Beyond an accidental shoreline
BEYOND AN ACCIDENTAL SHORELINE.Christopher Skolik
25-2-08
1. A START
Dennison had covered some disturbing assignments in his time;
· Neo-psychopathology and its preoccupations concerning future psychological abnormality.
· Contagious mental illness and media psychosis, the way suicide or spree killing spread thru lines of communication.
· Mutant-criminology and the adaptation of deviancy in our strange new psychological landscape.
· The Death Camp Theme Park where those inclined (and wealthy enough) could play out roles against a backdrop of genocide and atrocity (like the brochure says ‘The perfect antidote to 21st century ennui.’).
· ‘Jack Mishap’ a.k.a. Jasper Smith, a serial killer with a penchant for the spectacular. Suggested death toll runs into thousands, he didn’t even notice if less than 50 died in one of his ‘artistic disasters’. In his wake commuter trains twist together like mating slugs, oil rigs explode scorching the darkness white hot, the sea into boiling tar. Planes clatter out of the sky in a shriek of burning jet fuel.
Dennison had become a specialist in the ragged edges of a future that was
taking shape around us, coalescing like the onset of psychosis.
2. INTERVIEW SCENARIO
MacGregor sat at his desk, office minimal, to the point of looking unoccupied. It had a temporary spectral quality, as if with the minimum of difficulty it could be wiped away and reassembled somewhere else, which was kind of appropriate as the Government department that MacGregor worked for existed in the grey zone between the Department of Health and the Home Office, between the present and the future, and maybe even between fact and fiction…
MacGregor’s manner was chilly, clinical even, and yet he was as oily as a career politician. There was something coldly insinuating in him, just behind the eyes. Dennison could imagine him not exactly earning, but rather slithering into his position.
MacGregor smiled, the effect was not wholly pleasing;
“We had to find a solution to this most pressing of social problems and as it lies somewhere between criminality and sickness we had to be rather, shall we say inventive?”
‘No shit’ Dennison thought. Beyond the smudged, filthy window a helicopter was being prepped for take off. “But isn’t it fair to say that as a condition there can be few things that are more likely to cause folks to form a lynch mob?”
“Yes, it strikes at the most basic, raw human feelings, and because we believe it incurable we have, of necessity had to become radical. This is the best solution to a very difficult problem. People will see this, eventually. There is also some suggestion that it has an infectious component, and so to stop the spread of the disease we have decided on a policy of isolation. Well, we cannot legally execute, now can we? At least not officially, eh?” MacGregor let out a raspy laugh. “And the medical interventions-” He waved a limp, dismissive hand, “-next to useless I’m afraid. Chemical castration is of questionable value. It is after all the brain where the problem actually lies,” MacGregor tapped a finger to his temple significantly, “-in the personality, and not in the sex organs.”
“You do understand when people learn of this they are not going to be happy, right?”
MacGregor stifled a yawn, “The alternative is that these individuals are in and out of institutions and prison…causing more harm, more damage, which results in more abusers.”
“Maybe it would be better to try and stop people turning into monsters and predators in the first place-don’t you think?”
“We are trying, but it would appear that the modern world is almost perfectly disposed to creating disturbed individuals, rather an unfortunate by product. Boredom can be very dangerous too. Sexual assault is the most clearly existential crime, yes?”
“And you say it’s incurable?”
“Yes, we believe so. Like murder, it cannot be undone, and once they violate a child, destroying their innocence, well, they cannot undo the damage. The act of abuse changes the abuser in a fundamental way, just as it changes the victim. There can be no way back. They have crossed a line. In a sense it could be said that they have surrendered their human citizenship-and become something else. Something we cannot trust. Some of these offenders refer to their condition using the terminology of demonic possession, but that seems a cop out, a clumsy, desperate avoidance technique; ‘The Devil made me do it’-but if there is a demon it is one they have actively invoked, willingly embraced. There can be no mitigation for destroying innocence.”
“So, is that the motive of these abusers, ‘the destruction of innocence’?”
“Obviously, they want to infect the child, and impose their own psychic wounds onto another, as if the act of spreading the pain might somehow lessen it, which of course it does not. Driven like rabid dogs, to spread their disease-and sometimes they succeed which is why we view it as contagious.”
“Not all those who are abused become abusers.”
“But some do. Not all those bitten by mosquitoes acquire malaria. Of course some internalize the abuser and abuse themselves…”
3. THE ISLAND LOCATION
The helicopter approached the island, against the backdrop of the thin powder blue sky of spring, the island itself looked like a film set, with its mess of white cottages around the harbor. It was a perfect representation of a small, somewhat isolated Scottish fishing village, except, of course there where no boats.
The hard grey rock formations, the bitter under bite of the wind, the foaming sea, all conspired to suggest to Dennison that it had to be somewhere close to the west coast of Scotland. Of course this was just an estimate, as the actual location had been carefully concealed from him. That was part of the deal.
