Catch Psychos on CBS

Catch Psychos on CBS

Catch Psychos on CBS

Catch Psychos on CBS

8 o’clock rolled around this Thursday night, just as it did every Thursday. Self-obsessed, materialistic fatties switched on the televisions with their greasy fingers and sunk into their dirty Cheetos-stained thrones all across America. Some watched the news, some watched sports, but most were tuned to the new reality television craze that swept the nation. These people loved their reality. Their lives were too boring, too mundane. They drooled over the strife of their fellow man. They rooted for drama, for confrontation, so the producers had to give them what they wanted. More. More sex. More violence. More VIOLENCE. It’s what got the ratings.

The popular reality show’s two-hour season finale was airing, and it was supposed to “revolutionize reality television as we know it,” according to USA Today at least. The show was new this year and the audience loved it. It was their own little sadistic fish bowl that they didn’t have to clean or feed. The people on the show were no longer people, but characters with no real purpose outside of the 8 o’clock timeslot on CBS.

It wasn’t a few strangers living together in a house and it wasn’t a few castaways competing for a cash prize. No, this show was whole new kind of crazy.

Simply titled Psychos, it followed the daily lives of ten maximum-security prisoners and the three guards who ran the prison. The thing that made the show such a hit was the fact that the prisoners and guards didn’t know they were being filmed. The producers fooled the audience with an artificial “authenticity.” Their tagline said it all: Real, Raw, Dangerous!

It wasn’t a revolutionary concept, not at all. There was a movie about it in ’98. Look it up – it’s true, man. The security cameras in the prison were the all-seeing eyes and captured everything. Now, a responsible viewer would realize that the footage had been edited to the producer’s liking, but those viewers were not the target demographic. However, the second hour of the season finale was going to be broadcasted live this evening. Talk about ratings! If you’d watched it since the beginning, you were kind of invested by the finale. I mean, come on. If you hadn’t, I’ll try to fill you in.

The first episode began with a helicopter ride into the Redford Gorge Penitentiary grounds. On the helicopter was a rookie guard named Peter Carpenter. He was a tree of a man, 6’5”, with arms that seemed like they would scrape the floor as he walked. He said nothing the entire ride in, and the camera just panned back and forth between the sea of evergreens that amassed on the jagged mountainsides and Pete’s soft-featured face. His blonde hair was thin and fell just above his eyebrows. His eyes were a deep, deep emerald green. Those were the only two distinguishing things about him though. The rest of his face was smooth and soft. No chiseled jaw, no facial hair, no big nose, nothing. He had an orphan child vibe about him, innocent with an underlying sadness that could be seen from space. Pete’s quiet, innocence made for an eerie scene as the helicopter approached the prison’s landing pad.

Redford Gorge Penitentiary was not your average prison. It was built in the late 50s to house the real psychos. The people the other prisons just couldn’t handle. It was a success at first. At its prime it held seventy-five of America’s most sick sons-of-bitches, and for the most part, it stayed out of the public eye. But, as the economy went down the toilet, Redford needed more revenue, so the warden cut a deal with CBS. Roll title sequence:
Psychos:
Real.
Raw.
Dangerous!

Situated in the center of a flat clearing in the middle of a low-lying valley, it was surrounded on all four sides by dense forest and impassable mountains. The nearest road was eight miles south winding down from an abandoned coal mine. Entrance in and out was limited to Military-grade helicopters.

When the helicopters came, a deafening whirlwind-rush echoed through the damp corridors and lonely cells. That sound meant that there was a new prisoner, a new guard, or more rations from the sponsor, Coca-Cola. But, that sound did not come often. Some referred to it as a land-locked Alcatraz. Escape was unimaginable. Most of the time, the valley was engulfed in a murky, chilling fog and visibility was no more than twenty feet on the clearest days.

Pete’s helicopter began its decent into the prison clearing. The tornado of propellers created a hole in the gray fog as the chopper came closer and closer to the helipad. Two figures, one with a hand holding a camouflaged ball-cap securely to his head and the other walking with long, broad, exaggerated strides emerged from the guard station and approached Pete’s chopper.

“Well I’ll be damned if you don’t look fresher than buck in August. Welcome to hell. Put ‘err there.” He outstretched a hand and helped Pete down from the chopper. “Name’s T-Bob McDaniel.”

“Peter Carpenter,” Pete said, and the two shook hands. Those were his only words the entire season premier.

