajar.I saw her crying.With the man's hands in his hands, he whispered more and more, his eyes blank. Is your dad beating her? I'd noticed before that every time he mentioned his mother, the tone of his voice would become flat, and this time it was more like a robot voice. I'm gentle I'm gentle every time I touch her.I didn't make her cry.It's not right to do that. Is he beating his wife? He stared fiercely at the center of my chest, his eyes were loose, and he kept shaking his head and repeating: It's not right to do that kind of thing. He stroked the base of his neck.She saw me see me in the mirror.she sees me.He pinched his neck for a moment, the skin around his fingers turned red, then he put down his hand and rubbed his thigh, as if trying to wipe off something on his palm. He said in a husky voice: Then she smiled.The corners of the pervert's mouth turned up in a joyous smile, and the ends then expanded to the left and right until it was almost a sneer.He maintained the same movement for a long time, and his muscles must have been stiff and painful.My heart pounded in my chest. Finally he looked me in the eyes and said: After that, she never closes the door every time.For several years, she always left the door open. His voice lost its cadence again.When I was fifteen, she started shaving me too, so I was as naked as she was.If I hold her too tightly at night, she gets angry.Sometimes I would dream, and she would ask me to take out the sheets and burn them.She is gradually changing. I was wary of fear and kept my tone soft.changing? One day, I came home from school early, and there was a noise in the bedroom.I thought to myself, isn't he on a business trip again?So I headed for the bedroom door.He rubbed his chest now, as if he was having trouble breathing. He is behind her.There was another man, a stranger.I walk away before she sees me, waiting outside, under the porch He stopped abruptly and it was a few seconds before I said: Under the porch? read a book.I hid the book under the porch.If he is at home, my mother will allow me to take it into the house to watch.When he was not at home, she said idle reading would interfere with our relationship.If she caught me reading, she would tear the book up.That's why he loves books so much. An hour later, those two men walked down the porch above me, and I could still smell her on them.They want to drink beer.She was humming in it.He shook his head.She shouldn't have let them do that to her.She is sick.She sees nothing wrong with it.She needs my help. do you have?did you help her I must save her, save us, lest she change too much, and I cannot save her.understand? I understand.I nod. Satisfied, he continued: A week later, when she went shopping, I asked him to drive me for a drive. I wanted to take him into the forest to see an ancient mine.He stared down at the knife on the deer's neck.When she came home, I told her that he packed his things and left because he was in love with someone else.She cried, but I could take care of her, like in the beginning, but this time it felt better because I didn't have to share.Later, when she was ill, I helped her do everything she liked, and I was responsive to her requests.Respond to every request.So then she got sicker and told me to kill her, she thought I would do it, but I didn't want to.I can't do it.She begged bitterly, scolding me for not being a man enough, and if I was a man, I could do it.She said he dared to do it, but I really couldn't help it. While he was narrating, the sun disappeared, the sky began to snow, and a thin layer of white powder was sprinkled on us and the deer carcass.The pervert's blond hair fell in a ring on his forehead, and his eyelashes sparkled.I'm not sure if the twinkle is snow or tears, but he looks like an angel. My thighs were sore from squatting for too long, but I never dared to ask him if I could stretch.Although my body remained motionless, my mind was spinning. He shook his head, looking up from the knife. To answer your question directly, Anne, that feels good.Don't gossip, we'd better move fast, otherwise the beasts will come back and hunt us when they smell blood.His tone became cheerful. For a moment, I couldn't understand what your question was referring to.Then I remembered.I initially asked him what it was like to kill someone. I continued to hold the deer leg as he reached in where he had made the incision and gently pulled out the stomach sac the size of a beach ball and laid it on the snow.Connecting the gastric pouch to the rib cavity is what looks like an umbilical cord.He wanted to pull out the knife stuck on his neck, but he couldn't pull it out, so he pulled it out with a snap.He then went into the stomach with a knife and sliced ​​off what appeared to be the deer's heart and entrails.He dropped these near his stomach pouch as if they were garbage.The smell of raw meat kicked up the acid in my stomach, rushed deep into my throat, and I swallowed it hard. He said: Stay here and then go into a big studio next to the cottage.After a few seconds, he came back with extra rope and a small chainsaw in hand.My breath stopped as he knelt next to the deer's head.The sound of a chainsaw cutting through a neck shatters the pure silence of the winter wilderness.I tried to look away but couldn't move.He puts down the chainsaw, picks up the knife, walks up to the back half of the dead deer, reaches out to me, I wince, he looks at it and laughs, but he just wants to take the leg I'm holding.Then he cut a hole in the ankle with a knife and threaded the rope behind the hamstrings of both legs. We each pulled on one front foot, and together we dragged the dead deer into the studio.I look back.The dead deer left a trail of blood and a bloody dent in the snow behind it.I will never forget the sight of the dead deer's head, heart, and internal organs exposed to the freezing snow. The walls of the studio are made of solid metal to prevent the invasion of wild animals. Inside there is a large freezer placed against the wall, and there is another buzzing machine inside, I guess it is a generator.There is a pump next to the generator, which should be used to draw well water.Along the opposite wall was a row of large red drums labeled Diesel, six in all.Next to the bucket is a can of acetone.I didn't see any firewood, so guess the wood is stored elsewhere.The air stinks of motor oil, gasoline, and deer blood. He threw the rope wrapped around the deer's feet towards the ceiling, around the crossing beams, and with me pulled the rope and hung the dead deer upside down.Will my body hang upside down in the same place another day? I thought I would call it a day after hanging it upside down, but he started sharpening the knife with a stone, and I trembled violently.He looked into my eyes, sharpened his knife rhythmically, and had a mischievous smile on his lips.After about a minute, he raised his knife. what do you thinkIs it profitable enough? What is it used for? He started walking towards me.I hugged my big belly quickly.I stood unnaturally in my rubber boots and almost fell when I stepped back. He stopped and said with a puzzled expression: What's wrong with you?Come and peel it.He circumcised the ankle, then held a leg.Don't just stand there, come and grab the other foot.I skinned the deerskin down with him and he had to cut every now and then where the flesh was too tight, but the calves were easy to peel.When the deerskin was peeled down to the thigh, the deerskin peeled off like a sunburn. When he was done skinning, he put the venison in the freezer and told me to get out and stand where he could see it while he picked up the chainsaw and put it back in the workshop and locked it up.I asked him what to do with the internal organs and heads on the snow, and he said we would deal with them later. On entering the cabin, he noticed that I was shivering, so he made me sit in front of the fire to keep warm.The content of the chat just now didn't seem to affect his mood.I considered asking him again if he had killed anyone else, but my stomach ached just thinking about his answer, so I had to ask instead: Can I go clean up, please? Is it time to take a bath? no but i Then you already know the answer. For the next day I lived in deer blood and got goosebumps all over my body, but I tried not to think about it, tried not to think about anything. Not blood, dead deer, killed father.All I could do was look at the fireplace and watch the flames dance. Late that night, before he fell asleep, he said: I like cats.He likes cats?This sadistic killer actually likes cats?I couldn't help but want to giggle hysterically, and when the laughter rose to my throat, I quickly covered my mouth in the dark.