Mama's Boy
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,329
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,329
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Mama's Boy
A/N: If it requires a disclaimer (though I don't see why it should), then just know that's it's original.
If you are offended by incest or rape then proceed no further than this. You've been warned.
If you find the ending anti-climactic, then I don't blame you. I usually lose my muse at the end of the story, so the endings, if there are any, are usually disappointing (at least to me).
I'd like honest reviews and constructive criticism. It's my first story on AFF, and if you think it sucks, I want to know why.
I sincerely hope you find this story somewhat decent.
Mama's Boy
You meet a lot of funny characters in the force, I've noticed. Not just your usual addicts or crazies, mind you, but people who make you wonder if we're living in a hell on earth. Maybe earth is hell, and it's only people like them who know it.
Either way, people like that do exist, and a lot of them can be found in the most unorthodox places. Take, for instance, this recent case I was involved in. The suspect looked normal, and even acted normal, for the most part. He didn't look like the type of person who would end up in the situation that he did, but that just goes to show that appearances can be deceiving.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I guess if I'm going to tell you this, it would be best to start from the beginning. There's no sense in beginning a story in the middle, now is there?
On January 3, 2006, I was awoken at three a.m. by the shrill ringing of my bedside telephone. After shifting through shit loads of paper and unused condoms, I finally found that elusive receiver.
"Hello?" I answered tiredly.
"Inspector Williams, this is Officer Morris. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but we need you to come down to the station. We've arrested a murder suspect, and I was ordered to call you in to question him."
" Isn't Inspector Erickson available to come in?"
"No sir. Inspector Erickson took a 7 day leave starting yesterday."
"Figures. Alright, I'll be down there in 30 minutes."
"Thank you, sir. Good bye."
"Uh-huh," I replied as I hit the off button.
Being that it was so early, there wasn't much traffic. I took I-10 into town, and I got to the station in as little as 20 minutes.
When I walked into the office, I was immediately greeted by a mousy little man who had apparently been the one to arrest the alleged perpetrator. He handed me a file and gave me a brief summary of the situation.
Apparently, a 34 year old woman and her one-night stand were murdered in bed at one a.m.. Screaming was heard by one of the neighbors, so she ended up calling the police. At 1:25 a.m. the suspect, the 17 year old son of the victim, was picked up 3 blocks away from the house. He was drunk and covered in blood.
"Has he been read his rights?" I asked.
"Yes sir, and he has a lawyer already with him. All that needs to be done is the interrogation."
"Let's get this over with, then," I said, and headed towards the interrogation room.
When I walked in I was greeted by the sight of a handsome blond boy, sitting solemnly at the metal table with his blue eyes cast down at the silvery surface. Next to him was seated his lawyer, a large, dark-skinned man with a bulbous nose and graying hair. Neither of them were speaking.
After quickly introducing myself, I sat down across from them and opened the file. After quickly scanning the first few pages, I closed the file and rested my hands on the table top.
"So, Jason Andrews, what position do you play?" I asked, gesturing towards the blood covered sports jacket with the logo of the New Caney Hawks, a local high school football team.
"Quarterback," he answered meekly.
"Quarterback, huh? That's a pretty good position. Thinking about playing in college?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if you're pretty good you could get in on a scholarship. Though you'd have to take extra care not to get injured. One small leg or arm injury could screw up everything."
"I know."
"How's school? Do you make good grades?"
"I'm on the honor roll."
"The honor roll? That's impressive. You don't meet many high school quarterbacks that can make the honor roll."
"It's not easy."
"I don't doubt that. So, what's your favorite course?"
"Physics."
"Why's that?"
"I like theories and equations. Physics happens to have both."
"That it does."
We went on like that for a good 15 or 20 minutes. He seemed like a good kid with a normal life; he had friends, his teachers liked him, and he was even thinking about getting a job.
When it looked like he was comfortable I decided to get down to business.