“You pussies gonna help with the crates or what?” Linda “Rex” Lamont said as she hoisted two wooden rations crates with a bold Coca-Cola logo printed on the side off of the chopper.

“F****** dike. She thinks she runs this place. She dead wrong,” said T-Bob. He packed his lip full of Copenhagen long-cut and spit.

T-Bob was born and raised in Missouri. He was a man of short stature, but had a huge head. He grew up hunting and hating. He was the definition of a bigot, and the only reason he tolerated Rex was the fact that she could beat his ass. “F****** steers and queers, man” seemed to be his catch phrase if he didn’t approve of something. When it was his turn to patrol the halls, he liked to practice with his tazer. He’d walk with one hand snapping his can of dip and the other twirling his tazer gun, the falls of each step slapping upon the wet concrete. If a prisoner was close enough, he’d “ZAP the dirty S-O-B!” The audience loved the tssssszzzzzap of the gun followed by the blood-curdling scream that oozed off the damp walls. Then silence for a moment, followed by a deep T-Bob laugh that went something like, “a-huh, a-HUH, a-huh-huh, HAH.” He and his laughter would recede down the hall and all that was left was the drip of condensation off the ceiling or the occasional whimper of the electrocuted prisoner. Television gold.

Rex hoisted two more giant Coca-Cola crates of the helicopter and jammed them into T-Bob’s arms. He grimaced and slumped under the weight, which had completed unfazed Rex when she lifted them in the first place.

Rex was a big woman. And the only reason the audience knows she’s a woman is because she says so. She was the definition of butch with biceps like barrels, a neck that snarled “I dare you to fuck with me”, and feet that belonged in the NBA. An extra chromosome was present there for sure. No, that was not just a little dirt on her upper lip. I swear she could grow a better ‘stache than me. She could crush any man on those prison grounds, probably with just two fingers. Her hall patrols were always accompanied by yelling and screaming. Lots of yelling and screaming. If you were lost somewhere out in those evergreens, you’d at least find your way to the prison grounds when Rex was patrolling. “You mother f****** son-of-a-bitch! YOU’VE GOT TILL THE COUNT OF THREE BEFORE I START SMASHING YOUR F****** FINGERS!” There were multiple incidents where this and similar phrases were used. If a prisoner’s bed was unkempt, Rex would scream. If a prisoner was touching the bars, Rex would scream. If a prisoner so much as wiped their ass the wrong way, Rex would scream. But when she carried out her threats, oh man, the ratings!

The footage of the entire show was almost completely black and white. The entire prison was illuminated by these dull white lights. They flickered in and out as the ever-present dampness shorted their old circuits. The dull, lifeless lights washed out nearly all the colors. The only color that stood out was red – a dark, oxygen-filled, hemorrhaging red that marked all the cells with a big number. And the red of a prisoner’s face after Rex used her nightstick. Or the red that dripped from the nose of Ted Kyle every time T-Bob decided to taze him, which wasn’t very often.

Ted Kyle was new to Redford. Three trials and seven transfers later though, he finally ended up there. Three years earlier Ted Kyle was accused of massacring a family of four in a quiet Florida suburb. The story was all over the media and the trials were covered to the nth degree. Everyone knew about him.

Ted Kyle was an average man. And that’s not to avoid an honest description of him, honestly. Looking at him he seemed like Joe Smith next door, the most normal looking guy you can imagine. The murders he was found guilty of were gruesome though, anything but average.

On January 15th at 4:05 p.m. after several unanswered phone calls, a neighbor headed over to the Joneses home. The front door was left slightly open, inhaling and exhaling little breaths as a slight breeze crept through the streets. Moments after entering, the curious neighbor’s scream reverberated like a fire alarm, drawing out all the neighbors into the cul-de-sac. She calmed down enough to pant out a vague picture of the scene and the police arrived at 4:45 that evening.

