THE INSANITY OFFENSE: A Satire

"It's her, isn't it! You've brought her back to accuse me!" The voice of an old woman shrieked from the upper story of a dark, forbidding mansion as an attractive blonde listened uneasily from the office of the Torrey Pines Lodge, brow furrowed. Her name was Marion Cranberry, and she had just checked in, seeking shelter from the rain while fleeing the police after stealing $40,000 from her employer so that she could marry her lover, Sam Loony.

"No mother," the motel owner replied. "She's just a guest. Don't you remember that we have guests?"

"I think it's her-- your sister-- and you've brought her back from the hospital so that she can tell me that I was the cause of her sickness, because I'm a bad mother."

"Why should I do that? You were always a good mother to me."

"Well, I don't know--"

"Excuse me mother, but I promised the guest--"

In a moment the owner appeared, carrying a tray with sandwiches and a pitcher. He was young and boyishly handsome. "Sorry," he apologized. "Mum does get a bit agitated at times."

Marion wondered why he used the term "Mum" instead of "Mom" since he did not seem to be British. "Well, I don't want to intrude upon a family argument," she said.

"No, it's all right, she'll get over it. She thought you were my sister," the man smiled sheepishly as he handed the tray to Marion. Marion looked about as she ate. Behind her was a stuffed vulture, which looked as if it were about to swoop down on her. Over the owner's head swung a stuffed vampire bat. "Don't worry-- they're dead. Taxidermy is my hobby," he explained.

"What a curious hobby," commented Marion as she ate.

"But an interesting one. You must forgive my mother for being so upset by your arrival. After all, we don't get many guests since the new freeway went in. But we're working on improving the situation. We've thought of putting a big sign up alongside the new freeway directing people to our motel. In fact, we've even considered engaging the local police to force people to stay at our motel if they drive out this way."

"Isn't that like putting them in a trap?"

"Well I think we're all in traps. I'm trapped here because my mother needs me. She hasn't been well since we-- I mean she-- put my sister in the hospital. I think she feels guilty."

"Maybe you should put her into some sort of--"

The young man's eyes flashed anger. "You mean a madhouse, and institution? That would only remind her of what she did to my sister. How can you suggest that I do such a thing?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend... but don't you get lonely, being all alone with no one but her for company?"

"No. I grew up here. And after all, a boy's best friend is his mother."

Having eaten, Marion said, "Well, I think I'll retire. I have a long drive ahead of me. Goodnight Mr.--"

"Just call me Fuller."

As Marion departed to her room, which was next door, a middle-aged lady entered the motel office with a pet carrier. "Uh, hello," she said. "My husband and I were sort of driven off course by the rain. We'd like lodging for the night-- we'll pay any amount. But I have to warn you-- we have a pet. We love him so much that we take him everywhere--"

Fuller drew back against the wall, staring at the pet carrier as though it were about to attack him. "What-is-it?" he asked.

"Why it's a cat. Morris we call him."

Fuller's eyebrows shot up in horror. "Please-- please go."

"But is there any other motel around here?"

Fuller reached quickly under the counter and pulled out a brochure. "Here--" he threw it at her. "This is a guide to all the local motels. Just go."

As the lady left, highly disgruntled, Fuller disappeared upstairs. From afar, one could hear the old woman's raspy voice asking, "Was that her again?"

"No, Mother. Just another guest. But I sent her packing. She had a-- a cat."

"Oh no!" the old lady shrieked. "Not a cat! You don't want to end up like your sister, do you? I mean, she must have caught it from a cat. After all, if it's physical, and also hereditary, then both you and I--"

"Yes mother, that's why I got rid of her." Fuller came down the stairs once again. Next door, Marion was pondering. She had come hoping to find a haven from her personal problems, but Torrey Pines Lodge was beginning to seem like a worse problem than the ones she had left. She decided to leave the next day and return the money she had stolen. Then she prepared for her shower. Little did she know, as she slowly undressed, that Fuller was watching her from a peephole in the wall. she turned on the shower, and entered, luxuriating in the warm water after her stressful trip. Suddenly a human figure entered the bathroom. In a moment the shower curtain was split and a knife slashed Marion again and again. She fell to the floor, dead.

The next morning, Fuller knocked on the door with a breakfast tray for Marion. When she didn't answer, he entered. Suddenly he dropped the tray. "Oh God, blood! Mother!" he yelled and ran up the stairs of the old house. Once again the exchange between him and his mother could be heard from afar. "Did you do something unkind to our guest?"

"What makes you think that, dear? I wouldn't hurt a fly."

"But she's lying on the floor in the bathroom, stabbed to death. What should I do?"

"Well for heaven's sake, clean up the mess."

Fuller dutifully went down and removed all traces of blood from the bathroom. Then he put Marion and all her belongings, including the money, into her car and sunk it in a nearby swamp. "Boy," he said, wiping the sweat from his face after the car disappeared from sight, "Was that ever a pain in the ass." And then, looking about as if his mother might be listening, he corrected himself, "I mean a pain in the butt."

