After our talk on ‘’American evil’’ yesterday, I needed to
take some time off to digest what Ariel Castro the Cleveland kidnap kingpin was
thinking when he abducted three women and kept them over ten years. This was too much for me to comprehend, so I
went to a bar, ordered a glass of JD on the rocks and tried to become Ariel for
a few minutes... not like I went out and kidnapped three women but just
imagined what would have been on his mind as he perpetrated his evil handiwork.
I closed my eyes,
sipping the JD and drifting. The alcohol slowly made its way into my veins,
taking the position of blood which is the only sure way of becoming our guy
Castro. Suddenly like a CSI flashback, boom... I was in Cleveland overlooking
the faded greyish white paint of the serial kidnapper’s domain. Walking up the
creaky five flights of wooden stairs that was a common feature in the
structural outlay of this less privileged community, I finally stopped in front
of an unusually thick door with shiny silver twist-handle. My heart began to
beat really fast, for a moment I had forgotten that this flashback was from the
kidnapper’s point of view, I exhaled and a slight mischievous smile crossed my
lips, at that moment I almost did a mad-professor laugh being the evil overlord
and all.
Inside the house, the furniture was old and had a failed
attempt at Victorian furnishing about it, the cottons were too dark and made no
effort to compliment the chairs, something just wasn’t right about the whole
setting. I looked round and realized what was wrong. If you put the interior
decorator's confused state of mind aside, this house was as clean as ‘’Clean’’
can be. I guess it’s a ‘’serial’’ status thing. In the bent minds of the serial
society, comprised of serial-killers, kidnappers and rapists, you must be
insanely-clean or their association will not give you licence.
Anyway, I was disappointed because for a guy who abducted
three extremely pretty women and kept them for ten years, I expected to see a
strip-pole in the middle of his living room, burnt out stubs of marijuana,
a couple of empty bottles of Moet and a heavily stocked-up bar at a corner. What could
this wanker have enjoyed by keeping them here for this long? Were they having a
tea party or he just didn’t have the right pick-up lines to get himself a bloody hooker every
night?
I turned to take a better look
round the house and standing right in front of me was one of Ariel’s abductees,
Gina Dejesus. Even though she looked pale, frail and unusually white, possibly
from not leaving the house much, her southern-American beauty was still very
noticeable. My eyes suddenly filled with tears just thinking of what she was
going through and unconsciously I stretched out a hand with the intention of
taking her out of this hell-hole Ariel calls a home. The young woman’s face
suddenly fills with horror and she takes a step back shaking with fear. At that
moment it came back to me... this is a flashback from Oga Ariel’s P.O.V...
Martin, Martin, Martin! I looked
round the bar and back to Keith my friend who was now sitting beside me and had
been calling my name for a bit. ‘’where the hell did you go?’’ He asked
I guess you think I’m crazy my
people... but if you would like to follow me on my Jack-Daniel journey through
the eyes of the master evil overlord ‘’Ariel Castro’’, then join me in a little
bit for the concluding part of ... ''The Unthinkable''
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