Seven-X (15 page)

“It was on my heart as I prayed this morning, to study that chapter. Everything that happens means something, Eddie,” Billings commented. “But her exact replication, after me reading her this passage once is astounding.”

Dr. Preston continued showing me more charts saying, “What’s also perplexing to us is her pain threshold. Annette is not reacting negatively, not feeling pain, which would be a contradiction to the increased awareness of her body in labor, and her brain function. To have that much brain activity and no remembrance of her former life is supernatural in and of itself.”

“Why don’t you remind her? Show her what she did,” I asked.

“That may have catastrophic effects, especially before childbirth,” Billings warned. “It would be dangerous, not only for the baby, but for Annie as well. If she can deliver a baby in this state, it would be unprecedented.”

“That’s what you really want, isn’t it?” I told them, already knowing the answer to my question.

“What if a baby were born like Jesus, from a completely pure vessel. In a controlled environment, what would that child be capable of?” Billings excitedly rambled.

“A pure vessel?” I said. “Are you listening to yourself?”

 “Everyone has the opportunity to be purified by Christ. Including you,” Billings stated, making sure I got his point.

Doc Preston could tell I was blowing Billings off his religious pedestal. And if my cutting sarcasm wasn’t enough, I had to glare at him to get back to the business at hand.

 “We wanted to deliver her baby after the exorcism,” Preston said.  “But the risk of inducing labor was too great with her elevated heart rate. We have not given her any drugs since, and all signs point to Annette having a natural childbirth tomorrow.” 

“Are you going to keep brainwashing her with religious impetus until she delivers,” I asked.

Dr. Haworth finally commented. He had been curiously absent from most of the previous discussion, keeping his eye on my reaction.  He stated informally, “We’re simply keeping her away from any negative stimulus. It’s why we don’t have television, Internet or phone service here, Eddie. Psychological testing in a controlled environment produces the most accurate results.”

“But what are you controlling?” I asked.

Billings walked over to the monitor and popped in a tape saying, “We are very excited about what is unveiling here Eddie. A consistent pattern of truth.”

 Haworth added, “What we’re going to show you is part of Timothy Tyler’s post exorcism therapy. This is two hours after the exorcism. For the record, Timothy Tyler was not introduced to any other stimulus, nor given any medication.”

Billings played the tape. I couldn’t believe what I saw. The man resembled Tyler and if it weren’t for the neck tattoo extending from the collar of his suit I would not have believed it. 

He looked like a businessman, not a serial killer. He was sitting in a therapy session with Dr. Haworth. 

“How are you feeling Mr. Tyler?”  asked Haworth,

“Amazing Doc. I got me some energy today. I got to confess. I walked over here from my room. Had to stop myself cold turkey. There was this baby blue bird. Out here. Imagine the odds. He flew down in front of me. I mean, right in front of me. And he stood there, a little baby birdie on the ground, in front of me. Then he looks up and starts chirping. Like he was singing just for me. You know what I did. Know what came to my mind?”

“What came to mind?” Haworth asked him.

“Mister blue bird’s on my shoulder. It’s the truth, it’s actual, Everything’s satisfactual!
“
Zippity doo dah, Zippity aye. My oh my, what a wonderful day. Plenty of sunshine coming my way, Zippity doo dah, Zippity aye.”

They were both laughing. How could you not. The look on Tyler’s face singing was priceless. 

Hey kids, it’s time for the sing-along serial killer, featuring Timmy Tyler and the brides of death.  I can’t wait to see him cover
Pinocchio
and
Snow White
. But that day wouldn’t come anytime soon. 

According to Billings and Haworth, Tyler had a great day. He said he never felt better.  He danced about in a jovial mood as they put him through a series of tests. He had an enjoyable dinner, played poker with Donald and a few other members of the ward, then headed to bed. Tyler went to sleep and that’s when they showed me the surveillance video from his room. 

Tyler woke up in a maddening rage around three AM, as if in a nightmare. And then, the unthinkable! Tyler began to chew on his own arm. It was sickening watching him rip through his own skin. 

