Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33001998-20170914170102

When I was 12 years old, my mother and brother died in a car accident leaving me in the care of my father. My mom had been driving home from picking up my brother from her mom’s house when a truck plowed through them. Apparently, the brakes on the truck had failed when it was coming down the hill and my mother never saw it coming. They shared a funeral. I can distinctly remember crying for the entirety of the funeral while my dad was stoic. It didn’t surprise me. He was always a “man’s man” so showing that sort of outward emotion wasn’t really like him.

When I was 13 years old, I woke up in the middle of the night to my dad attempting to strangle me. The moment I started struggling he stopped and walked away muttering something along the lines of “I thought you were asleep.” It took me a while to go back to sleep, but when I woke up in the morning I assumed it was just a dream because I couldn’t find any evidence of it happening and it didn’t make sense to me for it to happen.

When I was 14 years old, my father hired a prostitute for me. At about 8PM, when he called me downstairs, I could tell he was drunk. I was surprised to find a scared looking girl tied to a chair with a cloth gag keeping her from making any noise. My dad introduced her as “Stacy.” He told me, “Today's the day you become a real man,” and pointed at the girl. Stacy had to have been 18 or 19 years old and the look in her eyes told me my father had lied to her to get her here. I just looked at my dad, unsure of what he wanted of me. He said, “Go on. Be a man.” I walked up to the girl and tried to untie her bonds. The knots were tight and I was shaking so I couldn't properly use my fingers. Then, I felt my dad pick me up and he sat me on the couch. I could see in his eyes he was angry, but he was restrained as usual, even in this extreme drunkenness. He pointed at the girl. “Do what men do,” he said, “or I'll have to get rid of it.” He produced a handgun from his pocket and waved it in the air. I heard the girl start to struggle in her bonds and my dad in his strangely stoic way told her if she didn't shut her mouth he'd kill her now. So, to save the woman's life, I did what my dad asked of me. He watched, as stoic as ever, until it was over and I had put my pants back on. He, then, attached a silencer to the handgun and shot her, sparking the dogs in the neighborhood to start into a cacophony of barks and howls. He made me clean up the mess and go to bed, which I did. Around midnight, he woke me up and dragged me out of bed to go take care of the body. I buried her in the woods outside of town. I was scared that her “pimp” or whatever might come find us and kill us, but my dad reassured me that she was just some girl who had been hitchhiking.

When I was 15 years old, a couple of bullies pushed me into an alleyway and lit my clothes on fire. They had thought I was some other kid that they had scrapped with one time and he had kicked their asses. By the time I convinced them I was someone else and they put me out, I had third degree burns all over my body, some of which on my face.

When I was 16 years old, my dad took me fishing. We went out into the harbor with the reels we hadn't used since mom and Louis died. I had recovered fairly well from my burns and it was nice to be doing something simple and relaxing. Something big caught my hook and after a few minutes of struggling with the line, it pulled me in. I never was the best swimmer, but I made my way back to the surface and noticed my dad seemed to be rowing away. I called to him. No response. I called again. Nothing. I screamed out, “Dad, I can't get to you! Help me!” and he came back. He hoisted me from the water and sat me back in the boat muttering something that sounded like, “Disappointing,” but when I asked he told me it was nothing. We went home after that.

When I was 17 years old, my dad drove his car into the harbor at my suggestion. He had decided that night he was going to be truthful to me. He told me that he had never wanted kids, but my mom got pregnant when they were just out of college and she refused an abortion. I ruined both of their lives. He had hired a suicidal man to kill my mom and brother. I was supposed to be there too, but I had gotten sick that weekend and escaped that death. He raised me, but he did all those terrible things both because he wanted me dead and he wanted me to grow up strong. His father was the same way. He told me all those things and I told him to go drive into the harbor. He did. They found him the next morning. I was placed into foster care.

When I was 18 years old, I killed a man in self defense. He had jumped me as I was walking down the street and I was found on top of the man stabbing him with the shard of glass he attacked me and screaming something the people said sounded like “sleep.” I have no memory of that. I was arrested afterwards.

The following is an excerpt from an interview with the subject.

[Interviewer] Are you aware with the stories they tell about you, Jeffrey?

[J] My name is Jonathan…

[I] Your file says… Jeffery Woods?

[J] My name is Jonathan Forrester. Why am I still here? I'm not crazy like the others.

[I] I think we are done here Jeffery.

Interviewer leaves room. Subject yells for several minutes from within his room.

- Excerpt from Nycis Asylum file for Patient 984: Jeffery Woods 