Catch Psychos: After the Carnage on Showtime

Catch Psychos: After the Carnage on Showtime

Catch Psychos: After the Carnage on Showtime

Catch Psychos: After the Carnage on Showtime

This story is a sequel to: Catch Psychos on CBS


The 11 o’clock news came on that Thursday night, just like it did every Thursday. Except this evening, people were watching it.


At least, that’s what their graphics guy kept putting on the screen. The reporters didn’t know any more that I did.

“Good evening, folks. We’re getting reports of some breaking news. Our sources tell us that Ted Kyle, the man responsible for the family massacre in Florida 3 years ago, has murdered Peter Carpenter, a prison guard, and has broken out of his cell at Redford Gorge Penitentiary, the maximum-security prison that has recently entered the spotlight as the hit reality TV show here on CBS. We’re being told this has happened on live TV. We’ll keep you up-to-date as new information comes in. Now to Henry with this week’s frosty five-day forecast brought to you by Coca-Cola,” the 11 o’clock news anchor stated to the camera.

I wondered if he knew he was an idiot of if he was simply oblivious to it. Even though us peasants were left out of the loop, I was betting that the PR and legal teams high up in the executive suites must be losing their shit – and really that shit was no one’s fault but their own. I mean, Pete definitely had to be in some sort of breach of contract as he and Ted Kyle became besties. The producers had the whole season to prevent what happened, but I guess you really can’t beat those ratings.

I don’t know if they drew straws for their next move or if the research monkey broke out of its cage and got to a computer, but the show sent out a tweet to get in front of the situation at 11:10 p.m. It read:

@PyschosRealRawDangerous: We apologize for the interruption of the final minutes of the Pyschos live season finale. #realrawdangerous #CBS #redrum

Jesus eating nachos! What was that? Of all the things to apologize for, I would have probably put the “interruption of the live season finale” a little further down the list. At that point, I knew that any real answers were not going to come any time soon. I’d just have to wait it out, and – for the sake of my faith in humanity – would have to believe that everyone else who witnessed what I did was looking for answers too and not just open-mouthed breathing themselves to sleep.

Somewhere in Virginia in someplace sort of secret, the FBI had to be involved by now. A maximum-security prison break with an extra side of bludgeoning to death. Does the FBI handle that sort of thing?

Well, I’m pretty sure they do, and I’m pretty sure it was happening right then and went something like this:

An older, white-haired agent slams his fist on the table and glares around the room.

“I’ve been an agent before (he definitely says this next part word for word) the rest of you green fucks were out of diapers and I’ve seen some shit.”

No one in the room says a word. He slams his fist again. Harder this time.

“Okay, okay,” the older, serious female agent says. She’s in some sort of director/managerial capacity, but she seems to know her shit too. “Everybody just calm down. We’re going to solve this, but we’re going to do it right,” she says.

The older white-haired agent dude just shakes his head.

“Fuck this,” he mutters under his breath.

There are two younger agents towards the back of the room. Both happen to be wearing ironic, but pretty stylish eyeglasses. One of them is taking notes and nodding – a lot. They’re not part of the conversation, but they might be told to take care of some bullshit later.

“Rookies, go pick up the dry-cleaning. We’re going to need it for this one,” the director/managerial capacity older, serious female agent says.

The rookies leave immediately and the room falls silent again. Somebody grabs a laptop and syncs it up to the projector in the room – yeah, you better believe that connection is wireless.

Some random agent draws the blinds in the fishbowl windows surrounding the room. This shit is secret.

The projector displays a 360-degree view of some sort of grid/blueprint/satellite imagery of Redford Gorge Penitentiary and the great wall of evergreens that surrounds it. The agent who pulled up the super-depictive image starts to explain 7 possible escape scenarios that Ted Kyle could choose from. Each is modeled out on the super-image, so yeah, everyone gets the idea.

“Good work, Tyrone,” director lady says. “This is good intel.”

