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Commitment - Predatory Ethics: Book II
 

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Commitment - Predatory Ethics: Book II


  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Asylum

  Devotees

  Rule

  The Storm Worsens

  Revised Predators

  In Who To Trust

  Newer Darkness

  Lighting the Dark

  Gloom Descending

  Contemptible Joy

  Mad Gods: Book One, Predatory Ethics

  About Athanasios

  Commitment

  by

  Athanasios

  Copyright © 2011 by Athanasios

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  Asylum

  Time: October 25th, 1973, Massachusetts State House, Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A.

  Dr. P. Phoggel faced the reality of evil. He scrutinized it while he crisply hung his jacket and walked past pictures of his family, sat at his desk, and laid out the contents of his leather strapped briefcase. He folded down his tie and proceeded to go through what was a mountain of news from various sanitariums and insane asylums. As Chief Superintendent of the Massachusetts Mental Health Commission, Dr. Phoggel had blanket authority over all the institutions in the state. During the course of his job he dealt with many difficult and trying situations. It was the nature of the position; he was the final word on anything others didn’t want to deal with. As such, he was intimate with nothing but problems and troubling matters.

  Such a matter lay before him in a pile, a naked threat on his desk. For a few months it had been simmering in daily reports he went through and came to a boil with a letter from a Dr. Megin and a Superintendent Dr. Gallagher of Danvers State Hospital. The letter was a response to an open form Dr. Phoggel had sent out to every institution in his jurisdiction.

  He asked if any patient fit the criteria of a male of indeterminate age and race one could pass without notice. To his surprise he received not only a response but a thesis on the subject and even an actual candidate fitting the ambiguous description from the two ranking officers at Danvers State. The patient was a man who had refused to answer any personal questions such as name, age, background, or any other identifying facts. Photos and fingerprints had not turned up anything either. His only interests were entertainment. He exhibited a childlike delight in radio and television.

  He came to the hospital from the criminal courts, following multiple murder charges. Police found him among severed human remains: the mutilated bodies of over thirty men, women, and children. They were arranged in various poses, compositions referring directly to television shows and movies but in atrocious variety.

  Some were taken apart and put back together with a different body’s pieces. In the police photos Dr. Phoggel saw a fat man’s torso with the arms of a child, the hands of a woman, and the head of a hag. Another had its arms in place of the legs and the phallus exchanged for the head. The scenes must’ve taken hours to compile and were very intricate. A nude nativity scene was right beside an inverted crucifixion and resurrection.

  The patient was taken into custody while sitting among the horrors in rapt inaction, described as catatonic. He gave no resistance to the overzealous first officers who left him with bruises and a severe concussion. He had not even spoken when sentenced and some believed it was his plan all along to go for the insanity defense. His attending doctors stressed this was no act; the man was barely coherent. Fortunately, the court ruled he could not be held responsible for the massacre he was found in. Rational thinking would assume anyone committing such horrors would not stay and be caught; then again, a rational mind wouldn’t commit such atrocities in the first place.

  His doctors even kept him in the proverbial rubber room with a nice, snug straightjacket. They hadn’t started him out that way but had progressed to the long-sleeved, heavy canvass jacket due to other patients’ inability to leave him alone and his own increasing self-abuse.

  The interest shown by the other patients was why Dr. Phoggel sought him out. He watched as this phenomenon took hold in many institutions like the Danvers, worldwide. A grass roots interest in this specific man. Learned and seasoned professionals, from doctors to orderlies and nurses, who cared for many disturbed people, were at a loss to explain this synchronous, focused attention. They all sought to meet him, craved his attention, or wanted to grant his slightest wish.

  Some called him Redeemer, others Savior and many such alternates. The most common name was The One, even attending staff were now using it. No other name fit, John Doe having been overused. The One was now purported to be at Danvers State Hospital.

