Folie à deux ]Retrojapan and Black Out[ (Trigger warning)

[Retrojapan]

Radiohead - Talkshow Host
Police Headquarters, Black Bridge
Morning of October 14, 1961
​

"I'm telling you two - it's him. The Black Bridge Killer. In the flesh." Mark touts at the two federal agents, pointing accusingly at Benji from behind the two way mirror. "Tina identified Benjamin Ross from a whole line up of bug-eyed bastards earlier this morning. He's the guy who killed her boyfriend last night on campus. Absolutely senseless. That girl is some kinda lucky, I tell ya. You both know what this psycho is capable of - just look at him! Gives me the creeps..." The detective is just settling in to enjoy his triumph over the Black Bridge Killer. The longstanding serial rapist and murderer was finally shackled in the police station like some sort of trophy for everyone in the force to admire before the press got to him. If only Madison wasn't ruining it for everyone. She was shaking her head, and Mark just couldn't ignore her.

"You really think after all these years the Black Bridge Killer is going to get caught by a campus security guard? I don't even want to start on what that says about the state of policing here..." Madison is quick to offer her unfiltered and professional opinion. "He's not who we're after. Still a murderer off the streets, regardless."

"You can't be serious? Listen to this: we went to Benji's place, and guess what was in his freezer? Guess! - Crystal McArthur's foot! This guy had a fucking shrine for himself, you know. Black Bridge Killer memorabilia all on display... He was going off the rails, and it was only a matter of time. We got our guy, alright." Mark's effort to prove himself backfires as the two agents now look more deep in thought than usual. Chip goes first.

"We never did get a full skeleton for Crystal..." He rubs his chin. "I mean, the probability that could just be a foot from another dumpster is the same as finding her head off Broadway and 95th." Almost instantly his hands are raised following a glare from the detective. "Just playing devil's advocate here." Beside Chip, the female agent is still ruining the biggest moment of Mark's career. She continues to dismantle the case against Benjamin Ross, exhibit A by exhibit B.

"There's also geography. This killing would be a revisit to the campus park, and that doesn't fit with everything else we know about him." Madison implores, agreeing with Chip, and becoming more of a prosecutor than Mark was comfortable with. "A Black Bridge Killer shrine is more likely an idolized altar-"

"Well, maybe the profile is wrong." Mark bluntly interrupts the unwanted cross examination, frowning with his arms crossed. "You're welcome to stay here in Black Bridge, Agent Presley. Psyche certainly has been a huge help to this city, but the case is closed now with the capture of the Black Bridge Killer." With that, the detective turns to look at Benji once again through the two way mirror, victorious at last. As hard as he tried, though, Mark couldn't get the headlines out of his mind. Madison had been making the front page under the guise of Psyche for several months now, and the masked heroine's track record was unparalleled. Her profile was never wrong. It made Mark want to second guess himself.

The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
11:00 am on October 9, 1965

Cordelia's nicotine craving was never about dependence so much as a need for something to do with her restless mouth and hands. A prop. An instrument. Anything to keep her occupied when all she wanted to do was hurl the truth across the table. It was a good thing Lonnie already knew it. He was right. Cordelia was obsessed with him. His hands consumed her. In the morning when she took her meds so she wasn't such a masochistic slut. In the afternoon when she stuck her finger down her throat and threw up her lunch. In the evening when she diddled her useless cunt just because it still felt good to fill her overmedicated hole and think about all the fucked up shit he did. Even if she couldn’t cum. It didn't matter. Lonnie made Cordelia want things she couldn't ask for, anyways. She could only swallow back her desire to feel how strong he was. She wanted to see his hands right then, but her gaze quickly fell to her lap when she went to look for them. The way Lonnie's tongue rolled over his lip was more mischievous than anything his dark stare could pronounce. Even from a distance he was disarming. Lonnie bumps the table just enough to send the cigarettes back to her. The lighter next like a stone skipping water. It stops just out of arm's reach.

Of course Lonnie's blatant acknowledgement of her relentless and morbid infatuation didn't bother Cordelia one bit. Instead it makes her smile because the psychopath was, in a sense, just praising Cordy's acting skills. While he calls her out, Cordelia can only think about the genius of Dr. Murphy's script. She's only following the director's lead in a tragedy, after all. Dr. Murphy warned her to be careful, though. Of all personality disorders, borderlines and psychopaths are clinically the most dangerous for a reason. It was the same reason why Lonnie Norman was the textbook example of Cordelia's psychward soulmate.

That must have been how he knew bringing the boys back from Callingwood State would have her freezing the frame. It was like a jolt of lightening suddenly struck between her two characters and split them apart for the first time. Cordy wanted to burn herself with the end of a cigarette. Cordelia was scrambling to figure out how Lonnie could possibly know about Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital. That place wasn't allowed in the Dr. Cordelia Mason charade, and crazy Cordy wasn't allowed in Black Bridge, and yet - there they were. Both of them fighting in her fucked up head over who was going to deal with this. It had to be one or the other.

"You know, after twenty years, I wonder the same thing myself..." She stayed seated as she leaned ahead for the lighter. There was a slight tremor in the hand slowly reaching across the table. Her dark eyes looked at Lonnie then, pausing in the excuse she had to reach for him like some lovesick puppy. Perhaps Callingwood possessed some kind of Bloody Mary effect because it was no longer Dr. Mason's doe frolicking in those desolate hazel pits until someone shot her dead. It was Crazy Cordy's.

 

[Black_Out]

Alice In Chains - Love, Hate, Love

The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
11:00 am on October 9, 1965​

Sure there were hints that Doctor Cordelia Mason was hiding things. Everyone hid things and kept their skeletons tucked away in a closet. Noting those little tell tale signs was something of a craft to Lonnie Norman. A craft that was developed and honed over the years and especially useful in his line of work. Being able to read someone and disarm them of their suspicions was one of the more potent weapons in his arsenal. For the first time since he had met the enigmatic Miss Mason, a crack in her foundation had finally shown itself and all it took was for him to bring up Callingwood.

"I don't think you care what they think." There was a gentle sway to Lonnie's head, bobbing like it was severed and left to the mercy of some gently undulating pool of water. "I know I wouldn't." His hollow eyes were drinking in her gaze, serpent tongue touching the fringes of his lips as he watched her trembling hand extend for that far off lighter.

Just as her fingers were settling around the baited lighter, Lonnie moved with predatory speed. His right hand snapped out like a whip, his fingers curled around Cordelia's slender wrist and like a vice they tightened. "Gotcha.." The darkness fled from Lonnie's empty eyes, replaced by a gleam of intensity that hadn't been seen in those vacant pits for years. Those wide and eager eyes stared forward, mirrored by the long smile that curved across the weaselly features of his face. "..now don't do anything stupid, like scream." As his gaze dug into hers, Lonnie snapped his other hand forward and put it across Cordelia's hand.

"You know why they took my shackles off, don't you?" Lonnie purred across the table as he began to stand. "You must of upset the Warden something fierce for him to make this play." As Lonnie's hands dug in around Cordelia's wrist and hand he lifted one knee up and set it on the edge of the table. His eyes never wavered from her face, or that scarf around her neck. "He probably figured, and rightfully so, that I just wouldn't be able to help myself." Lonnie pulled Cordelia towards him as his other knee found its way to the surface of the desk and he started to crawl towards her. "Wearing that little school girl dress, well that certainly doesn't help your case..."

The Riviera Hotel
Black Bridge
Sunday October 15th
8:15 AM

Despite Madison's feelings that they had the wrong man, that the Black Bridge Murderer wasn't one Benjamin Ross, Chip was at least able to sleep in for once. He didn't doubt his partners intuition, but at the moment their hands were more or less tied after the mayor of Black Bridge proclaimed victory while the chief of police nodded in agreement at his side during an afternoon press conference the very day after Benji had been caught. Saturday had been a whirlwind of a day, capped off with a round of drinks with the Mark and the boys. Right now though after stirring from his slumber, Chip needed a shower and room service. A quick call down to the front desk and his breakfast order was placed. Eggs, sunny side up, toast, bacon, and of course a pot of steaming hot coffee. Mark buried his face under the head of the shower and let it wash away some of the hangover that was clinging to his body.

The phone rang, stirring Chip from the introspective musings that were part of his morning coffee ritual as he polished off his breakfast some twenty minutes later. Still dressed in the complimentary white bath room embroidered with the Riviera's name, Chip leaned over and took hold of the phone. "Hello, Chip Thompson speaking." Chips set his coffee down, it was headquarters, they were calling him back and he was scheduled on the noon train out of Black Bridge. As far as the FBI was concerned, the case was closed and their resources were needed elsewhere. His partner though would be staying behind to finish profiling Benjamin Ross while wrapping up the agencies end of the investigation.

Before he packed his bags, Chip took the short walk across the hall to Madison's room and checked in on her. "Hey, I know you think this isn't over yet, and yeah, I agree with you. Something just ain't right with this, to many things don't add up. I'll see if I can pull some strings back at the office, but I'll keep in touch, you just keep digging." He offered his hand for a formal shake. "Just be careful, Madison."

Police Headquarters
Downtown Black Bridge
The Morning of Monday October 16th, 1961​

Mark had been on the force for ten years and he had never seen the office quite like it was that morning. News outlets from across the country had converged on Black Bridge to get the latest on the story that was just starting to sweep across the nation. The place was a zoo, but people were sincerely smiling for a change. Mark couldn't keep track of the amounts of pats on the back that he received as he made his way through the crowd towards the sanctuary of his office. Despite his urge to join in the revelry of the moment, Mark couldn't get the lingering doubts that Madison had cast over the case from tempering his mood.

Once he was in his office though Mark let out a sigh and allowed the façade to drop from his face as the door shut behind him. He could still hear the buzz stirring through the building from beyond his door, but his attentions were immediately drawn towards Madison who was sitting in his chair, filtering through files, obviously waiting for him.

"Well aren't you just making yourself at home." Mark commented with a coy tone as he pulled himself free from his jacket and hung it across the hook of the coatrack by the door. Before Madison could respond, Mark was giving her a wave of his hand. "Look, I know you might be right, Chip told me your one of the best at what you do, but unless you snuck in the back door you obviously are well aware of how things are playing out right now." Mark strode over towards his desk and reached up to loosen his tie. "What I'm saying is, let's take a day off." He paused, gauging those eyes that met his for some hint of her reaction to the proposal. "Maybe, just, maybe, taking a breather might do you, and I know damn well, me, some good."

His palms settled firmly on the edge of his desk as he leaned across it towards where Madison was seated upon the other end. Gently one hand extended, reaching for the files that she had been sifting through as he made a subtle effort to pull them away from her grasp. "Let's just go out, get some breakfast, get away from all of this for the whole day. What'ya say? Call it a date, if you want." Mark gave Madison a warm and inviting smile, there was no doubt that he couldn't stop thinking about Madison. Hell, he found himself thinking about the sultry agent more then he had been thinking about taking down the Black Bridge Murderer sometime. If he was ever going to make a move, now seemed like the time to do it. So Mark put his cards on the table.

"You deserve a day off, Madison. Heck, if your feeling adventurous we can hit up a movie, or maybe even go to the Mansion of Terror for a thrill tonight. It's been years since I've been to that place, I hear they've got some of the latest special effects straight out of Hollywood. So what do you say we get the hell out of here and clear our heads for the day?"

 

[Retrojapan]

Thin White Rope - Some Velvet Morning
The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9, 1965​

For Cordelia Mason, Callingwood wasn't just a crack in the concrete so much as a total lack of foundation to begin with. Growing up in a psych ward had to have some consequence, after all. It didn't take a PhD for a ventriloquist like Dr. Murphy to learn little Cordy was an entire cast all on her own. Multiple Personality Disorder wasn't really understood in the sixties much beyond it's penchant for victims of longstanding abuse and trauma, though. The majority of sufferers seemingly spent their lives cycling between re-victimization and new identity creation until they died. Of course, any criminal mastermind was going to see the exploit potential here. Dr. Cordelia Mason's character sheet took granddaddy maestro over ten years to orchestrate, but the pay off was akin to a magic genie in a lamp.

And so, in an alternate I dream of Jeannie universe, a doomed genie slowly blinks herself into a death trap where her little school girl body is dressed in a little school girl outfit, and a man is telling her not to scream as he takes her by the wrist. This is her first time away from Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital, but the Cardinal already felt like home. Black Bridge's most notorious serial killer could scare the shit out of anyone else, but not crazy Cordy. Men don't scare her anymore. This was just another day in her shit life.

"Uh-ohhhh... doc fucked up, didn't she? Tsk tsk tsk tsk..." The tip of her disapproving tongue smacks the roof of her mouth a few times. The curt monotone of Lonnie's drugged up psychiatrist is replaced with a much higher, girlish pitch now when she speaks. Dr. Cordelia Mason and this nutcase are two distinctly different personalities, don't forget. As a matter of fact, Cordy doesn't even know Warden George Carpenter, but he sounds like a pain in the ass already.

Maybe Lonnie could tell that she is no longer Dr. Mason when he pulls her in and Cordy's shoes lift off the floor, legs instinctively climbing onto the table with him until she is half-kneeling at his feet. They could have been two long lost lovers reuniting at last, but no - they were both just batshit crazy. The lighter is still clutched between her fingers, but the tremor is gone. Her big brown eyes squint up at Lonnie like a cat about to get some milk.

"So what are you gonna do now, boss? Choke her out? Snap her neck? Impale her on the leg of a chair-" Cordy suddenly interrupts herself mid-speech, eyes suddenly brimming with emotion as she looks down at Dr. Cordelia Mason's final costume. It was precious. The school girl skirt. Silk scarf tied in a little bow around her neck like a present for him. The two of them are close enough now that her voice need only be a hiss for Lonnie to hear it. "- Aww, but she dressed so nice for you..." His warm hands are a comforting salve as she flicks the lighter over and over again against her palm, burning her own skin with the flame.

Suite 401, The Riviera Hotel, Black Bridge
8:15 am October 15, 1961

In spite of the valiant and determined efforts from the detective, Madison still passed on a round with the boys. She did spend awhile going back and forth with him over it for some reason, though. Maybe it was flirting. Maybe it was part of the job. Maybe she just enjoyed having a man pursue her for once. In all likelihood, it had

more to do with the fact that no one wanted to hear how the Black Bridge Murderer was still evading capture, and so she was giving in to the co-ed office banter instead. The entire city celebrated and woke up in collective hangover, but Madison still had her usual pep when Chip checked on her the next morning.

The door to suite 401 opens into the smell of fresh coffee in T minus thirty seconds. Aside from several empty mugs scattered on various surfaces throughout the room - it appears practically uninhabited. The female agent is already dressed, standing tall in front of a full length mirror in a pair of form fitting black pants and leather ankle boots. Her long chestnut hair is weaved in a messy braid pulled over one shoulder, but it's impossible to tell if it's bedhead or another night of no sleep. The usual Madison Presley morning inquiry, though. In the mirror's reflection, her brown eyes are trained on the door as her fingers fasten the last buttons of a white collared shirt. Madison listens intently, but it's only the familiar step of Chip crossing the carpeted hallway. She can relax.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." Madison's teasing tone greets the housecoat wrapped agent as he enters the room. "It's nice to know you still have some sense after last night. That detective can be very persuasive..." Her voice trails off into the gurgle of the coffee pot finishing a brew. Madison is secretly relieved to hear Chip hasn't been turned by the mass hysteria following Benji's capture. She often felt like everyone in Black Bridge was against her, and the fact that she has never worked solo was looming over her just as it must have been with Chip. "Everything will be fine out here. Trust me. I'm just a front page away for the next little while." Madison winks, giving the handshake one last squeeze because in her line of work, the last time could be anytime. "I'll talk to you soon."

Police Headquarters, Black Bridge
Morning of October 16, 1961​

The paparazzi chaos of cameras flashing and reporters hollering spills momentarily into the room as the office door opens and closes with Mark's arrival. Madison doesn't waver from the report she is reading as the detective attempts to settle in, only to find someone sitting rather comfortably indeed in his chair. The captain's chair. She knows it, too. The dedicated and stoic expression on her face remains even if she does feel amusement, though. After several months of working side by side, there was a flirtatious and somewhat playful dynamic between the pair now. Madison was reluctant to admit it, but Black Bridge was feeling more and more like the place she remembered before all hell broke loose.

"I made coffee." She offers, thinking it was pretty damn early in the day for Mark to be loosening his tie. Madison tries not to psychoanalyze colleagues too much, though. The detective was barely candidate for any deep subconscious analysis, anyways. Mark was always so painfully obvious in his intentions that she couldn't help but soften when he began fumbling his words. This was it. His big, ballsy opportunity to get ahead of the herds of others hounding for the very same thing now that the big case was over. No problem for Mark. His competition was just a bunch of No Name dicks, and they were all too busy rubbing one out to that hot bod nonchalantly gracing the office in various forms of dress. Long skirts. Short skirts. Pant suits. Lipstick. The smell of floral perfume and coffee. She was every guy's wet dream at that station and Madison didn't even realize it.

The agent kept a straight face even though the file is being gently tugged from her hands, eventually letting it slide away to join the detective's cards on the table. He's laid it all out for her, alright. Fortunately for him, Madison's original brass and uncouth first impressions of the Black Bridge detective were generously reimagined thanks to shared trauma bonding and underlying sexual tension. Loyal. Dependable. Fun. She could have been describing a poodle with those words, but this time it actually was Mark Burrows. In spite of her casual aloofness, Madison was still just a thirty year old single woman with a job and nothing else really going for her. It did get boring and lonely after awhile. She agrees to the date, if only to boast. "You know, I bet I can still remember my way through the mansion after all these years. You think you can keep up?"