“Good intel? You’ve got to be kidding me,” the white-haired, grumpy old dude agent says. “We’re losing time here. I should be out there tracking this son-of-a-bitch.”

“The escape-scenario models show that all 7 paths can lead to only 1 of 3 viable exits. That’s with 95% certainty. We can have teams there well before he can make it to those locations,” Tyrone says. “But, there’s a catch.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Old-dude says.

“We can’t get a chopper within 6 miles of any of the 3 exit spots. That’s to be safe. We don’t want to tip him off,” Tyrone says. “If you look at escape-scenario model 5, you’ll see that’s the path that could introduce some error if…”

“Tyrone, I’ve got some fucking intel for you.” The old-dude flips Tyrone the bird and slams a chair into the table.

“That’s enough,” director lady-agent says. “We’ve got our plan. 3 exfil teams will cover the 3 possible exit zones. Tyrone, grab what you need here and set up our eyes and ears for the mission, you’re calling the shots. Old-dude, you’re going in solo – just what you wanted. You’re going to smoke the bastard out.”

I had to believe the FBI was on it. I ran the scenario over a few times in my head and it seemed pretty realistic. I decided I’d try to forget it, get some sleep, and let the FBI do their thing.

I couldn’t sleep much. Each time I closed my eyes all I saw was red. It was like all the blood lost within those walls came together and crept through those dark, damp corridors of Redford Gorge. It would engulf everything it touched. Anything living would be desecrated and a trail of death followed in the path of this oozing, pulsating bloody figure. Then it would make a sharp left turn and rush towards the end of another dark hallway, gaining mass as it sucked more blood from the cracks in the concrete along the way until finally it would cover me and I’d be suffocating. I’d wake up sweating and gasping. Sleep that way wasn’t going to work.

I opened the medicine cabinet in my bathroom – I’m not sure why, I don’t stock it – it was empty.

I went to the liquor cabinet – should have looked there first – and grabbed the whiskey. I got my largest glass, filled it with ice, and poured myself as much whiskey as I thought it would take for me to sleep for a while.

I sat in my chair in front of my dormant television and took slow, hopefully sleep inducing sips of whiskey. Navigating each sip through my teeth as if I were doing some sort of ancient sleep ritual.

It almost seemed to be working. The longer I sat there, the quieter the world became. The darkness of my apartment soothed me until my phone buzzed and yanked me from nirvana with a blue glow.

Google alert for Psychos, it read on my notifications. I swiped the screen to open it. 3 new alerts popped up.
• “Top 10 Signs That Proved Pyschos’ Ted Was Going to Kill Pete” – Buzzfeed
• “Psycho’s Ted Kyle Halloween Costumes Sell Out Around the Nation” – The Washington Post
• “Psycho’s Personality Quiz – Which Redford Guard are You?” – People Magazine

The whiskey was useless as a sleep aid at this point. For the hell of it, I check Twitter again. The official Psychos handle had been silent since its flawless damage control move, but everyone else was blowing it up.

#realrawdangerous had 1,117,829 fucking tweets in the past 5 hours. Because I must just like to torture myself, I decided to see the most popular tweets using that hash tag.

The standouts were:
1. @lilbabyzebragirl: OMG! Talk about a cliffhanger! Can’t wait for season 2 of @Psychosrealrawdangerous #realrawdangerous
2. @123copsrule456: A real officer would have never made friends with a psycho like that #haditcoming #realrawdangerous
3. @FoodSafetyCDC: Reminder to cook your chicken fully and clean shared prep surfaces to avoid salmonella contamination #realrawdangerous

Aside from the Center for Disease control, it seemed the world was numb to the gruesome murder that was shown on live, primetime TV. I should have never deleted those fucking Jeopardy recordings for this shit.

I didn’t get any sleep that night. I tried to call in sick, but my boss said he could smell the whiskey through the phone and that I should take a cold shower and get there when I could. I hate cold showers.

When I finally arrived at the office, I was greeted by just about the exact amount of bullshit I had expected.

“Hey chief! You catch the ep last night? Epic, right!?” Dumbfuck #1 said.