The prosecutor painted the picture quite colorfully for the courtroom, “Ted Kyle entered the home at 11:45 p.m. on January 14th. He made his way through the house, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom where Mr. and Mrs. Joneses were sound asleep. Ted Kyle leaned over their bed and stabbed each of them in the stomach five times. He then dragged the two by the collars of their nightwear, creating a trail of blood down the stairs and into the family room. He tossed the two to the ground, stomped in Mr. Joneses’ chest cavity and tied Mrs. Joneses to a chair. At this time, the two children entered the room and began to scream when they saw their bloody parents. Ted Kyle grabbed the children and tied them to chairs beside their mother. He then found a chair for himself to sit down and eat leftover meatloaf and drink a glass of milk from the Joneses’ fridge. After 30 minutes, Ted Kyle stood up on his chair and used it as a stool as he hung Mr. Joneses from the ceiling fan, which slowed under the weight of the corpse. Ted Kyle made the children and Mrs. Joneses watch as he made a single incision into Mr. Joneses’ neck, creating a waterfall of blood that began to pool at their feet. The children then watched as Ted Kyle mutilated their mother. He began by severing her femoral artery. He proceeded to slice her nightgown, and then he made a single incision from Mrs. Joneses’ vagina up to her neck, spilling her insides out onto the family room floor. He then took a knife to the children’s’ throats, and left through the front door at 3:55 a.m.”

A sexy female co-worker of mine was on the jury. It took three months and a month’s paycheck worth of dinner dates to finally get her to spill. She hated talking about it. She was in shock with the amount of blood. The crime scene photos seemed to be printed in red ink. Blood on the floor. Blood on the rope. On the fan. On the knife. The necks. The torn nightgown. There was so much blood. She said she was almost more disgusted by the fact that Ted Kyle did absolutely nothing to hide any evidence pointing to him. He didn’t wear gloves. He took his time. He even took a half an hour to eat a fucking meatloaf. It was as if the whole thing was a hobby to him, like he was gluing together the pieces of a model airplane. The date didn’t end well. I apologized for prying.

Before Psychos premiered, the promoters made sure to mention that Ted Kyle was a prisoner at Redford. The commercials pretty much rehashed what the court proceedings and newspapers articles had already described three years ago, but with more flash and in your face EXCITEMENT. “TED KYLE, REDFORD’S MOST DANGEROUS KILLER. (CUE SADISTIC LAUGHTER)…” If only he ate people with a side of fava beans.

The new guard, Pete Carpenter, seemed to be the only sane person on the show. It provided an interesting contrast between the sadistic fucks he worked with. Pete kept to himself for a while. Conversations with Rex or T-Bob were limited to procedural talk about working the rounds. Viewers would often take the opportunity to grab a mid-program snack or take a piss when Pete came on screen. It was depressingly boring to watch this sad, giant dude slumping around the damp prison halls in silence. He didn’t harass the prisoners and he didn’t have anything interesting to say. His hall patrols were quiet. The flicker and twitch of the dull white lights and the

drip,

drip,

drip of the condensation from the ceiling was all that accompanied his rounds. The prisoners provided some audio – there was the wild-haired rapist missing his front teeth who would often snarl and growl. And the savant serial killer who would pace his cell, reciting his victims and the circumstances in which he had slain them verbatim. Or the 80-pound skeleton-man, who had affiliated with a terrorist group and blew up a crowded bus station, that would rock back and forth in the corner of his dark cell muttering “Your day will come, your day will come, your day will come” under his breath. Then, of course, there was Ted Kyle.

“Hey, kid” Ted Kyle called to Pete on one of his patrols.

“Yes, prisoner?” Pete said. His tone was soft, just like his facial features.

“There seems to be a problem with my water pressure, would you take a look at it for me?”

“Stand at the back of your cell. Hands behind your head, please.”

Pete took all the precautions. Rex and T-Bob filled him in about all the prisoners. Regarding Ted Kyle, they just told Pete to avoid him. With a hand at the ready to draw his gun, Pete unlocked the cell door and approached the sink. He turned the handle. The water flowed just fine. Ted Kyle watched with a slimy grin. Pete turned the sink on and off four times to be sure.

“Seems fine to me. I don’t see a problem.”

“You’re right. I was bored. Only so much stimulations in here.” Ted Kyle said through his slimy grin -personifying an actual-fucking-snake as the word “stimulations” slithered off his tongue.

Pete kept his eyes on Ted Kyle as he backed out of the cell and locked it behind him.

“What’s your name?” he continued, incapable of removing the unsettling grin from his face.

“Pete.”

“Well, I’m sorry for stepping out of line. It was wrong. Tell me, Peter, what’s your story?” Ted Kyle asked as Pete prepared to turn and continue his patrol.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, prisoner.”

“Please, call me Ted.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s appropriate, Ted.”

