Perry County Documentary Evidence
To Be Viewed by Authorized Agents Only
My name is Raleigh Partain. I am 22 years old. My address is 324 Forlane Ct. I’m writing this document to explain what happened to me and hoping that this testament will lead to the conviction of my tormentor.
I was enrolled in Avalon College majoring in Chemistry. I didn’t live on campus but commuted about 23 miles from home. I was still living with my parents, but after that semester I had planned on moving out of the house. I needed about 34 hours to graduate. I had met my girlfriend Lisa in freshman English and we were ready to take the next step. She was close to graduating herself. It’s her I think about the most while I try to mentally escape the memory of my ordeal. I daydream about the apartment we would have rented and the weekends we would have spent on the lake.
One Friday we were leaving campus. I want to say it was the 23rd of October. She usually would just ride with me but her SUV was acting up and she was going to drop it off with a mechanic that was a family friend. I was following her in my car. There was a cold misty rain ponding on the road. We were merging onto the interstate from the on ramp. As Lisa started to move into the nearest lane a car barely missed her and I could hear the muffled blast of angry honking. She jerked the SUV back to the right and hydroplaned. The left side of the car lifted up into the air and then tumble onto the roof. The vehicle slid on its roof and into the shoulder of the road crashing into the guard rail.
I pulled off to the side of the road behind her vehicle. I jumped out of my car and ran to the side of her window. When I bent down, I was shocked to see her sitting on the roof with her back to me. It just struck me as odd that she wasn’t thrown out of the windshield. I could hear her crying.
“Bunny, are you alright?” That’s what I called her.
With her legs she scooted around to face me. She was holding her right arm and I could see that her wrist or something was broken. Her hand was dangling in an unnatural position. There was no rigidity to it. It looked as if you could have easily pushed the palm of her hand to her forearm. There was a deep gash across her forehead and right eye. I was about to vomit but I had to pull it together for her.
“No, I’m not alright.”
“Hey, is everything ok. Do you need me to call 911?” I heard someone yell from behind me.
“Yes, please. I haven’t called. Bunny, can you come on out? I’ll help you.”
“I’m so sorry.” She started to say as she was sobbing.
I kind of chuckled. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I almost hit that woman. It was my fault.”
“Bunny, that wasn’t your fault. I saw the whole thing. Every bit of it. That woman was an asshole. You were nowhere near hitting her. It’s her fault. She scared you and made you react.”
Really it was Lisa’s fault. That woman did a good job avoiding a collision but I didn’t need my girlfriend worrying about any additional bullshit. With slow and methodical precision, I got her out through the shards of glass and broken window. I gave her my jacket and started to walk her back to my car. The man that had called 911 came over and gave her his jacket to stop the bleeding from her forehead.
“Oh no, I don’t want to ruin your jacket.”
“Don’t worry about it ma’am. I can always get another jacket.”
I told the man thank you. I noticed that another car had pulled over and I waved at that guy to let him know that everything was alright. I put Lisa in the passenger side, started the car and cranked up the heater so she would be warm.
“Well, I guess I gave the mechanic a little more work to do.” We laughed, but she writhed in pain as she did so. Finally, we heard the sirens approaching. It was a fire engine and an ambulance. I got out of the car and waved them over to Lisa. The paramedics came over to check on her and did their thing. They bandaged up her head but they didn’t do anything with her wrist. They put her on a stretcher and wheeled her to the ambulance. I was following behind when she motioned to me.
“Could you grab my purse?”
“Sure. What hospital are you guys taking her to?”
‘St. Vincent.”
“Ok. Thanks!”
As I was walking back to Lisa’s vehicle, I saw a paramedic picking up a necklace from the ground and putting it into his pocket. I was sure it was the necklace I had bought Lisa last year for her birthday.
“Hey, what in the hell are you doing! Give me that necklace.”
“Oh yeah sure. I was bringing it to her.”
He took the necklace out of his pocket, spilling other valuables to the ground.
“Are you fucking kidding me! Get out of here. I’m going to report you. Lousy son of a bitch!