 

[Black_Out]

Stone Temple Pilots - Sex Type Thing
Police Headquarters
The Office of Mark Burrows
Monday Morning October 16th, 1961
​

Mark hadn't really thought any of this through. The invitation he laid out to the apple of his eye hadn't been planned out one bit, despite the fact that Madison was never far from his thoughts. It was spur of the moment, and he was regretting the move as soon as he got done with that awkward presentation. She seemed so far out of his league, even though Mark felt some sort of tension between them. That sensation he pushed off as something of his own creation. It wasn't unreasonable to think that he was the only one who might get a whiff of the woman's alluring scent and convince themselves that she was thinking about what they were all thinking. All it took was one look at Madison in any of the form fitting outfits she might strut about in and a mans mind would just conjure up the rest of that lewd fantasy. But it was just a fantasy, right, someone like Madison surely had a hunk of a man stashed away somewhere. A lady like her would never settle for a man like Mark Burrows, wait, did she just accept?

The Detective did his best to hide the surprise that just slapped him in the face when she agreed to the premise that stepping out of the office for a day with him might be just what the doctor ordered. It wasn't to hard, to hide that gulp of excitement that rose in his throat, he just needed a moment to compose himself. Which led Mark to turn towards the blinds that covered the windows of his office as he wrestled the rest of the tie free from around his neck. "Geeze, it's been years since I've been to that place." Mark quipped as he turned back to face the curvy brunette that was lounging in his office chair. "I heard they change it up every year, so don't get to boastful." His rough unshaven features flashed her a smile as he folded the tie up into a nice little bundle and set it down on his desk.

Just looking down at her doe like eyes as he stood before the desk left Mark temporarily speechless as he felt a rush of blood surge down into his pants. His lips quirked as he felt himself stiffening up down there. There was only one thing to do, and Mark was left to lean forward into the edge of the desk to hide that awakening dragon. Though it also sent a shiver up his spine to just have his manhood mashed up against something as he stared down the delicately opened fringes of Madison's shirt and into that heavenly valley of cleavage that she shamelessly displayed sometimes. Realizing that his eyes had locked in on those targets, Mark quickly turned his gaze over towards the coffee pot.

"Let's go to Sammy's." His gaze worked its way back towards Madison. "They make a real good breakfast, and far better coffee then the swill we got here." His smile was easy to find as he looked towards the radiant special agent. "Though I guess it does take a special brand of stupid to muck up breakfast." Carefully he peeled himself away from the desk, keeping a check on Madison's eyes to make sure she didn't happen to lay her gaze over the bulge hidden in his trousers. Mark turned and grabbed his recently discarded jacket from the coat rack and slung his arms through it. "We'll take my car, I'm parked out back."

The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9th, 1965
​

It wasn't often that Lonnie would find himself thrown for a loop, but when Cordelia shifted from stoic composed Doctor Mason into this new brand of crazy, he did precisely that. His own wide eyed crazed gaze snapped down to their tangled up hands when he heard her flicking the lighter against her palm. Immediately a satanic smile spread out across his thin lips and he looked back up into those girlishly excited pupils that stared eagerly back into his own. "Well aren't you a pleasant find." He cooed towards the enticing lunatic that had crawled up onto the table to greet him. "As for Doctor Mason, I was thinking of giving her neck a little long overdue squeeze." Lonnie dragged one hand away from Cordelia's forearm then reached up and placed his fingers around the scarf that adorned her slender and pale neck.

Gently Lonnie began to apply pressure as his fingers sifted around that decorative scarf and sunk in

around her throat. His head leaned forward, closing the meager gap that lay between them as he pressed his forehead against her own. His eyes met hers, watching in curious amazement at how delighted she seemed to be to have the hands of some killer wrapped about her tender neck. "I'm Lonnie, by the way..." He murmured while his hands drifted over the smooth fabric of the scarf, drifting over it until he had a possession over one of its ends. "...How do you know the Doc, hmm?" He inquired quietly while his forehead rested upon her own. "She's always been so, prim and proper, but you, you look like you know how to have a good time." His words breathed out of his smiling narrow lips as he pulled his other hand free from her own and drew it up to join in laying claim over the ends of her scarf. "Have you ever killed someone?" Lonnie tilted his head, letting their scalps rub together as he looked inquisitively into these new eyes that belonged to someone other then Doctor Cordelia Mason.

"I bet you have, haven't you?" He continued, entranced by the strangely alluring woman before him who shared the same skin as Miss Mason, but none of her habit and mannerisms. "We're going to have so much fun together, after you kill that pesky guard and we walk right out of this loony bin into the bigger crazy world that's waiting just outside the doors. Can't you hear it, it's calling for us." As Lonnie spoke he delicately manipulated the garment around her neck until it was hanging loosely across the shoulders of her school girl top. "But first, we need to make a plan, don't we? Fortunately, I already have one." Lonnie pried his left hand reluctantly away from that oh so inviting neck that he wanted to squeeze the life out of and placed his palm flush against the side of her cheek. "I just need to know one thing, do you have the keys to Miss Masons car, we need it to drive out of here, together."

The Back Alley, Behind Police Headquarters
shortly after leaving the office

​

Marks brown and tan company car was sitting all alone in the mostly vacant back end of the bustling police stations headquarters. Fortunately Mark was able to sweep Madison right out of the lime light that seemed to follow the veritable runway models every glorious move and straight through the back door into relative obscurity. Like a gentleman of the day and age, he escorted her towards the passenger side door of his car. It was hard for Mark to swallow back the smile that had taken ownership over his face. It felt like a bright and warm summer day despite it being some sixty degrees in the early half of October. Madison just had that sort of affect upon him. Once he had helped her inside with a leading hand to assist her descent into the squad car, Mark strutted around the front end like a newly crowned king on his way to the drivers side door.

He plopped down into the seat, slammed his door shut, and stuck the keys in the ignition, turning them just enough to bring the car lights on. Mark reached down and plucked up the hand held walky talky and clicked the button on its side as he spoke into it. "Hey, Sally, this is Mark Burrows, let the Chief now I'm taking a personal day, I think it's been earned." The voice of Sally rang back with a static crackle to her sweet tone. "Sure thing Mark, I don't think he'll mind one bit." Marks eyes drifted over to Madison who was seated across from him as he politely ended the brief conversation with Sally. "Thanks Sally." With that little formality out of the way, Mark hung up the cord tethered mouthpiece and turned the radio off with an all to satisfying flick of his finger. He sank back into the seat as his hands settled loosely over the polished wooden steering wheel of the car.

His eyes though didn't budge forward even as the fingers of his right hand descended to the keys that were stuck in the ignition. He just couldn't look away from her. The thudding of his heart was about all Mark Burrows could hear as his remained locked upon those of the attractive beauty seated directly across from him. Well that and that insistent bulging snake tucked away under his tan trousers. What was really only seconds, felt like minutes to the veteran detective. While he was lost in that time warp, he couldn't help but let his mind wander over the various times their eyes had locked together. The skeptic in him had played it off as just random and innocent moments given more meaning then they rightfully should of had due to his infatuation with the brunette damsel by his side. But now Mark wasn't so sure. He just had to know if those wayward thoughts that burned in his mind were even close to being remotely shared. That was going to require one bold move on his part to find out.

His fingers paused on the keys of the car, never quite making that final turn that would start the engine of the car up. But he did start up his own engine. His hands swept away from the steering wheel and abruptly reached over the modest expanse between them towards Madison. It was a sudden move, something a teenager in lust might do as Mark found his hands curling around the show stopping woman's neck and waist by his side. He both pulled her towards him and thrust himself upon her in one heated motion. Mark pressed his lips towards hers and he let the desire he had been holding in for so long come gushing out of him as he prayed to God that he wasn't about to make an absolute fool out of himself.

​

 

[Retrojapan]

Mad Season - Long Gone Day
The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9th, 1965
​

"Lonnie..."

The lighter finally stops flicking when he presses their foreheads together, pulling her brain to his like a magnet. Psychopaths and borderlines are so similar that Cordy can't even feel the difference between his mind and hers. They are two sides of the same coin. "It sure is nice to meet you." She purrs, nuzzling her nose against Lonnie's affectionately. No boundaries with this one. "I'm Cordy Mason."

"I don't know much about doc, but she's gonna be in a whole lotta trouble when she goes back..." Her voice fades into the revelation, vacant eyes suddenly staring distantly off into the room. She dangles there by Lonnie's hand for several moments as she disassociates into whatever punishment awaited back at Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital. Eventually, Cordy swallows the painful lump in her throat before casually returning to the conversation with tears still brimming in her eyes. She hates being in trouble.

“Do you really think I could be a killer?" Cordy sniffles, her curious expression watching as Lonnie releases her wrist. She stands up straight to roughly wipe at her face with the backs of her hands. She just wants people to believe in her. Cordy can be anything he needs her to be. If he thought she was a killer, then she was a killer. Why would he ever leave if she gives him everything he wants? "I guess I hafta be now, don't I?" She accepts the challenge. Anything to prove herself.

Her hand excitedly reaches into the pocket of her skirt to feel for Dr. Mason's keys. She felt them jangling around in there earlier. It was distracting. Cordy wasn't allowed to have keys. "I don't know how to drive..." She remembers, lips pulling into a frown. She drops them back into her pocket. Useless. Cordy doesn't even think to just give Lonnie the keys because she is so used to doing everything on her own. That's why the twenty-eight year old instead loudly hurls the lighter onto the floor as if throwing a tantrum. Or losing her mind. Possibly even just finding it. Either way, Cordy continues the erratic outburst by letting out a horrified scream as she races to the door. She twists the knob desperately as if trying to escape, but it's locked.

"No! Lonnie, no! You can't! Help me! Oh my God! Please! He's going to kill me!" pleads the parroted voice of Dr. Mason.

But it's Cordy with her back pressed against the glass window, blocking the view. She appears quite familiar and natural with the situation, actually. For several minutes she mocks a struggle from inside the interview room. Her shoes frantically scuffle against the floor. She chokes on nothing, spitting and gasping between cries and fists pounding the door in vain. Dr. Mason's final session comes to an end with one final thud of her heel against the floor. It would be hard for anyone listening on the other side to believe the doctor wasn't just strangled to death. Cordy's performance was impeccable.

She waited for the guard to come in and look for a corpse.

Police Cruiser #003, Alley Behind Police Headquarters, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961
​

After months of blue balls and sexual frustration, Madison wasn't sure how much more she could take. Contrary to all the fantasies and heads she turned, the busty brunette actually didn't have a hunk of a man stashed somewhere. No rap sheet of exes a mile long. Nothing platonic or celibate about how she felt about the ruggedly handsome detective, either. The five foot nine pending supermodel should have been Black Bridge's latest debutante, but the Princess Hotel Riveria lifestyle said otherwise. Taking a gig with the FBI meant anything normal like dating, or having a consistent sex life, just fell to the wayside over the years. Truthfully, Madison was so horny she was losing her goddamn mind. Lonely enough to be taking a chance on Mark Burrows, too, apparently. Maybe even just a normal woman who missed the normal things in life. Courtship. Intimacy. Love. It was too bad the hopeless

romantic spent more time getting to know dead guys instead of living ones.

Maybe that was because the living ones confused the hell out of her, though. She could never figure out why men thought it was less obvious to try and hide burgeoning erections when it only drew more attention to the fact. In spite of himself, Mark's raging hardon was the only hard case in the office that morning. The woman didn't need to be an FBI profiler to understand what was happening here. Never mind why she wasn't looking away as he practically humped the table in front of her.

"Sammy's it is, then. I call Shotgun." Madison teases, as if the seating plan was up for debate. Her dark chocolate eyes stay up on his face so that her dark chocolate mind could go... Down to the fact that a Grand Slam Breakfast Special at Sammy’s wasn't even close to slamming her like Mark was. The thirty year old agent couldn't believe herself, sneaking out of the police station like some schoolgirl playing hookie with an older boy in the eraser room.

Or Detective Mark Burrows in police cruiser number three.

"Thank you." Madison smiles as Mark opens the car door like the nineteen-sixties gentleman he is. She quietly sits beside him as he calls dispatch, wondering how long they were going to pretend like they were actually going to Sammy's. Mark's eyes were wandering like he could see all the things she thought no one noticed. The white collared shirt and black pants combo are unspectacularly professional, but snug in all the places a voluptuous woman should be snugged. She actually takes the time to iron the creases into her blouse every morning. One of the buttons is about to pop from barely keeping the tight fabric pulled across her double D bust. There's

a .357 magnum revolver clipped to her belt. Smith & Wesson Model 10. She smells like coffee and lavender. A set of teardrop earrings dangle on either side of her face, and the diamonds catch the sun through the window like some timely prism. The woman's long brown hair is tied up in a ponytail to reveal her naturally bronzed face, not a single freckle out of place. Mark looks like he's about to start the car, but the ignition never turns.

Madison was already moving for the detective before his hands could even find her. The force of their bodies colliding hits like four months of foreplay finally coming to crescendo. She can't keep her hands to herself. Madison reaches for him, feeling the coarse, unshaven stubble along his jaw while the other hand snakes around his shoulder to pull him on top of her. Four years before Cordy, Madison Presley also found herself pressed against a window. She is not about to kill Ben Armstrong, though.

Instead, she is opening her mouth to invite in more of the detective. It was too late to go back, and too easy to slip her tongue into his mouth first. Nothing was going to keep her from a heavy petting make out session with Mark Burrows in a police cruiser now that she was the one mashing herself against something hard.

 

[Black_Out]

The Smashing Pumpkins - X.Y.U.

By This Point, You Know Where
October 16th, 1961
​

Detective Mark Burrows was expecting a cold dose of reality to come splashing over him like a bucket of icy water dumped on his head. His heart nearly skipped right out of his chest, Madison was well out of his league, or so he thought. He felt like a fool to let that spark of lust bate him into this suddenly abrupt and unplanned maneuver. But she didn't greet him with that sobering bucket of water, no, Madison threw gasoline all over him and that spark ignited tenfold. Soon that parked patrol car started to sway.

It took a triumph of will to not just reach out and rip that snug shirt away so her dreamy breasts could bounce free. He could picture those dark buttons popping and flying all over the front of the squad car as Madison dragged him into her. His hands sunk into her dark cascading hair that was so soft it practically bounced when it fell back against the interior of the door that Mark pressed her into. Just like his hands in her hair, Marks tongue sank into that warm and inviting mouth that opened to meet him. As their tongues tangled and the heat of their passionate bodies mingled together the detective let his hands run down the side of her flawless face.

Marks brown as the dirt of the Earth eyes locked with those sensuous orbs of chocolate as that kiss was breathlessly broken. "Damn..." That was about all that Mark could mutter as he felt her rub up against that hardness that wasn't hiding anymore. His jaw set, muscles visibly clenched all over his startled face as a low groan rumbled out from his lips when he ground back down into her. "Jesus...Madison..." Mark pulled a hand away and slapped it down directly across her backside, helping to pull her up into him.

That urge to just rip and tear away at Madison's clothes was growing really hard to ignore. It was like a little devil was on his shoulder urging him on while the angel that was supposed to be on the other side had taken a vacation for the day. His hand clenched in her hair and Mark took a deep breath in as his lips hovered over her own. Her smell flooded into his nostrils, it was like walking through a garden where the flowers were in full bloom. His eyes pulled away, peering out of the windows that were already misting up. A wary and skeptical loft of his brow followed as he gazed towards the vacant back entrance of the station. Marks eyes dropped down to Madison and he huffed out with one last gratuitously heavy rub down across her parted legs. "Your...place, or mine, or...?"

With one hand on the steering wheel and the other firmly planted between Madison's cream like legs, Mark pulled himself back into the drivers seat. "I thought for sure you were going to slap me." His delightfully amused eyes shoot over towards her as the engine of the squad car rumbled to life and Mark tossed it into reverse. The tires squealed as his hand sunk in between Madison's legs and squeezed as the tires gripped the road and the squad car shot out of the alley.

The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9th, 1965
​

If Lonnie could of went back in time he might of amended his answer when Doctor Cordelia Mason asked him what he had been doing with himself once those daily injections of Lupron had been halted. Sure, he whacked off, slept, eat, and whacked off some more, but Lonnie also grew more mindful of his physique. If he was going to break out, and he intended to eventually leave the Cardinal one way or the other, he was going to have to get serious about putting some muscle on his bones. It never quite showed through his loose fitting psycho ward garb, but Lonnie had put some mass on his lean figure.

​

Ben Armstrong had been waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps. It was the perfect place to keep both eyes on the door of the murder room and the exit that the steps led towards. But the guards was far to engrossed in the funnies to be dutifully minding his duties. The way he saw it, it didn't really matter if he was a little late to the door when the sounds of trouble would eventually rise from Dr. Masons lips. Might as well let that psycho have some time with the pretty little doctor before he had to step in and shoot him dead. So he reread the comics with his ankles crossed and his back leaned against the wall while he waited for Cordelia Mason to die.

He was just halfway through rereading the second page of the comics when Cordelia's startled cries sounded from beyond the closed door of the interview room. Ben granted the door a flat glance of annoyance before his attentions returned to finish reading Betty Boop's panel. By the time he had finished indulging himself in her latest adventures, the room had fallen silent after one last muffled death rattle echoed out from under the door. He let out a grunt and folded up the paper, tucking it under his arm. With one last glance up the steps to make sure no one else caught wind of the commotion (which they hadn't) Ben made his way towards the door.

Lonnie had skipped his way casually over to set himself up right by the side of the doorway where the hinges were. Cordelia's school girl scarf hung between his hands as he grinned towards his clever new accomplice. One hand departed from that adorable garment and rose towards his lips where his index finger stretched out in a straight line across his grinning façade. Shhhhhh... He breathlessly hushed Cordy before he gave her a wink as the sound of the keys rattling in Bens hand sounded from the other side.

He could see Cordelia's dark hair matted up against the viewing window, completely shrouding any view beyond the door. When Ben Armstrong opened the door and stepped right into the room he fully expected to catch Lonnie in the midst of some twisted act of perversion with the dead docs neck wrapped up in his murderous fingers. But that didn't happen, and when Cordelia sprawled out of the way as Ben entered the guard was caught momentarily ill prepared. That was all the pause that Lonnie needed to strike.

