(no subject)
A little T-bag history for you, featuring young!T-bag.
Title: How To Make a Murderer
Author: miss_mandy
Pairings: None.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence and disturbing subject matter, very vaguely slashy
Author's Note: You should probably read the beginning of Slow Night, So Long (it's at prisonbreakfic.com if you haven't seen it) before reading this and possibly Visitor. Also the ending is a shout-out to Whedon and Arlee is basically Matthew Poncelet from Dead Man Walking.
When Teddy was three years old his father broke his arm. He couldn’t remember what the reason was, but he did remember the sharp pain that had run up his tiny little limb as his father almost wrenched it out of the socket. The rest was just a few bits and pieces. His momma cried and shrieked. The hospital smelled like dead people. The nurse wore a pretty gold necklace.
When Teddy was six his father took him to a Klan meeting. He had been scared of all the white specters moving around like ghosts, shouting and hollering, illuminated by the flames of a burning cross. One of the men bent down to talk to him, his dark eyes staring out from the round holes cut in the mask and Teddy hid behind his father. The man laughed and took off his hood and Teddy saw that it was simply Mr. Wilson from down the street. His father smacked him on the ass and told him to quit being such a scared little shit and shake the man’s hand. Teddy did as he was told and Mr. Wilson patted him on the head and told him what a good boy he was. Teddy liked to hear that he was a good boy.
When Teddy was eight he had his first kiss. He loved Sherri and the best part was, she loved him back. They used to go to church together, Teddy loved going to church back then. The pastor always said what a fine young man he was and Sherri would sit close to him, sharing her hymn book. He liked to hear the choir sing. They’d draw pictures of the bible stories in Sunday school and Ms. Hanson always smelled pretty. His father never went to church anymore. His momma never even got out of bed.
When Teddy was nine his father killed his mother. His father had always been a mean drunk and this time he went too far. While Teddy slept in the room beside his parent’s, his father beat his mother’s head in with a wrench. She was always trouble at night, she never wanted to go to sleep and his father had finally had enough. Teddy could still hear the wailing long after she had been dead, could still hear the sickening thwack of the wrench being brought down on her skull over and over. And he feared he would never get the sound of his father having sex with her body out of his head. He went to live with his grandma after that.
When Teddy was ten he tried to burn down Mrs. Reynolds’ house. His grandma never even knew that he had left their home. She was blind and deaf in one ear and she hardly even noticed he was there half the time. Teddy liked living with her. When the sheriff asked why he had tried to burn down the house Teddy simply said “She was a bitch.” It was true. Mrs. Reynolds’ had belittled him in front of the class for not doing a very good job on his project. Teddy thought it was the best damn project he had ever done, but when he tried to protest she gave him a detention. She deserved it. He got thrown into juvenile hall for that one.
When Theodore was ten he spent six months in Plainfield Juvenile Detention Center for arson. He was terrified when he got there. He was short and skinny and he knew he looked like easy pickings to the other kids. On his second day one of them tried to mess with him, a black kid who was a good six inches taller, with fists the size of hams. Little Teddy didn’t stand a chance. It was Caleb who saved him. It was Caleb who told that rughead to beat it or he was gonna snap him in two. It was Caleb who showed Theodore to the Alliance for Purity. Caleb was three years older than him and seemed wise beyond his years. He was a racist, just like Theodore’s father, but Caleb treated him better than his daddy ever did. He made Theodore a part of the group. He accepted him.
When Theodore was fourteen he killed Sherri Anderson. Nobody ever found out that it was him.
When Theodore was sixteen he almost killed again. He had been teased all through out high school. The girls made fun of his acne covered face, the boys made fun of his scrawny body and everyone made fun of him about his mother. They didn’t even care that she was dead. One day the older boys decided to play a prank on Theodore. They followed him after school and forced him into the woods. They threw stuff at him and made him strip, laughing at his pale, naked body, at his bony arms and chicken legs. They slapped at him a couple of times, leaving red welts across his skin. Then one of the boys, Jimmy, began unzipping his pants. “I’m gonna make you suck my dick, you fucking freak,” he had said. Jimmy’s friends were all staring at him in disbelief. They told him to stop, told him that they had had their fun, that it was enough, but he didn’t listen. So they left. They just left Theodore there, naked and alone with this guy pointing his dick at him. He remembered that Jimmy made him touch it, that he had told him he was a fucking faggot and that he liked it and that he bet little Teddy’s retard mom would be so proud of him. He had laughed and then he spat on Theodore before leaving, all the while muttering about what a fucking queer he was. The next day Theodore attacked him with a hunting knife. He ended up stabbing him in the side and Jimmy almost died. Almost. Next time he would have to do better. He ended up back at Plainfield for that. The boys gave him a warm welcome.