“I wasn’t stealing anything. I was gathering all her stuff together.”
“You could have just brought her purse with everything in it.”
He walked off without saying anything else. In addition to her necklace, I picked up a ring and her flash drive. I went and grabbed her purse and some other items. I put everything in the purse. I stood up only to see that same paramedic behind my car, writing on a pad of paper. He was writing down my license plate number. I thought that was odd so I started running towards him, but he jumped into the back of the ambulance before I could catch him. I thought well I won’t make a big deal out of it. I was trying to do better. I have been accused of exaggerating things and maybe I was doing the same in this situation. I don’t know. I just wanted to get to the hospital and be with Lisa.
I stayed the whole night with her, sleeping on the chair next to her bed. She had some major injuries, but nothing that was going to be permanent- a limp wrist and some stitches in her head. I was worried about her, yet I felt a little guilty because I was more worried about that paramedic. Why was he looking at my license plate and worse, writing it down?
The next morning, I went home and took a shower. I was exhausted. I didn’t sleep too well in that hospital chair, and I was still too agitated to go to sleep, so I took a shot of cold medicine and drank a six pack. I went to my bedroom window and looked outside at the sunrise. It was a picture-perfect setting, with orange, pink, and purple splashed up against a blue background. I noticed a red truck with a camper over the bed. I had never seen that truck before, and I was sure it didn’t belong to any of my neighbors. I could see on the back window a medical type of sticker, that signifies that whoever owned the truck worked in the medical industry. I heard a shuffle and caught a glimpse of a person’s reflection in the window, but not before I could turn around. I felt a sharp point in my neck, and I could see in the window that behind me was that paramedic and he had just shoved a syringe into my neck. My legs went limp, and I slumped to the ground and lost consciousness.
I woke up in a wheelchair with my legs and arms handcuffed together. I was in a room with shelving units full of glass jars. There were also glass display cases. There were a variety of trinkets and novelties. Most had jewelry but some were a little more macabre. I noticed a finger in one, a toe in another. There was a particularly large jar with a heart in it. Each jar had a label attached with a name, date, and a small description. I only knew this because my wheelchair was close to a shelf that had a collection of rings. One display had a finger with a golden ring on it. The label attached to it read:
Carl Harrison, 10/2/2015, Wife cut off finger after finding out he cheated. Wedding band included.
“Welcome to my collection. It’s beautiful isn’t it. I’ve taken something from every call I’ve ever been on and some unofficial calls if you know what I mean.”
“Why do you have me here? Please let me go…. I”
He interrupted me before I could say anything else. “You know this is my most ambitious project yet. I was just going to take the necklace and a few other items. There was not much to this call. Not a lot of gore or mess…. No story behind the trinkets, or at least not a good one, but then I thought this is my chance to try something I’ve always thought of. I wasn’t ready to try it just yet, but you pissed me off. I’m going to make you an incorruptible. Have you ever heard of that? No, I doubt you have. In Catholicism there are supposed saints that have died, but their bodies have not decayed. I think its bullshit, but I like the idea of having an incorruptible body in my collection. It’s no miracle. You just got to have the appropriate conditions and the correct procedure. It can’t be that hard. Stalin under the Soviet Union did it to Lenin and now I’m going to do it to you.”
He pushed me around his collection of jewelry and body parts. He made me listen to the stories about each of his calls and what they meant to him spiritually and why he decided to take what he took. There was an art to it. There was nothing random about it. Each item he collected was the most significant symbol he could use to represent that particular instance of human suffering. It took about an hour. It was an extensive collection. I admit I was amazed and horrified by his creativity.
“But you, yes you, are going to be my most prized possession. You represent, or should I say will represent the frozen aspirations of a life that never will be. A living statue frozen in time. A novelty representing more than one moment, but an entire wasted life.”
After the tour he wheeled me into a room with a mattress and a bucket. He turned to walk out the room and gave me the most heartfelt look I had ever seen. From that stare, I knew he loved me, not as a person, but as a thing, a possession to be worked on and manipulated.