"Okay Jason, you're a smart boy, so you know why you're here," I began. "The neighbor who contacted the police said she saw you enter the house 5 minutes before the screaming started, and between your entrance and your mother's time of death, no one saw you leave. In addition, your covered in blood, and blood tests are already being run on the sample taken from your jacket. You must realize that this is all incredibly incriminating evidence."
Jason hung his head in his hands and let out a choked sob. At this point, his giant of a lawyer spoke up.
" You don't have to speak if you don't want to, you know. He can't make you speak."
"He's right, Jason, I can't make you speak. That's your choice. But you only do yourself more harm then good if you don't make a confession. If you plead innocent and those test results come back positive, you're in a whole mess of trouble. The court doesn't go easy on liars."
"And if he pleads guilty, and the test results come back negative?" his lawyer snarled.
"They won't come back negative," Jason quietly interjected. "The blood they took off my jacket belongs to my mother."
"Do you want to make a full confession, then?" I asked, pulling a small tape recorder from my pocket and hitting the record button.
Ignoring the protests of his lawyer, the boy nodded.
"I might as well, considering that I am guilty."
"Okay, here's what we're going to do: since this has to be recorded, I want you to answer all my questions clearly - no mumbling or anything. If you don't feel comfortable answering a question, then let me know; and, if at any time you feel your rights are being violated, or if you want to know what your rights are, you are free to consult your lawyer. Do you understand all this?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now," I began, setting the tape recorder in the middle of the table, "what is your name?"
"Jason Andrews."
"What was your association with your victims?"
"One of them was my mother. I have no idea who the other was."
"You had never met the other victim before?"
"No."
"When you were picked up, your blood alcohol level was pretty high. When and where had you been drinking?"
"I went to a party at a friends house a few hours earlier. I had been drinking from about 9 o'clock to the time I got home."
"How did you get home?"
"I walked."
"Why did you leave, and was anyone with you after you left this party?"
"I left because I was horny, and I wanted to go home. So I left by myself."
"Horny, huh? Didn't this party have girls there? Why didn't you just sleep with one of them?"
"There were loads of girls there, but I didn't like any of them that way. I wanted to go home and have sex."
"Who would you have sex with at home?"
He paused for a moment, and looked as if he were debating whether or not to answer. His lawyer spoke up and reminded him that he didn't have to answer; he had a right to be silent.
Jason just shook his head and quietly replied, "My mother."
I don't know what I had been expecting him to say, but I certainly hadn't been expecting that. I felt all the blood rush to my face, and I watched as his lawyer's blood did just the opposite.
"You wanted to sleep with your mother?" I asked slowly.
"Yes."
"Had you slept with your mother before?"
"Many times."
His lawyer's eyes bulged from their sockets, and his expression gave the appearance of a sea-sick Mr. Potato Head.
I on the other hand, could have fried an egg on my face.
"So, " I said, gulping hard to get the nervous knot out of my throat, "you wanted to go home to sleep with your...mother. I take it things didn't work out quite as you planned? What happened, exactly?"
"When I got home the house was dark. My mother was an insomniac, and whenever I went out at night, I could usually count on her to be up watching T.V. and waiting for me to come home." He noticed the slightly skeptical look on my face, and sighed.
"I know you think that my mother and I are probably depraved and immoral people, Inspector, and we probably are; however, we still loved each other very much, even if our "˜love' had multiple meanings. She worried about me as a mother would worry about a son, and as a lover would worry about a lover. Our incestuous relationship never dissolved our mother/child bonds, it merely complicated them."
"Alright," I said, exhaling slowly, "so your mother usually waits up for you. I take it things were a little different tonight?"
"Yes, when I arrived home, the lights were off and everything was silent - well, mostly silent anyway," he added darkly. "When I walked in the house, I heard a lot of panting and groaning coming from my mother's room. I figured she was just watching porn, which got me even hotter.
" I wanted to surprise her, so I stripped right there in the hallway; I took off everything but my jacket. She really likes my sports jacket, you see. She was so proud that I was an athlete, and she loved seeing me walk around in nothing but my jacket. My plan was to sneak in the room while she was playing with herself, and I would lie down beside her, and just watch her pleasure herself for a while.