  Dr. Phoggel put down his reading, shaking his head in puzzlement. How could so many different and unrelated individuals have such a directed interest in anything, let alone someone, especially a real person? He continued to review the file, delving further into specific and extraordinary circumstances.

  There were reams of letters addressed to The One. They came from Oregon, from Jerry Brudos who detailed his trophy killings to his redeemer. Jerry called the bitches he raped and carved up unworthy tributes to the Prince’s Heir and waited for the reward he was due for his gifts.

  From California, the recently imprisoned Herbert Mullin gave his sacrifices to his Dread Lord to stop impending earthquakes. He killed, some said thirteen people, to show his fealty to The One and wrote to him further begging for his love.

  Another, Edmond Kemper, told The One about his killings because he wanted to be punished for them. He was a physically big man who knew how to inflict pain and knew he should be tortured to death for his sins. It should not end there; the torture should continue into the afterlife, and he begged for the fiends of Hell to make a special place for him. He deserved his own custom place separate from other sinners.

  Juan Corona also sent appeals for favor. The convicted yet still unrepentant serial killer detailed his innocence and in the same letter specified tributes of the twenty-five or more unnamed victims he was charged with. The insane could sometimes be forgiven their lapses in logic and gaps in linear thinking.

  Finally Superintendent Schubert from Wisconsin’s Central State Hospital for the Criminally Insane forwarded letters from his most famous patient, Edward Gein. Eddie timidly asked to be kept in mind when The One attained his rightful place and that the decorations he amassed in his home would pale to the beauty he could craft for his Savior. It was common knowledge Mr. Gein’s choices in decoration were the tasteful, yet ghastly use of human skin he called pelts.

  When probed, these disturbed souls all replied with variations of the same thing. Tribute or honor was done to the Prince and Great Leviathan’s heir. The other titles given to The One were the Redeemer, Messiah, and varieties of Savior for their causes, beliefs, or faith. Dr. Phoggel wondered if The One knew of the reams of mailed adoration falling all about the doctor’s desk.

  He looked at his watch and saw it was well past 9:10 AM. and decided to contact Dr. Megin directly. After dialing the number, he requested the appropriate extension, and a bubbly voice on the other end replied, “Dr. Megin’s office, Mary Megin speaking.”

  “Dr. M. Megin?” Dr. Phoggel answered. He hoped he caught the surprise in his voice before she heard it. An exasperated exhale of breath showed Mary Megin hadn’t stopped being bothered by men’s surprise her position was filled by a woman.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Megin. I was searching through my notes. This is Chief Superintendent Doctor Phoggel. I’m calling to discus a specif
ic case you and your superintendent brought to my attention. The patient you’ve referred to—” Dr. Phoggel paused. “As The One.” The name was odd to say the least.

  “Yes, The One has caught on has it?” Mary Megin’s annoyance fell away with the introduction of one of her patients many discussed. “I guess we’ve got enough John Does in our profession, sir.” She went on. “What can I do for you…What should I call you? Chief Superintendent seems awfully long to use every time.”

  “Dr. Phoggel is fine. Is Dr. Megin alright?” he asked.

  “Mary would be fine too, but let’s not get too familiar just yet,” Dr. Megin added cheerily. It was a rare and pleasant surprise to find a bubbly person in their profession. “Yes, let’s stick to Dr. Phoggel and Dr. Megin. Well, where do I begin? You’ve obviously got all the files we’ve got. I can only add that this fellow is startlingly ordinary. Quite plain. When I’m not talking about him or have him in front of me, I forget he exists.”

  “What do you mean by that?” This was an odd thing to say about somebody so celebrated by so many.

  “It’s very hard to explain, Dr. Phoggel. He’s not odd or deserving of any of the attention focused on him.”

  “You’ve read some of the other reports then? How did you even get them?” Dr. Phoggel asked.

