A man is turned into a monster by a mysterious reaction to heroin. Based on a true story of drug use and murder.
Ryan Morrison, David's best, and only, friend, had arrived at his house late on Monday, as usual, armed and ready for the night's 'festivities.' Both had recently turned twenty-one, and now it was their Monday night tradition to watch some movies and get wasted.
It was ten o'clock. Ryan was drunk, and David was well on his way to joining him. They were watching some old black-and-white monster movies. Ryan loved old horror flicks. This one reminded David of 'Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde.'
"Hey, can ya schtill do that thing?" Ryan was slurring his words.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He could deny it, but David did know what Ryan was talking about. When he was seventeen, his friend, Alex's, older brother, John, had introduced him to Heroin. They'd said that it would be 'fun.' John and Alex had been fine, the usual effects, but when David's turn came, something else took place.
Something, or someone, terrible took over his body. David could only look on in horror as his arm, of its own free will, lashed out at John with an inhuman strength, sending him flying into a wall. His mind screamed at his body to stop as he advanced on a petrified Alex. Then he blacked out.
When David awoke the next morning, he was bleeding and bruised. Alex told him later that, were it not for John's German Shepard, Mojo, David would have killed them both. The dog had attacked him, pinning him down long enough for the brothers to escape. David hadn't seen John since, and Alex moved away soon after the incident.
David was brought out of his memories by Ryan insistently pressing a syringe into his palm.
"Come on," Ryan begged pitifully, "I wanna schee it! Alex told me about it before he left. I wanna schee it for myself!"
"Oh, I don't know, man. It could be dangerous." David said hesitantly.
"Come on! You could be a schuper hero... like The Hulk!"
This appealed to David. He had always been somewhat of a loser; the scrawny, nerdy, kid who spent all of his money on comic books. The thought of being powerful was extremely attractive and, in his inebriated state, also extremely tempting. The excessive alcohol had heightened his emotions, and given new intensity to the bitter childhood memories of being teased, beat up, and tormented by his classmates.
"Give me that!" David grabbed the syringe away from Ryan.
"Yesss..." The other whispered, watching in anticipation.
"Just shut up, and stop hovering." David snapped.
As the Heroin seeped into his blood stream, David could feel a tingling sensation spread from his forearm up through his chest. His muscles bulged slightly, and the veins in his hands and arms became more defined. Ryan stared in awe. David began to feel dizzy. His head was spinning and black spots danced in front of his eyes. When he gripped the coffee table in front of him, to catch his balance, the wood splintered under his fingers.
Ryan whooped and started laughing wildly, and exclaimed in a loud, boisterous, voice 'how cool' this was. At the sound of his friend's voice, something inside David snapped. He went blind with rage.
"You think it's so cool?" He heard himself roar, "Why don't you try it yourself?" Before Ryan could react, he lashed out, grabbed him by the neck, and pinned him to the wall. Holding his 'friend' in place with one hand, David gathered the three remaining unused syringes and slowly, methodically, injected them into Ryan's jugular vein. After a few minutes of struggling, the drug took effect and Ryan's eyes glazed over. The dose had been to big. He was dead.
Through the cloudy drug-induced rage, the rational part of David's mind fought to gain control of his own body. He could not comprehend what had just happened. How could Ryan be dead? How could he have just murdered his best friend? What had he done? David could hear sirens in the distance. Paranoid, he immediately assumed that someone had heard the commotion and called the police. He had to get rid of the body.
David stumbled out the back door into his back yard. It was a big yard. In the far corner, barely visible by the dim porch light, was a large mound of soft dirt. It was left over from his little brother's attempt at building a fort last summer, and it would make a perfect hiding spot now. David started digging; deeper and deeper. His incredible new strength helped him dig the four foot deep pit in a matter of minutes. Racing back into the house, he gathered everything that, even remotely, betrayed that he'd had a guest that night. He threw the assorted needles, beer cans, and rented movies into the hole, then arranged the corpse on top of them. Soon, the makeshift grave was covered over and David was on the run.
The sirens were a block away now. Where could he go? He had to be alone until the drugs in his system wore off, lest he risk harming anyone else. There was an abandoned warehouse nearby, in the industrial section of town, so he headed that way.
That night, and the days following, had been a nightmare. David was haunted by the look in Ryan's eyes as he had attacked; the total, paralyzing fear of the monster he had created. David hated himself. How could he have been so stupid? He knew what would happen, yet he had given in to the pressure. Now he had to deal with the consequences.
David didn't want to leave the sanctuary of the warehouse unless it was absolutely necessary, but eventually he was forced to venture out for food. It was Thursday now. Three days had passed, and the effects of the Heroin had faded. Walking past a newspaper stand, a headline caught his eye. "Man's body found behind Livonia home." He froze. So, the police really had been coming for him. They surely suspected him of the murder. He knew what he had to do.
David Jackson wandered through the streets of Livonia, the hood of his black sweatshirt up and obscuring his face, reflecting upon what he was about to do. There was no chance of a normal life now. Even if he was never caught by the authorities, he knew he would have to live with this terrible guilt for the rest of his life. With a look of resolve on his face, David yanked open the doors to the city police station and walked purposefully up to the main desk. "Hello," he flashed a grin at the elderly receptionist, "My Name is David Jackson. May I speak with the police chief? I'd like to make a confession..." It was the right thing to do.