Dark Valley

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chapter 5

Chapter 5


Extracts from a journal recovered from Janus Mason

28th March 2011

Treatment of Dylan Lewis.

I have been looking to identify the next person to be treated. The cafe at Morrison’s has occurred to me to be an ideal place to find someone. It is just like a day center for the care in the community contingent in the town. I had been in and out of the cafe for a couple of weeks and it was maybe a week ago that I met Dylan.

I sat down with my coffee and the newspaper to just listen and take in what was going on in the cafe. Sat on a table next to me I became aware of a large scruffy looking man. He was talking but he was on his own.  I couldn't make out what he was saying or who he was talking to but it was quite clear he was talking in at least two parts of the conversation. He mumbled and to each of his imaginary friends or his demons and I could hear the questioning tone of his voice. The question simply confirmed that he was talking to at least another person maybe two.

This man was clearly not well, he had clearly been failed by the health system. There was no one left to treat people like this.

I sipped my coffee and pretended to read the paper. I felt the excitement building inside me. Other people came into the cafe and sat down. Oblivious to what was unfolding in front of them. Oblivious to the predator stalking his prey like a lion stalks a wildebeest in his hunt for a kill.

The conversations that this person was having was a sign of his clear illness. He needs treatment and cleansing to make him better. I watch him over the top of the newspaper and listen to him. I have become focused on him, zeroed in on him like a target in my sights. Watching his movements looking at the man. I need to know him. Soon I will know him more intimately than a lover. What can be more intimate than removing a person’s life? Separating their body from their existence. Seeing them make the transition from life to death. I held that power in my hands time and again and it would soon be this persons’ time to make the transition in my hands. There would be no more illness, no more pain for him all of the voices will be washed away with my help.

The thought of what was to come bought me waves of excitement. My breath shortened as I felt more aware and more alive. The excitement was mounting and I felt the physical excitement start to come into me.

He just sat there unaware of what was happening like the others around us. He did not see the predator closing in on him. I could smell the blood in the water.

He was sort of shapeless. A big fat blob of a man. Quite tall, maybe six feet tall but his posture was hunched, crouched and lazy. He was fat. His head seemed to merge into his neck. He had a hat with fold down ear flaps on. The nylon fur of the flaps was fouled and dirty. His dank grey hair hung down over his eyes, greasy and dirty. It was difficult to see his eyes as the fat of his cheeks pushed up and made his eyes like slits. The skin of his face was grey, stretched and shiny. His grey beard was stained yellow with nicotine and pieces of food hung on the corners of his mouth. The stubble extended down his shapeless neck and to his filthy collar. His padded check shirt was streaked down the front with food stains and spilt tea small pock marked burns from dropped cigarettes. His hands were bloated and blotchy

My plan was formulated. I knew my way in. I walked steadily to the kiosk and looked at the cigarette display. I don’t smoke and had no clue about cigarettes and smoking.  I chose the cheapest pack of twenty on the display.

“Can I have a pack of twenty Richmond Superkings please?”

The assistant passed down a pack of cigarettes with a dismissive attitude. I paid the rude young woman and waited outside of the shop doorway.

I examined the pack of cigarettes, they were totally alien to me. I undid the packing and removed the cellophane and then the foil packing.  I took three of the cigarettes and threw them into the bin. I knew what I needed to do. I took another of the cigarettes out and placed it behind my ear.

I saw him stand up and shuffle towards the door. He was muttering and talking to himself or to them demons as he came towards me. It was time for me to make my move and I walked towards him as he walked out of the door.

As I approached him I took the cigarette from behind my ear and said to him. “You got a light mate?”

“Yeah, yeah I have, have you got a fag mate”.

He was mine. I knew it. I felt that it was a matter of time and his time was running very low.

I struggled not to cough when the cigarette was lit.

I watched him inhale hard and the glowing ember of the cigarette was drawn inexorably down towards his stained and swollen lips. He smoked intently.

“Looks like you were ready for a smoke?”

“Yeah, you got another one mate?”