A couple days later, Fuller was on the front porch of the motel eating candy when a private detective named Allgas approached. "I'm looking for a missing woman." He tried to hand Fuller a photo but he scarcely glanced at it. "Did she check in here?"

"No, nobody's been here for a couple weeks. We don't get many guests since the new freeway--" Fuller launched into his usual explanation.

"I find that hard to believe. Will you let me look at your guestbook?" Fuller reluctantly agreed. Taking out a slip of paper with Marion's handwriting on it, he easily identified Marion's signature although she had used a pseudonym. Attempting once again to get Fuller to look at the photo, he asked, "Do you recognize her now?"

"Well, come to think of it, she was here a couple days ago."

"Did she make any calls?" Allgas asked, suspecting her boyfriend of being involved in the theft.

"No."

"Did you spend the night with her?"

"Of course not!" Fuller responded indignantly.

"Then how do you know that she made no calls?"

"She said she was tired, and I think, went straight to bed after she entered her room."

"But she used a pseudonym. How do you know that she wasn't fooling you about going right to bed as well?"

"She may have fooled me, but she didn't fool my mother."

Allgas lifted an eyebrow. "Ah, your mother. So someone else lives here. May I speak to her?"

"Well, uh, no-- she's not well."

Allgas pretended to depart. But as soon as he was out of Fuller's sight-- or thought he was-- he headed for the old mansion. Opening the door, he called, "Madame?" He climbed the stairs, but before he had a chance to oepn the door at the top, a human figure ran out and slashed him, again and again with a knife. He fell to the floor, dead.

Soon afterwards, Fuller found the body. "Mother, you've made a mess again. This is getting to be too much." After disposing of Allgas' body in the swamp as he had Marion's, he told his mother, "I'm going to have to take you to the fruit cellar."

"No!" she protested loudly in her raspy voice. "You just put me down, young man!" Despite her protests, Fuller carried a figure dressed in the clothes of an old woman down the stairs and into the cellar.

The next day, Fuller arrived at an appointment with a representative of Silly Pharmaceuticals. Behind the desk sat a balding man, his heavy eyebrows turned downward at the center to form a "V", his mouth turned upward in a devilish grin, and the look of avarice all over his face. "What can I do for you, young man?"

"I need some drugs. You see, I run a motel, and every time we have a guest, my mother makes a fuss. She always thinks it's my sister, who was institutionalized years ago, coming back to accuse her."

"So you need drugs for your mother?"

"No, for the guests. I figured that if they didn't make so much noise, Mum wouldn't know they were there. Just something to quiet them down..."

The representative smiled broadly. "I think I have just the kind of drug you need. It will quiet them down forever."

"But I don't want to kill them. After all, that's against the law, and I have great respect for the law."

"Don't worry," they'll still be alive. Just barely."

"Uh, well, how much is it? For a year's supply?"

"Half a million dollars."

Fuller's brow furrowed. "That's awfully steep. I mean, we're just a small enterprise..."

"Well," the representative smiled, "I can give you an incentive. For such a large purchase, I you will receive a discount on shares in our corporation. You'll be in good company if you become one of our investors. Why, two ex-presidents-- father and son-- are as well."

Fuller immediately rose to his feet and saluted. "Whatever's good enough for the Commander-in-Chief is good enough for me!"

"So it's a deal?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Fuller said, smiling.

As he wrote out the contract, the representative said, "If you want an even more effective way of controlling your guests, you might try Dramatics LLC, the electronics firm down the street. They have a gadget-- of course it has to be done in a hospital--"

"Oh I can't do that! If they say anything about a hospital, it will remind my mother of--"

The representative looked up and smiled. "I can guarantee that they won't remember a thing."

A few months passed. Guests accumulated at the Torrey Pines Lodge. Some came looking for the missing Marion and Allgas, others just happened to lose their way and end up there. One morning, Fuller decide to show them to his mother. They were all lined up in the parlor. Some were staring off into the distance with vacant looks, others were weeping, pouring out their misery in unintelligible phrases. A number of them kept making jerky movements of their facial muscles or limbs. One boy of about ten sat rocking back and forth, saying again and again, "Doctor says I won't get shocked if I take my meds. Johnny's a good boy. He takes his meds." One woman was wandering around in obvious anguish, asking, "Who am I? Can someone tell me who I am? I don't remember." When she reached the boy she asked, "Are you my son? You look familiar." But he didn't even look up at her, just kept repeating, "Doctors says I won't get shocked if I take my meds. Johnny's a good boy. He takes his meds."

Into this assemblage entered Fuller with a figure dressed as an old woman in a wheelchair. "You see, Mother! I have fixed it so that no one can ever accuse you of being a bad mother again!" He wheeled her down the row of helpless wrecks of human beings, saying, "Look! Look!"

Then "Mother" expressed her approval. But strangely, the voice was coming from Fuller himself. In a raspy old woman's voice he said, "Good boy, Fuller. As I've always said, a boy's best friend is his mummy." Fuller turned the wheelchair around so that all could see the desiccated body with the empty eye sockets which stared and stared into all eternity.

-- With apologies to Alfred Hitchcock