When Theodore was twenty-two he strangled one of his friends. He had been working as a dishwasher at a rat hole of a restaurant and had become friends with Arlee, one of the cooks. Arlee was a white supremacist, just like him. He had a huge swastika tattooed on his arm and went to Klan meetings all the time. Theodore looked up to him and although he would never admit it, almost had a crush on him. Arlee was everything he ever wanted to be. He was cool with his James Dean-like hair slicked back in a pompadour, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve, swaggering around like he owned the place. Theodore would have given anything to be just like him. So when he found Arlee getting a blowjob from another man in the alley behind the restaurant one night he was shocked. He had been so angry at Arlee, so disgusted. How could this guy act so tough and then turn out to be a queer? But what disgusted him even more was how he wished it had been him that Arlee had chosen. He was more jealous of the other guy than he was mad at Arlee for being gay. No, that wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. He wasn’t a fag. He was the type of guy who killed guys like that. And he was going to prove it. He waited until the other man had left and as Arlee came back inside Theodore pounced on him. His skinny little arms were a lot bigger than they used to be after spending so much time at Plainfield. Theodore threw his arms around Arlee’s neck and started choking him. That son of a bitch was going to pay for rejecting him. He was going to kill him. And he almost succeeded too. If it hadn’t been for that stupid Mexican dishwasher, Perez. Perez had walked into the alley with some bags of garbage, saw what was happening and clocked Theodore over the head. Theodore was tried and convicted of attempted murder. He went to jail for awhile for that one.
When T-bag was thirty-six he was tried and convicted for the kidnapping, rape and murder of two boys and four girls in the state of Alabama. William, Carol-Anne, Beth, George, Katy and Lily. He hadn’t known their names at the time, but he knew them well enough now. He was sentenced to life in prison. He was also tried and convicted for the attempted murder of Alexandra Willis. He received another twenty-five years on top of his life sentence. The American justice system, go figure. That bitch was the cause of all his problems. She was the reason he would never see beyond the walls of the penitentiary ever again. He hated her like nothing else.
Six crimes. There were still seven unaccounted for. And that wasn’t including Sherri. Four boys and three girls. He only knew two of their names. He had bragged about five of them to the Alliance, but there was one he never spoke about. And he supposed he never would. Miranda was his dirty little secret.
There were more details I wanted to add in, like giving him a head injury because tons of serial killers have suffered head injuries and also about him killing animals, but I think I covered the latter in Slow Night, So Long.
Title: How To Make a Murderer
Author: miss_mandy
Pairings: None.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence and disturbing subject matter, very vaguely slashy
Author's Note: You should probably read the beginning of Slow Night, So Long (it's at prisonbreakfic.com if you haven't seen it) before reading this and possibly Visitor. Also the ending is a shout-out to Whedon and Arlee is basically Matthew Poncelet from Dead Man Walking.
When Teddy was three years old his father broke his arm. He couldn’t remember what the reason was, but he did remember the sharp pain that had run up his tiny little limb as his father almost wrenched it out of the socket. The rest was just a few bits and pieces. His momma cried and shrieked. The hospital smelled like dead people. The nurse wore a pretty gold necklace.
When Teddy was six his father took him to a Klan meeting. He had been scared of all the white specters moving around like ghosts, shouting and hollering, illuminated by the flames of a burning cross. One of the men bent down to talk to him, his dark eyes staring out from the round holes cut in the mask and Teddy hid behind his father. The man laughed and took off his hood and Teddy saw that it was simply Mr. Wilson from down the street. His father smacked him on the ass and told him to quit being such a scared little shit and shake the man’s hand. Teddy did as he was told and Mr. Wilson patted him on the head and told him what a good boy he was. Teddy liked to hear that he was a good boy.
When Teddy was eight he had his first kiss. He loved Sherri and the best part was, she loved him back. They used to go to church together, Teddy loved going to church back then. The pastor always said what a fine young man he was and Sherri would sit close to him, sharing her hymn book. He liked to hear the choir sing. They’d draw pictures of the bible stories in Sunday school and Ms. Hanson always smelled pretty. His father never went to church anymore. His momma never even got out of bed.
When Teddy was nine his father killed his mother. His father had always been a mean drunk and this time he went too far. While Teddy slept in the room beside his parent’s, his father beat his mother’s head in with a wrench. She was always trouble at night, she never wanted to go to sleep and his father had finally had enough. Teddy could still hear the wailing long after she had been dead, could still hear the sickening thwack of the wrench being brought down on her skull over and over. And he feared he would never get the sound of his father having sex with her body out of his head. He went to live with his grandma after that.