“Very well,” said Ted Kyle, “You just seem like an intellectual, like me. It’s a nice relief from the others. I have no one to talk to in here. If, and of course I understand if not, but if you deem it appropriate to converse with me, it’d certainly be my pleasure.”

“Thank you, Ted, but I really don’t think we should talk too much.”

“I understand, I do. It’s just that I’m completely innocent, you know. Just a simple man from Fort Dodge, Iowa. I would never hurt a fly, and the fact that I’m in here for four murders I would never commit, it sickens me!”

“Fort Dodge? I was born just up the road a ways in Plover.” Pete said. His eyes glued to Ted Kyle once again.

“Plover! I’m no stranger to that town. Wow, Peter, it truly is a smaller world than you think.”

The two went on and on about places they’ve both been. River runs, watering holes, all the places where kids pass their summer days.

As the season went on, Pete spent more and more time speaking with Ted Kyle and the two grew close. It was the only friend he had, as there were no personal phone calls allowed, and definitely no visitors – for both prisoners and guards. They talked about everything. Favorite baseball teams, politics, everything that was okay to talk about with a stranger at least. And while it was perplexing to witness such trivial conversation between such an odd pair, it’s not what most viewers tuned in for. The producers knew this.

Small talk through a set of cold vertical bars is not that interesting – no matter how you spin it. “TED KYLE, DEMENTED MURDERER, CHATS WITH A PRETTY DECENT GUARD!” Just doesn’t have that Psychos edge to it. The viewers liked to see fists bludgeon another human being into a bloody pulp of purple-green bruises and teeth. They liked to see a knee make contact with a nose, and hear that lighting crack as the business end of that knee sent its victim to crumble to the concrete, eyes rolling back and blood trickling out both nostrils. They loved when T-Bob or Rex interpreted a prisoner’s simple question as a threat and tazed them until they twitched on the ground as if they were in epileptic shock. Then they would force them to their feet, only to send them back down with a hearty blow from the nightstick.

However, amidst all the blood and between the scenes of bludgeoning, an intelligent organism with the slightest hint of a pulse could recognize something interesting happening. No matter what was happening around the prison yard, camera 5, 7, and 8 always seemed to show the same scene. Pete would pull up a metal stool right up to the bars of Ted Kyle’s cell, and Ted Kyle would either sit on his bed or stand, perfectly still with hands clasped behind his back as he and Pete would speak. Months passed and the two became visibly closer. Pete could be found with a snack sitting in a relaxed posture as he spoke to his friend behind the bars. Light-hearted laughter broke the monotony of small talk, and slowly the two built a friendship. Though, it wasn’t until about halfway through the season that things got personal.

“Why did the other guards warn me to stay away from you?” Pete asked Ted Kyle.

Ted laughed, for a little too long, and it echoed through the dark, damp hallway, its volume wavering in and out almost in sync with the flickering lights.

“The other guards? The other guards are idiots, Peter, unlike you and me. The other guards are born of brothers and sisters and don’t know a literary work from a roll of toilet paper. The other guards are exactly the same as the jury that found me guilty. And the judge who slammed his almighty gavel, unrightfully sealing my fate. They, Peter, are all idiots. While you and I are left here to suffer breathing in and breathing out the same air these very idiots tarnish with their snot and sweat and shit and lies. I am an innocent man. I had never seen that poor family before they showed me those pictures. I have never even been to Florida! I’m here because those idiots, those f****** rats, the sewer scum that have taken human form, that can’t see the truth, they put me here. I’m sorry.” Ted Kyle paused. “You must understand how frustrating my situation is. Don’t you? I’m sorry. Enough about me, that’s all said and done. My fate is sealed. Peter, I want to know your real story. I think we know each other well enough now to move on from baseball and pork sandwiches.”

Pete gave a friendly laugh and shook his head.

“Please. I’m truly curious.” Ted Kyle pressured.

“It’s really nothing special. Before this I worked at a few other prisons, low security jobs, they were nothing like Redford. Before that I played football. I was a defensive lineman all through high school, but in my fourth year at Northwestern, I blew out my knee. NFL scouts stopped coming around. Physical therapy wasn’t helping. So that was that.” Pete said and averted his eyes to his soggy boots.

Ted Kyle dug deeper. “So that was that? No, that’s not it. What about love? Surely a man like you has known love.”

“Well, I was engaged. Before I took this job, actually. I met her after my injury. Katie. We drifted apart though. And she left me.” Pete said, his eyes still fixed down.

