Psychopaths Dont Eat Ice Cream

By Bev Baker

John Sweeney is CEO at Alpha.

He is also a psychopath with a vile secret. He learnt everything he knows about managing people from the mad house where he spend most of his youth and now he uses the place to recruit his henchmen among other things. Deidre is head of Community Services, she is a self-obsessed narcissist hell bent on destruction. They make a fine team.

Jess from HR is John’s next target. He has chosen her to be his trophy wife and zombie sex slave. In order for this to happen he needs to wipe out her personality, get rid of all suiters and initiate her into his world of debauchery. Jess is in grave danger. To survive and protect the ones she loves Jess must out think the psychopath. She gets in his bed and inside his head. Jess enlists her colleagues Joanne, Eva and Corina to take John and Deirdre down. Jess is the psychopath slayer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781787192188

Book preview

didn’t!

Joanne set off the last of the alarms, calmly walked outside, sat on the pavement and waited. Two people poked their heads out of their offices, looked up and down the corridor and then retreated back inside. The security guard heaved himself out of his chair and peeped out of his cubby hole.

Who let off the fire alarm?

Who...you...? Why did you do that? Why did you do that? Are you crazy?

Joseph walked very quickly back to the cubbyhole marked ‘Security’. He had the walk of someone who had sat on their leg awkwardly for too long and had just placed in on the floor only to find there was no blood supply to the leg. He tapped the floor gingerly before he placed the foot as if he was half expecting neither one to be there. As he moved his knees collapsed into each other causing his trousers to disappear in the crack of his arse. He had mastered a technique of walking that allowed his trousers to disappear and reappear with every step. A knock kneed security guard was an interesting recruitment choice.

Joseph was a man who hated moving. In fact, everything he did was calculated against the effort required. His pet phrase was: It is too much effort. There was special emphasis on the‘t’. Most people would say it’s not worth it, but he had learnt English in the best school in Lagos. He made sure that everyone knew that this security job was temporary and that he was just waiting to take up a post as a doctor at a London hospital as soon as his papers came through. This story was fifteen years old.

He called the police.

It took them thirty-five minutes for them to show up. The police made a hell of an entrance. The car screeched to a halt perpendicular to the pavement on which Joanne was sitting. These officers thought they were in the movies.

What seems to be the trouble?

She set of the fire alarm.

Did you set of the fire alarm?

I did…and I have set them off in about eight schools around the town

Why did you do that?

Because we have to save the children. What children?

The children in the schools.

The officers groaned. Another loony toon they thought.

Let’s go…

I don’t want to be arrested! she screamed. I don’t want to be arrested! I don’t want to be arrested. I work here... I work here she repeated. She was hysterical. Tears and snot formed tramlines down her face. A small crowd gathered. They tried to bundle her in the car. Joanne was having none of it. She was very strong and fear had given her another twenty kilo weight advantage. The fact that they had an audience gave the police even more determination. A couple of the bystanders were videoing the scene on their mobile. With a bit of luck it could go viral.

***

The female officer was very short and the male officer was very fat. They couldn’t coordinate themselves. Eventually they bumped and grinded her into the car. The crowd dispersed with a real look of disappointment on their faces. They wanted more.

Move alone…nothing to see here. Words lifted straight out of CSI.

The male officer huffed and puffed behind the wheel and fired up the engine. The female officer talked into a hissing gurgling walkie talkie.

Joanne sat on the floor of the car.

What are you doing down there?

Do you know how many people have been murdered by police brutality? Of course you do…I have read that many get arrested but only a few make it to the station. If you are going to kill me I’m not going to make it easy for you, and with that she began to scream.

The female officer spoke into the walkie talkie again. The truth was that they didn’t know what to do with Joanne. Yes, she had set off the alarms but she looked harmless. They didn’t want to arrest her because that would mean a ton of paperwork for them. She didn’t seem drunk and neither was she injured.

Joanne, where do you live? We’re taking you home…

Joanne’s landlady was not expecting to open the door to Little and Large of the police core. In-between the uniforms stood Joanne with a self-righteous look on her face.

What happened?

The police told her.

What’s going to happen to her?