  “I’ve made my own inquiries. You must’ve received more than what I’ve given you, so you can come to your own conclusions, but I can say that I can’t understand all the bother about him. He isn’t Burt Reynolds or Robert Redford. The closest I would put him would be a cross between Dustin Hoffman, Richard Pryor, and the guy from the Charlie Chan movies.”

  A pause followed while Dr. Phoggel registered the cardinal opposites used to describe The One. “Those three men are from completely different ethnicities. How can you make that connection? I don’t understand your description. Please explain.”

  “I haven’t mentioned anything about race in anything I’ve shared with you, why have you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I have spent time with him and have seen him up close. Maybe this will help. His features are a combination of features you would see in different races.”

  “Hmm, that’s quite odd.” He thought for a second and collated his question from their call thus far. “So you would not characterize him charismatic enough to prompt a wide-ranging adoration or celebrity, such as a Charles Manson?”

  “Let me think. Manson eh? No, I wouldn’t. You would only have to spend a few seconds with him to see how ordinary he is.” She paused again because Dr. Megin knew she would contradict herself completely. “Yet at the same time you don’t want to leave him. He does have a pull, but not of charisma like Charlie Manson.” She added in an offhand fashion, “Oh, he wrote to him too.”

  “Manson?” Dr. Phoggel asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you send it to me?” His question sputtered out.

  “I just got it.” The point suddenly dropped.

  “And what does he say to him? Is he as adoring as the rest?” He was curious.

  “No, not adoration. He admires him for his subtlety of control. The way everyone fulfills his wishes without prompting. He tells him he wishes he had that style of command without the guile, argument, and maneuvering he uses.” Dr. Megin exhaled and added, “He goes on to describe the pride his father must have for him.”

  “Manson knows The One’s father? Wait a minute. In the files, The One is sometimes described as the Beast of Revelation. Does Manson mean Satan, the proverbial Devil?”

  “Yes, that’s what I believe he means. Manson and many multiple murderers have tried to contact The One, you know that—”

  “How do they know he’s there?” he asked.

  “Beats me, Dr. Phoggel. Manson, Richard Speck, and an army’s laundry list of disturbed people not only know where he is, but are sending him presents, mementos, and performing tributes.”

  “Yes, you refer to it as honoring him. What are they, these tributes?” He was almost afraid to ask blurting it out quickly.

  “Pictures and physical evidence of their crimes. Things I wouldn’t keep because I was legally bound to turn over to the police. They implicated themselves and added years to their sentences simply to show him their love.”

  “What is the patient’s reaction to all this? Does he even know?” Dr. Phoggel asked.

  “Yes, he knows, but we spare him the more gruesome details because he’s with us due to another tribute all together,” Dr. Megin continued. “At the time of his arrest, he told the officers apprehending him and kept repeating it was a tribute. Nobody believed him, but now we see he could very well have been telling the truth. In fact, I believe him and have stated so in his file.”

  “He was never convicted of those murders, Dr. Megin,” he haughtily replied.

  “I know all that, Chief Superintendent,” she icily added, switching back to his official title. “However, due to the gruesome nature of his charges, he was convicted of a lesser charge for just being there.”

  “I would like to see this patient, Dr. Megin. Could you clear your schedule for Tuesday, October 29th?” he pronounced, expecting quick acceptance.

  “Well, no, I cannot clear my schedule. The One is not my only patient. If you want to see him on your own, I can’t stop you, but if you want me to be there, you’ll have to wait until I call and arrange a better day for me,” she answered, incensed that he expected her to drop everything, like he was we the people.

  Dr. Phoggel was now permanently irritated by Mary Megin. She was nice enough but didn’t give in to her obvious superior. He abandoned any civility.

  “If Tuesday is impossible, Ms. Megin, then could you look at your schedule and tell me the day you can give over this very delicate matter YOU brought to my attention?” he insisted. “I’m only trying to answer YOUR concerns here, and you are being obstinate to the point of belligerence, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “I appreciate your interest, Chief Superintendent, and am happy you will be looking into this patient, but he is not the only concern I have. The earliest I can meet with you is the 2nd of November, Friday of the same week,” Dr. Megin calmly stated. Dr. Phoggel was fuming for being at the discretion of a subordinate, especially a woman, who spoke to him like he was a child.