“Oh, come on, Peter. You trust me, don’t you? What was she like?”

A smile appeared on Pete’s face and his mind seemed to leave Redford altogether. “She was beautiful. She knew just what to say to make me smile and make me forget all about my football dreams – forget about everything for that matter.”

“You had something special.”

“For a while, yeah. It was special. I..” Pete paused.

“You can talk to me, Peter.”

“I guess, looking back, I should have known she was too good for me. In the end, I don’t know if it was me she loved, or… Or if it was just her feeling good about being with someone like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were complete opposites. In almost every way. And I know they tell you opposites attract – but I mean, I just don’t think she could possibly have ever loved me the way I loved her. She walks in a room and it lights up, people are drawn to her. I walk in a room – I usually search for the quietest corner. She had her dream job, she traveled the world, she loved her life. Me, I ended up a bum-knee could-have-been who just… No, I’m making it sound worse than it seems. I should have known it was too good to be true. But, hey, I did love her, and that counts for something.”

“Now, Peter. Let’s be real with each other. How was the sex? I’m at a loss for stimulations in here, if you know what I mean,” Ted Kyle said through his awful grin. I didn’t know the word “stimulations” could sound so sinister.

Pete’s mind came rushing back to Redford and the sadness returned to his face. The audience was enthralled. It was at that moment – uncomfortable like a loud fart at a funeral – that you realized, oh yeah, Ted Kyle really is a twisted fuck.

“I’m sorry. I’m joking with you Peter. It sounds like you had something beautiful, I’m sorry you lost it,” he said.
“You know, I was married once.”

“Were you? You’ve never mentioned that.” Pete was too polite to end the conversation after Ted Kyle’s unwelcomed “joke.”

“Oh yes. We were madly in love. We saw the world together. We LIVED, Peter, we really lived. Until, of course, she died,” Ted Kyle said with his eyes fixed to Pete the whole time. His emotion and tone didn’t match the words.

“Jesus, Ted, I’m sorry. How’d she pass?”

“I’d rather not. It would kill me to rehash it. You understand. Let’s talk about you some more.”

His relationship with Ted Kyle seemed like therapy for Pete, he wasn’t the kind of guy that people often listened to. And the dichotomy it gave the show was magnetic. Viewership grew exponentially each week. Shit, even I was tuning into every episode. I even recorded the damn things when I wasn’t home – had to cancel my Thursday Jeopardy recordings to free up the space.

The violence was still rampant- even escalated. Between scenes of Ted Kyle and Pete, they would show scenes of electrocuted prisoners stiff and twitching on the wet concrete. Most episodes included montages of fists on flesh, prisoner vs. prisoner, guard beating prisoner. Sometimes slowed down to capture the specks of blood, strings of spit, and chipped teeth flung to the floor. Those pieces and parts of people added to the mass of Redford Gorge. The blood and spit and teeth soaked into the ever-clenching hold of the porous concrete. And the red, the red numbers flickered above the cells in the chilling light. The red blood oozed from knuckles and mouths and noses as the nightsticks or tazers were unleashed. There was a visible love affair both Rex and T-Bob had with VIOLENCE. Pete never got violent. He was, as Ted Kyle had observed, an intellectual, peaceful man. Ultimately, the show was fucked up. No denying that.

The season finale of Psychos began like any other. Rex and T-Bob cursing at one another around the table in the guard station, “F*** you, dike!” and “You shut your mouth before I cut off that baby d*** of yours, shove it up your ass and fill your f****** mouth with s***!” All of this between sips of ice-cold Coca-Cola, of course. There was an above-average dose of violence. The producers shelled out and edited in all the violence they could for the first hour of the finale. At one point, T-Bob and Rex walked a hall patrol together… T-Bob and Rex were creatures of habit. It almost seemed like a competition between them. Whoever draws the most blood gets all the Coke! GO!

And then the final hour was upon us. One hour of live, uncut, unedited footage. Surely, CBS and the producers had to pull some strings with the FCC. For the next hour the scenes involving T-Bob and Rex were — colorful. Scarface may have been more appropriate to air on prime-time national television.

About halfway through the live hour, Pete Carpenter was on a hall patrol. As usual, he stopped at his friend Ted Kyle’s cell. And as usual the two conversed. Rex and T-Bob were sleeping, or shitting, they ignored Pete for the most part after he became friends with Ted Kyle. I couldn’t blame them – if you can sit and talk with a guy like that, well – I’m just saying I probably wouldn’t pal around with Pete either.