"But when I got to the room and looked in, I noticed the T.V. was off, and that there was someone else besides my mom in bed.
"I know my mom liked sex, and that sometimes she had sex with different people besides me. That never bothered me because she always told me I was the only man in her life that she actually loved, and all that mattered to me was that she loved me and me alone.
"So when I saw the two of them in bed, I figured she just wanted to try someone new, and instead of going in and joining them, I decided to just stay outside and watch.
"It was really hot, and I couldn't help jacking off to what I saw. My mother was such a beautiful woman, Inspector. She was so voluptuous and seductive; God, how her moans drove me wild. If you had met her, Inspector, you would have understood how irresistible she was."
He paused for a moment. I could tell by the glazed look in his eyes and the flushed look on his face that he was no longer with us in the interrogation room. He was back in that hallway, watching his mother having sex with another man.
"And what happened next?" I asked quietly.
"They were getting really close to their climax, and I could tell because my mother starts screaming when she's about to come.
"She started screaming, and at first I didn't really catch what she was saying, but then she started screaming louder. She was screaming, "I love you, I fucking love you!", over and over. It made me really jealous to hear her say that to another man, and believe me, jealousy and booze don't mix well.
"I lost it, to say the least. I burst into the room, tore that guy off my mother, and just started swinging. Everything happened so fast that he didn't really have time to react. I honestly never meant to kill him; I just wanted to mess him up real bad.
"We both ended up tripping over something, though I'm not sure what, and when he fell, he hit his head on the corner of the bedside table.
"When I got up, my mom was curled up in a corner of the room and she was crying. She started screaming that I killed him, and that I was a murderer.
"In my drunken logic I knew I wanted to make her stop screaming. I wanted to hear something else, like moaning. I wanted to hear her tell me over and over that she loved me, so I did the only thing that came to mind: I grabbed her and threw her on the bed. I wanted to fuck her so bad that it never once registered in my mind that she was trying to fight me off."
"So you raped her?" I asked quietly.
"Yes. She was beating my chest and trying to push me off, but she wasn't strong enough. She managed to slap me, but all that did was piss me off, so I hit her... a lot."
"How many times did you hit her?" I asked.
"I punched her about six times, I guess. I wasn't really counting. All I know is that when I stopped hitting her there was blood all over the place. She was still crying, and she...she tried to scream for help. I don't know why, but it only made me angrier, so I started choking her to make her shut up. I was choking her as I was fucking her, and I didn't let go until I came."
He paused in his story once again, only this time it was to let out a dry sob.
I looked over at his lawyer, only to find that he had scooted away from his client during the story, and was now looking at the boy as if he had grown a second head and sprouted tentacles. Apparently, this was one of the few lawyers who actually had morals.
When the boy had finally composed himself, I asked him what had happened after he climaxed.
"When I came, I sobered up a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough for me to notice that my mother was lying beneath me, bloody, beaten, and not breathing. I tried CPR, but it didn't work.
"When I realized she was dead, I freaked out. I had to get out of there, so I got dressed and left. That's when I got picked up by the police," he finished.
I asked him a few more questions, though all of them were of little relevance. All that was really needed now was an account of the crime, which I already had.
I thanked him for his compliance, and bid him adieu until the time of his trial, at which I would have to be present.
Somehow, I can't help but feel sorry for the guy; I don't know why, though. In my head I can't help but think that my sympathy for him is wrong, but something in my gut just won't let me hate him.
I received a letter from him last week. In it, he told me that his trial is set for April 3, and that his lawyer told him that if they play their cards right and plead insanity, he might just get a lenient sentence. He, however, believed that the punishment he deserved was one fitting of the crime: death.
In his closing sentence, he confided to me what he thought was an enlightened outlook that had been inspired by recent events. The statement, which convinced me that even the most seemingly immoral people have just souls, read:
"For all I've done I deserve to burn eternally in hell;
but, when I wake up to the sound of jail doors clinking
and guards yelling, instead of to the sound of my mother's light
steps and soft voice, I realize that hell is a paradise, when
compared to reality, because, at least in hell, my mother is present."