“Yo man, crazy shit, huh? I kinda saw that coming a while ago,” Dumbfuck #2 claimed.

I sat at my desk with a pounding headache and 50 unread emails that I planned to keep that way. After logging into the company intranet, so the logs would record me, I stumbled to the break room to get a coffee. I should have turned back when I saw her, but I needed the caffeine.

“Oh hey, how are you?” the fox that Psychos had helped me ruin my chances with a few weeks ago, Amy said.

“Hey Amy. I’ve been better. How are you doing?”
She smiled, which caught me way off guard and I spilled the coffee I was pouring onto the counter.

“Sorry, I’m not doing so great. It’s just that, you’re the first person today who hasn’t asked me about the stupid show.”

“Yeah, same here,” I said. “Look, I know it’s early and I know I sorta screwed things up before, but do you want to get out of here?”

I figured if I could drag someone else away from work with me, it’d justify me leaving. It made sense in my head.

“Sure! I skipped breakfast this morning. I’m starving.”

We made our way to an old diner a few blocks from our building. If I’d known she liked places like this back when I was taking her out, I think my credit card debt would be paid off by now.

“Thanks for getting me out of there. I couldn’t stand it anymore,” Amy said as she scanned the laminated menu.

“Thanks for coming, I’m in no state to work today anyway.”

The diner was pretty empty aside from a few old guys reading their newspapers at the counter. An old, static box-TV hung in the corner behind the cash register and the mid-day news report was on.

“I didn’t see it, but I heard about it pretty soon after,” Amy said. “He’s a monster, you know. He’s a fucking monster.”

She started to choke on the words by the end of the sentence. Whatever she saw or heard when she was on the jury for that Florida murder still haunted her.

“I – I just don’t understand how they would go and make a TV show about him. How is that entertaining to anyone?” She said.

I knew what she meant, but I didn’t know what to say. I’m as guilty as the next Cheetos-eating fatty – I watched every one of those stupid fucking episodes.

“I think after what happened, and after they catch him, people are going to realize how fucked up it was,” I said.

And as if mid-day news anchor himself had been waiting for me to say something right, a BREAKING NEWS REPORT came on.


“Good afternoon, folks. We’re getting reports of more breaking news on the Redford Gorge Penitentiary prison break. We’ve learned from our sources the footage that captures the aftermath of the murder will be aired on Showtime this Sunday night at 8 p.m. The special premiere will run for 3 hours. We’ll bring you more coverage on Psychos as it comes in. And now, to Larry with your wacky weekend weather-cast.”

Amy had been staring at the TV the entire time. I went to hold her hand, but before I could get my arm above the table, she got up in a storm of tears and left the diner. A familiar ending, but at least this time I was only in the hole for pancakes and coffee.

When I left the diner, the electronic billboards confirmed what the “news” report had just told me. Sure enough, on Sunday at 8 p.m., Showtime would be premiering Psychos: After the Carnage.

I’m pretty sure my intention was to head back to work, but I ended up in a bar. They always leave out the disclaimer – too much hair of the dog leaves you with hairballs. After a few hours, I wasn’t feeling better – just drunk.

When I got home I was finally able to pass out. But that was short lived. I awoke to a pounding at my door. I stumbled to it – half asleep, mostly drunk.

I opened the door and Amy was standing there with eyes that looked like she’d been crying for most of the day. And there I was – drunk, drowsy, donned in boxers and high socks.

“Hi,” She said, trying to avoid eye contact. “Can I come in?”

I motioned her inside while I searched for a robe or pants or something. I didn’t find anything.

“I’m sorry about earlier – I shouldn’t have ran out like that,” she said.

“No, no. I understand. It’s okay.”

“Well, I wanted to – Well, I was hoping to. I mean, if it’s okay, I want to hang with you for the Showtime thing.”

“Yes, of course,” I said.

I obviously couldn’t say no to a girl like that. Being it was a Friday evening and all, the only question I had in my mind was, does she know it’s not on until Sunday?