But, the conversations were cordial enough for the most part. At first, things were no different – they talked about Iowa, sports, food – then things got weird again.

“So what’s next, Peter? You said you’re done here in a month or so, right?” Ted Kyle said, his face pressed against the cold bars that separated the two friends.

“I think I’m going to get her back, Ted. I mean, I love her. I’ve been a mess without her. I can’t seem to shake it.”

“I think you should. Without love, what are we? We’re animals. We’re vicious animals without love.”

“I agree. I haven’t been myself. I’d do anything to get her back. I’ve been writing her since I’ve been here. I’m not the best writer, but my heart is in those letters. Still haven’t heard back though,” Pete said.

“She’ll come around, Peter. A guy like you, she’s bound to come around. It kills me that you’re suffering over it. It kills me to know that I’m innocent too, locked in here for a murder I didn’t commit, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Ted, I wish there was something I could do.”

“Oh, Peter, but there is. Don’t you see? There is so much you can do! But, of course, if not – the time I’ve spent with you has freed me in a way, and I’m grateful for that,” Ted Kyle’s face was pressed so closely to the bars that it seemed it may slip through and get stuck.

“Ted, I do believe you. I think you’re innocent. But I can’t. I just couldn’t. No. It wouldn’t be right. But I…”

The fatties across America were as close to the television as you can get. Their eyebrows stiff and disrupted from the static of the screen and their jaws picking up the Cheeto-crumbs that dotted their beige carpets. Surely Pete Carpenter would be arrested if he let Ted Kyle free. But that would make for a great season two of Psychos!

Pete fumbled with the keys attached to his belt loop. He looked left down the damp, dark corridor. Nothing. He looked right. Nothing.

The lights flickered on Pete as he fingered at his keys, holding the one to Ted Kyle’s cell in front of his face.

Ted Kyle had stepped back from the bars and was simply observing Pete with his arms crossed, completely silent. It looked like stop-motion – Peter Carpenter’s movements were slow, jagged, and hesitant. The

drip,

drip,

drip was like a time bomb closing in on explosion. The metronome of the leaky ceiling was only interrupted by the metal on metal click of the key and the lock as it fell into place. Pete stopped. He turned the key back and locked the cell.

“What are you doing, Peter? Just unlock it.” Ted Kyle said as Pete stood motionless, his arm outstretched holding onto the key in the keyhole.

Peter remained frozen, unblinking.

“Peter. Unlock the cell. I’m an innocent man.”

Peter still didn’t move. “Ted, you know I can’t.”

Before Peter could retract the key and his arm, Ted Kyle grabbed it and yanked it through the bars. Like a dry, dead tree branch, Ted Kyle leveraged Peter’s arm between the bars and pulled. Peter’s bone punctured through his own skin with a deafening crack. Ted Kyle released his grip and Peter collapsed in a heap on the hard, wet floor. Ted Kyle twisted the key and unlocked his cell. He smiled as he stood over Peter, curled up into a defenseless ball, blood pooling up from his arm around him. Ted Kyle kicked Peter to his back and reached down to unclip the gun from the holster attached to Peter’s belt. He stopped, and instead unclipped the nightstick that was strapped to the opposite side. Ted Kyle raised the nightstick and brought it down with a thunderous crack upon Pete Carpenter’s skull. Pete twitched a bit, his skin slapping the puddles of blood and his exposed bone chattering against the concrete. Ted Kyle raised the nightstick again and brought it down in the same spot, like he was chopping a block of wood. Fragments of bone and thin blonde hair skipped and splashed across the ground. A deep red mist and splatter filled the hallway, covering Ted Kyle and turning the gray concrete to red. Turning his white, slimy toothy grin to red. That’s when the signal cut out.

The monotone buzz of the multi-colored “no-signal” screen replaced Ted Kyle bludgeoning Peter Carpenter’s head in with a nightstick. After a moment or two a Coca-Cola commercial came on. It was the one with the polar bears, seeing as the holidays were coming up. Some viewers stayed tuned for the 11 o’clock news, others either flipped channels or turned off their televisions and began to fix dinner or whatever it was they usually do on Thursday nights. Most would go to bed wondering, “Well shit, what in the world is going to be on at 8 o’clock now?”


 

Read the sequel: Catch Psychos: After the Carnage on Showtime