When Teddy was ten he tried to burn down Mrs. Reynolds’ house. His grandma never even knew that he had left their home. She was blind and deaf in one ear and she hardly even noticed he was there half the time. Teddy liked living with her. When the sheriff asked why he had tried to burn down the house Teddy simply said “She was a bitch.” It was true. Mrs. Reynolds’ had belittled him in front of the class for not doing a very good job on his project. Teddy thought it was the best damn project he had ever done, but when he tried to protest she gave him a detention. She deserved it. He got thrown into juvenile hall for that one.
When Theodore was ten he spent six months in Plainfield Juvenile Detention Center for arson. He was terrified when he got there. He was short and skinny and he knew he looked like easy pickings to the other kids. On his second day one of them tried to mess with him, a black kid who was a good six inches taller, with fists the size of hams. Little Teddy didn’t stand a chance. It was Caleb who saved him. It was Caleb who told that rughead to beat it or he was gonna snap him in two. It was Caleb who showed Theodore to the Alliance for Purity. Caleb was three years older than him and seemed wise beyond his years. He was a racist, just like Theodore’s father, but Caleb treated him better than his daddy ever did. He made Theodore a part of the group. He accepted him.
When Theodore was fourteen he killed Sherri Anderson. Nobody ever found out that it was him.
When Theodore was sixteen he almost killed again. He had been teased all through out high school. The girls made fun of his acne covered face, the boys made fun of his scrawny body and everyone made fun of him about his mother. They didn’t even care that she was dead. One day the older boys decided to play a prank on Theodore. They followed him after school and forced him into the woods. They threw stuff at him and made him strip, laughing at his pale, naked body, at his bony arms and chicken legs. They slapped at him a couple of times, leaving red welts across his skin. Then one of the boys, Jimmy, began unzipping his pants. “I’m gonna make you suck my dick, you fucking freak,” he had said. Jimmy’s friends were all staring at him in disbelief. They told him to stop, told him that they had had their fun, that it was enough, but he didn’t listen. So they left. They just left Theodore there, naked and alone with this guy pointing his dick at him. He remembered that Jimmy made him touch it, that he had told him he was a fucking faggot and that he liked it and that he bet little Teddy’s retard mom would be so proud of him. He had laughed and then he spat on Theodore before leaving, all the while muttering about what a fucking queer he was. The next day Theodore attacked him with a hunting knife. He ended up stabbing him in the side and Jimmy almost died. Almost. Next time he would have to do better. He ended up back at Plainfield for that. The boys gave him a warm welcome.
When Theodore was twenty-two he strangled one of his friends. He had been working as a dishwasher at a rat hole of a restaurant and had become friends with Arlee, one of the cooks. Arlee was a white supremacist, just like him. He had a huge swastika tattooed on his arm and went to Klan meetings all the time. Theodore looked up to him and although he would never admit it, almost had a crush on him. Arlee was everything he ever wanted to be. He was cool with his James Dean-like hair slicked back in a pompadour, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve, swaggering around like he owned the place. Theodore would have given anything to be just like him. So when he found Arlee getting a blowjob from another man in the alley behind the restaurant one night he was shocked. He had been so angry at Arlee, so disgusted. How could this guy act so tough and then turn out to be a queer? But what disgusted him even more was how he wished it had been him that Arlee had chosen. He was more jealous of the other guy than he was mad at Arlee for being gay. No, that wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. He wasn’t a fag. He was the type of guy who killed guys like that. And he was going to prove it. He waited until the other man had left and as Arlee came back inside Theodore pounced on him. His skinny little arms were a lot bigger than they used to be after spending so much time at Plainfield. Theodore threw his arms around Arlee’s neck and started choking him. That son of a bitch was going to pay for rejecting him. He was going to kill him. And he almost succeeded too. If it hadn’t been for that stupid Mexican dishwasher, Perez. Perez had walked into the alley with some bags of garbage, saw what was happening and clocked Theodore over the head. Theodore was tried and convicted of attempted murder. He went to jail for awhile for that one.
When T-bag was thirty-six he was tried and convicted for the kidnapping, rape and murder of two boys and four girls in the state of Alabama. William, Carol-Anne, Beth, George, Katy and Lily. He hadn’t known their names at the time, but he knew them well enough now. He was sentenced to life in prison. He was also tried and convicted for the attempted murder of Alexandra Willis. He received another twenty-five years on top of his life sentence. The American justice system, go figure. That bitch was the cause of all his problems. She was the reason he would never see beyond the walls of the penitentiary ever again. He hated her like nothing else.
Six crimes. There were still seven unaccounted for. And that wasn’t including Sherri. Four boys and three girls. He only knew two of their names. He had bragged about five of them to the Alliance, but there was one he never spoke about. And he supposed he never would. Miranda was his dirty little secret.
There were more details I wanted to add in, like giving him a head injury because tons of serial killers have suffered head injuries and also about him killing animals, but I think I covered the latter in Slow Night, So Long.