Jeff Strand - Single White Psychopath Seeks Same

“Don’t worry, I’ll round up some medical supplies too,” said Roger. “Sit there and be a good boy until I get back.”

“Does comatose count as good?”

Roger and Charlotte left. I sat down on the chair, closed my eyes, and remembered my vow to never, ever leave the house again if I got out of this. That sounded good. I’d swipe some of Daniel’s furniture, sell it, buy myself a state of the art computer, take some lessons, and telecommute for the rest of my life. When Kyle was old enough to drive we’d send him out for groceries, but until then we’d survive on pizza delivery. Pudgy Pierre had twenty different toppings, so we’d have all the variety we needed. Ah, yes, life would be good.

A wooden plank struck me on the back of the head, knocking me out of the chair.

“You think I’m gonna die in my own trap?” demanded a mud-covered, bloodied Daniel, kicking the chair out of the way. “I’ve got escape routes all over this place!”

I gripped the bottom of the tool bench and slowly pulled myself up. Daniel chuckled without humor, and then wedged the plank under the doorknob so that nobody could get inside. He waved his hands around like a magician, and then did a not-very-good job of making a hunting knife with an eight-inch blade “appear” from his sleeve. “Think you’ll be able to see inside your stomach after I feed you your eyes?”

The only weapon within reach was a small screwdriver on the table. I grabbed it, though with my double vision it took two tries to actually touch it. Daniel picked up a tin of lighter fluid and squirted it at me, hitting my chest. “Too bad I don’t have a match,” he said, altering the angle.

The lighter fluid hit my eyes. The burning sensation was incredible. I consciously knew that rubbing my eyes was the worst thing I could do, but I couldn’t stop myself. When I finally forced myself to pull my hands away, I was blind.

I grabbed the tool bench to steady myself. “What’s the matter? Something in your eye?” Daniel asked. I could tell that he was walking toward me, and I could make out a faint figure, but I certainly wasn’t going to be able to defend myself with any skill.

I threw the screwdriver at him. Daniel snorted a laugh. “Oh, give it up. This one’s for Josie.”

I couldn’t see it, but I could hear something swishing toward my face. I threw my hand up to defend myself.

The burning in my eyes was forgotten as the knife tore through my palm, burying itself all the way to the hilt.

Believe me, I made some noise. I could see the blurred tip of the knife protruding through the back of my hand, coming close enough to my eye to scrape the lashes.

I was blind, I was in excruciating pain, and I had a psychopath right in front of me.

But now I had a weapon.

I twisted my hand around, forced my fingers to wrap around the handle of the knife, and slammed it forward.

It definitely hit something .

Ignoring the pure agony, I pulled the knife free and slammed it forward again.

Daniel made a faint gasping sound.

With the third hit, he slid off the blade and fell to the floor.

I STOOD with my head in the sink, warm water rushing over me as Charlotte held my eyes open. Just getting to the door to the mansion had been a struggle, but I’d made it, got the plank out of the way, and called for help right before I passed out.

“How’s it feel?”

I pulled my head out of the stream and blinked a few times. “Better.”

“Can you see?”

“Not perfectly, but yeah. Thanks.”

“No, thank you .”

The rest of the prisoners were free. After a few tries, Roger had figured out that only one cell door would ever open at a time, so he had to close the last one before setting the next prisoner free. The former prisoners were currently raiding the kitchen. I planned to join them very soon. After a hot shower.

It had taken a while, but finally somebody had located a cell phone. A helicopter was seeking out the location of the mansion at this very moment. Personally, I would’ve liked to see them bring a battering ram or some dynamite to wipe out the front gate, but I suspected that they were going to try to get over it rather than destroy it. Oh well.

“Your turn,” said Roger, entering the bathroom and holding the cell phone out to me.

I thanked him and called Helen.

“SO WHO saved who in this situation?” asked Roger, taking a gulp of root beer while we sat on the couch, watching a bad situation comedy on the wide screen TV.

“I saved you,” I said.

“I don’t think so. You would’ve definitely died behind that big cube thing if I hadn’t shown up.”

“And you would’ve participated in one of their games if I hadn’t been working to get you free. I don’t even want to know what special events I missed.”

“Okay, point taken, but let’s think back and consider how much danger I would have been in if you hadn’t dragged me into this whole thing to begin with. Hmmmm…how about, none?”

“You’re wrong. I saved you from a couple days of attacks by Reverse Snowflake,” I pointed out.

“You’re going to take that stupid cat, right? You promised.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Are you two just going to sit there and argue until they find us?” asked Charlotte. She was trying to sound annoyed, but knowing that she was going to be reunited very soon with her husband had made her giddy beyond belief.

“Of course,” Roger said. “What else would we do?”

“You could shut up and let me watch TV in peace,” I said. “My hand hurts, and my shoulder hurts, and my eyes hurt, and I’d rather you just went someplace else.”

“I love you,” Roger told me.

“I love you, too. Go away.”

Roger patted me on the non-injured shoulder and left the room. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and dozed until I heard the rescue helicopter overhead.

HEY, I found the tape recorder! It doesn’t look like there’s much tape left, so I’d just like to say that we made it. Not all of us, I’m sad to report, but most of us.

Gosh, I really don’t know what I should say to sum up this whole adventure. There were quite a few moments when I didn’t think I was going to make it out alive. It really does give you a new perspective on things, coming that close to death.

Actually, I do know what I want to say, if you’ll forgive me getting all deep and meaningful. All of you out there, please, make a promise to yourself that no matter what happens, no matter what path your life takes, you’ll never forget that the most important thing is-

[ Tape ends .]

Jeff Strand grew up in Alaska, where he his parents insist that he had a normal childhood, no matter what you might think after reading his novels. His outrageously warped books include Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary), Single White Psychopath Seeks Same, How to Rescue a Dead Princess, Elrod McBugle on the Loose, and Out of Whack.

He’s President of the Electronically Published Internet Connection, an international organization of professional authors, which he rules with an iron fist and a wooden paddle. He’s also “host for life” of the annual EPPIES awards banquet, which gives him the opportunity to act goofy in front of a large audience and wear a tuxedo, not necessarily in that order.

Jeff lives in Tampa, Florida with one wife and one mentally questionable cat. In his day job he’s a remittance processing analyst, which is even more exciting than it sounds. He’s currently working on the third Andrew Mayhem novel, Casket For Sale, Only Used Once. Plot details remain top-secret, although he does confide that the third installment “may be a bit weird.”