Fine
If you are offended by incest or rape then proceed no further than this. You've been warned.
If you find the ending anti-climactic, then I don't blame you. I usually lose my muse at the end of the story, so the endings, if there are any, are usually disappointing (at least to me).
I'd like honest reviews and constructive criticism. It's my first story on AFF, and if you think it sucks, I want to know why.
I sincerely hope you find this story somewhat decent.
Mama's Boy
You meet a lot of funny characters in the force, I've noticed. Not just your usual addicts or crazies, mind you, but people who make you wonder if we're living in a hell on earth. Maybe earth is hell, and it's only people like them who know it.
Either way, people like that do exist, and a lot of them can be found in the most unorthodox places. Take, for instance, this recent case I was involved in. The suspect looked normal, and even acted normal, for the most part. He didn't look like the type of person who would end up in the situation that he did, but that just goes to show that appearances can be deceiving.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I guess if I'm going to tell you this, it would be best to start from the beginning. There's no sense in beginning a story in the middle, now is there?
On January 3, 2006, I was awoken at three a.m. by the shrill ringing of my bedside telephone. After shifting through shit loads of paper and unused condoms, I finally found that elusive receiver.
"Hello?" I answered tiredly.
"Inspector Williams, this is Officer Morris. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but we need you to come down to the station. We've arrested a murder suspect, and I was ordered to call you in to question him."
" Isn't Inspector Erickson available to come in?"
"No sir. Inspector Erickson took a 7 day leave starting yesterday."
"Figures. Alright, I'll be down there in 30 minutes."
"Thank you, sir. Good bye."
"Uh-huh," I replied as I hit the off button.
Being that it was so early, there wasn't much traffic. I took I-10 into town, and I got to the station in as little as 20 minutes.
When I walked into the office, I was immediately greeted by a mousy little man who had apparently been the one to arrest the alleged perpetrator. He handed me a file and gave me a brief summary of the situation.
Apparently, a 34 year old woman and her one-night stand were murdered in bed at one a.m.. Screaming was heard by one of the neighbors, so she ended up calling the police. At 1:25 a.m. the suspect, the 17 year old son of the victim, was picked up 3 blocks away from the house. He was drunk and covered in blood.
"Has he been read his rights?" I asked.
"Yes sir, and he has a lawyer already with him. All that needs to be done is the interrogation."
"Let's get this over with, then," I said, and headed towards the interrogation room.
When I walked in I was greeted by the sight of a handsome blond boy, sitting solemnly at the metal table with his blue eyes cast down at the silvery surface. Next to him was seated his lawyer, a large, dark-skinned man with a bulbous nose and graying hair. Neither of them were speaking.
After quickly introducing myself, I sat down across from them and opened the file. After quickly scanning the first few pages, I closed the file and rested my hands on the table top.
"So, Jason Andrews, what position do you play?" I asked, gesturing towards the blood covered sports jacket with the logo of the New Caney Hawks, a local high school football team.
"Quarterback," he answered meekly.
"Quarterback, huh? That's a pretty good position. Thinking about playing in college?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if you're pretty good you could get in on a scholarship. Though you'd have to take extra care not to get injured. One small leg or arm injury could screw up everything."
"I know."
"How's school? Do you make good grades?"
"I'm on the honor roll."
"The honor roll? That's impressive. You don't meet many high school quarterbacks that can make the honor roll."
"It's not easy."
"I don't doubt that. So, what's your favorite course?"
"Physics."
"Why's that?"
"I like theories and equations. Physics happens to have both."
"That it does."
We went on like that for a good 15 or 20 minutes. He seemed like a good kid with a normal life; he had friends, his teachers liked him, and he was even thinking about getting a job.
When it looked like he was comfortable I decided to get down to business.
"Okay Jason, you're a smart boy, so you know why you're here," I began. "The neighbor who contacted the police said she saw you enter the house 5 minutes before the screaming started, and between your entrance and your mother's time of death, no one saw you leave. In addition, your covered in blood, and blood tests are already being run on the sample taken from your jacket. You must realize that this is all incredibly incriminating evidence."