Gnashing at his arm, the blood filled his mouth and he tore right through his own muscles, eating himself down to the bone before he was restrained.

Two guards entered to restrain him and he threw them against the wall like rag dolls. The force was incredible. 

According to Haworth one guard broke three ribs and the other was Santiago, who received a broken nose and concussion. A third guard entered and fired a tranquilizer dart into Tyler’s leg. The guard took a few shots to the head, and Tyler ran down the hall chasing after him, before finally collapsing. It was surreal to watch. Tyler looked like a rabid dog. His eyes were glazed over and he literally foamed at the mouth. 

His language was a series of gibberish rants and animal noises. Growls, hisses, barks and groans. It seemed he was no longer human. When Tyler awoke, he had to be constantly restrained. Billings stated that he manifest eight different personalities over the next three days of examination. They were categorized as eight different demons, who took possession of Tyler. It was as Billings explained,  ”
THE SEVEN-X PHENOMENA
.” 

The same theory I read about days earlier. This was why I had been given that highlighted passage from the Bible. To these men, 
SEVEN-X, 
was not just a theory, it was a fact.

“It’s a constant,” Billings told me. In all six of his previous exorcisms, the demon brought back seven more demons to torment the victim, until they could reclaim possession of the body. 

And the final condition of that victim was much worse, or as Billings would comment, “Precisely what Jesus told his followers.”

Only two of his exorcisms remained successful for an extended period. The other patients, Billings claimed wore down over time. He said they let their old ways of thinking; these patterns of thought begin to consume them again.  They became aware of their past again and something inside them began to crave the comfort of that former life. 

Billings then told me that although the voices they heard were no longer a part of them, as was evidenced through post exorcism therapy, they were consistently around the victim, offering suggestions and insight. 

As the victim began to associate and act out on these demonic suggestions, the demons would resume their occupation of the body. This is what Reverend Billings explained as we walked over to meet Tyler. I’m about to see in person what they are talking about, and unlike Annette Dobson’s interview, I have permission to ask or say anything I want. I’m looking forward to this.

AUDIO LOG/ JOURNAL ENTRY:                                 

MONDAY DECEMBER 13, 2010 4:15 PM

I think this is the ward I was confined in overnight. As I walked with Billings a strong feeling came over me. My mind grasped on to the patterns of my footsteps, recalling an earlier progression of grass and concrete. Grass then concrete. Without the glare of the sun, I could see my surroundings and take note of the path we traveled.

Ward D was for the dangerous patients; the one’s who needed restraint and isolation. It was an unspoken place. Upon its mention, patients tensed up, bodies cringed and mouths sealed shut. There was genuine fear about Ward’s D and E. Fear that could be cut with a knife. Rumors of the whispering kind settled around. 

No one wanted to see it, or talk about it, much less go there. A sentence to Ward E was a death sentence. No one ever returned from there.  

Ward D Crazy Donald coined, “the cutting room.” The place where they drilled into your head to find answers. Where ice picks slid through eyeballs, plunging into the depths of the brain, killing independence and slaughtering personality. Cold steel gouged through your head, from the hands of whom the patients say are truly, the mad men. 

Rev. Billings and I proceeded down the stairs through a dark, tunneled area that could only be entered with a set of keys and keypad combinations. I listened closely as we entered, trying to hear the dripping water, or the echoes of screams, but it was unruly silent. Too silent. As if everything here were dead, or abandoned long ago.

The only sound I could hear was the constant rhythm of our shoes clicking on the cold pavement, and the occasional interjection of Rev. Billings. 

“Remember Eddie, it’s not Timothy, it’s the demons speaking through him. You have to identify which one, so you know how he’ll try to attack you.”

“I’ll remember,” I said as he led me to the end of the hallway where a security guard opened the door. This guy was big. He looked like a UFC Fighter. I’ve never seen him before, so I introduced myself. You want to be on this guy’s good side.

“How ya doing man, I’m Eddie.”

“Curtis,” he answered. “You guys can go in. I got Tyler restrained.”

Billings nodded with approval then asked me, “You sure you want to go in alone?”

“I’ll be fine, Rev. Don’t you worry yourself.”