Like a wraith he lunged out from behind the door and drew Cordelia's good girl scarf right around the stunned mans neck. Years of practice paid off as that cloth garment tightened like a garrote around Ben Armstrong's jugular. But Ben wasn't some poor little wayward sheep and while he gasped for a breath that wouldn't come the two men stumbled into the room and fell in tangle down across the floor. Lonnie ended up on his back, with Bens reddening face twisting about as he kept that scarf crushingly tight across the mans throat. Lonnie shot his wide and fulfilled eyes towards Cordelia and in a rather casual tone that carried the hints of the physical strain that we was under her stated to his eager to please assistant. "Get his gun, and shut the door."

Lonnie tightened his hold over the scarf as red started to turn to blue on Bens floundering face. While his legs wrapped around the guards to keep the mans struggles restrained, the Devil of Black Bridge winked towards Cordelia. "Then come over here, take hold of this scarf and say your goodbyes if you have any."

 

[Retrojapan]

Queens of the Stone Age - Turnin' on the Screw
The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9, 1965​

It all started with Lonnie and Cordy in position behind the door. Ben Armstrong unknowingly walking into a room he would never walk out of. Her expression puckering impishly as the serial killer raised a finger to his lips, winking just as Ben begins unlocking the deadbolt. On cue, the pair swiftly exchange places on either side of the door, allowing Lonnie to swoop in with the schoolgirl scarf all nice and tight. No one ever needed to tell Cordy to shut the door. She knew the drill, irritably booting Ben's feet out of the doorway so she could close it. When she turns around, Lonnie has the guard on his back in a figure-four body lock plus choke hold. It was rather impressive. "Ooo! Nice one, Lonnie!" She cheers victoriously, hopping like a bunny over to the wrestling dogpile.

"Hmm... The guards here have guns, do they?" Cordy observes as she crouches to her knees beside the grappling men. She inches one of her hands up Ben's thigh like a caterpillar, eyes unblinking as she watches his face color from red to blue. Guards back home didn't need guns because the patients at Callingwood State were legit loony tunes. The dynamic at the Cardinal, however, likened more to a zoo with armed handlers.

"Yoink!" She snatches the firearm from the holster. The only problem was that holding a loaded gun so near to the guard's head bombarded her with intrusive thoughts of what it would be like to just blow his brains out. She struggled with herself to not bring the barrel any closer than it already was in that moment. Her macabre fantasy is interrupted by Lonnie's more hands-on approach.

"Really? Me?" Cordy pipes up in disbelief, smiling appreciatively at Lonnie over the guard being strangled to death between them. Her brown eyes sparkle like she's just won a car. This was way better, though. Once again the two comrades trade places. This time with Lonnie taking the gun and Cordy sliding in to finish off Ben. She roughly shoves her knee into the guard's back, fitting it right between his shoulder blades as she takes either side of the scarf in her hands. She knows the perfect last words for the last of Ben Armstrong.

"I commend you to almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator. May Christ who died for you admit you into his garden of paradise. May he forgive all your sins. May you see your Redeemer face to face, and enjoy the vision of God." Cordy's eyes are closed as she recants the prayer with a sermon's rhythm and pace. The entire time her hands are pulling the scarf around Ben's throat as though she could decapitate him with silk. It felt a little personal, and yet Cordy had never met the man before. She just hates guards. "Forever and ever.... Amen." She bows her head, only letting go when Ben's body finally stops twitching and falls limp. He was dead.

End of the Road SW on Route 90, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961​

A police cruiser was always the last vehicle anyone wanted tailgating them on Route 90. One of those in the rear view was enough to make anyone nervous, even if they were driving the limit and the lights weren't flashing. No one had to worry this time, though. Everyone could speed a comfortable 30 over while Mark and Madison kept up in the fast lane. They were looking for a place to fuck each other's brains out, and no way it could be his place or hers.

First of all - she lived out of the Hotel Riviera. As convenient as it was, there was no way Madison was ditching a cruiser in the parking lot for a mid-day romp up in suite 401. Everyone in that building knew she was a federal agent. On the clock. The whole city lit up for their new hero Mark Burrows, and she couldn't possibly live through the 'heard you two having sex through the wall' looks afterwards. On the flip side, pulling up to Mark's place in squad car number three was a photo op neither of them needed in their lives. So what choice did they have?

They were on the downlow now.

That meant following Route 90 all the way to a dead end turn around. The radio playing awkwardly at them through crackling speakers. It was hard to figure out what to say when Mark finally parked the car. Nothing justified how his hand was still between her legs, undoubtedly feeling her hot cunt pulse for him the entire drive. If anyone deserved a slap, it was Madison. She was either dreaming, or in need of a serious reality check. It wasn't like her to be so brazen and unprofessional.

Never mind so turned on that she was still gyrating against Mark's hand, unbuttoning her blouse and revealing those dreamy golden orbs to the detective in the driver's seat. Her brown eyes watched his face as her fingers moved down one by one, slowly exposing the delicate white lace of the bra she wore, and then some. It excited her to see a man's face as she showed him what she wore underneath. With her summer tan still strong and the sleeves sliding down her bronze shoulders, Madison could have been a Greek goddess stripping down before a mortal.

"We've played this game for months..." she shrugged the rest of the shirt down her shoulders before reaching behind to undo her bra. The white pushup sprung off her chest like a coil flinging onto the dashboard. "And now that I have you right where I want you..." The topless brunette continued to crawl over the center console and straddle Mark in the driver's seat. Madison's breasts just barely grazed his chest as she came in close and gave him a sultry kiss on the chin and then lips. "Are you finally going to take me for a ride, Detective? Or do I have to take the wheel?"

 

[Black_Out]

Beastie Boys - Sabotage

The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9, 1965
​

"Amen, and such" Lonnie intoned with faux reverence as his hand cut the sign of the cross before himself. It was truly a hallmark moment for the man, watching this other side of Cordelia Mason being unleashed upon the world. He wondered how long she had been buried behind that mask of her alter-ego. Did she make daily appearances, was that delightful side of her drugged into submission? More importantly, had Lonnie somehow unwittingly found the key to unlock the cage of her cell and set her free? That last thought resonated with the religious mockery taking place. It was the closest thing Lonnie had ever felt to being drawn towards a higher power. Or lower one, considering he was a complete psychopath without a shred of decency in his veins.

He wondered just how decent, or decadent Cordelia's blood was while he absently spun the pistol around his index finger. Intuition told him there was a whole host of shared depravity emanating between the two of them as he watched his new side kick strangle the last flickers of life right out of Mr. Ben Armstrong. When the guards eyes rolled back and he went as limp as a rag after his death rattle had passed through his body, Lonnie tilted his head and smiled something sweet towards the school girl with the scarf. "Ain't you just a doll." His lips pursed and he blew her a kiss as the spiraling motions of the pistol came to halt when his fingers snapped around its handle. "It's what set my alarm off. When I saw this little piece tucked behind his shirt." He commented with a glance to the gun he casually held at his side. "That pig was gonna kill me, after I killed the doc, I wager."

Lonnie popped the chamber open, plucking out the bullets and set both the gun and its ammo down on the table. "We got to move now doll. Let me strip this clown, it's time for Lonnie to play guard." His grin widened as he stepped towards Cordelia and offered his hand to help her up, yanking her up to her feet. "Just keep an eye on the door." He glanced towards her as he descended upon Bens lifeless corpse and started to swiftly disrobe the man of his attire. Content to borrow just his shirt and slacks and set them aside before he started to rid himself of his inmate garb. Without a hint of shame, he stripped down to his skivvies right in front of Cordelia until his lean and muscular physique was on full display.

The pants would fit, albeit it a little tightly and the shirt was about as close a match to his frame as he could of hoped for. No point in bothering to try on the shoes, Lonnie didn't think anyone was going to inspect his footwear and he certainly had no intentions of loitering around to let that happen. As the dead man Armstrong's pants were tugged up over Lonnie's wiry legs he eyed his co-conspirator. "As soon as I'm dressed we're walking right out of this joint." He wrestled the trousers up and buttoned his fly. "Your gonna have to do the talking, we're going to need to move fast." He snatched Bens shirt up from the table and started to slide into it. "Can't delay, no way no how, straight out of here and to the docs car."

His fingers paused halfway up the buttons of the shirt and he arched one of his bushy brows towards her. "Your gonna have to drive, unless you can convince the doc to take the wheel for us." His head shifted to a skewed angle to give him a different perspective of Cordelia's many facets. "See, I can't be seen, I'm gonna have to hide, either in the trunk, or on the floor in the back of her car. They know me pretty, pretty well around here."

Lonnie finished buttoning up the rest of his shirt and turned to gather up the gun and bullets. "You can handle that, right, sweetheart?" After reloading the chamber, he tucked it under the back of his shirt, just like Ben had done. "I need you for this to work."

Pixies - Here Comes Your Man

The Drivers Seat of Police Cruiser #3
October 16, 1961​

Mark was transfixed, hypnotized by every movement that Madison made. The way she unbuttoned her blouse, showing off that goddess like tan and of course those sublime pear shaped breasts that popped free from a bra that must of struggled to keep them under control. His breath literally hitched in his throat leaving his mouth to feel as dry as a wind swept desert. He was parched, and only one thing was going to quench that thirst. Fortunately for Detective Mark Burrows the spring that he had been desperate to drink from for months was just now clambering over his tense body and settling firmly upon his lap. Every single word Madison said as she made that journey resonated within him.

"Well damn, you finally got me cornered..." Marks lips compressed into a flirtatious smirk after hers departed. His hands curled around behind her back, clinging to the wayward fibers of her loosened blouse as he pulled her into him. "...And from the looks of things, your in the drivers seat right now, Agent Presley." Mark groaned as he pulled her down into his crotch where the abundant evidence of his arousal ground up between her straddling legs. "The question is..." He left those words to hang in the balance as the heat between their gaze grew. That blaze drifted away and downward from the sultry spell of her own hungry eyes to settle on the bared flesh of her luscious and silky smooth breasts that were compressed against his chest.

Like a bird of prey cutting through the water in search of food, his head dove down into those waiting mounds with a wide open mouth. Mark tasted her like it was the first woman he had tasted in all of his years and truth be told, looking back upon this heated moment of unbridled lust, Mark couldn't remember the last time he had been with a woman. Let alone one whose looks could take your breath away by just walking past a fella. And now he was sitting in squad car number three, his shoulders driven into the back of his seat by one smoking hot dame who was intent on giving him the business.

He feasted on the pillowed slopes of her breasts that weren't mashed against his chest. That dryness in his mouth was spelled with relief the moment his mouth met its target. Saliva burst forth and streaked over her flesh as he sucked and grazed upon her with a fervor. Marks hands were likewise busy, stroking, rubbing, searching, and exploring every inch of her back, from her shoulders to her rump. With a slap, one hand claimed dominion over the fine curves of her ass as he lurched forward to create more space to sink his teeth into her delightful bosom. He drank from her, nuzzling his face into those cushions of supple flesh as he groped her rear while his other hand joined in the eager efforts of his mouth and squeezed down into her tender tits.

With a passing graze of his mouth over the rosy firmness of one of Madison's nipples his eyes darted up to find hers. With a smack of his lips that pulled her breast into his mouth like it was a suction cup that was popping loose from its purchase the Detective let out deep growl of want. "The question is, can you handle all this horsepower?" Marks voice was a breathless tease as his hands swept around to the fringes of her blouse which he started to pull and tug away from in an effort to rid it from the frame of her body that it hung loosely upon.

 

[Retrojapan]

The Melvins - A History of Bad Men
Visitor's Parking, The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9, 1965​

Cordy released the scarf around the guard's neck, watching expressionlessly as his corpse toppled forward. He face planted into the floor with the bruising eureka of an apple falling off a tree. She was trying to understand why anyone would want to kill Lonnie. For Cordy, he was everything she thought a man should be. Fun. Controlling. Smart. Handsome. The serial killer yanked her to her feet as if sealing the pact between them. Somehow Lonnie was another unfortunate soul sentenced to waste away in an asylum just like she was, and yet, more than she wanted freedom for herself - Cordy wanted his. The man didn't deserve a psych ward hell like she did.

And she also wanted revenge, of course.

Freeing Lonnie was an act of rebellion of which Dr. Murphy would never have imagined possible. Not after twenty years of expert conditioning and psychological manipulation. Remarkably, Crazy Cordy had not once strayed or fallen out of character before. Dr. Murphy would have been smart to anticipate an identity crisis like this one eventually, though. Callingwood State was actually her character cue. She had a whole menu of words which did the same thing, to tell you the truth. Lonnie had to be careful with that, but maybe not... The oddjob did learn how to take hostages from some of the best, after all.

Unfortunately, whether or not Cordy Mason was just a brief cameo in this script was anyone's guess. Maybe she could be a permanent cast member if she played her cards right. While Lonnie was busy with a wardrobe change for the next scene, desperate Cordy was at the bargaining table trying to convince Dr. Mason to play follow the leader.

"Pleeeease, I just need your help for this one little thing..." Cordy's avian eyes were watching the door as Lonnie had instructed, whispering to herself slash Dr. Mason. Her hands twisted the scarf around her forearms like she was trying to strait jacket herself. Her expression changed.

"You've just killed someone." Dr. Mason's flat tone replied back, clearly reluctant. "This is beyond anything I can help you out of."

"Oh pretty please, doctor. Yes you can! I swear, we'll make it back to Callingwood State for the next appointment. I promise Dr. Murphy will never know we were out."

Cordy's girlish voice pleaded, her eyes literally blinking back tears as she continued to beg for the doctor's cooperation. "We won't get in trouble because we can pretend we found Psyche..."

She turns just as Lonnie wraps up the costume change and escape plan run-through. Perhaps when he looked at Cordelia Mason's facets now, he would see the sparkle in her eyes was no more. The expression drawn on her face was neutral, lips in a straight line. In spite of just strangling someone to death with it, she began to tie the scarf once more into a neat bow around her neck, fixing it just like when she first arrived. She next tucked her hair behind her ears; preening herself into character as if they were just two actors in a dressing room gearing up for a matinee. The woman blinked several times, and then shivered as if a ghost just passed her by.

"Ah, look at the time. We'll have to continue this next week." The robotic and deadpan voice left no question that it was Dr. Mason who was making to leave the appointment, casually walking around the partially nude corpse of Ben Armstrong as though nothing were amiss. The serial killer now guard then accompanying her out of the room as her schoolgirl Mary Janes carried her passed Donut John's former guard post. The new guy was still there.

Dr. Mason left a "I'll be escorted to my vehicle" with him as she walked passed. The combination of her dismissive tone and heels clicking the floor as she kept walking made the explanation feel unquestionably commonplace. She continued on through the Cardinal's main doors, walking slightly ahead of Lonnie by a few paces as if she was just another too-busy-for-thou doctor who didn't have time for this shit. They arrive at the Visitor's Parking section with Cordelia approaching the driver's side of her black Riviera, hands trembling as she held the keys. She wordlessly climbed into the car, leaning over to look at Lonnie through the passenger's side window as she pressed the button to unlock the doors.

Police Cruiser 003, Dead End Turnout, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961​

If only The Daily knew what was going on between it's two front page heroes that morning. Madison wasn't sure anyone would even believe it. How could they? Black Bridge's vixen heroine by night turned smutty drugstore trash by day was happening faster than she could take her clothes off. The kind of literature Madison never let herself read if only because the profiler had a good enough imagination and insight to flesh out those cliché details for herself. Two overworked and burnt out professionals working side by side around the clock. An innocent, harmless fantasy to make the day go by faster. Only a couple chapters in for the detective and FBI agent to be sneaking out the back of the station to do the deed in a police cruiser. No surprise Madison and Mark were parked in the middle of no where for the only part she always wanted to skip to whenever she saw one of those books.

"Damn..." Madison exhales deeply into Mark's neck as he pulls her into the throbbing excitement between his legs. Her hips instinctively lap at him like a tide at shore. She couldn't stop grinding for it even if she wanted to. All Madison could think about was how perfectly hard he was, and how good it felt to just rub against it while Mark worshipped her with his mouth. She could have stayed there honey suckled in his sweet lap forever as the rest of the world disappeared behind the fogging glass.

"It's just that, with this much horsepower," Madison's voice is just as breathless as Mark's, gently biting his bottom lip as he pulls her shirt the rest of the way down. She squeezes her thighs around him, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself while the other hand reached between their writhing bodies to find his belt. Almost instantly her budding nipples are pointing for more of his hot mouth as she moves to unbuckle him, snaking her hand inside the detective's pants to feel for that gear shift. She found it. No problem. Mark's twitching cock practically reached back for her to say hello.

"...You have to rev the engine a little first." The agent's brown eyes play with Mark's as though she really was innocently just finding her way around a Mustang, completely topless and tracing his length with the palm of her hand until she was slowly jerking him over his underwear. "Yeah, you're right - there's definitely some serious horsepower here." Her fingers then proceed to slide underneath his waistband so she could truly feel him now, catching Mark's lips with hers at the same time her hand caught the heavy hitter in his pants. The weight of it alone was enough to be a homerun twice around her diamond. Never mind the reason for the leaky tap turned open faucet between her legs.

Madison's other hand reached to the side of the driver's seat, raising the lever with a knowing grin and reclining the chair until Mark was laying flat on his back underneath her. She continued stroking his weeping cock as if she couldn't stop milking the pent up tension between them. She couldn't. Teasing herself as well as the detective was all part of the same intoxicating anticipation they had built up for months. It was hard to give in and finally let herself have it.

"If you don't think I can handle the kickback...Why don't you take the wheel, Mark?" She began unzipping her pants as she rocked her hips in circles around his.

 

[Black_Out]

Blue Oyster Cult - Burnin' For You
Police Cruiser 003, Dead End Turnout, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961
​

Mark was in a heady place while he played car mechanic with the sultry federal agent. "Yeah, you better rev that engine, could be a long ride. Baby's got a full tank of gas." The words came out laced with groans of approval. Months of playing coy, all those shared little innuendos, and the casual flirting left him feeling like a rocket that was ready for lift off when Madison slipped her hand under his briefs. All of that pent up fuel and sexual frustration was about to released right here, right now, in the front seat of cruiser number three, parked ever so inconspicuously out of sight. It was all so wrong, which just made it feel all the more right.