Jason hung his head in his hands and let out a choked sob. At this point, his giant of a lawyer spoke up.
" You don't have to speak if you don't want to, you know. He can't make you speak."
"He's right, Jason, I can't make you speak. That's your choice. But you only do yourself more harm then good if you don't make a confession. If you plead innocent and those test results come back positive, you're in a whole mess of trouble. The court doesn't go easy on liars."
"And if he pleads guilty, and the test results come back negative?" his lawyer snarled.
"They won't come back negative," Jason quietly interjected. "The blood they took off my jacket belongs to my mother."
"Do you want to make a full confession, then?" I asked, pulling a small tape recorder from my pocket and hitting the record button.
Ignoring the protests of his lawyer, the boy nodded.
"I might as well, considering that I am guilty."
"Okay, here's what we're going to do: since this has to be recorded, I want you to answer all my questions clearly - no mumbling or anything. If you don't feel comfortable answering a question, then let me know; and, if at any time you feel your rights are being violated, or if you want to know what your rights are, you are free to consult your lawyer. Do you understand all this?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now," I began, setting the tape recorder in the middle of the table, "what is your name?"
"Jason Andrews."
"What was your association with your victims?"
"One of them was my mother. I have no idea who the other was."
"You had never met the other victim before?"
"No."
"When you were picked up, your blood alcohol level was pretty high. When and where had you been drinking?"
"I went to a party at a friends house a few hours earlier. I had been drinking from about 9 o'clock to the time I got home."
"How did you get home?"
"I walked."
"Why did you leave, and was anyone with you after you left this party?"
"I left because I was horny, and I wanted to go home. So I left by myself."
"Horny, huh? Didn't this party have girls there? Why didn't you just sleep with one of them?"
"There were loads of girls there, but I didn't like any of them that way. I wanted to go home and have sex."
"Who would you have sex with at home?"
He paused for a moment, and looked as if he were debating whether or not to answer. His lawyer spoke up and reminded him that he didn't have to answer; he had a right to be silent.
Jason just shook his head and quietly replied, "My mother."
I don't know what I had been expecting him to say, but I certainly hadn't been expecting that. I felt all the blood rush to my face, and I watched as his lawyer's blood did just the opposite.
"You wanted to sleep with your mother?" I asked slowly.
"Yes."
"Had you slept with your mother before?"
"Many times."
His lawyer's eyes bulged from their sockets, and his expression gave the appearance of a sea-sick Mr. Potato Head.
I on the other hand, could have fried an egg on my face.
"So, " I said, gulping hard to get the nervous knot out of my throat, "you wanted to go home to sleep with your...mother. I take it things didn't work out quite as you planned? What happened, exactly?"
"When I got home the house was dark. My mother was an insomniac, and whenever I went out at night, I could usually count on her to be up watching T.V. and waiting for me to come home." He noticed the slightly skeptical look on my face, and sighed.
"I know you think that my mother and I are probably depraved and immoral people, Inspector, and we probably are; however, we still loved each other very much, even if our "˜love' had multiple meanings. She worried about me as a mother would worry about a son, and as a lover would worry about a lover. Our incestuous relationship never dissolved our mother/child bonds, it merely complicated them."
"Alright," I said, exhaling slowly, "so your mother usually waits up for you. I take it things were a little different tonight?"
"Yes, when I arrived home, the lights were off and everything was silent - well, mostly silent anyway," he added darkly. "When I walked in the house, I heard a lot of panting and groaning coming from my mother's room. I figured she was just watching porn, which got me even hotter.
" I wanted to surprise her, so I stripped right there in the hallway; I took off everything but my jacket. She really likes my sports jacket, you see. She was so proud that I was an athlete, and she loved seeing me walk around in nothing but my jacket. My plan was to sneak in the room while she was playing with herself, and I would lie down beside her, and just watch her pleasure herself for a while.
"But when I got to the room and looked in, I noticed the T.V. was off, and that there was someone else besides my mom in bed.