“Try to relax. I will be back later to knock you out and take you out of that uncomfortable chair.”
He turned out the light and walked out the door. I could hear the dead-bolt snap into place and an echo reverberate through the thick heavy steel door. He looked through the wire-enforced door lite and waved.
He fed me once a day, but it was a very low-calorie diet consisting of nothing but chicken broth. I guess he wanted me skinnier than I was. He had shaved off all of my body hair. I felt like a naked mole rat. I knew that my end was approaching. I didn’t know how he was going to do it, but I knew I couldn’t escape. He never let me out. Sometimes he brought in a gurney, knocked me out with a concoction of drugs fed through an intravenous line. He was doing something when I was under. The transformation was under way.
Every day he took me on the same tour, showing me the same damned displays, so much so that I memorized most of the layout. I noticed a severed delicate hand with manicured nails holding a pen. I decided that with a little patience and at the right moment I would swipe that pen and use it as a weapon. I kept track of the days by counting the tours he insisted on having consistently at the same time every day. It was about five days from the first time the idea had sprung to my mind to get the pen that my chance came. He parked my wheelchair right beside it. Luckily, even with the handcuffs, I was able to reach the pen and wiggle it from the previous owner’s hand. He didn’t even notice, because often he would get consumed in thought about one particular object- a gold watch he had stolen from a house where a woman had committed suicide by overdosing on prescription pills. The more he talked about it the more I was convinced he knew the woman, may have even obsessed about being with her. As he was mesmerized by the watch, I worked the pen up under my sleeve and cupped my hand hoping like hell that it wouldn’t fall to the floor. He finally came out of his stupor.
“Time to get you back to bed sleepy head.”
I had started to forge a plan in my head for escape. I disciplined myself to focus on his routines and mannerisms to see if I could notice if he was making any mistakes or if there was an unnoticed opportunity to gain an advantage over him. After some time, I did notice that sometimes he was in a catatonic state, or at least not perceptive of his surroundings. He would do the tour, but it wasn’t as energetic. It was rote, just going through the motions, but a necessary routine he could not avoid. More importantly, I noticed that sometimes he would unfasten my handcuffs before I was completely knocked-out, sure that I was too weak to do anything. This would be my plan. I just had to hope that he never found that pen or noticed that it was gone. Luckily, he always walked past the hand without a notice. I figured it wasn’t his favorite work of art, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before he would see that the hand was missing its pen. I had to make my move. He was going to be in that mood one day and I was going to fake being under faster than normal. When he unlocked my first handcuff, I was going to stab him in the neck or eye. I hadn’t decided just yet. I didn’t know which would be the more fatal spot, which would give me the best advantage to finish the bastard off.
But that day didn’t come for a while. He must have been well stocked with medication during that time frame. One day he came down jumping around ecstatic with joy and excited to see me.
“I have a surprise for you,” he yelled through the door. “Get in your wheelchair and fasten your handcuffs.”
I did as he commanded. He was fidgety and impatient, pacing back and forth. “Hurry up. Come on.” When I had finally fastened all my shackles, he unlocked the deadbolt and lunged through the door. He pushed my wheelchair back to the display room and we went through the same old performance, a sad lonely tour guide recounting the escapades of his mentally deranged adventures. I was confused. Why was he so excited? Did he add something significant to his collection. I saw nothing new. When he finished, he wheeled me out the door and into an adjoining room I had never even perceived to have existed. He turned on the light.
“And now the new addition. The largest expansion of this here establishment since the beginning.”
The room was empty except for a table with a pink tablecloth and something big underneath. He walked over to the cloth and yanked it to the ground.
“Ta-da.”
My stomach churned and I got light-headed. There on the table was a large glass case shaped like a coffin. Laying in the coffin was my Lisa. She was wearing one of her floral dresses. Her neck had been slashed and crudely sewn back together. He had put make-up on her face, but it looked like something a child would do, caked on eyeliner and bright red lips, her face painted white. I don’t know if he did it out of mockery or thought that was how to apply make-up, but it enraged me.
“You fucking son of a bitch. I’m going to kill you!! I’m going to rip your head off!!!
