Forever Alone (Book 1 of the Misguided Killer Series)

Chapter Three: Broken and Rebuilt

When Jeff returned to the world of the living he hurriedly took in his situation.   He was in a padded cell, wrapped tightly in a straight jacket. The door was open and two people stood inside the room. They quieted upon noticing him and he simply say there staring at them. One of the men was dressed in white, some kind of doctor maybe? The second was dressed in a nice dress shirt and slacks, glasses perched on his nose.

"The sedative wore off quicker than expected," the one in white said, "we'll have to constantly keep applying the anesthesia to keep him under during the procedure."

'Procedure?' Jeff thought, 'what procedure? What do they think they're gonna do to me.' He stayed silent, watching with his deformed eyes.

"You can fix him?" The man with glasses asked.

"Not his head but that's your job," the man in white joked, "but I can fix the outward..." He glanced over at Jeff, an unsure expression on his face, "problems." Things started to click in his brain. These men were some kind of surgeon, likely a plastic surgeon, and a therapist. He couldn't help the maniacal laugh that exploded from him. The two men stared at him, a shocked and almost concerned look on the surgeon's face. He calmed, demented smile stretched wide.

"That's cute," he said. Both men looked shocked to hear him speak and he cocked his head. "What? Jeff got your tongue?" After a few moments of silence he smirked, boring his gaze into them. "You can't 'fix' me. I like myself this way. I'm not lying to anyone after all. What you see is what you get."

"I'm going to ready the room," the surgeon said softly. Likely he'd been trying to speak without Jeff hearing him. He'd failed quite spectacularly in that aspect.

Once left with the therapist he made his gaze focus solely on the man. The door was still open, the man watching him carefully. Soon he approached, Jeff watching him the whole way. "Jeffery Woods," the man said, sitting before him.

"I don't use that name," Jeff retorted. The man nodded as if understanding before looking at him. Pure blue eyes stared into his own dark orbs.

"What would you like me to call you then?" He asked, "you can call me Dr. Neal." Jeff stared at him, debating. He figured it was better to be called by anything other than his birth name.

"Jeff," he said simply before grinning, "though the papers call me Jeff the Killer." Dr. Neal flipped open a small note pad, a pen suddenly in his deft fingers. He scratched something down before looking back at Jeff.

"Jeff," he said slowly, "I'm aware that certain...events in your past has made you unstable. We can help you."

"Who said I want help," he challenged, "besides, you think I want help from people hired by people who put a bullet in my brain? Cause I'm pretty damn sure I don't." Dr. Neal flinched at that but the expression was gone in an instant, replaced by cool detachment.

"That's another subject all together Jeff," he said, "how could a person take a bullet to the brain and walk away? All you were left with is an hour or so of unconsciousness and a scar where you were shot. Ah, Dr. Russell will be able to fix that as well I assure you." While the bullet wound was something he didn't mind getting rid of he knew other things would change as well.

"I don't want your damn help," he hissed, teeth bared. Dr. Neal remained impassive.

"Jeff you don't have many options," the man stated, "either you cooperate here or you go to prison. If you cooperate we can fix you."

'Lies,' he thought but remained silent. Dr. Neal stood and sighed.

"Your first operation is to fix the minor things," he said, "the scar, the slashes in your face, and your lack of eyelids. Then we'll be trying to see if we can reverse your skin back to its normal state."