“Here,” I passed him another and then said, “I tell you what, I’m going home for a brew, would you like a decent tea?”

“Oh yeah, that would be nice. My name is Dylan”

“I am Janus”

We walked over to the old Landrover. I don't bring it into town often. I prefer the much better Mitsubishi but the landrover was more suitable for this type of thing.

“It’s open, mate”

“Ok, got another fag for us?”

“Here mate.”



On the short trip from the supermarket to the farm he continued to mutter and talk to himself. As we passed the hospital this got louder and more frenetic. I knew then that I had made the right choice with this one.


“So do you know this place?” I asked.

“I was in here for years, then they kicked us out into the town, I was fucking lost”. He replied.

“Oh right,” I encouraged.

“The hospital was alright, at least I got fed there. But I didn’t like the big injections or the electric shocks treatment. It hurt so much but they kept on making us have it.” He said.

“No, I’ll bet”

“I don’t know if it helped or not, they said it was good for us but I didn't want to be on my own it made me lonely. The days after the shock made me like a zombie.”

“I was here as well, I came here for a while back in the eighties” It’s right I had been there but not as a patient, but Dylan was not to know that. It gave us something he thought we had in common.

When we arrived at the house we went inside and I put the kettle on. He sat at the table speaking to himself. I chuckled to myself, he reminded me of Gollum from the Lord of the Rings.

I served him a cup of tea, he asked for three sugars. Which I obliged. He did not ask for the four Zaleplon tablets that I also obliged with. These fast acting sleepers had little taste. The way that he gulped down the tea I had given him made me think it didn’t really matter. I looked at the clock. It was 1.10pm. By 1.20 his head was on his folded arms on the table he drooled on the table. That would need bleaching.  

The next step was going to take some doing. That shapeless blob would weigh a good twenty stone.


It was time for some lateral thinking. The little junky whore had weighed half what this thing weighed. Not the normal patient transportation device but the wheelbarrow would be fine for this. I lined it first with some old blankets to prevent him being injured as I rolled him into the barrow. I rolled back the carpet in the hallway and lifted the hatch down into the cellar. I had fitted this with a ramp to allow me to wheel patients in and out as we needed to.

Slowly I took him down the steps into the cellar. I switched on the lights and the fluorescent brightness sprung into cold life as it reflected from the walls of the room. The wipe clean tiles on the wall and tiled floor made for easy cleaning and sanitation after treatments had been completed.

The treatment chair stood in the center of the room with the light array hanging low over. The chair was adapted with large straps added to prevent any movement from the patient during treatment.

I wheeled the dozing patient to beside the chair in the barrow. He was deeply asleep and I was able to roll him out of the barrow and onto the chair. The movability of the chair was a great asset as I had put it all the way down for this patient to be placed on it. I fixed the straps around him and pulled them tight.

I could see the mark that the barrow had made on the floor and knew Ivy would not be pleased. I would get it moved before she came back to the house as agreed later.

I set up the Morphine pump and cut away his stinking clothing so he could be cleansed and prepared for his treatment. The layers of clothing stunk as I cut them away from him and placed them carefully in black bags. They would be incinerated later. That would be the best way to prevent any sort of infection. I wiped an area on the back of his left hand and put his cannula into one of the veins on the back of his fat and bloated hand. The only clean spot was the patch with the cannula. This would soon be rectified.


The first step of the process was completed. He was here, he was in position. Next it would be cleansing and then subsequently treatment and liberation followed by disposal. In the early days, before Ivy, it had only been about the treatment. Now it was no longer just about that. She introduced me to the erotic beauty and the power of the domination as the life ebbs from them. I knew that this man’s treatment, the removal of his voices would be what she needed to be satisfied and I was pleased to be able to do that for her. The more I thought about it the more aroused I got by the thought.


I left him downstairs, concealed and hidden. I guess that’s where he had been for most of his life. Concealed and hidden at home and then in the shapeless and faceless anonymity of the old hospital. Sent into the world to live below the surface of the society in the anonymity of the lost years.