"I know my mom liked sex, and that sometimes she had sex with different people besides me. That never bothered me because she always told me I was the only man in her life that she actually loved, and all that mattered to me was that she loved me and me alone.
"So when I saw the two of them in bed, I figured she just wanted to try someone new, and instead of going in and joining them, I decided to just stay outside and watch.
"It was really hot, and I couldn't help jacking off to what I saw. My mother was such a beautiful woman, Inspector. She was so voluptuous and seductive; God, how her moans drove me wild. If you had met her, Inspector, you would have understood how irresistible she was."
He paused for a moment. I could tell by the glazed look in his eyes and the flushed look on his face that he was no longer with us in the interrogation room. He was back in that hallway, watching his mother having sex with another man.
"And what happened next?" I asked quietly.
"They were getting really close to their climax, and I could tell because my mother starts screaming when she's about to come.
"She started screaming, and at first I didn't really catch what she was saying, but then she started screaming louder. She was screaming, "I love you, I fucking love you!", over and over. It made me really jealous to hear her say that to another man, and believe me, jealousy and booze don't mix well.
"I lost it, to say the least. I burst into the room, tore that guy off my mother, and just started swinging. Everything happened so fast that he didn't really have time to react. I honestly never meant to kill him; I just wanted to mess him up real bad.
"We both ended up tripping over something, though I'm not sure what, and when he fell, he hit his head on the corner of the bedside table.
"When I got up, my mom was curled up in a corner of the room and she was crying. She started screaming that I killed him, and that I was a murderer.
"In my drunken logic I knew I wanted to make her stop screaming. I wanted to hear something else, like moaning. I wanted to hear her tell me over and over that she loved me, so I did the only thing that came to mind: I grabbed her and threw her on the bed. I wanted to fuck her so bad that it never once registered in my mind that she was trying to fight me off."
"So you raped her?" I asked quietly.
"Yes. She was beating my chest and trying to push me off, but she wasn't strong enough. She managed to slap me, but all that did was piss me off, so I hit her... a lot."
"How many times did you hit her?" I asked.
"I punched her about six times, I guess. I wasn't really counting. All I know is that when I stopped hitting her there was blood all over the place. She was still crying, and she...she tried to scream for help. I don't know why, but it only made me angrier, so I started choking her to make her shut up. I was choking her as I was fucking her, and I didn't let go until I came."
He paused in his story once again, only this time it was to let out a dry sob.
I looked over at his lawyer, only to find that he had scooted away from his client during the story, and was now looking at the boy as if he had grown a second head and sprouted tentacles. Apparently, this was one of the few lawyers who actually had morals.
When the boy had finally composed himself, I asked him what had happened after he climaxed.
"When I came, I sobered up a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough for me to notice that my mother was lying beneath me, bloody, beaten, and not breathing. I tried CPR, but it didn't work.
"When I realized she was dead, I freaked out. I had to get out of there, so I got dressed and left. That's when I got picked up by the police," he finished.
I asked him a few more questions, though all of them were of little relevance. All that was really needed now was an account of the crime, which I already had.
I thanked him for his compliance, and bid him adieu until the time of his trial, at which I would have to be present.
Somehow, I can't help but feel sorry for the guy; I don't know why, though. In my head I can't help but think that my sympathy for him is wrong, but something in my gut just won't let me hate him.
I received a letter from him last week. In it, he told me that his trial is set for April 3, and that his lawyer told him that if they play their cards right and plead insanity, he might just get a lenient sentence. He, however, believed that the punishment he deserved was one fitting of the crime: death.
In his closing sentence, he confided to me what he thought was an enlightened outlook that had been inspired by recent events. The statement, which convinced me that even the most seemingly immoral people have just souls, read:
"For all I've done I deserve to burn eternally in hell;
but, when I wake up to the sound of jail doors clinking
and guards yelling, instead of to the sound of my mother's light
steps and soft voice, I realize that hell is a paradise, when
compared to reality, because, at least in hell, my mother is present."
Fine