“Great! I’ll go grab my bags,” She said and headed back downstairs to her car.

Bags? Well, there goes sleeping, over-eating, over-drinking, and farting for me. I tried to see how quick I could clean the place.

After a long weekend of details I won’t get into – they’re not pertinent for this shit – 8 p.m. on Sunday finally rolled around. Of course, I didn’t already have Showtime, so I had to call the cable company and shell out for that.

“Hi, Yes I’m calling to subscribe to Showtime because I’m another sick fucker who wants to watch the Psychos thing. Okay, thanks.”

That was pretty much how the call went. At least that what it felt like to me.

The show started with an endless drone-shot fly-over of the evergreens surrounding Redford Gorge. It was just a sea of green trees and gray fog and silence for about 5 minutes. Then, in big, bold, red letters: Psychos: After the Carnage oozed into the picture.

After the intro, a “previously on Psychos” montage rolled – and for another 5 minutes me and every other sick motherfucker got a look back at what got us here in the first place.

Good ole Rex and T-Bob arguing with one another over who had fucked up the most prisoners. Peter Carpenter and Ted Kyle shooting the shit. Blood. Tazers. Screaming. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Amy was visibly disturbed. I asked if I could get her anything, but she just ran to the bathroom.

The flashbacks ended and the screen faded to black and slowly lit up to show a shadowy interview shot of the original show’s producer.

“We knew we had something big here the moment Peter Carpenter arrived in that helicopter,” Jack Sperriberg said so humbly to the camera. “After the events of the live season finale, we knew we had something even bigger.”

The screen faded to black again and slowly faded into a shot of Peter Carpenter’s lifeless body attached to an empty space where a head should be lying in the shadows. His skull was shattered and scattered across the damp hallway. His blood merged with the pools of water in the corners between the walls and the floors.

The screen panned through the other cameras – everything was still, and silent.

The screen finally came back to the camera showing Pete’s body, and Ted Kyle emerged from his own cell wearing Pete’s guard uniform. He bent down to pick up the nightstick and clipped it to his belt. He grabbed the gun and loaded a clip into the chamber. He stepped over Peter Carpenter’s body and started down the long hallway. He stopped about halfway and turned around. He got back to Peter Carpenter’s body and looked up – directly at the hidden camera. He held up ten fingers.

He turned around and headed back down the hallway again. The shot stayed with that camera even after he was gone. Just a dark, empty, silent hallway. The shot stayed there for a few more seconds until – POP!

The camera switched to another hallway where Ted Kyle stood outside a prisoner’s cell holding 9 fingers up to another hidden camera. He made his way to the next cell. POP! And the next. POP! After seven more cells and seven more shots, he holstered the gun. The last cell he stood in front of belonged to Jeremy White.

If he had the manipulative social skills, who knows, Jeremy White may have been in Ted Kyle’s shoes at this very moment. He didn’t receive as much screen time as Ted Kyle did in the regular season, but he was almost as notorious for the nature of his crimes.

Jeremy White had been in prison since 1974. He was an old man now, but for those who were told about or could remember what he did saw nothing but the monster that he was.

Jeremy White was a camp counselor at a summer camp in upstate New York. The camp was his life – he was a camper growing up and became a counselor when he was finally old enough. But, a strange thing happened that same year he became a counselor – kids weren’t coming back from camp.

It took the police a while to figure out what was happening, but when they finally did, that popular summer camp shut its gates and never opened them again.

Jeremy White was interviewed by police a number of times before his arrest. He wasn’t even close to being considered a suspect at first. He’d tell them the kids must be disappearing in the woods. And technically, he wasn’t lying. That was anyone’s best guess anyways.

It wasn’t until the police brought search dogs into the woods that the truth was discovered. The dogs found a hidden entrance to a cave. In which they found human bones, knives, pots and pans, and empty bottles of barbeque sauce. After analysis, the bones did indeed belong to the missing campers. Not only that, but Jeremy White’s DNA was found all over the cave.