They opened the cast iron door and I slipped inside. The entire ward was empty, except for the last cell. There was no glass like
Silence of the Lambs
, just bars that separated us. I certainly didn’t feel like Clarice when I entered that cell area.

For the record, Tyler was worse than Hannibal Lechter. Hannibal was civilized. Tyler was a pure monster. And yet, there he was sitting there quietly, in his straitjacket. As I approached, he gleefully yelled, “Alrighty! I got myself some company.”

I pulled up a seat and placed it about three feet from the cell bars. Timothy Nathan Tyler walked up and stuck his head between the tiny steel bars asking, “What’s your name buddy boy?”

“You don’t remember me?” I told him.

“I don’t get out often, my friend. Got this castle to myself. My own private Idaho.”

“I see,” I said, examining him cautiously. 

“So what brings you round?” he asked, scratching himself up against the steel doors.

“I need someone regular to talk to. I’m sick of all the psycho babble,” I told him.

“Hell yeah!” Tyler said enthusiastically, pushing his head further between the bars before noticing, “That’s a pretty little tape recorder you got there. You know you got to have permission round here, for everything. Can’t just tape me.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well you got?”

“Yeah,” I told him.

“Not from me,” Tyler answered, shuffling around with excitement. “Nobody asked ole’ Timmy if they could go running tapes of his golden voice.”

“May I?” I said, holding the recorder close to the cell door.

“You may not.”

“No problem,” I said assuredly. “I’ll turn it off. I just want to chat.”

After a little negotiation, we came to an agreement. I got to turn my recorder on, if I loosened up his straitjacket and let his arms out. He said his shoulder was hurting and the bastards here took joy in seeing him suffer. I couldn’t just sit there and let him suffer, he told me. I’m not that kind of animal. So I moved in close to him when I started feeling that presence again. 

It’s hard to describe it, but it’s like the moment before a panic attack. The closer I got, the more my heart raced. I’m not scared of this guy. It wasn’t fear. It was just this queasy, uneasy feeling, like something’s crawling on you. My chest knotted up and I had this feeling of deep dread.

Maybe it was the smell. His stench was putrid. It was like decay. Like something was dead inside him. Maybe he was suffering from Cotard’s Syndrome. Maybe he was already dead. His breath smelt like rotten garbage and acid.  Were they afraid to let him bathe himself or brush his teeth? Would he stab himself or someone with the toothbrush, or ram it down his own throat until he bled, or choked himself to death. 

I don’t know. I tried to hold my breath as I stuck my fingers inside the small metal opening and loosened up the straps that held his arms in. Part of me felt like he was going to spin around and stab me with something, or bite my fingers off, but he stood there perfectly calm. Maybe that was what seemed most disturbing.

 Tyler never moved or spoke. He acted perfectly normal, not psychotic. I almost felt sorry for him, strapped up, isolated and not cared for. I know what one night in these conditions did to me. I couldn’t imagine what six years in this place could do to a man. He seemed grateful for the company and the chance to move his arms.

“Feel better?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Thanks man,” he said stretching himself against the iron bars. I didn’t waste any time and went straight for the kill, asking him, “What do you remember about your exorcism?”

Suddenly his demeanor changed, and he pushed himself hard, pressing his face as far as he could through the bars groaning, “Exorcism. Is that what they told you they did to me?”

“Yeah. They rid you of your demons.”

“Bullshit. Don’t let that fake priest and gay quack put one past you brother. They’re the crazy ones.”

“How?” I asked, watching him carefully to see if there was any way he could break free, now that he was unrestrained.

“They told me I’d get to see mama before she died. You know, at least let her visit me. Just so she knew I was all right. But no, man. They lied! I got pissed. Called ‘em on their bullshit. And you know what they did?” 

I shook my head, “no” as he continued, “Son of a bitch took the knife to my head, and cut me up. See these scars.”

“That’s wrong.”

“Fuck right, it’s wrong! Know what else they did?”

“What?”

“Put acid on my arm. Chemicals or something. Burned me so bad, I had to bite it out and suck that shit out, before it chewed up my whole arm. You believe that!”