Lets try role reversal

[hider=Taking Timothy]

	Taking Timothy

	Short Story, Suspense?

	Timothy was small. Timothy was young. Timothy was [i]weak[/i]. He remained all three of these things until I found him. Until [i]I[/i] saved him. He spent his days pushed around by his classmates, and his nights pushed around by his brothers. The youngest of a single mother's three boys, Timothy was set for failure from the start. Add to that the facts that his father was not the same as his brothers', and that his brothers were twins, and his life reads like a Possession instruction manual.

	I started small. After all, I didn't want to scare him, not yet. I just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. I felt sorry for him. My sympathy, however, was heavily outweighed by my necessity. You see, I lost my last human. They aren't dead, I just can't find them. Evicted without a notice, as they say, with a crucifix and holy water. The Father even wore a purple stole. William Peter Blatty couldn't have put it together better himself.

	But, I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes. I started small. Very small, just a little note, written in condensation on his bathroom mirror, transient and untraceable. "Hello, Timothy." Then, again, in ballpoint pen on his Bible's table of contents. "I can hear your thoughts." That didn't end up working properly, as they didn't even go to church at the time, but I thought it was worth a shot. They got a real kick out of it later, though. Actually, that's an understatement. It was fucking hilarious. 

	I didn't move anything until a week afterward. Timothy was getting his weekly ass-kicking in the locker room, during third period double gym, when I found something [i]very[/i] interesting. One of little Timothy's two assailants had a Swiss Army knife in his pocket. 

	It was a simple matter to get the blade open in his jeans, and even pop it out onto the tile floor without drawing attention. The problem was getting Timothy to see it. 

	That little four-eyed idiot geek fuck just laid there and took it for, shit, another five minutes at least, before his stupid little fuck fingers grabbed ahold it. But oh, did he go crazy when he got it!

	Sure, I had to guide his hand a little. After all, a kid that age doesn't know to stab upward at a forty-five degree angle into the base of the skull to turn another human into a vegetable, or that severing the brachial artery is as deadly, if not more so, than cutting the carotid. 
	
	Timothy learned [i]both[/i] that day.

	It was kind of fun, putting together the crime scene. I used everything I'd ever seen, from the time I made a woman pull out her husband's eye with cooking tongs while he lay drugged and unconscious, and the cops showed up in the middle of it, all the way to that time the girl I was possessing at the time was really, really, [i]really[/i] into [i]Law & Order[/i].

	Timothy, that scrawny little bitch, had dropped the knife down a shower drain, and was now sitting on the floor and sobbing like a molested child. I suppose, in a way, he was. 

	So, I, in my infinite wisdom, popped the little red multitool out, where, ([i]thank fucking Lucifer, like, unholy shit was that lucky.[/i]), it had lodged itself in, falling sideways just as the pipe tapered. Phew. I quickly dropped it in the toilet. I tried to show him what I was doing, but that little faggot just sat and wailed. I shoulda made him look. I was stupid to just let him cry, but, I dunno, I'm a softie for sad outcast kids.

	Let me tell you it is no small matter getting a terrified child to [i]shut the fucking heaven up[/i]. Like, I totally empathize with that woman, what was her name, nah, forget it, you know, the one that shook her kid to death. That's what I felt like doing right then. 

	I'm not proud of what I did then. I'm not. But there were two things I needed to do. First, I had to make Timothy enjoy killing. I had to corrupt him. Second, well, actually this wasn't necessary, but I needed a trick to shut him up. So I, uh, [i]ugh[/i] I blew him. I did. I did my best to mimic what I figured Scarlet Johansen's lips would do. At least I was able to do it through his shorts. [i]Blecchhkk[/i] I don't even wanna think about [i]uuggghh[/i] [i][b]bareback[/b][/i].

	Okay, anyway, blocked memories aside, Timmy had just creamed his jeans after killing one student and crippling the other for life. He's deep in the shit. Especially because his wounds don't look that bad. I gotta say, I [i]am[/i] proud of what I did then. It was like art. First, I broke Timmy's nose. I felt as though a great quantity of blood spilled would make Timothy's situation seem more dire. Nah, he was fine. Aside from the crying, and the confusing orgasm.

	But then I broke two ribs. He was now most certainly [i]not[/i] fine, and cried, and cried. When teachers finally noticed the sound- hang on, I gotta go off on a tangent here. Those teachers took [i]forty five Satanblessed minutes[/i] to realize there was a child screaming with two broken ribs, a comatose football player, and a dead juvenile delinquent in the gym locker room. What the everliving [i]fuck[/i] happened to the U.S. educational system? I thought we had the best one! I bet it was fucking W. [i]No Child Left Behind[/i]- fuck you, George W., you'll never be as cool as your dad!

	I can judge G.W.B. You can't. I mean, heavens, man, I possessed the guy from 2001 to 2003. The guy was so stressed over the terrorist attack that he was super vulnerable, so I jumped to him from Cheney. Although, I can say with some patriotic pride, as an All-American demon, that while I had him, my fight was for vengeance for Uncle Sam. I made up the whole "nuclear weapons in the middle-east" thing first. After they busted me on it, I made up a rockin' rumor about Georgie trying to get Iraqi oil. Boy, I was good. But then, Colin [i]Pow[/i]ell. Not a lot of folks know, but Colin is a fully ordained minister in the Church of Satan. Basically, my district manager. He took me off the case, and confiscated my guy. Which sucks, 'cause he was just getting over his erectile dysfunction and Laura, to this day, looks fine as hell. 

	Unholy shit, did I get distracted. Sorry about that.
	
	Point is, I got Timmy's perfect crime set up. Not a single incriminating fingerprint, and the whole thing looks like self defense. Timmy's bullying problem was over. But a new problem had just begun.

	Timothy's mother was concerned. She was worried enough to hire a psychiatrist. A [i]Christian[/i] psychiatrist. I don't mean that the guy was Christian. Well, he was, but I mean that his [i]methods[/i] and his entire approach was Bible and Church-based. Man, if you though normal psychiatrists were bad... 

	
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