The Doctor Is In(sane)

The Tales of Ace the Zombie
The Trouble with Women

The recollection of my childhood was interrupted by a snort. It was Rita, laughing so hard that she made chortling sounds. �Isn�t it ironic?� she asked between fiendish cackles.

I was able to see irony in many things. But not this. Was the fleshy creature trying to imply that I myself was now the lustful beast? Surely I was lustful - and a beast to be sure - but I never misrepresented myself. I never presented myself as a friend. I always made my evil intentions clear. If you laid eyes upon the Ace of Spades, you were damned to be sure. �Humor me, Rita.�

She brought her giggling under control and repeated with a smile, �Isn�t it ironic?� She snorted again and finally elaborated. �Isn�t it ironic that you will never see your dear Papa and lovely rabbit again because you damned yourself to Hell by avenging them?� Her giggles rose in intensity and pitch and her face was red from the laughing fit. I really wanted to hit her.

Instead, I thought about what she had said. I believed profoundly in Hell and the Devil himself, especially since the Prince of Darkness had apparently granted me a second life on this bleak orb. But Heaven I had not considered - is that where my father and rabbit were? I had just assumed we all went to Hell. Fear of time and space and long lost love burst my mind open like a fissure.

I collapsed to my knees and seized the woman by her midsection. �I love you, Mama!� I cried. Wedging my head under her bosom I pressed my cheek up against her stomach. �I will always love you, Mama!�

Flinging me off, Rita stepped back. �What�s wrong with you?� she scowled. �You�re completely insane! I�m not your mother, you lost fool!� Then, her shocked expression faded into an spiteful one. �Your mother is long dead. You killed her.�

Rage took hold of me. I was a tempest of fury. Seizing Rita by the throat, I fell on top of her and watched her face turn blue. Then, as her strength started to fade, as her dark eyes rolled into the back of her head, I let go. She hacked and coughed, finally pushing me off so that she could sit up. I couldn�t kill Rita. I didn�t want to lose her. In the moment, I wanted her dead, but I wasn�t willing to go through another day alone, missing yet another soul that I had dispatched with my own withered hands.

Rita looked confused. Then relieved. Then angry. Then confused again. �I love you, Rita,� I wept, holding my hands over my sunken face. �I�m sorry, but I can�t live without you!� Since I no longer saw the world through my eyes, but through my mind, I could watch her even with my face covered. She looked truly depressed, rubbing her throat, staring at the ground.

Removing my hands, I fixed my glass eyes upon her. �Well, aren�t you going to say anything?� I gasped. She remained still for what seemed like days.

�You�re dreaming, Allen,� she whispered, refusing to look at me. �You need to wake up.�

The trees around us began to fade from view, as did the moon, and the sky itself, until Rita and I sat alone facing each other in a blank, empty gray space. Then she started to fade as well. �NO, RITA, NO! DON�T LEAVE ME!� But she was gone. I was alone, and everything went black...

�You need to wake up,� a voice rang in my ears. �Sir, you can�t sleep here!� I opened my eyes and my vision seemed restored to a natural state - that is to say, I was seeing with my eyes again. What I saw was an attractive woman in a tan uniform I would later learn to be that of a police officer�s. She poked me with a nightstick and repeated herself. �You can�t sleep here!� Close behind the woman was a second police officer, watching me carefully.

�Where�s Rita?� I asked blankly. The woman didn�t look like Rita at all, and I sized her up, determining what it would take to make her look like Rita. Her hair would need to be black, and much longer. Her chin was too weak, her nose not dainty enough. Lips too small, teeth too imperfect. Breasts well undersized. She would need many modifications. This woman had little potential. �You�re not Rita,� I frowned.

The male officer pushed past his partner and pulled me up by the coat I was wearing. �MOVE ON!� he hollered at me with far too much force. I made him pay.

I gouged him in the eye, gripped him by the back of his skull and flung him down so that his neck cracked against the wooden bench I had been sleeping on. The fixture smashed against his throat, splinters impaling his jugular, blood gushing out accordingly. He clutched his wound, staggered forward and collapsed. The female officer reached for her gun, but I was on her too quickly. I subdued her - although to this day I can�t remember how - and promptly had her unconscious form flung over my shoulder. We were soon in an alleyway that reeked of human feces, and I followed the corridor its entire length, till at last we came to a dead end.

I kicked open the door in front of me and slipped inside. The room was dark. It smelled worse than the alleyway. A medicinal odor offended my nostrils, and the scent of death was all about. Dropping the female cop, I did my best to reset the door I had damaged and pulled back the hood that had been obscuring my face from view. Reaching for my nose, I found I had none - just the nasal cavity itself. My skin felt more withered than ever - ashy and cold. My lips were frayed and thin as tissue paper. My teeth were rotted and broken. I was not surprised.

Without even thinking, I turned on the lights. I knew this place. I had worked here before, just couldn�t remember doing so. But my muscle memory kept me moving. I threw on a pair of surgical gloves and lifted the female officer up onto an operating table. She moaned slightly as I strapped her down. I cut off her clothes with scissors, revealing her naked body. So much work would have to be done. Opening a metal drawer, I retrieved an eyebrow pencil and began making marks where I would have to make incisions. I would dye her hair later, after it had grown long enough. Unfortunately for her, that would take months.

I recognized the dog-like creature that appeared from a darkened recess in the room. I had named him Shithead - a hellhound Satan had assigned to me so that he could keep tabs on me. The furry animal had large, black almond eyes that fixed upon me whenever I operated, undoubtedly acting as the Devil�s eyes himself, who surely took pleasure in my deeds. There were far more repulsive elements to Shithead than his eyes. The monster would gobble up my feces for sustenance, and always had a shit eating grin on his face. He was only one of two animal-like agents that watched my every move. The other followed me when I went outside. But of that later.

Now you must understand, I performed my operations on a subconscious level. I couldn�t remember the last, and I wouldn�t remember this one either. I promised myself I would begin keeping a journal with this procedure, but likely wouldn�t. And I didn�t.

�What are you doing to me?� the officer cried weeks later, nose perfectly reshaped, chin corrected, breasts stuffed with the largest saline implants I could get in her at the moment. I even had a contraption I used to tan her skin. She was far from Rita, but coming along. If only she understood...

I ran my fingers through her now shoulder-length brown hair, and kissed her brow gently. She squirmed, and I tightened the restraints. �Now, now, Rita,� I cautioned her. �You have fresh stitches - don�t struggle so. I don�t like redoing good work.�

This is the only conversation I remember having with this particular woman, though. I think part of my damnation was not only lacking the memories of my operations, but of the joy I would have received in watching Rita being reborn, one body part at a time. I think the women always escaped. I doubt that I killed them. Yes, I�m sure they escaped - likely aided by the two agents Satan had appointed me. If a woman escaped, then I would have to find another. Whereas I would have been content to stop with one, the Devil wanted me to keep doing this. He wanted as many women to undergo this as possible. What I knew was divine purpose, he thought was torture. No matter. A case of semantics as far as I was concerned.

So I once again left my operating tomb, bundled up and concealed to judgmental eyes. The flapping sound overhead told me that the second agent was following me once again. Satan was watching. He was always watching. And I was always looking.

Looking for Rita.

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