I needed to get some chores done and to get my training in for the day. It would be nice to get out and maybe push a quick five miler out today. It was a nice early spring morning. It would be to hot and sticky in the summer for too much mod morning running.


I really got off on the fact that I was doing my chores, feeding the animals, washing up and thinking about going for a run when all of the time below the floor of the hall way in my specially constructed and lined cellar was Dylan Lewis. He was bound and lightly drugged. He would be conscious by now but probably not fully lucid. His bonds would hold him tight but would not hurt him. No, he would be cleansed of his illness, his voices later.


I went out into the yard to the chicken shed. Whilst I was out in the yard I heard the now rather familiar buzz of the chainsaw. Our new neighbour was at work in the woods again. I was not sure what he was doing in the woods. It seemed that he had felled a few trees down by the river. He seemed an active sort of man.


A little flicker of concern took me. I had heard him shooting in the woods, I had seen him out training on his mountain bike. We could do without him on our doorstep. I wouldn’t want him to discover what was going on here. He might report us or try to stop it himself. I needed full control. Once that started to slip from my grip it could be that all I had built might slip into obscurity. I would do anything I could do retain the initiative and I would not loosen my grip. The shooting sounded different to the normal gun sounds that I heard. Louder and more intense. I am not a shooting expert but I think he shoots a powerful rifle. Rarely there is more than one shot. I know he has a wife and a couple of dogs. I hope the dogs don’t spend too much time in the woods. They might find the whore in her shallow resting place. I would move her at night. If I could. Dylan would have to disappear in a different way.


It might be that there is an in to their world through the wife.


I started to plan how to remove the danger from our situation. It would take Ivy’s full cooperation. I would speak to her about the plan when she arrived home later. Time was getting on. I would keep thinking about how to remove the danger from the farm that looked over our place. If I set my mind to a task I am always successful. This would be no different.


Down in the cellar again. He was awake. I put on a new set of white paper overalls. A new surgical mask and drew some hot water into a bowl. I poured a cap full of Hibisol antibacterial cleaner into the water. I watcher the little patterns and the swirls that I could see as the pink solution dissolved in the warmth of the water. I pulled the trolley up and started to wash him. He was so dirty his skin seemed like scales in places but with some perseverance and plenty of hot water. Dylan faded in and out of consciousness. He looked at me from time to time. He was forcing himself to focus on my masked face. I looked into his eyes. There was no fear in this one, no anger just a resignation. He soon would be processed and completed.


I went back upstairs to get a coffee on and wait to talk to Ivy. I didn’t need to wait very long. The Isuzu soon pulled into the yard. Ivy moved the truck and parked it in the deep shadow that the barn threw over the yard.


“Hello, Darling” She said.

“Hi, babe,” I replied. I could see she was quite excited already. I could see the colour on her neck and the slight blush on her lips. It had taken me years to detect these slight changes. Some had said that she was cold and devoid of emotion, they didn’t know her like I did.


She knew what was happening downstairs. For her savouring the sweet tingle of anticipation was all important. She knew what was to follow. The outcome was already certain. I made the coffee, this just extended the tingle she felt.


"Look, I need to talk to you about something pretty serious and I need you on side for it” I started.

“This sounds serious” She replied.

“Yes it is, it might be very serious. But I think I can deal with it.” I went on to try to reassure her.

“Ok, go for it,” She said.

“I am worried about those new people in the house up the hill. The guy seems to be in the woods a lot. I have seen him out training and heard him shooting. I don’t want them to step on our toes and get in the way of anything that we do”


I looked her in the eye, she understood what I meant and she nodded. “Yeah, what do you think we should do?” I knew her mind would be spinning ahead and she would be thinking of what we could do to deal with this. She would even be thinking in terms like “mitigating the risk”.


She said “We don’t really know them, they might be of no threat to us”

I replied “I have googled them and it seems that he is an author of new found money after publishing a book, his bio from the publisher talks about him being an ex-cop and soldier, I have seen him out training he continues to look after himself.”


“What do you have in mind?” Ivy asked.