  “I want it sooner, but since that is the only time you are able, I’ll just have to accede to your wishes, Dr. Megin. He is your patient and could you also make sure Superintendent Gallagher will be there as well?” He slipped the conditions in before she could object.

  “I don’t know her schedule, Chief Superintendent. I can’t make any promises.” She chaffed under his enforced conditions and knew there was no reason for Helen Gallagher to be there too. This dick on two legs was just yanking Mary’s chain. She concluded he must have small man’s complex and overcompensated with exerting his authority wherever he could.

  Phil Phoggel didn’t have small man’s complex, he had bossy old bitch complex. After interminable decades being raised by a domineering mother who was surprised at his birth, Dr. Phoggel had a problem dealing with women of authority even if they were his subordinates. He wanted to be obeyed or at least to be listened to without argument. It was his experience most women had an opposing view of anything one had to say, whether you were a man or woman.

  Point fucking counterpoint!! Every fucking time!!

  “See to it, Dr. Megin. I am, as I said earlier, trying to help YOU, and I would appreciate some cooperation not conflict. I’ll expect to see both of you at 10:00 AM,” he concluded curtly. “Thank you for helping me to help you.”

  “Humph. I’ll see you Friday then, Chief Superintendent.” Mary Megin hung up and even in acceding to his wishes still managed to irritate Superintendent Dr. Phil Phoggel, her highest-ranking superior.

  Time: October 31st, 1973. Whittier Mansion, San Francisco, California, U.S.A.

  Bernhardt Hapsburg was sitting behind a desk full of telephones. They were the legacy left behind by his predecess
or Mordecai Aronovich. A sea of receivers that were direct lines to men and organizations Hapsburg was already intimate with. They were links to various Global Brotherhoods and Orders with many names: societies, groups or institutes that counted members everywhere. He was part of the Thirteen Families at the top of an unseen global government. They were the Dark Nobility and knew no equal in government, wealth, power, and influence.

  He lived a very dangerous game, for even as he was part of the Nobility, he was also the unchallenged leader of the Templars and now the infernally appointed head of the Luciferian Church. These three separate groups were at odds, and every Templar Grand Master since the middle ages capitalized on these difference. At times they pitted one against the other and at others used their enmity to help the others. Political maneuvering was child’s play compared to the compromises a careful man needed to pay attention to.

  Bernhard was a very careful man who at all times outwardly acted within the confines of the Catholic Church as their hidden enforcer. Those who thought the good church had long ago lost its teeth soon found out their bite stretched beyond excommunication. In the past decade Bernhardt had been a part of the systematic purge of the majority of Luciferians throughout the world. They were hunted down and removed from memory. They had infiltrated the Catholic Church even to the Vatican itself and were dealt with. Over the centuries the completion of Templar responsibilities was brutal and ruthless, at other times intricate and subtle, but always precise. The Catholic knights were poor in name only, their duties always performed with an accountant’s attention to detail.

  Every Vatican Secretary of State also used the Templars’ other skills to restore the absolute power of the papacy. Templar precision in the battlefield was derived from their exacting attention in finance. It was no accident the Vatican was one of the wealthiest of independent nations. The Templars pioneered deposit at one location and withdrawal at another: the only organization powerful and large enough at the time to guarantee any investment. Their symbol of a cross against a neutral field had not changed and neither had their purpose. This purpose seemed to follow Catholic doctrine, but in reality it was more in line with the direct opposite, the Dark Nobility’s Luciferians. The Luciferians strove against the Catholic Church and for the worship the First Born Son and Left Hand of God, the Lightbringer, Lucifer.

 
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