Religion hadn't really been part of his life of late, but staring up at the straddling glory of that buxom beauty upon his lap had him thinking he was at the pearly gates. This is happening...this is happening... That mantra cycled over and over in Marks mind as Madison shoved him back until the seat wouldn't recline another inch. He just stared up at her with a growing hunger in his eyes while his fingers kneaded away at the tender flesh of her breasts as Madison undulated upon him. His dark and ready to feast eyes drifted down to watch every sensual tease of that zipper being unleashed. It was only natural that his own hands fell down and grabbed at the sides of her trousers, tugging at them to help expedite the process.

Urgency began to swell in Mark as those snug trousers were forced in haste from Madison's hips. The strain of his want was written all over his face as his smiling eyes rose to find her own. "Yeah, I'll take the wheel." Mark snarled a glimmer of dominance rising up in his fixated eyes, summoned by his colleagues none to subtle hint for him to take over. "Yeah." He repeated, affirming the very shift that was about to take place as his hand rose to the back of her head. His fingers tightened after sifting through the flowing silken dark strands of her hair, claiming a fistful. "You just ride." Mark purred as he pulled Madison down to his waiting lips.

They kissed while the detective grabbed the side of the chair, untangling his lips long enough to groan into Madison's mouth. "Make sure to buckle up, just in case I wreck this high performance car of yours." He grinned across her succulent lips while he tightened his grip around the sides of the seat and scooted his ass back to make a little more room. The belt caught on the chair beneath his rear, helping to force his own slacks to wriggle their way down from his crotch where Madison's hand was smeared against his cock.

While Mark left Madison to tend to that stirred beast his hands moved to slap down over the density of her ass with a smack that resonated across her backside. His fingers spread like vines across those firm cheeks as the detective pressed his grasp into the delicate lace of her intimate panties. Between the hushed and hot breaths that came during the brief intermissions from their overly zealous lips, Mark groaned against the side of Madison's face. "I'll pay to fix this, but I just gotta see what's under this hood of yours." And with a rip, Mark sunk his finger tips into those wispy undergarments and tore them wide open. "Classic, I love it when the engine is in the trunk." His praise sung out of his lips while he continued to quickly shred her insubstantial lingerie to pieces.

The Prodigy - Breathe
Visitor's Parking, The Cardinal Institute for Mental Health, Black Bridge
October 9, 1969
Shortly before 11 AM​

For a brief moment it was easy for Lonnie to forget that he was the one in an institution. He was captivated by the performance taking place off to his side while he busy playing dress up in preparation for his own impromptu act as a guard. Truth of the matter was Lonnie was never really clinically insane. He was just one unhinged, purely evil, psychopath who had gotten away with playing the part of a crazed lunatic just so he could end up in a situation just like this. Predators were never meant to be left in cages, and Lonnie was one hell of an apex predator. Busting out of the Cardinal was going to happen one way or the other and today seemed like as good a day as any to do just that.

He tucked his shirt in, zipped up his slacks, and tucked the gun nearly away under his right socks all while paying close attention to the side banter flowing out of Cordelia. Something he had said, or done, had set off this peculiar chain reaction of events within his lovely new assistants head. The name of one Dr. Murphy rose up over all of the babble that took place. Having a name in his back pocket was a good start but there was no need to go and rock the boat now. This was something to be stored away for later, later being once they were out of here with the Cardinal firmly in their rearview mirror. Once the diplomatic negotiations were concluded between the distinctly polar opposite sides of Cordelia's self, Lonnie was ready to go.

It all went off without a hitch. Lonnie kept his head down while Cordelia took the reins as she played the part of that pompous doctor to perfection. The duo marched right out of the Cardinal, made their way down the sweeping front steps, and veered straight away towards the doc's car. There was only a brief pause as Lonnie looked into the window, locking his eyes with those of Ms. Mason as she unlocked the door. Without a word spoken he slipped into the back of her car, shut the door, and tucked himself into that modest bit of leg space between the front and back seats.

"Good job so far Ms. Mason, just keep playing it cool." Lonnie calmly advised his counter part as he stretched his legs out while leaving his back to rest against the door. With a little lean forward he could see right out of the drivers side window. "Once we get past the guard shack turn left, we're gonna have to find a place to lay low." His voice was even keeled as various scenarios cycled through the depths of his calculatingly cold mind. Stretching forward, Lonnie grabbed a hold of the window crank and rolled down the back window along the drivers side of the car.

There was little doubt in his mind that he was going to have to blow that guards brains out. So before Lonnie settled back against the door he carefully freed the revolver out from under the makeshift holster of his sock. "You ever been to Glenboro Forest?" His gaze shifted towards the back of Cordelia's head. "There's a nice little place off the beaten path. That's where we're going to hide out after we ditch your car and hop a ride on a train." As the car approached the guard station, Lonnie stole a little peak from behind the cover of the seats. Just a single guard, one of the many perks that the Cardinal Institute offered when it came time to make his getaway. While Cordelia was bringing the car to a stop to handle the simple routine of her departure from the premise, Lonnie leaned forward.

"Good morning Ms. Mason." Good old friendly and familiar Allen, a man who had worked the nine to five all week long for the past thirty years, greeted her with his polite and weathered smile. "You have yourself a pleasant..." The loud pop of the gun rang out midsentence while the smell of burning Sulphur stained the air as Lonnie pointed the barrel of the gun right out of the open window and put Allen into an early and abrupt retirement.

"That was easy, almost to easy." Lonnie quipped as he leaned back into the car while Allen's body fell away and crumpled to the floor of his modest little post. "We're going to need to stop somewhere and get some supplies." There was cold blooded murder in his eyes as he stared towards Cordelia. "Let's go..." His shoulders worked out a shrug as a smile danced its way over his thin lips. "...and don't worry if you don't got any money on you. If you haven't noticed, October's open season now."

 

[Retrojapan]

Placebo - Every You, Every Me
University of Callingwood State, Black Bridge
June 30, 1965
​

Whoever decided on summer graduations obviously never wore the all black cap and gown in 90 degrees, but Cordelia knew it was part of the tradition. The past eight years were all about a piece of paper. She couldn't even imagine how stupid it was going to feel holding it. Despite graduating with honors. Despite her impeccable bitch reputation. While the rest of her peers celebrated, Cordelia felt something akin to being born. She was finally coming to life.

"Psychiatry, with distinction.... Dr. Cordelia Louise Mason."

A few whistles. A holler from the guy she sucked off so she could get that interview at the Cardinal. She would never see any of them again, but Cordelia still gave some thanks to the dickholes who mentored her before she walked off campus for the last time. Her black Riviera was in the parking lot waiting for her. Dr. Murphy was too.

"You came." Cordelia greets him with surprise. Of course Dr. Murphy came, but it wasn't like he sat through the entire service and waited for her three seconds. He just arrived himself, but had flowers like he was supposed to. Cordelia smiled appreciatively. It could have been father-daughter like to the other grads littering the parking lot. No one in Black Bridge knew she was an orphan. "Thank you."

"Congratulations are in order." Dr. Murphy's robotic response accompanies a gesture to the passenger's side door. Cordelia wordlessly unlocks the vehicle and climbs into the driver's seat. With the door shut behind them both, Dr Murphy continues. He tosses the bouquet into the backseat now that he doesn't need the prop. "I can't stay for long in a place like this. Too many people know what I'm about." He lights up a cigar, exhaling into the space between them and speaking quickly. "I need you to get into the Cardinal. I don't care what you have to do or go through to get as close to Lonnie Norman as possible. You'll use him to find Pysche. Alive or dead. Figure it out. Come back every month for your regular follow-ups."

Beside him, Cordelia's alumni costume fits the part to a T. Her lips are painted red for the first time. Shoulder length hair coiffed like every other slut with a grad gown that day. In spite of everything, Dr. Murphy was always nervous sending Cordy into a new role. It was like throwing a boomerang and hoping it came back. "Be careful. Lonnie Norman is still a serial killer. You have to remember that he is smarter than you in every way possible. He cannot ever step foot out of the Cardinal, Cordelia. It's not just you in danger here. Do. Not. Let. Him. Out." Dr. Murphy made sure to pause for emphasis. The man gazes at her for a moment. He never knew when it would be her last casting call. "You are Dr. Cordelia Mason now. You always have been, and I am proud of you."

"What do I do if Lonnie Norman does escape?" Cordelia's monotone comes just as he's about to leave. She looks at Dr. Murphy with a level of seriousness which appeared to understand the dangers Lonnie posed to Black Bridge and beyond. There was a pause before the doctor responds very point blankly to her question. It should have been obvious.

"You kill yourself before one of us kills you first." Dr. Murphy exits the vehicle still puffing.

​

Range Road 120, near Black Bridge
October 9, 1965

There was no need to double check if it was Dr. Mason in the front seat. Knuckles white on steering wheel, check. Eyes unblinking, check. Lips pressed into thin line, check. Schoolgirl outfit looking its best in the worst possible situation? Check. While Lonnie's mind cycled through his options, so did Cordelia's. She only had one, but it wasn't one she was willing to take. See, unlike Crazy Cordy - Cordelia Mason did not actually want to die. No amount of med school or medication was going to solve her predicament, though. There was no way she could swing this by Dr. Murphy. She could never go back home.

Do. Not. Let. Him. Out.

The tremor returned, challenging Cordelia to light a cigarette while she drove up to the guard shack. Good old friendly and familiar Allen was good old friendly and

familiar dead around the same time she realized her lighter was back in the room. She groans in disappointment just as the poor man dies of a straight through shot to the chest. That was a damned good pension indeed. "God dammit." Cordelia is still holding the unlit cigarette between her lips with a sigh, nonchalantly driving off from the guard post and onto the main stretch. Nothing is going according to script or schedule, and it's causing her to lose her mind. That's why nothing made sense. She just needed something familiar to calm her down and remind her that she's safe. Even though she's not. Thankfully there was a car lighter in that 1963 Riviera. It made her fucked up life stop flashing before her eyes.

The radio crackles on. Her cigarette is lit. The cabin smells like a menthol flower shop from the bouquet still in the back seat. It was just like any other drive home from the Cardinal. Cordelia Mason is supposed to be a normal woman. And she is. She just has a notorious serial killer in the back telling her they're going to get supplies. Ditch the car. It's just a little day trip. Is she even listening to him? Cordelia doesn't say anything until they're on the highway.

"Yeah, I know where Glenboro Forest is." Cordelia responds much later, lips releasing a plume of smoke as she finally speaks to Lonnie. She had been avoiding him. There was a lot to keep her mind off the fact that she was a dead woman. Speeding. Burning through her second cancer stick. Realizing a throbbing blister on the palm of her hand. What happened when she blacked out at the hospital? She could always ask Lonnie what the hell was going on, but that would mean she had to trust him. She didn't. More than that, Cordelia didn't want to know. She still wanted to play house and keep the life she knew. As if it was salvageable at this point. As if there was only one life to know.

Imagine one minute you're leading a counselling session, and the next you're waking up to a dead guy and two crazies telling you it's show time. One of whom is in your own head. The other a psycho killer who you know is about to ruin your life, but yet... Cordelia Mason doesn't question anything on the way to the next crime scene. It felt like her life was being hijacked by two flying over the cuckoo's nest. The Black Bridge Killer was escaping the Cardinal, just as Crazy Cordy was escaping Callingwood State Hospital by some proxy. All while Dr. Mason casually listened to the radio and drove them to their destination.

Police Cruiser 003, Dead End Turnout, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961
​

It's a good thing Mark finally did take the wheel because dipstick and carburetor references can only continue for so long before they're just exhausting. The key was finally starting to turn now. One for the battery. Two to fire up the spark plug. Three and you've got air to fuel ignition. That glimmer of dominance in Mark's eyes could have been the engine roaring to life. Combustion is a pretty powerful thing when it's between a man shifting up and a woman shifting down. She felt Mark's fingers comb through her chestnut mane before the tension tightened in his fist like the reigns on a heated mare. Madison's pants practically unrolled themselves onto the floor as she geared around with him on the seat.

"Well, Detective? What kind of trouble are we in?" The brunette smirked against his lips before she looked back to watch his hands roam over her ass like a Lunokhod 1. His exploration was making her cunt liken more to a gas nozzle spurting back overflow, and Madison couldn't help but press into him so that he could feel just how full the tank was. "Are you going to arrest me for Unlawful Storage of Dangerous Goods? Or do I get off with just a smack today?" Madison leaned forward over Mark's chest, tilting at the hips so that she was saddling his raging hardon like an equestrian about to jump first place. The delicate black lace Mark tore open was nothing short of tissue paper needlessly wrapping her pussy up like a birthday present.

"I imagine this is why you're at the police station, and not the garage." Madison knew there was no point substantiating what insubstantial lingerie he was then ripping to pieces, so she didn't try. She wasn't even expecting another pair being the sort of woman who had plenty more lingerie where that came from. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you to pop the hood for awhile now, actually." Her one hand continued to milk him for every drop of the last four months while the other began to pull down the detective's briefs. Madison planted her knees into the chair on either side of him, lifting herself just enough for Mark to see the runway landing strip cuing for descent. No one needed to announce that they were about to arrive at their destination. Foot off the gas. Wheels up. Altitude dropping now for a perfect landing, and yet...

Just because she could pilot and navigate, didn't mean she always wanted to. Madison was still just anointing her slit with the weeping head of his cock instead of going for that plunging touchdown. Her playful brown eyes searched his face to conclude whether or not Mark Burrows was really the Captain or just the First Officer on board. Or if even in the cockpit at all.

"I think there might be a leak, if you want to take to look..."

 

[Black_Out]

A Perfect Circle - Magdalena
Police Cruiser 003, Dead End Turnout, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961​

The build up was reaching its boiling point. Things in that out of the way police cruiser were really starting to heat up. Four months of undressing Madison Presley with his eyes was just about to culminate in one furious fucking, and Detective Mark Burrows prayed he could rise to the occasion. That stunning beauty straddled across his lap made sure he was fully risen to the challenge, her hand had him standing at full attention. The sheer fact that she wanted this as much as he did was like getting a pure shot of adrenaline pumped into his veins. His eyes darkened like a coming storm while he listened to her tease and felt her body doing a lot more then flirt. When she asked him to check her for a leak, that was enough to rev his engine into overdrive.

"There's definitely a leak, but I'm gonna do more then just take a look." Mark groaned against those velvet soft lips as hot breath huffed out of his mouth and into Madison's. "Ya got get in there real, deep, if you want to get to the, uhn, root of the problem." His words were strained, catching in his throat as a result of those saturated folds that rested in perfect alignment above him, just waiting to get speared. His coarse and calloused fingers drifted over the smooth crescent curves of her ass, flicking at the edges of her sundered panties. He tugged and ripped at those remnants, shredding any remaining usefulness away from her delicate lingerie.

"But seriously, just shut up, grab ahold of something, and hold on tight to it, because I've got four months of just wanting to fuck you to unload on that tight pussy of yours." The words hissed out of Mark's clenched jaw as that tempest filled his gaze. With one aggressive pull of his hands, Madison was driven down until she was flattened against his crotch. His mouth fell open and an inhaled breath of exhilaration swept into his lungs while Mark tossed his head back and let out a low rumbling groan. She felt so perfect around his swollen member that he just let gravity and the pressure from his hands sink her until Madison's savory slit was anchored around the thudding beat of his cock.

One hand slapped down right in the middle of Madison's ass, leaving those toned globes to shake like they were drums. Mark's other hand reached up, clasped around the back of her skull and pulled her face down towards his. The intensity of that moment escalated as the Detective felt her walls shifting around him as their posture changed. Once their lips drew close Mark stared into Madison's eyes and he whispered in a tone of absolution. "You just let me do the work, Psyche, and hold on for the ride."

Mark's lips mashed against Madison's as every fiber of muscle in his body got to work, lifting that temptresses hips up until his impaled cock almost popped free. But that hand spread over her fit rear pulled her back down, signaling the start as their bodies shifted and rolled over each others. True to his word, Mark pulled and tugged, muscled and yanked, summoning every ounce of energy he had at his disposal as he forced Madison's to ride him like he was a bucking bull that might of threatened to throw her off if it wasn't for that hold that her pussy had over him.

AC/DC - Back In Black
Clearview Shopping Center
On the Fringes of Glenboro Forest
Around Noon, October 9th, 1965
​

"There, pull in here." Lonnie spoke up from the back of the sedan as the bustling and busy image of the Clearview Shopping Center came into view. "We need to do some shopping, and just remember doc, I got five more bullets if you think your going to try anything I won't have a problem with putting one through the back of your skull." To emphasize his control over the situation, the vile man that was Lonnie Norman reached up from the backseat and took a fistful of Cordelia's hair into his grasp. "But I think that other half of you knows better, and I think you know what she did for me. So like it or not, we're in this together now, you murderer you." The last of that statement rolled off his tongue with the sweetness of candy as the sedan curled its way into the packed parking lot.

His cold and calculating eyes peered out from the back window, assessing every little detail they spotted as Cordelia guided the car through the lot. "Get that spot there." Lonnie blurted out, his hand rising to point out a space that was opening up towards the front of the stores. Once Doctor Mason had the car parked and the engine went quiet, his eyes met hers in the rearview mirror of the sedan. There was a tense moment of silence before the killer spoke up. "Get your purse, stick close to me. I hope you got some cash on you doc, I'd hate to add petty theft to our list of criminal activities." There was a coyness to his voice and a wry grin that met her reflection before the pair exited the vehicle. Lonnie stepped close to Cordelia, wrapping an arm about her dainty figure while he plucked Ben Armstrong's tattered leather wallet out of a pocket. Curious eyes peered into its contents while his fingers sifted through the cash on hand. "Ah, we're in luck, looks like that good ole guard left us some spending cash, in case you run short."