“It has to be clever, we can’t just kill them both, but one of them could disappear -Maybe leave the country.” I added.

“Let’s break them up” She said. This was the direction that I was thinking as well.

“Yeah, divide and conquer. One of them will leave and head back to wherever they came from. The house could be sold off and the problem solved”

“Ok, that works. We will sow the seeds of doubt in his head that I am fucking her. We will have to befriend them first and see how we go from there. I will watch for him leaving on his bike in the morning and then I will arrange a meeting when I am out running.


We went together down to the cellar. I went first I knew that Ivy wanted to be there. I knew she wanted to strike the blow. In the silence of familiarity we pulled on our white suits, we pulled on the masks, put our hoods up. I passed Ivy a pair of blue paper overshoes and I put on mine.


This preparation had become ritualistic. An order we always followed when we treated someone. We had treated quite a few. I didn’t count. This one was unusual because I knew his name and I knew a little about him. He was almost a person. He almost existed to me. But, he was something else. His voices and madness made him treatable.


The treatment room was bathed in the brilliant white fluorescence of strip lights. I had turned down the Morphine pump earlier to allow the patient to become more lucid.


“Where are we?” He asked.


I checked him over, his pulse was fine, slow and strong. His pupils reacted to the light as I put the head restraint across him he was calm and fully compliant. It always surprised me how often this was the case. The compliance was a resignation and an acceptance. He wanted the voices to end and soon they would.


I placed the small video camera on the tripod so that he was overlooked and we could record the treatment. This was a thing that Ivy insisted on. I would do anything to please her.


I looked across to her and she wheeled the small stainless trolley from the corner of the room. We approached the final part of the treatment now. On the trolley was the converter unit. This old, but effective unit was a Siemens konvulsator III converted mains current to four hundred and fifty volts but only two amperes. This was the ideal current for this type of therapy. He saw the electrodes as they were placed on his temples. He would have felt this on many occasions in the past and understood the pain that was to follow was to treat him. This would be his therapy and this would end the voices for him forever. This would be the beginning of the treatment course for him. The end would follow shortly.

Ivy stood behind his head and placed the electrodes on him. I could hear her breathing had speeded up and had become shallow. She was getting excited by what was about to happen. I would let her watch whilst I operated the equipment. The machine was old now, nearly fifty years old. It was a good quality piece of kit made for a job. It had taken some finding but the online auction sites came through.

The electrodes were in place. Ivy looked at me, I knew what she wanted. I set the dial to four seconds and waited. I looked at the man. He was longing for release, longing for me to flick the switch and take the pain. I would be doing him a favour. I released the volts. In my mind’s eye I could see the voltage building up in the machine straining to get not the cables, like an animal caged behind the switch. The switch that I alone held the power. I unleashed the power, hit the switch, the volts bolted down the cables as their cage was opened. They found their way to the electrode and I envisaged them crossing into the skin of the temple. The volts found their way through the skin and fat and bone and into the brain. The volts exploded into his neural recesses. They burned through the pathways normally reserved for tiny electrical impulses. The volts found their way into the rest of his body and he convulsed.

I looked at his face and watched as those volts bounced through his nerves and muscles. His lips pulled back hard and his teeth clenched as the pain receptors were flooded with four hundred and fifty volts. He could not scream, his body was clenched as his teeth were clenched.

The power went off. The volts slid away in an evaporation of electrons. His body unclenched an as it did his control on his bladder also unclenched. The urine splashed on the floor in an otherwise quiet room. Ivy made a small murmur and continued to watch Dylan. He started to regain consciousness. His hands relaxed by his sides. His whole body exhaled.

His eyes opened slowly and focussed on mine. He looked pleadingly at me. I looked again at Ivy.

Ivy nodded once again and again I unleashed the volts into patient again. He again seized solid. The silent scream stuck on his lips and escaped his clenched teeth. This time I kept the button pressed longer. The second dial was higher this time. The volts would run through his system for longer. Every second the volts were in his body the more pain that he would suffer. The more chance that the voices would be gone. The happier that Ivy would be, the more excited she would be. He strained hard against his bonds. Not consciously but with the involuntary pain of the electricity induces seizure.

