Part 2: Crucible

“I was so full of hate, that there was no room in me for such feelings as love, pity, kindness, or decency“ - Carl Panzram

My phone chirped. Flicking it on, I answered. “Merlin.” There was an honest smile on my face, and it must have been conveyed through my voice. Honestly, I WAS happy to hear from Merlin. Time without work, was time where my past was allowed to haunt me. And it had been two months since Gregor.

“Glad to hear from me Mason?” There was an almost distinct hint of levity in her voice. I wasn’t sure why, but every time we spoke she sounded almost happy. “I need to work Merlin. I’m not built to just sit here.” The long pause on the other end of the line told me, for whatever reason, that that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.

“Well good news Mason,” she said, finally breaking her silence. “We have a job for you in Gloucester Mass.” I winced. Working in Massachusetts was the bane of my existence. Between the traveling distance, dealing with safe houses, and not to mention the overbearing and incurable curiosity, of the local populace. All of it made working in Massachusetts a fuckin nightmare. But the Northeast was my home. It was where I did my work. And so I took the job. “Send the file Merlin. I’ll give you a timetable once I read it.”

The file arrived, via courier. It was pretty sparse. But Merlin was always good about providing the information her Technicians needed. Conner Caplain, was a money launderer for the Irish mob. Apparently he had been investigated multiple times over the last ten years. His activities had always appeared to just skirt the right side of legal. And so the drop in the bucket fines, and levies the government hit him with were all he’d ever gotten. Our contractor wanted him out for good. The damage to the Irish would be immediate, and catastrophic, since Conner handled the vast majority of their drug money.

Rule number one when taking work outside of Upstate. Never drive your own car. A New York license plate, in Gloucester Mass, will always attract attention. Given the fact that our contractor wanted Caplain dealt with in as public a manner as possible, bringing a vehicle that would attract unwanted attention was out. The train it was. I hated the train, but at least I was working again. At least I finally got to feed the Monster.

The Amtrak 3:05 from Albany was always a congested nightmare. Masses of people, so wrapped up in their own bullshit, that they were almost constitutionally incapable of even the basest form of politeness. I sat at the front of the train, back to the wall, and allowed myself to indulge in one of the few creature comforts I had. Music. I plugged my ear buds in and allowed the dulcet tones of the likes of Pantera, Mudvayne, and Slipknot, to wash over me.

‘A long time ago I never knew myself. Then the memory of shame birthed its gift. No more the small one, the weak one, the frightened one. Running from beatings, deflating. I’m becoming more than a man, more than you ever were. Driven and burning to rise beyond Jesus‘ Phil Anselmo’s voice blasted into me, the heavy riff of Dimebag Darryl’s guitar carrying me back in time. The Monster was awakening. Hungry from its hibernation.

Standing in front of the judge, who sat pale, in horrified silence. Staring in defiance as he struggled to meet the eyes of the Monster. The trial had been short. Marius’ death, while justifiable, had been compounded by Amanda’s murder. The court shrink had called me “One of the most psychologically damaged young men” he had ever evaluated. The fat little coward, sitting in judgment of the Monster, only saw what he wanted to see. The scars, the pain, the vast emptiness that filled me. They meant nothing to a man who never had to fight for his right to live.

‘All I hear is human noise. You made your own fucking choice. I belong to only me. Silence for my revelry ... I can only die over time. Filthy hands, stay away from mine. Every reason is a right to hate. Painful clutch. Death is fine, gimme mine. Only one of us walks away‘ Corey Taylor screaming his heart out brought the wave crashing back into me.

The hospital wing of Dutchess County Jail’s juvenile detention center was a bleak kind of place. A place I had come to know well in my five years there. This time I had, apparently, barely survived getting jumped in the pod. I bucked the strict hierarchy. The Monster, now awakened, would not be so easily tamed. The four of them had come at me intent on teaching me a lesson. They didn’t seem to realize I had earned my PhD in violence at the hands of Marius. I squeezed my eyes shut behind my sunglasses. My mind’s eye still deceives me, when I picture his face. That kind smile, that never seemed to reach his eyes. The cold efficiency of his stance. But laying there, strapped to a hospital bed, my left eye swollen shut. My nose and cheek broken. Unable to breathe properly due to broken ribs. He looked to me like the savior of man, as he leaned over my bed and said “Hello Mason. I’ve heard good things about you.”

‘In this hole. That is me. Left with a heart exhausted. What’s my release? What sets me free? Do you pull me up just to push me down again? Peel me from the skin! Tear me from the rind! Does it make you happy now? Tear meat from the bone! Tear me from myself! Are you feeling happy?‘ Chad Gray’s subtle melodics, stampeding into his churning screams. Catapulting my mind back to the years in The Foundry.

Crawling back to my feet. Blood from my mouth dripping onto the gym mats of the training facility. My body shrieking at me in protest, while within me the Monster roared in defiance. If Marius had been an artist in the ways of violence, the instructors at The Foundry were the ancient masters. Their methods were brutal, and efficient. No mistake was ever tolerated without punishment. And the Monster fed off of it all. Its guidance always there. Always the same. Get up Mason. You’re stronger than they are!

‘Possessed! I feel a conquering will down inside me. Strength! The strength of many to crush who might stop me. My strength is in number. And my soul lies in every one. The releasing of anger can better any medicine under the sun. Bones! In traction! Hands break to hone raw energy. Bold! And disastrous! My ears can’t hear what you say to me! Hold your mouth for the war! Use it for what it’s for! Speak the truth about me! Determined!‘ Pantera’s anthem rose to a crescendo. Sparking more vivid, and terrible memories. The Monster was feeding well today!

The three instructors surrounding me. Exploding into motion. The Monster guiding my hands and feet. A quick lunge. A devious feint. A violent twist. The snapping of the bones in one instructor’s wrist. The Monster roaring inside of me. It’s blood-lust unquenchable.