Bob Patterson would later struggle to recall the pairs visit to his quaint little grocery store. It was busy, it was always busy around lunchtime. His deli was a popular destination and he was cranking out fresh cut sandwiches while his wife of twenty three years, Peggy, ran the register. Tommy, their only son was hustling about the place, keeping the store stocked, cleaned, and popping behind the deli table to help his old man pound out those delectable cold cuts.

Of the trio, Peggy remembered them the most. She remembered in vivid detail how unsettling those eyes seemed to be when Lonnie stared at her after she remarked about all the lighter fluid and charcoal briquettes they were purchasing. "Me and the missus, we do enjoy a good lip smacking barbeque." His hand slapped down over that petite little numbers ass at his side. Peggy couldn't help but notice that something was off between those two. That the woman who should later learn was being held hostage by the notorious Black Bridge Murderer, was about as white faced as could be.

She would be a mess for days, knowing that cold blooded serial killer was standing across from her. Peggy Patterson could of swore she recognized his face, but for some reason she couldn't place it. That was never going to happen again. Especially once she heard what the police came to discover several days later. Lonnie Norman's cold and piercing eyes would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life then.

Jessica MacTavish had just finished loading up her car when Lonnie Norman picked her out of the crowded lot. His mind was always churning, always thinking about how to stay ahead of the game. Purchasing all those flammables was just one small part of the plan, and now Jessica MacTavish was too. With his arm looped around Dr. Masons elbow, Lonnie pulled her along with him after they had slammed the trunk shut over their recent purchases from Patterson's Family Deli. "Just stay back and stay quiet, and follow my lead." There was something sinister brewing in those eyes as he peered from Cordelia to the woman who was just now hopping into the drivers seat of her own family sized sedan. It might not of occurred to Ms. Mason in that moment, but the young woman was about the same size and weight as she was.

"Excuse me, miss?" Lonnie chirped up as he approached the car directly beside hers as if he owned it. "Couldn't help but notice, looks like you got a flat tire back here." Lonnie unwound his arm from around Cordelia's elbow as Jessica let out a low groan of despair at the news that she had just been so falsely given. "I can help you fix it if you've got a spare in your trunk, free of charge." Lonnie smiled as he swished his hands behind his back. While Jessica gave him a weak smile of gratitude, Ms. Mason could see her former patients fingers sifting the gun out from behind the back of his pants. "That would be swell mister." She exhaled as she rose up out of the car. By the time she turned to realize that there was no flat tire at all, Lonnie had the barrel of the gun pressed against the dip in her back.

"You and me, we're gonna go for a ride. You play it cool, or I'll blow your guts out." Jessica was the one who looked pale as death now, as Lonnie pushed the woman back towards the drivers seat of the car before he slipped into the back seat. Before the door closed, Lonnie turned his eyes to Cordelia Mason. "You get in your car, and you follow us." There was a pause as his gaze lingered while he was halfway into the car of his latest victim. "If you don't, I ain't gonna forgive you, and neither will she." The door slammed shut then, and Lonnie leaned forward to whisper sweet nothings into the terrified woman's ear. "Do as your told, and you'll live through this. Now start the car up, we're heading towards Glenboro National Park."

 

[Retrojapan]

Green Day - Hitchin' A Ride
Glenboro National Forest, Black Bridge
October 9, 1965
​

Click click click click.

The signal light was a lot louder than she remembered it being. Hand over hand on the wheel to make the left turn just as Lonnie grabs a fistful of her hair from behind the seat. "Ergh," Cordelia grimaces with disgust, but more so at her own circumstance than Lonnie's unsurprising narrative. He was already a murderer and couldn't get much worse. Cordelia was a brilliant doctor who was still young enough at her twenty-eight years of age to garner the 'she had her whole life in front of her' odes in the press from people she didn't even know. That's because for several months Dr. Mason was going to be remembered as a victim. Wealthy heiress of the Mason family fortune. Mother Teresa for the criminally insane. Black Bridge didn't know about Crazy Cordy yet. Her reputation didn't come into question until much later.

As the duo pulled into the parking lot, police were just arriving at the Cardinal to find the bodies of Ben Armstrong and Allan Jeffrey's. The Black Bridge Murderer was at large, and his dutiful psychiatrist now missing in action. Safe to say most feared the worst for dear Dr. Mason. As they should. There was Lonnie muttering sweet homicidal nothing's in her ear as she tried to park. The woman was indeed still unwilling at this point. Those five bullets were pretty persuasive.

There was no choice but to park the car as he directed. Grab her purse. Leave out the fact that she had more cash on her than Lonnie was probably accustomed to in his entire life. That asshole just had to pick the wholesome Mom and Pop shop, didn't he? The Patterson's were the perfect all American family. This could have been the set for some good old fashioned sixties post-war propaganda. Even the way Lonnie slapped a hand over her ass was just punctuating the misogyny of the times. Cordelia still stiffened in shock. Looked at him in disbelief as the serial killer casually talked about lip smacking barbeque like they didn't just kill two people.

They were out of there quicker than shoplifters. Not even a thank you to Mrs. Patterson as she bagged up what would later be labeled evidence. It was for the best. Little did the Patterson's know in a few days the very same lighter fluid and charcoal would be bagged up by crime scene investigators. It was going to take some time to collect all of the puzzle pieces they left behind, though.

In the meantime, Lonnie was toting Cordelia's elbow like she was some kind of prop for the hostage they were about to take. She was, actually. Of course Jessica was going to believe the slightly odd, but clearly well meaning couple in the parking lot of the local general store. She didn't even hesitate. Cordelia wanted to tell the woman to run for her life. There's a gun in his pocket. She was already done for though, so doctor says nothing. Completely silent. She is simply a prop as poor Jessica gets the barrel to her back and forced into her car. When Cordelia receives her instructions, she feels her palms itch. The wind rustles through her hair, but she can't figure out which direction it blows.

Lonnie Norman is playing the same game as Dr. Murphy now. But if he throws the Cordy boomerang, will it come back?

Back in her Riviera, but this time alone. Cordelia can get the hell outta dodge and survive this now. What was she waiting for? She could go back to the Cardinal and pretend to be a victim. The fact that she was alive raised suspicion. though. No one survived the Black Bridge Killer, after all. Maybe she could go back to Callingwood and tell Dr. Murphy that the worst had happened. Lonnie Norman was on the loose - and so now was something else. As the thoughts raced through her mind, Cordelia realized that she was crying. Defeated. There was no way anyone would believe a guard at The Cardinal set her up to be murdered, so she helped said murderer escape. Or rather, someone else did...

"You murderer you." Cordy's childlike voice echoes Lonnie. "You murderer you. You murderer you. You murderer."

"I don't want to do this..." The tears stream freely down her face, but Cordelia still jabs the key into the ignition. "I'm not a murderer." She leaves the parking lot. "He is, and he is going to kill that woman. Then he is going to kill me like he was supposed to." Her car trails Jessica's on the highway. "You're the one who killed that guard." She accuses, roughly wiping the tears from her face. The cool, calm and collected Dr. Mason then appearing to listen intently to something, though the vehicle was eerily silent with a lone occupant. "You're right, though. He was going to have me killed. You saved my life." She continues driving down the tree lined road. There is an obvious pause as though someone actually did respond. "I owe you now, Cordy."

Inside the sedan, Jessica MacTavish was in a state of shock, frantically offering everything she had to the man who had taken her hostage. He was obviously just robbing her, right? "You want money? I have a couple bucks left, I mean, I did just go shopping..." She is trembling as she shows him her empty wallet. Her ID. Her birth certificate. Her identity. "I have some carwash tokens! You want em? You can keep the car even. I just filled her up, too. So there you go! A car wash and a full tank of gas! Whatever you want! Seriously..." The golden coins spill to the floor of the vehicle. She's shaking so much she can't even hold onto them.

"Oh! I was buying my husband a costume actually. You might want that for your next crime - I mean - you might like it. I picked out a really creepy mask for it." Jessica reaches to the backseat for the shopping bag. She's smiling with teeth, but her ashen skin and wide eyes show nothing short of terror. "I think you're just the right size. Heh heh..." The laughter is forced. So fake it's uncomfortable to even hear. In the rear view mirror, she sees the woman he was with driving in a black Riviera behind them.

Police Cruiser 003, Dead End Turnout, Black Bridge
October 16, 1961​

They were already four months into chastity play on account of professional boundaries, so what was another twenty minutes before there was no turning back the odometer? After this many clicks, it was no wonder Madison needed a boost. There was barely a second wave feminist reason for any woman to be handling a dipstick in the year nineteen sixty-one, though. Wasn't Rosie dead so that men could go back to doing the dirty work? Cue oh-shit handles above the window. Madison grabbed one. On your Mark, get set..."God. Damn."

The primal urgency behind his pull left her no choice but to sink all the way down. Rock hard bottom. You sunk my battleship steam engine whistling through her teeth as every inch of him at once forced her apart. That was a hit. Madison's entire body quivered just to pull the throbbing muscle deeper still somehow. She had forgotten about some of those places, and Mark impaling her felt like losing her virginity in the back of a car all over again. Before this, the only explosion she ever felt below sea level was just aftershock. At this rate, Mark Burrows was taking her to Bikini Atoll and blowing everyone else out of the water.

"You think I'm just going to hold on and let you have all the fun?" Madison leaned back against the steering wheel until her chestnut hair was splayed across the dash. Still needfully bobbing up and down that spearing gearshift of his until she was beyond reasonable doubt that she was going to cum all over him.

One hand to steady, gripping the console for leverage. The other drawing his attention as it slid down her body to show Mark how hard he made her tits bounce when he fucked her. How tightly her core had to clench in order to take him ramming into her over and over again. How her hand could make him zoom like a camera when she started rubbing at the circumstantial evidence mounting between her legs. Mark may have been bucking her like a bull at a rodeo, but Psyche wasn't beloved because she was a cowgirl. She was Matador.

"I know most women run automatic these days, but Psyche - you know she always drives stick." Hips and hand rocking them closer and closer to the atom bomb point of no return. If he thought he was going to last, then she was going to persuade his balls to sway otherwise. Dropping off the edge as she counted five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

The Mansion of Terror, Black Bridge
9:00pm on October 30, 1961​

One... Two.... Three... Four... Five... Six... Seven... Nine? Or was it ten? It was easy to lose count of them when there were over a dozen Black Bridge Angel's frolicking about on account of symbolic foreshadowing. It was Devil's Night, after all. Catsuits were all the rage in the sixties, and so Psyche's all black latex getup was shamelessly riding up every crotch for Halloween that year. Literally everyone and their mom was dressed up like the crime fighting heroine. Everyone except for Psyche. That would have been too obvious, right?

Fortunately for her cover, the chaotic haunted mansion backdrop made looking for the Federal Agent a bit like playing Where's Waldo. Once you saw her, though, that Madison's Barbie G.I Joe edition probably stuck out a lot more than a camo jumpsuit deserved. Maybe she should have just stuck with the latex.

Eleven o'clock from the jack o'lantern ticket booth. Teenaged Psyche 1 and Psyche 2 giggling a few feet away from the real deal disguised as a statuesque five foot nine Amazon wearing a tight camo one piece with black knee high boots. A couple of zombie's deliberately dragging their feet with an 'arghhh' as they scuffle passed. It is nine on the dot, and Madison is standing at attention for a ruggedly handsome detective in disguise.

 

[Black_Out]

Glenboro National Forest
October 9th, 1965
Talking Heads - Road To Nowhere​

"Keep your eyes on the road." He smacked the blunt end of the pistols handle right across the back of Jessica's hand when she reached back for that shopping bag. "Both hands on the wheel at all times. Don't they teach you broads the basics of driving safety 101?" The words were deeply laced with spite as he stared intently into the rearview mirror where he found Jessica's petrified eyes. It had been quite sometime since Lonnie Norman had seen such horror staring back at him and he couldn't help but fantasize about how much more terror might rise up in those iris's when he unleashed hell upon her. But there was more in that rearview mirror that caught Lonnie's sadistic attention, namely the black sedan that belonged to one Dr. Cordelia Mason that was following in their wake.

Such a pleasant surprise that was, it almost caught the cold blooded killer off guard to see her dutifully tailing along after him. He was quite honestly expecting her to cut ties and get the hell out of his grasp, which was an option that Lonnie was quite willing to acquiesce towards. Still, he found it quite fascinating, thrilling even that Cordy was seemingly along for the ride now. Oh to be a fly on the wall in that dark sedan, the conversations she must be having with herself would of been something to hear. She was a wildcard, and Lonnie for all of his calculated machinations found that unpredictable quality to be the yin to his yang. Was this what love felt like? Probably not, but he knew damn well he had been increasingly fascinated by Cordelia Mason and her adorable split personality. "Hmm." He mused, while his mind wandered over just how many more personas might be rattling around in that pretty little head of hers.

Focus Lonnie, focus... He scolded himself silently for allowing his own deranged thoughts to migrate into the potential events unfolding in the black Riviera. His curiosity immediately shifted back towards Jessica as she ushered the car further into the heart of Glenboro National Park. Slowly his beady evil eyes drifted towards the paper shopping bag sitting next to him in the back of the MacTavish family wagon. "Creepy mask, huh? Why you sweet, sweet thing, you really shouldn't have." Idly, Lonnie leaned over the open bag and sorted through the contents with his free hand. "I mean, I'm plenty creepy enough, don't you..." A pause as his voice caught in his throat as he traced over the shape of a red devils mask sealed up nice and tight in a large plastic bag.

Lonnie already knew where that plastic bag was going to end up. "...Ohhh. Daddy likes." The Devil of Black Bridge drew the mask up out of the depths of the bag, turning it so that sinisterly fitting image faced his own. His dark eyes locked with those empty sockets that stared back at him and it felt like he was looking into a mirror. Lonnie could really picture that mask settled around his own face while one of his rare fits of hallucination struck him.

The conjured up eyes in that devils mask burned with searing flames. Blisters rippled upwards upon the plastic surface of its crimson surface. The plastic bag that contained it seemed to split like a banana peel from the heat, although in reality that was just Lonnie's hands ripping the bag open. His own satanic grin remained etched across his lips as his new acquisition spoke in a gravely deep tone. "There's more, in the bag, we're going to go so well together." His laughter was just a tick above a whisper as he laid the mask to his side. The brief illusion had come and gone, and Lonnie was all to aware that it was just that. A figment of his overly active imagination.

While he peered over the rest of the deep red outfit that was nestled in the shopping bag, Lonnie stole a glance down the road.

"There, see that wooded drive." One hand remained in the bag while Lonnie leaned forward until his lips were right next to Jessica's ear. "Pull over there, just leave enough space for my partners car to go past." The barrel of the gun pointed towards the little used wood lined service road. "You be a good girl and I won't blow your brains out." Lonnie smiled reassuringly into the rearview mirror. "You can trust me, I never lie."

The Mansion of Terror, Black Bridge
9:00pm on October 30, 1961

​

"This damn thing is a sweat box." The detective muttered under his breath as he trudged through the crowd outside of the Mansion of Terror. Everywhere he looked he saw Psyche in a hodgepodge variety of mostly poorly assembled replicas. Still there were a few that passed through his narrowed field of vision from behind the shelter of his rubber wolf mask. Certainly she wouldn't dress up like Psyche, would she? Hell no, Mark concluded privately to himself. Although she did look damn fine in that tight fitting black ensemble.

As difficult as it was to see out of his damn mask he was surprised that he found her at all without having to take it off. But there she was. That G.I. Jane costume of hers stood out from the sea of imposters that were paying homage to her heroic alter-ego. Not to mention the fact that Madison herself put everyone of those young girls and ladies to shame. She had the goods, Mark knew that well enough by now. He was tempted to howl like the poor imitation wolfman that he had dressed up as. Maybe later, he conceded, when they were alone. Definitely later, Mark amended as he approached the sizzling hot beauty that was Madison Presley.

"Arrrwooo!" Mark growled out a howl as he pawed playfully towards Madison who seemed caught off guard by the sudden assault of the wolfman. Before she could do much to put him in his place though, he peeled back the mask, revealing his sweaty, amused, and rugged features. The detective saddled up alongside his federal counterpart, flicking out a pair of tickets for the evenings festivities. "One for you my lady." He extended the pass into Madison's hand before slipping an arm around her svelte figure. "Come on, I'm curious to see how much this place has changed over the years."

The line was packed, a jumbled messed up mix of school age boys and girls dressed in the spirit of the season we're the predominate demographic. But there were the scattered handfuls of older couples that fell into Mark and Madison's age group. But one common quality seemed to be shared, a general glow of excitement spiced with a dash of nervous anticipation. The later element was something that the actors at the Mansion of Terror were all to willing to exploit.

Anyone that showed any signs of fear stood out like a beacon to the murderous clowns that roamed the evenings line of guests as they were herded towards the wide open doors of the dark and decrepit mansion. Skeletons, reapers, and far more convincing wolfmen then that of Mark Burrows stalked out of the thicket of weeds and woods. Girls screamed, their dates for the night laughed as they inevitably offered shelter from the terrors that prowled the line.

Mark just kept his arm loosely about Madison's waist as they moved up the steps. "We got space for a group of two more." With a glance around, the usher pointed to them and Mark and Madison were plucked out of the crowd. "You two, come on. Step right up!" With a flourish and a bow the extravagantly garbed master of ceremonies stepped aside, leaving ample space for the pair to make their way into the abysmal darkness of the main hall. "Try not to get yourself killed!" His cackling voice called out, echoing into the twists and turns of the attraction. The door slammed shut, the lights danced, flickering black and white. Somewhere up ahead a trio of young women screamed while hands reached out from the walls to grab and grope.

They weren't the only hands grabbing or groping though. Mark Burrows made sure of that as he pulled his military model of a date against his side and whispered into her ear. "This is new." Somewhere on the other side of the wall, Lonnie Norman was busy reaching out to touch someone.