Well, she has conducted a criminal act and the company is within their rights to press charges. However, off the record, let’s say that she did something that would cause us to believe that she was ‘not well’ if you know what we mean, then we could take her to the hospital. It’s the hospital or the police station.

Joanne saw her chance; she broke free, darted through the front door and into the street, screaming and ripping her clothes from her body as she ran. She preferred the hospital.

***

John weaved through the swing doors not bothering with the small gathering on the pavement. A woman was being bundled into a police car. He logged it. He recognised her.

He smiled at the receptionist and complimented her shirt. He knew that it was not politically correct to make a comment about the female form these days but he figured that if no other man had the bollocks to do it, then he would. He used flattery as a weapon. The receptionist had brushed off the comment as her equal opportunity training had advised her to do, but secretly she had felt a rush of adrenaline she had not experienced before. She felt vibrant and she laughed a little too long and loud when he proposed that they meet up for a drink sometime.

I have a boyfriend, she giggled.

When did your boyfriend last tell you that you are beautiful?

She paused.

Don’t answer that, he called to her as he walked away, twirling his briefcase as he went. Tell me later when they release me from this dreadful course.

His name was John Sweeney and he was a psychopath. He loved the title they had given him down at the mad house. He loved what it did for him. It gave him a boost. Before his diagnosis everyone just though he was plain mad. But now he had a title. He was a psychopath with a nasty twist. He had a name to live up to and John was going to make sure that he was the best psychopath ever. It made him smile. A psychopath with a liking for coprophilia, how weird does this shit get. He looked at the receptionist. She was just another acquisition. He would do her later.

***

Two days after the death of Nelson Mandela, Eva visited Joanne in the hospital. Eva worked with her and she wanted to know what had happened and to see if she was alright. She rang the bell to the special psychiatric unit, commonly known as the mad house and she was buzzed in. There was another door about thirty metres way. The staff had figured out without telling anyone that it should take the average person about twenty seconds to reach the second door. If you were not at the second door by the time the buzzer went, you were trapped. You had no option but to wait until another visitor arrived or hope that a staff member would have to leave eventually. Eva missed the twenty-second buzzer.

The corridor was a security thing. If a patient ever tried to escape they would be trapped in between doors. The corridor was surgically clean. The floor shone. The walls held nothing up. The smell was disinfectant and shit scented.

She allowed herself to sink to the floor. The floor was probably the cleanest part of the corridor she figured. "What the fuck are you doing here anyway?" she muttered to herself. Should she stay or should she go?

Twenty minutes. The door buzzed. A woman of a certain age walked through. Hers was not a desk job. She wore trainers and her hair was the colour of cake. She should have done a patch test. The most striking thing about her was the amount of keys she had dangling and jangling from the belt around her middle section. Her middle section consisted of three parts: the jumper section; the belt and key section, and the trouser section. In-between these was bare flesh. She constantly pulled on her jumper. Her jumper constantly pulled back.

Did you get stuck in here?

Yes. Eva was pissed off and grateful at the same time.

That happens a lot.

So why don’t you have someone wait to see if the visitor has been buzzed successfully?

When you get inside you’ll see why not.

They arrived at the second door. The handle was positioned about eye level of the average man. This meant that it was very awkward to open. No one could escape. While Eva stood waiting for Joanne, Napoleon and Elvis introduced themselves. In the corner was a dancer called Michael, who was screaming at the top of his voice. An elderly man, presumably his Dad, stood by looking absolutely petrified.

She asked anyone with a set of keys for Joanne.

It was very difficult for the staff to answer a question or peruse a line of enquiry without being distracted by some antics of the inmates. Madonna was singing like a virgin. Jesus was praying for her sins and Kanye was having a rant at the top of his voice about plastic carrier bags. Everywhere Eva looked there was something going on. It was scary shit.

In order to distract herself, Eva walked around. She looked into a room and was confronted with the sight of a young bone thin girl being held down by four members of staff while a doctor hovered over her with a syringe. As she struggled her gown gapped to expose stick legs covered in bruises, blood and faeces. All eyes met. The girl shouted for Eva to help her and the staff rushed to shut the door. For a split second Eva thought she saw the line between the sane and the insane but she didn’t know what separated them.

Apparently, Eva had arrived at medicine time. A bad move. Some took