Free The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Eight by Randall Farmer Page A

never developed a taste for hurting children, and the destruction of property did little for me.  Of all the different cruelties possible, the destruction of the mind aroused me the most.  To take a strong and independent mind, and shatter and twist it and make it my own.  I didn’t want the body, just the mind.  Slow sadistic destruction.  Sex, power and cruelty.
    My urges were nasty, dangerous and unhealthy, to me as well as to my victims.  I couldn’t explain this to my unconscious, though, and really, I didn’t want to.  In short, of all the things that I might be doing, I couldn’t imagine anything more arousing than what I did to Tom Delacort.  The heat rose in me just thinking about it, and him, as he lay in his makeshift cell, starting the long, slow destruction that would make him mine.
    I kept control while I was with him, but I wasn’t able to control my urges afterwards.
    “Get Darryl to my house,” I said.  Ricky jumped to obey.
    All of my robbery team spent time in my bed when I wanted them to.  This was both a privilege and a price.  I made my bed extremely pleasant for them, but I was too intense for a man to take in more than small doses.  I got too far under their defenses when I spent time in bed with them.
    Such was the theory.  In practice, I found I enjoyed some of the men more than others and spent far more time with those.  I treated each one differently depending on their personality.  What I did to Fred might be called pleasure only by a mind as twisted as his, and I had never slept with Darryl at all.  Always before, I wanted a white man.
    Not today.  Today, I thought of Tom Delacort and I wanted a brown body in my bed.  I smiled my tight, hot smile, and knew Darryl was going to have the shock of his life.
     
    It was the dead of night before I shook free of Darryl and my other responsibilities and got back to my masterpiece.  Tom’s cell was a three-sided thing, and a reinforced chain link fence formed the fourth side.  There was a hallway outside, and I had set up a one-way window across the hallway, carefully lit to allow me to watch him invisibly.
    I watched him for hours, as the unceasing bright light shone down on him , and he tried to sleep and failed.  Every half hour or so, his guards rattled by and harassed him.  Soon, his body would lose all sense of day and night.
    I shivered with anticipation and dreamed dreams of what I would do with him.  So carefully, so precise.  To tear through his defenses just enough to let me in, and allow me to remake him.  No more damage than necessary, because he was going to be mine.
    Tom Delacort was going to be my masterpiece.  My actions would be surgical and exact. In the coming days, I would spend every spare moment watching Tom, when I wasn’t having my discussions with him.  This wouldn’t be a fast process, but would go far faster than in the hands of some normal.  As the days passed, I planned to tune my actions and my guard’s behavior to the task.
    To do the job right I would have to live and breathe Tom Delacort, to the point where he occupied my thoughts when I worked and my fantasies when I was in bed.
    I studied.
     
    I went to see Keaton a little more than a week in with Tom.   The days had been hell for him.  After twenty years in the Army, he knew what I was doing to him.  He didn’t understand how he could be falling apart so fast, however.  He couldn’t understand how I could feel his weaknesses through my skin, hear them in his heartbeat, and taste them in his sweat.  As the days went by and I endlessly watched him, I knew him the same way I knew myself.  I knew when each crack formed and I was there, prying the crack wider.  His mind unraveled underneath him, and he couldn’t stop the process.
    Obsessed, I was.
     
    I spent long hours with Tom.  I ran him through confession sessions, where we would delve into the deep places of his mind and bring his flaws and failures into the light of