 

[Retrojapan]

Three Dog Night - Mama Told Me Not To Come
Glenboro National Forest, Black Bridge
October 9th, 1965 ​

Of course they don't teach broads like Jessica MacTavish the basics of driving safety 101. What part of 1960's trophy wife did the leggy mini skirt and turtleneck combo not convey? Give blondie a break. Weren't the Go Go boots why Lonnie picked her? That suburban housewife had the privilege of never seeing a gun her whole damn life, and there he was smacking her

with one. It was terrifying for a woman who dressed up like that just to go to the grocery store. The whole time thinking that she was too young and beautiful for this to seriously be happening to her. Maybe the guy thought she was really Sharon Tate or something. "Owww! That hurt, you know!" She yelped, shaking her hand in the air like she just got a papercut instead of pistol whipped by some guy who referred to himself as Daddy.

"Umm... That's kind of weird? Never mind. You can totally keep the mask and costume if you like it or whatever." Jessica has that unreal valley girl pitch to go with that unreal outfit, and even more unreal assumption that she was getting out of this. Even as her passenger tore up the shopping bag while laughing to himself like some kind of psycho maniac. Fortunately for Lonnie, Jessica still believed Black Bridge's actual psycho maniac was serving out his psycho maniac life at the Cardinal. Too bad the radio wasn't on. AM was coming in live with some breaking news.

Instead, the MacTavish sedan continued to play a bit more ping pong between the lines as she realized the hospital wasn't actually that far from Glenboro, come to think of it. Jessica herself just a couple minutes away from a total nervous breakdown. Holding it in to keep her Twiggy makeup focused on the road. Her hands shaking on the wheel as the pavement turned to dirt. Jessica checked the rearview. The black Riviera was still on her ass.

"I don't know if this is good for my car? Do you? My husband won't be too happy, I don't think. He definitely just got it detailed last week..." Jessica glances in the mirror again, but this time to catch the sight of Lonnie right up at the back of her seat. So close she can feel his hot breath lashing out against her skin as he directs her to pull over. A wave of heebie jeebies later and the woman is diligently parking for a pit stop. "Ok, ok. No problem. I got it." Jessica knew it would be stupid not to listen and get herself killed after all this. If she was good then he wouldn't blow her brains out. The kook with a loaded gun in her face said so.

"So... Are you two like, going off grid or something?" Jessica's nervousness returns when she flicks a wave of blonde hair over her shoulder to look back at Lonnie, but only sees Cordelia's car pulling in just like he said it would. A few moments later and the door swings open. The dark haired waif casually steps out with an unlit cigarette between her lips. As if no one could see her, the woman uses the reflection of the window to fix her hair and apply a coat of red lipstick. The schoolgirl getup and scarf still going strong as she trots over to the sedan. She approaches Jessica's window, taking an exaggerated draw from the cigarette before leaning in to exhale at her through the glass. Jessica watching like a frozen deer in the headlights. There's no smoke, obviously. The thing isn't even burning.

"She knows it's not lit, right?" Jessica's eyes following Cordelia's red lips as they spit out the cigarette, bouncing it off the window with her knuckles 'knock-knock anybody home?' against the glass. Giggling like she just got into mom's make up bag thanks to the red painted smile too big for her face. Clown-like and slightly deranged, even. Jessica could tell this was not the same well-put together woman from before. She had somehow been replaced by something just as unhinged as the man in the backseat.

Of course, Cordy herself doesn't smoke. She doesn't wear bright red lipstick smeared across her lips either, but when in Black Bridge - you do as the Romans do. Playing dress up was her favourite, and Cordy was overjoyed that Dr. Mason didn't want to witness nor partake in another murder that day. Cordy did, though. Cordy always did. She happily spins in a circle with her arms out, chanting "Red Rover Red Rover, I call Lonnie over!"

Inside the car, Jessica's heart drops to the floor as she hears a call for Black Bridge's most dangerous serial killer to come out and play.

​

The Mansion of Terror, Black Bridge
October 30, 1961​

Unsurprisingly, the FBI Profiler is scanning the crowd in search of the most likely candidate for a costumed Mark Burrows. Even when she's not on the job, she's on the job. Figuring people out was a hobby as much as it was a paycheck. Amidst vampires, zombies, devils and astronauts, there came a wolfman who was definitely approaching her with sound intent. She rolls her eyes at Mark's playful howl, acting as though it was the cheesiest thing ever. The smile on her face reveals everything Madison can't say just yet, though. Beneath the canine mask was the tall, dark and handsome man she was waiting for, and she is happy to see him. "I should have known that was you." The undercover heroine plays a stoic soldier well, but inwardly, she was a tad nervous. Despite regularly banging the detective for the past few weeks - this was an official date. That made it a little more meaningful than their coffee and donut break excuse for roadhead and a different kind of cream filling.

"Now let's see if this place still scares the shit out of me." She leans into his arm around her waist as she follows Mark through the

hodgepodge of people lining up for the Mansion of Terror. The excitement is just like she remembered, but there were definitely a few changes here and there. A few obvious, and a few yet to be realized. Starting with the collage of hands up ahead looking more like a groping investigation neither members of law enforcement wanted on their desk anytime soon.

"Definitely new." Madison agreed, but surprisingly showed no apprehension about going through the cop-a-feel Rite of Passage. Funny how a date actually made her more nervous than being molested by a wall of disembodied hands. She was a Federal Agent dressed as G.I Joe slut, though. She was going for it full speed ahead. Besides, the hands were clearly silicone. The only person grabbing her ass would be Mark, and she was looking forward to it, having worn nothing underneath her camo jumpsuit. She pinches him playfully. "This would have gotten me fifteen years ago, maybe."

Marching ahead as if to prove that she was older now, and therefore not scared of some lifeless hands. They probably just moved by some automated pulley system, but if she thought about the mechanics too much, then she was going to ruin the night. She ruined a lot of things by overthinking them, and so Madison reminded herself to stop. No analyzing. No profiling. No looking for serial killers. She was going to let herself be afraid for once. Relax and enjoy the experience. Even though someone did just grab her, and she can't bring herself to tell Mark about it.

"You coming?" She turns around as if to call to for him, but really, Madison is reaching for one of the hands receding into the wall. It's warm. It's unquestionably real. It's literally holding hers in some estranged handshake, but there's no way she understood the irony yet. The Barbie Drill Sergeant squeezes it with all her might before finally letting go.

 

[Black_Out]

Nine Inch Nails - The Only Time
Glenboro National Forest, Access Road
October 9th, 1965
​

He watched as the black sedan rumbled past them, delicately holding the gun in his lap, quietly removing the shells from the chamber. "Sounds like he loves the car more then he loves you." It was an offhanded comment that Lonnie offered up after Jessica remarked over how her husband was going to be upset if the cars recent detail job was ruined. "Maybe he should appreciate what a fine ass you've got instead of worrying over this car of his." One by one Lonnie slipped the bullets into the front pocket of his trousers while Cordelia parked her jet black Rivera and prepared to make her way towards them.

"That does look hideous, she could take some makeup lessons from someone like you." His eyes darted between the mirror and the window as he observed his pale raven haired cohorts antics. "I like that about her though, she's not afraid to go her own way." That shift in Jessica's eyes was abundantly clear to one who was as observant as Lonnie Norman was. Fear was there, yet flickers of hope had still been evident, up until his name poured out of those red smeared lips. Jessica knew she was dead, the look in her eyes was full of that realization. It was just a matter of when and how, now. A portion of the how was tucked into the Black Bridge Murderers back pocket in the form of the plastic bag that had come from the devils mask.

"Leave the keys in the ignition, and get out of the car, now." The barrel pressed roughly against Jessica's cheekbone until she complied with its wielder. Lonnie stepped out slowly in synchronicity with the blonde haired trophy wife. Long before Jessica MacTavish could close the drivers side door, Lonnie had reached out and took a fistful of her blonde hair into his possession. His free hand extended out towards Cordelia, dangling the now unloaded gun in her direction. As fond as he was of her, Lonnie wasn't about to trust someone as unhinged as crazy Cordy with a loaded gun, just yet. "Keep a hold of that for me." The words fell from his lips with a predatory snarl as he swept around the opened back door towards Jessica whose hair he still had a firm fistful grasp over. He dragged her across the rutted dirt road towards the waiting black sedan as malice burned in his eyes. The slap of his hand rang across Jessica's face, followed by the pretty blondes skull being slammed down across the hood, leaving a dent from the impact.

"So you recognized my name, huh?" His hands reached down, palming Jessica's head in his grasp. "Then you know, it's been a really long time coming." He pulled her up and without remorse and then he slammed her face back down against the car again, and again, and again until Jessica MacTavish's once attractive features were bloodied, bruised, and broken. "Lucky you, you get to be my first." With two quick movements of his feet, Lonnie spread her legs while he placed a hand across the trophy wife's ass so she wouldn't fall to the ground. That left one hand to toss her pristine white skirt up over her rear, tug his pants down, all while grabbing the plastic bag out of his back pocket. He was rock hard and all to eager to split this prissy bitch's cunt wide open.

And that's exactly what Lonnie did before his lone audience of one. He grabbed that blonde piece of meat by her arm and tugged it behind her back while his other hand spread across the back of her face and smeared it against the hood. With great fervor then he struck, pushing deep inside her spread apart legs without so much as a lick of concern for Jessica's well being. His crotch slapped against the blonde housewife's well rounded ass, the force of those smacks causing the bloodied and battered woman's chest to slosh about across the top of crazy Cordy's black sedan.

Spat out grunts, harsh growls, and sharp groans fell out of the infamous Devil of Black Bridges maw. Even with her face smashed up, the young woman, who would one day be known as victim 47 in the case files of Lonnie Norman, had an undeniable sensuality. But the death-dealing eyes of Black Bridges most notorious serial killer were locked on the lip stick smeared face of his associate. Every single ruthless assault into Jessica left him grinning widely, hissing out spittle, and nostrils flaring as if he was fucking Cordelia with his eyes while he tore into poor, misfortunate 47.

He purred, beady and sinister eyes unblinking upon Ms. Mason while his tongue flicked out of his mouth to graze from one corner of his lips all the way across to the other. "Strip, babe, take that slutty school girl outfit off. You and the missus need to make a wardrobe change." His mouth opened then and Lonnie howled. "It's, mmm, oh so, ahhh, good to be free again!" That cry of freedom was punctuated with a crack of his hips that left him wedged deep inside Jessica's love canal and with a slow and raspy exhale Lonnie Norman shivered as he climaxed. Never once did he look away from Cordelia as he ground out every last ounce of pleasure against the upturned ass of 47.

The Mansion Of Terror
The Night of October 30th, 1961​

The energy in the place was akin to a time machine in that manor and Mark hadn't smiled or laughed as much as he did on that late October night. He felt like he was just another one of the many kids filtering their way through the Mansion of Terror with one arm wrapped around their date for the night. Having his arm wrapped around a trim and narrow waist that, as far as he was concerned, belonged to the hottest woman in the world only elevated those good vibes, exponentially. Past the dark hall of groping hands, around tight turns and bends, and across floors that shifted beneath their feet they went. Mad doctors and their grizzly experiments greeted them, a zombified mother and her rotting corpse of a baby that she took large bites out of would pause and lick her lips towards them, and a psychotic looking clown in a kissing booth blew smooches at everyone who passed by. It was truly one of the best nights that the overworked detective had enjoyed in quite sometime.

When that half hour thrill ride was done, Mark was looking forward to topping it all off with a few drinks and a long night of passionate love making with the smoldering number that was Madison Presley. His face was flushed, his dark crop of hair had been left a smothered mess from his mask, but none of that stopped him from being recognized by one Gordon Stuart as he came wandering out of the exit with Madison up against his hip. "Holy shit, Mark? Mark Burrows?" Stuart jumped up from the stool where he always waited to thank every patron that made their way out of his popular attraction. "Dam, it's been years..." The conversation blurred as the pair of old high school chums from Black Bridge High's class of 49' reminisced. Laughs were briefly shared between the disconnected pair and some obvious impressed looks were given from Mr. Stuart towards his old buddy as he briefly gave a friendly introduction to Madison. "Look, busy, busy night here, and I'd love to catch up more with ya. Tell you what, November 13th I'm having a party here, why don't you and Madison drop on by. It would be great to see you and catch up!"

"Friday night, sure, sure Gordy we'll swing by if we can." Mark gratefully accepted the offer before Gordon was dragged away back into the crowd of people that was funneling their way out of the basement of the Mansion of Terror. "Thanks for coming, I hope you had a great night!" The proprietor was quickly sucked back into playing the gracious host which he prided himself in being. Detective Burrows slipped his arm a little tighter around Madison's waist and murmured into her ear as they made their way through the night back towards his car. "Old Gordon there throws one hell of a party."

Only later would the pair come to realize that the most sinister of evils really did lurk in those twisted halls of delightful frights and that it had briefly held onto Madison's hand all the way back when they first set foot into the place. But by then, it would be to late, fates would be shifted, and futures altered in ways none of them could of imagined. Except for maybe Lonnie, he had grown accustomed to dispensing life altering moments. The thirteenth of November of 1961 was a night where Lonnie was going to alter the lives of thirteen unsuspecting souls in what would become known as the Massacre at the Mansion. Madison and Mark would be there, unexpectedly making it fourteen and fifteen.

Friday the 13th, 1961
Mansion of Terror Employee Party
aka The Massacre At The Mansion
Approximately 9 PM​

It had been yet another triumphantly successful Halloween season at the Mansion of Terror for Gordon Stuart. He was grateful for the all the hard work that his countless team put into making the magic of the place come to life every year for the denizens of Black Bridge. As a sign of that gratitude, he threw one hell of a shin dig at the end of it all to celebrate the dedication of all of those employees who made the Mansion of Terror Black Bridge's greatest Halloween attraction. The fact that this years blow out bash fell on Friday the 13th just made it all the more uniquely a special affair for everyone in attendance. Especially for Lonnie.

Thirty One was the number he had ended up with when October of 61' rolled around to put a halt to his killing ways. As the month trickled along, Lonnie contemplated how he was going to reinvent himself yet again when the Halloween season was behind him. The idea struck him like the frantic scream of some stunning beauty he was in the midst of cutting open when he idly flipped the calendar to look over the coming month of November to check his schedule. Friday the 13th, the date practically pulsed like a beating heart in front of his eyes. 31, flipped so perfectly into 13 and thirteen was going to be the number he would kill on that night. In that moment, Lonnie knew what he was going to do now. He was going to commit mass murder on a grand scale for the year ahead. No more single targets, no lonely damsels that he would stalk in the night unless he was going to capture and horde them together to save for one mass execution. The corners of his lips tugged up into a faint smirk that few could see the darkness within. This was going to be the time when he really separated himself from the pack, when he would really make his mark on society and he knew just how to start it all off with a bang.

Wait for the crowd to trickle down, just wait, it always happens. This wasn't Lonnie's first time at one of Gordon Stuart's end of the season bashes and while they were great fun, more often then not they ended up being a pre-party for the majority who eventually made their way out to mingle at the hottest clubs that downtown Black Bridge had to offer. Unassumingly Lonnie lingered nearby the proverbial cauldron of party punch, just waiting to dump a full bottle of that special little cocktail he had gotten from Martin "The Ox" Steinburgh. He'd been saving that potent stuff that was simply known as GHB for a moment just like this and for good measure he had a second, and third bottle on hand to really make that punch a knockout success. The moment was drawing closer, a handful more departed while Lonnie kept a quiet count in his head. Thirteen, it's got to be thirteen. He mused to himself as the numbers present fell closer and closer to that mark.

The Riviera Hotel
Madison's Room
That Same Night​

Back at the Riviera, up in Madison's suite, Mark was standing by the door, in the midst of slipping on his jacket. "Come on babe." He lingered by the door, glancing to his watch while he waited for her to finish getting ready. "We won't stay late if you don't want to, but I really should go and make an appearance to see Gordon, it's been years." Mark took a little swig of whiskey from a flask, tucking it away under his jacket just before Madison appeared looking like her usual ten out of ten. "We'll take my car, alright." His arm slid around her waist as he proceeded to escort her out the door.

 

[Retrojapan]

PJ Harvey - Down by the Water
Glenboro National Forest, Access Road
October 9th, 1965
​

As if on cue, the trio assembled for the final scenes of number forty-seven. There was the homegrown serial killer, dragging his next victim by a fistful of kicking and screaming Monroe blonde. That was Jessica MacTavish, blood curdling with her face repeatedly going into the hood of a black Riviera. Once. Twice. On the third dent, Cordy was returning to the driver's seat, gun in tow. For the first time in her psychward life, she had a box office view.

"No, no, no! I have no idea who you are! I swear..." Jessica was half-sobbing, half-hyperventilating as she was dragged off. Maybe if Lonnie thought she didn't recognize him, he would let her go? The hope was still there even when his strength nearly tore hair from scalp as he mounted her against the front bumper. Jessica struggled valiantly against his hand pressing her face into the hot, blood smeared metal. Everything burned her insides out.

"Please you can take whatever you want," Jessica wept the obvious. She actually had to question

whether or not it was really a cock impaling her across the hood of a car then. The gold digger had never felt anything harder than Lonnie Norman in her life. There wasn't a second doubt about it, though. He hissed and seared more than her broken nose. Fractured cheekbones. Arms pulled so forcefully behind her back that they were going to snap if he didn't stop. The Black Bridge Murderer had a reputation to uphold, after all. "Help... Me..." Jessica mouthed painfully to the only other person who could possibly do something.

Inside the car, the only other person's red lips pressed into a thin line with doe eyes so wide you would think this was the best part. It certainly was a life-changing moment for Cordy there in the VIP seat of watching someone else get raped for once. Safe and sound behind the glass because she couldn't have Jessica's blood splatter on the school girl getup. That wouldn't match the crime scene they were about to leave. Fast-forward to the Exhibit A remains of Lonnie's psychiatrist in her own burned out Riviera. Cordelia Louise Mason was the original forty-seven, actually. Open and closed case right there in Glenboro for some time afterwards. The press named her victim number three of Black Bridge Murderer Escapes '65 the very next day. Later, police would receive a call from some old fart saying his trophy wife went MIA from a grocery store parking lot, but no one would give a shit because there was a psycho murderer on the loose. That is, unless a certain detective could put two and two together? Inevitably.