“Oh, shut up. I did you a favor. You belong together. I don’t understand. You should be happy I brought her here because I knew you missed her.”
Of course, I wasn’t listening. I was still raging on. He finally got tired of my yelling and wheeled me back to my room. He put in the intravenous line and knocked me out.
I believe a few weeks had passed. I was determined now to try to escape if only to be able to cause him harm. He may get the better of me, but I was going to make him pay. He may win the fight, but not without a price. That day finally came. He was in that careless mood, living somewhere deep in his head. The new tour always took me by Lisa and the sickening progress he was making in turning her into an incorruptible. He had decided to do the procedure on her first to make me suffer. He was making me witness her transformation. It made me nauseous to see her and her gradual demise from a beautiful living woman to a still-born mass of flesh and bone. She looked like a mannequin now, smooth and without texture.
“She is so beautiful.”
“You mean she was beautiful, until you ruined her.”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at me for a moment and shook his head.
“You know I’m missing a pen from one of my exhibits. I wonder where it could be.” He reached in his pocket and pulled the pen out. “You are the one ruining things. I ought to punish you.” He stood there for a moment and then all of a sudden as if a thought had jumped in his head, he walked over and stabbed the pen into my right leg above the knee. I screeched in pain, and I felt my blood boil with a rush of adrenaline and anger. He jerked my wheelchair around and pushed me hard out the door.
“I’m so sick of you. I should just kill you right now. I don’t need you for my exhibit. I have Lisa. Yes, I know her name. I followed her forever. Learned everything about her. Maybe an extra dose tonight and I’ll be done with you.”
He left me out in the hallway. Didn’t even want to wait until we got to the room. He opened up a closet door and rolled out the intravenous stand. He took a syringe from the closet as well. I guess this was going to be my extra dose. He shoved the line into my vein and then stuck the syringe in my shoulder. I thought to myself this was it. I had to put my plan into action. I started faking all kinds of symptoms- coughing, spitting, and gasping for air. I may have overdone it a little. Hell, for all I knew it was only some sort of sedative he had given me, and all that talk was bluff. I didn’t know, but overacting or not he bought it. It was expected behavior. Whatever he had given me was meant to kill. I started feeling my chest swell and my heart rate increase. I was shaking, unable to control my muscle movement. At that point I passed out.
As I awakened, I noticed that I had been wheeled back to my room. He had unfastened the cuffs from my hands and was working on the cuff on my right leg. I realized that I had been blessed with an opportunity. He thought that I was still unconscious. I remember when I was a kid, I had awakened in the middle of an ear surgery. The doctors had quickly put a mask back on my face and I felt the cool gas seep into my nostrils and down into my lungs. I had this one chance. I looked down and saw that the pen was still in my leg. He moved over to unfasten the cuff from my left leg, and I saw his neck exposed. With my left hand I grabbed his hair and held on like a vise grip. I pulled the pen out of my leg and stuck it in his neck. He squirmed and yelled, almost getting out of my grip and then like a mad man I stabbed him as many times as I could aiming for that huge pulsating vein that I had just noticed in the frenzy of my madness. I focused intently on that spot and just kept stabbing. He tried to loosen my grip and he turned his head up at me. His left eye was exposed, wide and moistened with tears of pain. I plunged the pen in his eye and shoved him back. I bolted out of the wheelchair but almost fell, since my legs were so weak. I stiffened up and made my way out of the room and up the stairs. The door was opened, and I ran through the kitchen and out the front door.
I escaped physically but mentally I am still imprisoned. I cannot rest easy. He has taken from me not only the woman I loved but the ability to live a normal life. I have the most insane phobias now, the most notable is a fear of ambulances. I have panic attacks when I hear a siren and God forbid, I see an ambulance. I hope he gets the death penalty, and everything goes wrong. I hope its long and painful, because in my mind he did not fail. He achieved exactly what he was trying to accomplish. I am an incorruptible. My body looks alive and beyond decay, but inside I am dead and on display in a madman’s museum of psychopathic desires.