I turned the power back off and again the pain subsided from him and he collapsed into himself. His breathing was ragged and shallow now. Beads of sweat erupted from his taut, bloated skin.

Ivy removed the electrodes from Dylan’s temples. She wiped the electrodes off with a surgical wipe. They were placed away correctly and neatly in the storage case. I put the Konvulsator away and picked up the tray of lobotomy tools and carried out to the treatment chair.

Tools like these were difficult to come by now days. They were no longer made since the treatment had lost its following. But when I examined them closely I could not help but love the skill of the engineering and the quality of the workmanship that had gone into the making of them. When lobotomies were first used they used simple kitchen ice-picks. These are far more than ice-picks. They are works of exquisite beauty and functionality.

The long sharp section in the base was of bright and clear stainless steel. Tapering down to a needle sharp point. No tool marks no polish marks just pure smooth silk like steel. The sharp shaft was triangular in section. This profile had been found to be the most efficient means of destroying cerebral connective tissue.

The shaft met the cylinder section, fifty millimetres in diameter. Made to be held. Perfectly knurled with the sharp diamond shaped chequering that felt so natural in the hand. This knurled section is one hundred millimeters in diameter and meets with a T shaped handle at the top of the tool in the at the very top of the tool is the pad for the hammer strike.

The next tool in the tray was a small stainless steel hammer. It only weighs two hundred and fifty grams. This has been worked out as the optimum weight to drive the probes in through the orbits. A sharp tap is enough. The bone is thin behind the eyes. The hammer was also a superbly engineered piece of machinery. Designed for a purpose, perfect in that design to sublime efficiency.

The tools are clean and prepared in a stainless dish. Ready for use. They are kept sterilised and ready for treatments. I placed them easily on the trolley beside the patient. He was quite lucid now. But firmly restrained to the chair. The resignation in his eyes was clear and obvious. There was no attempt to struggle, no resistance.

Ivy reached over his head and picked up one of the probes. Only the tops of her cheeks were visible, I could see colour in her cheeks. She was really aroused and excited by this treatment. I watched her movements as she lifted Dylan’s left eyelid. Dylan watched her. He tried to blink and moved his eye but this would not deter Ivy. She placed the point behind his eye. This was clearly uncomfortable. It would not be long until he would not feel any more pain and the treatment would be complete.

She reached for the hammer and delivered the sharp tap. She drove the probe through the orbit and into the brain. The line would be parallel to the line of the patient’s nasal bone for the correct treatment and disruption of the normal neural channels. There is so little blood for such a hugely invasive process. Several drops ran down the hollow triangle of the shaft.

I heard her make a small murmur of pleasure. She reached for the other pick and lifted his right eyelid. I see his pupils are odd. One was pinpointed and one was fully dilated.

He was still now as she tapped the other probe home. His breathing remained stable, slow and shallow. Both of the picks were now in place. Both of the shafts are firmly embedded in his brain. His frontal lobes now had steel probes running through them. The shining smooth steel was now fully enveloped in his head. The voices would never return to him now. His treatment was partly complete. The end of the process was just a few moments away now.

Ivy reached forward and in a slow languid movement she took a firm grip of the handles of the tools. Her breathing was rushed and sharp now. She was approaching the peak of the process. Slowly and with extreme care she curled her fingers around the handles. Deliberately she pulled her hands towards her and so the angle of the probes changed and reached ninety degrees to the patients for head. She rotated her wrists so the probes touched at the tips. She had swept the probes from the frontal lobes of his brain and through the cerebellum. The inward twist of the wrists whilst, only a few degrees swept the cold grey steel points through the medulla oblongata of the patient. As the points came to each other and touched Dylan’s brain was effectively disconnected from his body. No more impulses travelled to his heart.

He would have no more voices, he was cleansed and treated.