The clock was ticking now, but Jessica MacTavish's go-go dancing dreams were going to live on through Cordy for as long as they could. She was going to watch that princess go down like she was watching a Hollywood blockbuster. There was no other way to describe the way Lonnie tore in and had Jessica bobbing over the hood like a buoy. Blondie surprisingly took it like a champ despite being a total TKO at this point. Cordy was keeping score from the sidelines now, and what a difference that made between the legs! Watching Jessica bounce up and down was akin to discovering porn for the first time. Pretty soon the car was rolling back and forth with Cordy humping her fisted knuckles and Lonnie's thrusting like they were fucking her together. All that friction eventually turned to Cordy gushing out like a water balloon across the seat while Lonnie watched through the window. He came, and it felt like they were the last two people on earth.

"Ohhhhh I really, really like her outfit!" Cordy flies out of the car, flashing the white cotton and bare legs fawning out around a wet spot under her tartan skirt. A pair of deep eyes stare enviously at Jessica's limp body laying there like broken fuckdoll. Her raw hole was so full of cum that it had started dribbling out around Lonnie's cock, and there was a hollow ache between Cordy's legs because of it. Without hestiation, she obediently began working down the buttons of her blouse to undress. Fortunately for the costume change, Mrs. MacTavish suffered head trauma, so tugging the tiny skirt down her hips and ass while Lonnie streamed down her thighs was no problem. The turtleneck was a little tricky, but Cordy was just grateful that it was black and didn't show any blood when she pulled it on. Her nipples immediately tightened into hard little buds underneath like they could somehow tell it was imported cashmere. She loved playing dress up.

At some point Jessica's body rolled off the car and dropped, so Cordy was left to dress her right there on the asphalt, affectionately brushing blood-matted hair from the woman's face as she did. The schoolgirl skirt and Mary-Janes were a bit small on victim forty-seven, but the swap was soon complete following a runway twirl. "Taa-daa!" Even with the faded lipstick, Cordy's endless legs and waiflike figure donned the white mini skirt and platforms like a Twiggy supermodel. She lowered her chin, batted her lashes sweetly at Lonnie, and got into character. "So where we goin' next, Daddy?"

Leaving the Mansion of Terror Employee Party
Friday the 13th, 1961 11:43pm​

Most people would have felt gyped, but Madison wasn't even annoyed when Mark asked her to DD that night. No pun intended. It would be no surprise to anyone that people watching doubled as a recreational hobby for the busty FBI Profiler. She honestly couldn't have asked for a more interesting cohort than the Mansion of Terror Employee Party. Besides, where else was she going to learn that even just one "round with the boys, for old time's sake!" was too many for her date?

"I know that look..." The brunette warned, and shot one back across

the bar. Madison wanted to be mad at him, but Mark's warm, rugged smile made it too hard. After all, the man had promised her an easy go, and here he was barely a few hours in, already giving her the look of no return. Belligerent? No, not Detective Mark Burrows. Giving her

a spank right before dropping to the floor in another ten minutes? Without a shadow of a doubt. She had to get him home, stat.

With a flick of her long brown hair, Madison moved in and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're hammered, Mark. Completely. And I hate to tell you, but you've only had two drinks tonight! What's gotten into you?" She gave him a 'there there' while the other hand confiscated a plastic cup from his subdued grasp. The thing Madison couldn't shake was that Mark never had problems with tolerance before. He usually went all night.

In fact, in both her professional and personal opinions - the man could definitely last. This was out of character for the detective, but what could that mean? Maybe they just made the punch stronger than they used to back in '49... Madison began eyeing the red liquid suspiciously for a moment before having to dismiss it on account of Mark's head hitting the table.

She didn't know it yet, but cutting him off and putting Mark to bed was the easiest thing Madison Presley had to do that night. Now thanks to Chip, someone had to look into things at the Mansion of Terror, and Psyche wasn't one to wait around. That meant suiting up for another date, only this time it would be with a serial killer.

 

[Black_Out]

Danzig - Mother
Mansion of Terror Employee Party
Friday the 13th, 1961 12:00 AM​

The clock in the break room of the Mansion of Madness was counting down. Every tick of the second hand was just one click closer to the end for those that remained well into the night. Whenever he had a moment Lonnie would duck away from the revelry to watch the hands of the clock from behind a veil of smoke as they drew closer to midnight. There was anticipation in his veins, excitement pumped warmth through the normally cold blooded killers heart. The GHB laced punch was working its magic as the party dwindled down to a modest size and they were all wasted. Shit faced. Dead meat. All thirteen of them, a number whose significance wasn't lost upon stone cold sober Lonnie's devilish mind.

It was just another sign to him that the stars were aligning tonight. The only unexpected issue that had arose had seemed to work itself out flawlessly when the Detective arrived in tow with that sultry F.B.I. number as his date. Two cups into the punch his cause for concern towards Mark was vanquished, but that federal agent didn't touch a drop of it. Lonnie was left to mull over alternatives, a trained agent in the mix who might be packing a gun could really ruin just about everything. Thankfully as the night wore on nothing ever came of that as the black haired vixen opted to escort her overly drunk date home. He was both relieved and slightly disappointed all at once. He would of loved to have shown Miss Madison Presley the night of her life.

Lonnie clocked in at the stroke of midnight.​

It was easy, or at least Lonnie felt it was when he looked back upon the massacre of that night. Several of the events patrons were barely cognizant of their surroundings and he saved those for last. The first to go were the men and It was easy to lure them to their ends. One by one, sometimes in pairs, the seasoned killer took full advantage of the trusting nature that he had built up with so many of his coworkers. They'd disappear, led by Lonnie into the twisted halls that fed into the guts of the mansion, vanishing from sight while the music drowned out their occasional, brief, scream.

His first victim he took by surprise down in the cellar when he wrapped a garotte around the 19 year old throat of one dumbfounded Sam Peterson. There was barely a struggle as Lonnie loomed over his shoulder and watched while his face kept shifting towards a darker shade of purple. He laid him face down, dead on a sofa. Number two took a little longer. It started with a repetitive series of slams where face met wall and didn't end until Lonnie felt the skull crack under the stress. He stuffed him beneath an operating table with a prop dummy whose guts were spilling out. The trail of blood from his battered face just blended in with all of the fake blood stains in the room. The pace picked up from there.

Lonnie had been careful in the beginning to not make a mess of himself, but by the time the killer found himself halfway through the guest list he let things get a little more intense with every victim. It hardly mattered to Steve Yurzdale that Lonnie had a smear of blood across his jeans, and the Yurz's girl, Samantha Bertanelli wasn't in the most observant of mind sets. Ten and Eleven respectively were something special to Lonnie Norman. He'd known the Yurz for years now and if Lonnie would of been the sort to have friends there was no doubt that Steve would of been one of them. But Lonnie Norman didn't have any need for friends and Steve Yurzdale and his girl friend were about to find that out in cold, brutal, fashion.

Lonnie bated them both into following him down below where they would be far removed from the vacant thoughts and concerns of the last two women who were all but passed out upstairs. "Sam, dude, Same fell into one of the mirrors in the maze..." Lonnie sunk his hand across the Yurz's shoulder and then helped him up. "He's hurt Yurz, I need your help." Samantha followed along on wobbling legs, just like Lonnie knew she would. She was always by Steve's side, like a loyal little puppy.

Glenboro National Forest, Access Road
October 9th, 1965
​

Playtime was over now that his carnal needs had been tended to which meant it was time to get back on schedule. While Cordy swapped clothes with the beaten into a ragdoll remains of Jessica MacTavish, Lonnie made his way over to the blonde trophy wives sedan. The back door swung open and he reached inside for the shopping bag stuffed full of charcoal briquettes, bottles of lighter fluid, and an ample supply of duct tape. Those vacated pools of black paused as one of the bags from Jessica's shopping trip stumbled over and poured its contents out onto the seat. A box of unopened cigars and a handy dandy little cigar cutter that had been meant as a surprise for her sugar daddy husband caught psychotic Lonnie's attention. He shook out the rest of the contents from that upended brown paper bag and filled it with his arsenal of death by fire.

Lonnie untangled himself from the back of the sedan and swung his head around to take track of Cordelia's progress. Like the wolf he was, he whistled towards his jubilant cohort while he slipped a cigar between his devilishly curved lips. "Now Miss Mason, I do declare you look mighty fine, mighty fine." He purred the words out in an over the top southern drawl as she came out of her show girl spin. At her question, Lonnie directed her towards their new get away car with a simple tilt of his head. "We'll figure that out once we clear out of here. Just clean up, cover your tracks, and then hop into our new ride." Lonnie slapped his hand across the hood of the car with his free hand while the cigar dangled from his mouth.

"I'll take care of the rest." He stalked his way over to the drivers side door of Cordelia's black sedan, dropping the bag of impending inferno at his feet. Briefly he watched as Cordy traced her way around the scene, scuffing up and disturbing any evidence of her presence upon the dirt and gravel roadway that cut its way into the trees. A little tug touched the corner of his lips, a rare sign of his growing fondness towards this vastly different side of the normally stoic Dr. Mason. Still she was a wildcard, and while Lonnie hadn't made it seem like he knew where they were going to go from here, he was of course lying through his teeth as always. But there was work to be done before tires would hit the road yet.

Like a specter of death Lonnie's shadow fell across Jessica MacTavish's face down in the dirt body. His teeth ground down against the butt end of the cigar wedged in his mouth, savoring the rich essence of tobacco that teased his taste buds. "Come on, babe." His hand swept down and sank into the matted mass of blonde hair that spilled out around number 47's head. With a fistful of Jessica's hair in his grasp, Lonnie began to drag her limp body across the uneven surface of the gravel paved road towards the waiting open door on the drives side of Cordelia's sacrificial car. "Get in there, bitch." He hissed, like a serpent full of venom as he pulled her off the canvas and stuffed her dead to the world body into the drivers seat. "Seatbelts save lives." The words mused from his lips while the unlit cigar wobbled in his mouth as Lonnie leaned in and drew the seatbelt across the Jessica's chest before buckling her in for the ride of her life.

Duct tape flowed then until the battered and bruised blondes body was secured to the seat by layer upon layer of that miracle tape. Lonnie even took the time to finish up by securing her legs to the drivers seat, climbing around from divers side to passenger side just to get it right. The very last bits of tape were saved for Jess's wrists, which the Black Bridge Killer plastered to the steering wheel.

That's when Lonnie noticed that big shiny wedding ring adorning MacTavish's finger and his lips pursed while he sucked and nibbled on the cigar in his mouth. "That's not gonna work." He muttered as he dumped charcoal briquettes all over and around the strapped down woman in the front seat of Cordelia's car. "Nope, can't let you keep that." Lonnie quipped while can after can of highly flammable lighter fluid soaked Jessica MacTavish to the bone. Before the match was lit, out came the cigar cutter and with it off went the ring along with the finger that it adorned as Lonnie slipped it into the hole and snapped it right off. That brought the woman right back to her senses just in time for her to catch sight of Lonnie lighting his cigar from a book of matches before he casually tossed them right into her lap and she went up in flames. Lonnie slammed the door shut and locked it with the key, leaving wide eyed Jessica to burn along with the rest of the car as he made his way back over towards their new ride where dainty and delusive Cordelia was waiting with a smile etched on her face to match his own.

He plopped down into the seat, the severed ring finger stuffed into his back pocket, put the car in gear and rolled back out onto the main drag. Already a small plume of smoke was curling its way up out of the dense trees back where they had left 47 to burn. By the time the first responders arrived on the scene of carnage Jessica MacTavish had perished in the searing flames, burned beyond recognition. Even her blonde hair, thoroughly doused by Lonnie had been consumed in the blaze. It would be sometime until a fire truck could make it back into that dense and tight service road to extinguish the burning wreckage of Cordelia Mason's car and it would take even longer to pry victim 47 out of the seat that had melted like glue around her blistered and scorched remains.
He beamed a murderous smile across the seat to Cordelia Mason as trees blurred outside the windows.

"I got an idea, let's go pay Doc Murphy a visit. How do we get there, navigator?"

Mansion of Terror Employee Party
Friday the 13th, 1961 12:47 AM​

Yurz had done his fair share of partying over the years, but even all of those experiences hadn't really set him up to handle a bowl of punch laden with the latest designer drug. Steve hadn't ever done anything quite like GHB before and it was showing in his gait, the slur of his voice, and the way his eyes drooped. Being stoned and drunk didn't help matters much, nor did the white powder of some coke snorted about an hour ago. All that did was keep him awake as he stumbled in tow with Samantha while Lonnie whisked them towards the Mansion of Terrors modestly sized maze of mirrors. "How far in is he?" Steve mumbled while he leaned his weight against one of the mirrors and used it to slide his way along down the hall full of reflections upon reflections.

"Just a little further up I think." Lonnie didn't bother to turn his head around, there wasn't any need when he could clearly see their reflection in the mirrors around him. "Right around this corner." He dipped around a bend in the hall and grabbed hold of a his personal favorite and brought the axe around in one clean swing that buried into Steve's gut. Blood sprayed, splattering across the mirror and Samantha who suddenly seemed to sober up to some degree as her eyes widened in shock. Lonnie took the opportunity to step over Steve's body as it crumpled to the floor. The heavy weight of the axe rested over his shoulder as he prepared to bring it down again and again upon Steve's head. But before he did he turned his coal black eyes towards Samantha.

"Run piggy, run." There was only one way to run, deeper into the maze, and Lonnie had locked the door that led out of it long before he drew them down here.

 

[Retrojapan]

Big Brother & the Holding Company - Piece of My Heart
The Mansion of Terror Massacre, Black Bridge
Friday the 13th, 1961 12:47 AM​

Everyone knew the loyal puppy dog phase was over as soon as Yurz started blowing his loads up Samantha Bernatelli's twenty-whatever year old ass. Now she was just the bitch who made sure everyone else worked their ass off at the mansion while she got first cut. No

wonder Lonnie saved her till the end. It must have been karma for all the times she called him Loser Lonnie behind his back. And to his face a few times, admittedly. Over the years, it seemed like she actually wanted to be a pain in his ass. Lonnie did this. Lonnie did that. Lonnie was groping girls in the wall of hands again (she walked through a few times to be sure). It wasn't like anyone was going to contest Lonnie's culpability anyways.

Truth is, Samantha picked him like a goddamn scab because Lonnie Norman was just her creepy daddy type. No surprise he was butchering up her Miss Woodstock dreams with an axe on that note. Samantha's bell bottoms and leather fringe bee-lined out of there faster than an 8 ball, and they weren't going to stop until smoker's cough said so. This was the start of her dead-end junkie nightmare, and Samantha wasn't even near rock bottom yet.

It wouldn't take long.

"Lonnie? Is... Is that you?" Samantha whimpered and panted like the puppy dog bitch she always was. Whereas most cokeheads know their way around a room of mirrors no problem, Sniffling Sammy was just as lost as her polysubstance abuse. No matter where she turned, she couldn't escape. She couldn't hide. She couldn't catch her breath or hear anything besides her own beating heart.

Was he watching? Listening? Could he see her terrified reflection with guts smeared like war paint across her face? Did he know that she finally shaved her pussy for once so granddaddy Yurz would quit fucking her ass so much? Could he see pierced nipples harden underneath her cropped top as she shivered in the blood-soaked leather vest? She sniffled at the reflection. Antsy, and jonsing. The try-hard Joplin routine was ready to give another little piece of her heart, and put the toxicology lab to work for once. "You know, this is great because I've actually been meaning to apologize to you about everything..."

Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital, Westlock
Morning of October 10th, 1965​

As they drove off into the smokescreen sunset, Cordy turned back to watch the flames swallow victim forty-seven. By the time Jessica MacTavish's charred remains are found, it would be impossible to know what really happened to her. The fire burned for so long that it was only certain she was female and missing a finger. There was no way to know that Jessica MacTavish was still alive as Lonnie duct taped her to the seat. Still alive to feel him

finders keepers, and put it his pocket. Still alive and screaming when he finally set her aflame.

Their consequent road trip was as much about getting the fuck out of Black Bridge as it was eliminating Lonnie's competition. After all, there could only be one psychotic mastermind at the top the food chain. Dr. Murphy had reigned long enough. More than that, the doctor couldn't dispatch another nutjob Cordy if he was dead. The drive to Westlock would take them through the night, but Crazy Cordy was good entertainment. Dr. Murphy's Frankenstein freakshow back at Callingwood was hardly bedtime story material, but alas, Cordy was in the proverbial armchair now, and boy did she need it.

Lonnie would learn that his psychiatrist spent most of her own life strapped to a hospital gurney, but lucked out once she came of age and inherited the family

fortune. That's when she paid Dr. Murphy to fix her brain once and for all. Little Cordy reports the treatment was successful, and her defective brain cells begin to split pretty much immediately. Cordelia Mason was able to achieve many great things through each personality fracture, but would eventually become dependent on Dr. Murphy to sustain Crazy Cordy, Dr. Mason, Vanessa, Daphne... That's right, if Lonnie thought Cordy and Dr. Mason were hard to keep up with - wait till he met the rest. They would have to wait, though. By now, the duo had reached their destination, and Lonnie's hostage-informant was no where to be seen. Instead, the doctor's tell-tale monotone finally breaks her silence just as Lonnie pulls into the parking lot.

"I would sell my soul for a cigarette right now." It's hard to tell if the woman is joking or serious. In spite of her mini skirt and platform getup, the stiff posture and dry humour indicate this was indeed Dr. Mason reporting for duty. She was openly embarrassed at the outfit, but persevering for the sake of her patient. Cordelia only ever wanted to help, even if he was a serial killer. She has no idea that Cordy blew their cover. "I'm happy for you, Lonnie. You're lucky. You get to escape. You get to be free. I never get to leave." The doctor smiles because she knows the joke isn't about being a psychiatrist. With the hospital towering above them like a guillotine, Lonnie was more of a reaper than ever before. "Thank you for bringing me back."