During his testimony, it was discovered that he was luring the campers away from the group, drugging them, and eating them alive – with a side of barbeque sauce of course. The Camp Cannibal is what the headlines called him.

And Ted Kyle knew all this very well, which made his next actions even more disturbing.

“I shot them all in the stomach. They’re probably not as tender as the kids, but they’re too hurt to put up a fight. That’s how you like them, isn’t it?” Ted Kyle said to Jeremy White through the bars.

The old man just silently nodded.

Ted Kyle grabbed the rung of keys and placed one into the hole in White’s cell. Ted Kyle smiled with his slimy, serpent grin and turned around again. The cameras switched down the halls and followed Ted Kyle as he made his way towards the guard station. Aside from Ted Kyle’s soggy footsteps, all you could here were screams coming from the hallway where he left Jeremy White and the wounded prisoners.

The camera switched to the guard station. Rex and T-Bob were sitting around the table in the guard’s room arguing over who would get the last Coca-Cola.

“You know I been workin’ harder than you. That Coke is mine, bitch,” T-Bob said lovingly.

Rex gave a roaring laugh and nearly fell out of her chair.

“You? You think you’ve been working hard? Shit, boy, I think the rats down in C been workin’ harder than you. Fuckin’ pussy,” Rex said.

“Fuck you, Rex. You think you so smart and, and that you the boss and all. I’ll tell ya, that ain’t so.”

“Oh, ain’t it now?”

“Yeah, you fucking dike, I’ll tell you what. I’m not takin’ no shit from you no more.” T-Bob stood up from his chair.

Just as he did, the guard room door slowly opened. Neither noticed – both Rex and T-Bob were too caught up in the battle for the last Coke.

Ted Kyle slithered into the room and slammed the door behind him. The two guards finally stopped arguing and turned around.

“Oh, fuck!” T-Bob yelled and lunged for his gun that he placed on the counter top a few paces away.

Rex looked at her gun. It was too far to get to. She reached into her boot and pulled out a knife and lunged at Ted Kyle.

Ted Kyle stepped aside and shot Rex in the leg. She fell to the ground and dropped the knife. He took aim at T-Bob just as he got a finger on his gun. A bullet hit him in the arm and he quickly recoiled it. Ted Kyle shot T-Bob in the stomach and he collapsed to a heap on the floor.

Ted Kyle stepped over Rex, who was struggling to claw her way across the room to her knife. He made his way to the table and grabbed the last Coca-Cola from the rations box. He popped the cap off and took a sip. He turned around and made his way to the door, stepping back over Rex, who had been making impressive progress towards her knife. When he reached the door he took one more sip of the Coke and shot Rex in the spine. He smiled at the hidden camera and raised the Coke in the air as if to cheers it. After he holstered the gun, he held up a 0 with his thumb and index finger.

No wonder why Showtime had to pick this shit up.

The camera switched to the dark hallway where Ted Kyle had left Jeremy White. The firs shot was an empty hallway. Just flickering overhead lights illuminating things that weren’t there. The next shot was Jeremy White’s empty cell. The next shot was in the hallway again, this time at a different angle. A thick stream of blood flowed from under the dark cell’s bars into the corroded drain in the middle of the hallway. The next few shots showed a similar picture. Jeremy White was having a summer camp feast. That part went on far longer that it needed to.

The last shot in the 3 hour special was Ted Kyle making his way across the clearing that separated Redford Gorge Penitentiary from the purgatory of evergreens that awaited him. His figure became blurry as the fog overtook him until he disappeared from view completely. The camera held there for a while until two final, blood-curdling screams came from what sounded like the guard station. The screen faded to black and the credits rolled. I turned off my TV.

Amy had finally emerged from the bathroom. I probably should had paused the stupid show and checked on her earlier, but fuck it. She asked what happened. I told her nothing. She came and sat down next to me and starred at the blank TV. I swear – I’m never watching reality television again.

“Jeopardy?” I asked.

“Jeopardy,” Amy nodded.