I put him in a disposal bag and took him to the shed for storage until it was dark. The pigs could smell him. They were hungry, I don’t feed them in the morning before disposal. It was a shame I didn’t have them when we dealt with the whore. But now we do they are very useful. They leave nothing. The only thing that passes through is teeth. After the pigs have done their bit I clean out their slurry pit so not even teeth will be present. They were squealing for their feed. They would have to wait for a while yet.

I came in from the yard and got washed up and cleaned. The shower was running upstairs I knew Ivy would be in it. It was only early evening but I knew what was to come. This had become part of the ritual and had even surpassed the treatment as the underlying reason for us to continue this work.

I went up to our bedroom. On the big wall mounted TV was the film that we had taken of the process of cleansing Dylan of his voices. The bed had been stripped of all bedding and a pale blue paper sheet covered it. Ivy stood, toned yet curvy, at the end of the bed. She was naked. The sex was hard and intense. She positioned herself so she could always see the screen. She was on top of me when the images on the screen reached the lobotomy. At the same time as she pulled the hands of the probes towards her on the film she reached her climax. I followed her very soon after. As her tremors subsided she reached for the remote control and turned the screen off. She only could reach her peak with one of the many videos playing.

31st March 2011

A successful day all told.

The first steps of my plan have started to take shape. I put on my dirty running kit and watched the house on the hill. The guy up there was nothing if not predictable. As I predicted he shortly came out on his bike.

I took the shortcut onto the road and waited for him at a really slow jog. As I heard him approach I started my normal running pace. He came level to me.

“Alright mate,”

“Hello, are you ok?” he said.

I feigned breathlessness and replied “Yeah, how far are you going?”

“Just a quick five miles, got to keep the lard at bay,” he replied.

“You are not in bad shape mate”

And he wasn’t in bad shape. Younger than me, a little taller than me and quite stocky. He wasn’t fat but he was carrying a few excess pounds that he could have done with shifting.

We chatted as we trained. He seemed like a reasonable sort of man. As I talked to him I realised that he was an intelligent and quite astute character. The plan would take some executing.

His weakness was clearly his wife. He spoke about her all of the time and it confirmed to me that the plan to cause them to separate and then leave was very likely to be successful.

They had moved to the country in pursuit of the good life. A different good life to the one that we had, that is for sure. They seemed to be on a similar track to us but a year behind us. This was the in.

Hey mate, how about you and your Mrs. popping down to see how we run the farm and have a look at our little set up down here?” I asked him.

“That would be ace” he replied.

“Ace” was a word I might have used when I was fourteen. This guy was in his forties but spoke like a teenager.

The rest of the run passed uneventfully and I enjoyed chatting to Pol. We had a lot in common and I could see that his friendship would come easily and I would have no problem in achieving the goal of splitting him and his wife up. He was fit and it was good to have a training partner of a decent level of fitness to work with.

They came down to the yard as I had arranged. And we showed them around the place. I checked the pig enclosure before they came down and the pigs had finished their cleaning up duties and there was no sign visible of Dylan. In a week I would get the tractor and scrape the slurry out. If there was anything left it would be scraped into the slurry pit and then rot down quite quickly in the bacteria rich soup of filth. Pols wife, Fleur was a really attractive woman, tall and quite strikingly beautiful. She had a great figure. Not really the sort of woman that I would be attracted to. But pleasant enough.

The afternoon passed and it was time to go to their house for supper. Ivy and I had formulated our plan and we set the first steps in motion. I had bought a bunch of flowers to take with us to the meal. I had discussed ti with Ivy and we thought that roses would be just inappropriate enough to be noticed but not commented on and just would plant a seed of doubt in his mind. I knew he had been a cop for a lot of years and so would be fairly astute.

We had a good night. The food was good. Not really to the standard that I might have prepared for guests. But it was simple and honest food. I found as the evening wore on Pol showed that he was crass and quite one dimensional. He told anecdotes and I laughed at the right places willing initially and was willing the hours away. However, soon I felt more comfortable and enjoyed the chat with them. I couldn’t help but think it would be a bit of a shame that we would split them up.


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