MacGregor turned, a paper thin smile across his face, he looked into Dennison’s eyes, perhaps an attempt to locate something specific there.
Superficially everything seemed in order; shops, pub, houses, church-(MacGregor caught Dennison looking at the squat unattractive church, “It goes without saying we have no trouble finding priests here.”). There was little to suggest anything out of order or strange.
As he walked the steep, twisted streets Dennison felt appraising eyes move over him, the flat gaze of the inmates-when he attempted to catch the glance of one of these individuals their eyes fell to the ground before he could establish eye contact, it was obvious that they where experts in the area of stolen surreptitious glances. He also noted the ingratiating respect they gave MacGregor, and the way this made Macgregor swell.
Obviously there where no children or women, and also no sign of any of those trappings of imprisonment that he had expected. No watchtowers, no uniforms, no cameras, or guards.
“No guards, at all?”
“No, we do try to keep direct contact to a minimum, as we believe the condition is potentially infectious. Naturally we patrol the waters, but otherwise they can police themselves…”
The inhabitants ranged in age from 18 to 90. Most looked ordinary, lads from northern council estates, gentlemen, farmers, and even though intellectually Dennison knew that sexual criminals looked just like everyone else, it still came as a shock just how average these characters actually where. To some extent they even looked like actors pretending to be normal, in a sense they where too average, too normal-and given their techniques of grooming, and putting parents and victims at ease, this was not too short of the actual truth.
The middle classes where also well represented amongst the islands population.
MacGregor seemed almost proud of the range of sexual offenders present; “Of course there are doctors, plumbers, builders. We really have to do very little, quite self sustaining-”
“A perfect world-” There was a sarcastic edge to Dennison’s voice, “-apart from the fact that they are all pedophiles and rapists, right? Do you really believe it is infectious?”
“Yes, even the idea seems to be viral-look at the numbers who attempt to access child porn on the net, as if the idea provokes curiosity, and research shows such material scars the psyche, and scars are sites of infection-even metaphorical infection…ah.”
MacGregor smiled. Shrugged. Raised an arm to indicate a building silhouetted on the edge of a hill. Dennison squinted, but could make out nothing beyond its rectangular outline.
4. THE SCHOOL SET
Sound effects of children’s voices reverberated along the empty wood paneled corridors, the effect was disconcerting. But much of what Dennison had seen he had found troubling-if not in actuality, then in its more subtle aspects.
As master of ceremonies in this unusual world MacGregor seemed altogether too comfortable, he seemed to take a salacious delight in the details that made the island so alarming.
MacGregor stopped abruptly, nodded toward a classroom door. Peering in Dennison was shocked to see a room full of children, of about 8 years of age, facing a blackboard.
“Jesus, Children? You have children here?”
MacGregor pushed open the door, ushered Dennison in. The sound of a times table chant issued from speakers on the wall. Dennison approached the nearest child, a boy; blonde-it was a mannequin, a remarkably detailed mannequin.
Dennison turned to MacGregor, who smiled, eyes that trapped the light like water at the bottom of a well.
“Yes, they are rather good aren’t they? They seem to fulfill their function-“
“And what is that?” Most of the colour had drained from Dennison’s face.
“Well we are attempting to be pragmatic here; we can no more wish away their predilections than we can wish their victims better.”
“So these, these things-” Dennison spat the word out, “-are meant to substitute for real children?” Dennison felt confined, suffocated.
MacGregor nodded. “I told you, we believe them to be incurable, treatment is a waste of resources. Here they can be what they are, without the risk to the rest of us. Did I tell you these models are anatomically correct? They even scream…”
Outside, against a wall, MacGregor discovered Dennison.
“Ah there you are. Wouldn’t you like to see the gymnasium? That’s where the more experimental work is done, some of it is rather Bellmer-esque, and as some of the residents have homicidal and sadistic tendencies it seemed that we should take that into account-admittedly the repair bill can be rather high, especially with the animatronic models…”
“I really think I have seen enough…”
5. AN ENDING
The helicopter dipped momentarily as it lifted from the island, from the window Dennison saw figures watching.
“What do you think of our little project?”
Dennison looked at the sea, speeding passed beneath, fragmented waves catching the glow of a sun building up to set.
“I don’t know, you say they are incurable, that treatment is pointless, you cannot execute them, I don’t know…” Dennison shook his head.
“Maybe we will find that pedophilia is a step to somewhere else, rape may well be part of an evolution, maybe here we will find out where it leads…”
Dennison felt a chill. He didn’t know for certain but suspected there might be more to this than protecting society. Maybe a military experiment? Dennison felt icy claws tighten about his insides…MacGregor was whistling ‘The world is a circle’ from Lost Horizon.
Rating: 2.0 out of 1 vote cast
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