Do You Mind?

The court case made national news. That was twenty-three years and nine months ago. Today no one even knew that there was a new court case with some of the same participants in the making. It was far from their mind.

Brandon Farce was being released from prison after serving eighty-five percent on a thirty-four-year sentence, for rape and various crimes associated with it. Twenty-three years ago the cameras and spotlights were all there for his entrance but not one person was there on his exit. The families of the victims had either died or erased all the pain from their mind.

After living for twenty-three years in one place you would think that one would need more than a couple of bags to move out. But that was not the case for Brandon Farce. The past two-plus decades of his life was shoved into two used brown paper bags, and his lease was terminated in a matter of a couple of hours. The correctional officer took his time entering the release papers into the system. He knew Brandon didn’t mind.

However, the monster who had lived inside of him since he was twelve had been unleashed months before. He kept that information locked in his mind without even knowing it. The disease was called dissociate amnesia. Most people never heard of it. When they did they associated it with multiple personality disorder in which no one really believed it was an actual disease. Brandon Farce was about to make medical as well as criminal history. He had been planning it for over five years. The odd thing was he didn’t know it because it was all compartmentalized in a separate part of the mind.

After receiving a two hundred dollar check from the Department of Corrections as a going away gift, Brandon Farce walked to the electric gate and never looked back.

The prison van picked him up and took him to the nearest bus stop. Two hours later Brandon walked into the bank and signed for his debit card to give him access to the 3.2 million dollars in his account. That information he kept in the front compartment of his mind.

Two hours after that Brandon paid for a new wardrobe, a few pair of modest jeans and polo shirts. After checking in with the Parole Department, he checked into the red light district to check around for his next victim. A few hours before that, he had disassociated himself from himself. He quickly found his first victim and moved on to another part of his mind. He didn’t mind the confusion. He was used to it by now. There were so many compartments to his mind. Each compartment of his mind had its own key that could not be accessed by the other. He didn’t mind. He was used to it.

After seven victims and two states with bloody trails in the rear view mirror, Brandon Farce had a meltdown, or awakening as it would later be called at trial. The problem was he turned himself in. Or his other self as he would call it. The detective who took his statement was shocked to find out the person Brandon was describing was actually Brandon. He wanted the assailant to receive the highest punishment for his crimes.

At first, the Detective figured he was just another criminal looking for an easy way out. A criminally insane defense. That was until the person who turned him in disappeared and the detective met the assailant and realized first hand they were to totally different people. He described in detail the vicious crimes. By now the media had gotten a hold of the case and the lost families from victims years ago had to deal with this all over again inside their mind.

After three years of trial notes, psychiatric observations, mental exams and even hypnotist, the case were finally near an end. .The previous families, as well as the families of the victims from the past few years, met at the District Attorney’s office before the sentencing hearing. Even they were torn on the punishment.

The court sentenced Brandon Farce to a mental institution until further notice. When asked if he had any parting words Brandon Farce reached over and retrieved the envelope from his attorney which contained a check for three million dollars. He explained that the check was from him and he hoped it would pay for the funerals of his victims. The families of the victims were much too traumatized to care about the money. So the last words out of Brandon Farce before he took the poison pill he had stashed since his arrest was to the bailiff in the courtroom. He held up the envelope passed it to the bailiff, pointed to the families, swallowed his pill and said:

“Do you mind?”

Brandon Farce, write for the kill?