The inside of Callingwood State was much different than the Cardinal. For one, the facility was funded for research and experiment rather than imprisoning the criminally-insane. There wasn't a single guard or Donut John in sight. In fact, patients and nurses walked freely, desensitized to the unnerving electric hum and pained screaming rattling throughout the sterile corridors. Accompanying the soundscape of obvious maltreatment and abuse, there read signs for such things as Lobotomy, Electric Shock, and Isolation Room. No one would question the pair, as word of Lonnie's escape had not yet traveled to Westlock. In fact, most do not even know of the Black Bridge Killer here. Eventually they would come upon a long hallway of doors each marked with the names of doctor. Dr. Murphy is at the very end, with a sign on the door indicating he was currently in session.

 

[Black_Out]

The Massacre at the Mansion of Terror
Black Bridge
Saturday the 14th, 1961 at 12:55 am
Guns N' Roses - Welcome To The Jungle
​

She ran. Of course she ran. He was hacking up her overly self important boy toy, after all. Besides, Lonnie loved to watch them run, that's why he told that little hippy chick to flee. Seriously, who wouldn't run from an axe wielding maniac that was elatedly chopping up your boyfriend until he looked like bloody kibble that was fit for dogs? Samantha wasn't going anywhere though, no matter how far her scrawny legs took her she was just going to end up deeper in the maze with Lonnie and his axe standing between her and salvation.

With a grin his blood speckled face watched her vanish around the bend while he took one last blind swing down into the Yurz's split open gut. Crimson blood exploded from the impact, smearing across the hall of mirrors as the weight of the axe buried into a pile of organs with a sickening plunge. Lonnie could hear ribs crack and snap as that last ferocious swing struck pay dirt. Yurz's body buckled as the blade sunk into his guts eliciting memories of his mom tenderizing a steak for dinner. Blood in all of its rich and vibrant glory pooled around the mangled and torn apart body beneath him while his vacant killer eyes stared into the mirrors, watching as Samantha's fleeing ass vanished into the twisted halls.

He took a moment to pause. Not for any remotely symbolic reason. Yurzdale's death meant next to nothing to him, the man was just another notch in the proverbial axe as far as Lonnie was concerned. Speaking of the axe, it was the reason for his temporary setback. The blade had sunk so deep with that last homerun swing that it had gone and gotten all wedged up in the girth of Steve's pelvis bone. "Mother fucker..." Lonnie spat down upon the face of his latest victim before he stamped the sole of his boot straight down into the yawning cavity of guts, sinew, and gore. With an audible squish his boot sunk into the quicksand like carnage, pressed against Yurz's pelvis while deep red gushed over, under, and around the shape of his boot. Gritting his teeth, with a look of madness in his eyes Lonnie muscled the axe free with a hearty tug that drew out a spider web of sinew and worse along with it. A grisly echo popped through the winding maze of mirrors, chasing after Samantha.

Hefting the axe back over his shoulder, leaving strands of ropey red carnage to drape across his chest, Lonnie turned to look down the winding hall of reflections. "Samantha!" He called out, only vaguely aware of the sound of her voice, dim and faint in the depths of the maze, begging to apologize. "Samantha!" He yelled out again, licking the traces of blood from his lips with a devilish pass of his tongue. He could hear her pleas more clearly with every step he took, steps that echoed solid with his left foot, and squishy with his gut covered right boot. "Do you really mean it, Samantha?" Lonnie called out again as he came towards a bend in the hallway where his wide open maniacal eyes locked into the reflection of Samantha's own terrified pupils.

The blunt top of the axe fell from its perch upon his shoulder, smacking against the floor with a resounding thud as the mass murderer came around the bend. His face was a canvas of bloodshed as playfully mocking eyes full of false sympathy stabbed through the vacant space between them. "Like really, really, mean it?" The axe dragged against the floor, leaving a butchers trail of blood in its wake as Lonnie Norman drew closer and closer with patient, time consuming steps. Oh how he intended to savor this kill. He could feel the static in the air, hear that dim buzzing that always hummed away in his brain box when he was really, really, getting into the mood for murder. "I do love a good apology, the best kind is when your on your hands and knees though, begging like a good whore, don't you agree?"

Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital, Westlock
Morning of October 10th, 1965
​

Lonnie walked along just behind his diminutive and lithe accomplice. The sound of their feet marching down the hallway sounded in crystal clear unison against the back drop of silence that greeted them in that lone and loathsome place. A casual smirk was ripe upon his face, one hand toting along the shopping bag full of murderous accessories while his other lingered not far from the gun tucked beneath the back of his shirt. Quietly Lonnie surveyed the scene, his analytical mind calculating an array of cold blooded actions that were nearing the moment of manifestation with every step that the duo took. As they drew closer to the beckoning door at the end of the end of this tiled and gilded hall of knowledge, Lonnie reached his free hand out and took a hold of Cordy by the arm, stopping the young woman in her tracks.

"Staying is hard, leaving is easy." He murmured under his breath towards the back of Cordelia's frizzy black hair as is eyes darted over to his right. With a suggestive guiding tug of his hand Lonnie drew the pair of them over to a glass case where a fresh, never used, axe was calling out his name. With a subtle tilt of his head Black Bridges notorious serial killer looked upon their reflection upon that thin pane of glass while his hand softened around her arm. His eyes were dancing with delight as he inspected the all to easy to open case. "I do appreciate a good axe." Lonnie spoke with undeniable appreciation as he guided his fingers to the panel and gently swung it open.

With a flare of his nostrils his chest swelled as he felt the energy in that instrument when his fingers curled around its handle. It all felt so right when he wrapped his hands around the well lacquered red shaft of that axe. A soft sound of appreciation fell out of his lips as he maneuvered the mint condition weight of that tool out from the holding of its display case and to his side. His lips quirked as he allowed the hefty end of it to hover over the floor while his hands slowly turned the axe around to get a sense of its balance. "Follow my lead." Lonnie shifted his eyes over to Cordelia. "We're going to get started, now."

On cue with those words Lonnie set his mind to the task at hand. Another deep breath followed and by the time it was exhaled he was tingling with anticipation. That all consuming feeling of such focus and intensity pulled every ounce of him into that familiar place dark den in his mind where nothing good ever dwelled. Tunnel vision escorted Lonnie directly across the hallway towards a waiting door that was far from the end of the hall. His hand shepherded Cordelia to stand directly in front of him before he reached around her hip for the handle of the door. "Stay right in front of me and just tell him a relative, an aspiring psychologist from out of town that wanted to meet him." The density of his chest bore down across the slender frame of Cordelia's shoulders as whispered those directions with a seductively detached breath of warmth upon her ear. His fingers remained on pause against the knob of the door as he let his lips graze down against the shape of her ear. "Tell him I read one of his books, or some bull shit like that."

Doctor Paul Bednar that October 10th of 1965 was going to be the date engraved to mark his passing upon a tombstone that he hadn't even ordered yet. Lonnie Norman knew it though the moment the door opened and Cordelia improvised her way into his office. Despite being in the midst of typing out some doctoral thesis about the benefits of shock therapy, Doctor Bednar, like most men couldn't turn down an opportunity to have their ego stroked. "Sure, where is it your studying my good man?" Lonnie's foot slid the door shut with a faint click and dropped the bag upon the floor.

He was on his game when he replied "Chapel University, Dr. Bednar." That devils gleam in his eye was oh so subtle as he looked right past the doctor towards the degrees that bore the name of that respected university adorning his wall. The exuberance upon Bednar's face was hard to miss as he pushed himself back from his desk and rose to greet Lonnie. "Well it's not often I get to meet a potential alumni." His eyes were smiling behind his glasses when he went and reached his hand out towards Lonnie who drifted out from behind Cordelia like he was her personal shadow of vengeance.

Doctor Bendar never got to shake Lonnie's hand. But he did end up with the blade of an axe lodged dead center in the middle of his head when it came sweeping out from behind the back of Lonnie Norman who was eager to pick up where he left off at, so long ago at the Mansion of Terror.

 

[Retrojapan]

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cold Light
The Mansion of Terror Massacre, Black Bridge
Saturday the 14th, 1961​

When the massacre was finally discovered, it would become the largest crime scene ever contained by the Black Bridge police department. It was those bits and pieces of Steven Yurzdale's pelvis that would lead investigators down Lonnie's path of senseless and grotesque savagery. He always saved the best for last, didn't he? Samantha Bernatelli's final moments trailing blood and guts like Hansel and Gretel through the maze. The sheer brutality of the evidence collected made it clear that no one was

ever meant to make it out of that mansion alive. The whole city wondering how an employee like Samantha didn't know she was following the only dead end in the place. Lonnie knew she was, though. Lonnie knew.

Upstairs, the rest of the crew went out with the punch, and would never know Sniffling Sammy finally paid her dues. By the end of the investigation, the entire city of Black Bridge would know just how much blood, sweat and tears Yurz put into that mansion, though. Irrefutable. His DNA would be found in every seam, including those of Lonnie's boots as Samantha came upon

them at last. The sound of her body heaping into a bitchpile on the floor as she fell to her hands and knees. For a girl who loved the rock, Sniffling Sammy was truly between one and a hard place now. Dead end maze, and dead end Lonnie. No cracks this time. She pissed her jeans a little bit though.

"Lonnie, listen to me," Samantha spits through the tears flowing at a rapid boil down her face. Her arms now shaking so badly she can barely keep the posture. She had never begged for anything in her life like she was going to beg that serial killer for mercy, inching to him like a worm in acid rain. His work boot smelled like death, and Electric Kool Aid. Samantha lowered her face to it.

"I'm sorry I was such a cunt to you, Lonnie. I don't know why. Everyone knows I'm sweet on you....You gotta know I'm sweet on you, right, Lonnie?" The pink of her tongue followed as she began to lick the Yurz-soaked leather like a kitten with milk. Metallic. "You know I'm a good whore..."

Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital, Westlock
Morning of October 10th, 1965​

The only person in all of Westlock who truly understood just how symbolic that axe was for Lonnie Norman would be the psychiatrist. The one now setting him up for two counts of murder in the first-degree. One turned two flying over the cuckoos nest on three.

"Dr. Murphy. Dr. Bednar. I apologize for interrupting," Cordelia follows the script and invites

Lonnie to step inside her nightmare. She has grown up, and grown into this place like the family home. Inside, one Granddaddy Murphy sitting at the desk like some reigning monarch of Callingwood state. Bowing at his feet one Dr. Bednar, kissing ass as per the usual pawns on the board. Truth was this hospital never tossed more salad than when these two goons got together. Dr. Murphy now realizing that Caesar payed the ultimate price for it in the end. A sickening silence a few moments too long followed before the bisected Dr. Bednar finally split off the axe. The Ides of March did roll crown to head, and Rome burned down in flames.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall," Cordy's little voice began to rhyme. Something sweet to soften the blow for Dr. Bednar's body as it eventually keeled to the floor. Immediately the blood began pooling underneath him as he lay there open-eyed like a dead fish at the supermarket. She stepped over it, unbothered. Later investigators would question those bloody footprints, but it would be too late before they realized Cordelia Mason wasn't dead after all. At least she wasn't on October 10th, 1965. It was her birthday, actually.

"All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again." She slowly descends upon the doctor's desk until she stands before him. Her dark eyes staring deeply into his face with fists balled white at her sides. The doctor's expression is furrowed intensely. He swallows. Of course he recognizes the reaper and the angel now here to tell him it was his time. There is a pistol in his hand under the desk, but before he pulls the trigger on himself,

"Et tu, Brutus?" Dr. Murphy says to her.

The fatal shot fires through his stomach, and is later found by detectives lodged in the bookcase behind him. Of course the alarm was now pulled, and our anti-heroes needed to make a run for it. There are two files on the doctor's desk. One is for Cordelia, and it shows that Dr. Murphy was planning on offing her on the next follow-up anyways. Good riddance. Her entire records now changed to suggest she was suicidal, and suffering paranoid delusions in the weeks leading up to Lonnie's escape. The other is a file that Lonnie Norman would find interesting, actually. After all, the only reason Dr. Murphy wouldn't need Cordy was if he had already found Psyche alive and well in Black Bridge.

 

[Black_Out]

Feeling Good - Nina Simone
The Mansion of Terror Massacre, Black Bridge
Saturday the 14th, 1961​

"I know that Samantha. I know you've always been sweet on me. They've all been - sweet - on - me. Why would you be any different?" He stood there looking down at her, with a frozen countenance that must of been born from the ice that ran through his veins. There was dread in his cold eyes, dread for Samantha. He stared down at her while she praised the blood smeared leather of his boot with her whorish tongue. Lonnie was so hyper focused on her, on the axe in his hand, and the feeling of her head beneath his foot that everything else seemed to fade away. Everything except their reflections, those stayed as audience to the Samantha's fate.

"Tonight, is a transformative affair, for both of us, Sam. You don't mind if I call you, Sam, do you?" Lonnie's shoulders rolled, sinew and muscle twisting up through the elegant expanse of his blood splattered neck. Through the shifting of his joints, his face remained rigid and stiff, tilted to angle that bore his eyes down like lances upon the back of Samantha's swaying skull. "Fuck it, I'm just going to call you whore, because like you said, that's what you are." His thumb traced over the polished wooden handle of the axe. It felt good beneath the tip of his nail, the way the fibers frayed like splinters waiting to be born from applied pressure. Just another lesson to be gleamed from what most sheep would never even bother to consider. With enough pressure one could exert control over almost anything. One just had to look down at the slobbering lips of Samantha to see that scientific theory in full bloom. But pressure when clumsily wielded could turn its ugly head upon you and consume your soul with the force of its presence.

Lonnie, would never allow that to happen.​

"I am glad we were afforded this precious moment, Sam, the whore." With a twist and turn of his foot, Lonnie gave Samantha's busy tongue a fresh palette of blood-soaked leather to cleanse. "It means more to me than you know that you see yourself in the same light that I do." He could feel the ridge of his nail, peeling back as it dug into the handle, tracing an indented crease along its smooth length.

"But I think you don't quite understand what it means to be a good whore, because the only good whore is a dead whore." Lonnie's boot swept back from poor Samantha's praising lips, leaving her tongue vacant for a brief breath of time. Then the freshly spit cleaned tip of his boot roared back with a vengeance. Her jaw was driven away, carrying the rest of Samantha's face along with it. By the time the sole of Lonnie's boot came back down to rest upon the blood smeared imprint of where his boot had rested moments ago, victim number thirteen was laid out before him like a gift under the tree, waiting to be torn open.

"I promised you a transformation, and I always keep my promises."

The axe rose up like a steeple above his head, the blunt back-end scratching across the mirrored ceiling that fissured from its passing. Amidst a shower of glistening reflective glass Lonnie swung the business end of the axes blade back down. It wedged deep into Samantha's skull, splitting it like a log that burst from the pressure of its impact to spray a fountain of grey matter and viscid clumps of gore over the Lonnie. Even, to his dismay, his freshly cleaned boot.

The last sound to ever leave Samantha's lips was a blood curdling scream that rattled the mirrors with anticipation. Loud enough to carry beyond the bowels of the Mansion of Terror. Fading into the oblivious chorus of crickets chirping in harmony with one another outside the flung open doors of the moon lit manor. In synch with the tap of boots upon the rickety steps that fed into the foyer where a parlor of murder awaited.

Callingwood State Psychiatric Hospital, Westlock
Morning of October 10th, 1965
​

It was a rare treat for Lonnie Norman to be the audience for even a breath of a heartbeat. Center stage was all Cordelia in the moments that followed Dr, Bednar's collapse. He let her have it, it was her moment to let all of her untapped glory radiate after all. Sadly, her supporting cast didn't seem to be up to the task of matching Cordy's breathtaking performance. Thankfully, for their sake, his time on stage was better spent dead, slumped over his own desk.

The alarm was already singing out through the halls as Lonnie stepped up behind Cordelia. The tip of his crimson smeared axe etching a line across the finely polished wooden panels of Dr. Murphy's office. The axe dropped to the floor, his now empty hand curled around the dainty doll before him and pulled her back against his chest. Lips breathed stale air against her ear while the palm of his hand took hold of the hem of her blouse. "That was, beautiful." He purred into her ear with a vaporized whisper before his hand reached up to snatch Cordelia by the sharp angles of her jaw. Lonnie wrenched her face around and leaned into seal his lips across her own.

The kiss was simple, brief, yet bereft of urgency despite the span of time being so short. Lonnie's fingertips traced softly away from Cordelia's jaw, staining them with a trail of blood while his eyes drank from her in admiration. "This calls for a drink, don't you think?" Lonnie chirped with a sideways grin as he unwound himself from the embrace and turned towards the good doctor's liquor cabinet.

He tossed the doors open, rifling through the contents with utter disregard for the fine vintages of booze that met his grasp. Bottles of well-crafted crystal shattered against the floor as their contents seeped out to spread across the wood. With an exclamatory breath of exaltation Lonnie finally drew out a yet to be uncorked bottle of champagne. With a twist of his teeth the cork popped with a resounding boom as he marched back over to his accomplice.

Lonnie held out the tinted bottle of fizzing champagne towards Cordelia while he plucked a cigar from a box upon Dr. Murphy's desk. "First drinks yours." He stated with a wry grin before his gaze turned towards a gleaming lighter of stainless-steel resting near the open box of cigars. Lonnie lifted it up, lit the cigar, and tossed the lighter behind himself, the flame still flickering from the wick. It bounced, once, twice, and again before it landed in the steeped puddles of alcohol where a curtain of flame leaped up from the woodwork.

Lonnie Norman took a deep drag from the cigar, allowing his eyes to slide closed as the smoke rolled up over his face. A murmur of appreciation puffed out of his lips. At least Dr. Murphy had good taste in cigars. "Grab the files, and let's get out of here." Lonnie turned to look back down at Cordelia, moving to swipe the freshly opened bottle of champagne from her grasp.

He took a swig, eyes darting towards the window and the small balcony beyond where a lattice of vines offered an easy enough escape. "Before we get into any serious trouble."