Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - [Part 1] Slashers vs. Mafias: PRISON BREAK - Jasper's Story

Episode Date: September 8, 2025

Listen to the story from Yara's perspective on After Dark here: https://open.spotify.com/show/3gZikZZldwY6J7vFCLV7ox?si=087728ed029d4c6b Join Premium today and binge hours of bonus horror stories you can’t hear anywhere else: ⁠patreon.com/drnosleep Author: Dave Kavanaugh * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Rise and shine, fine citizens, and welcome to Warning in the Morning, your news soars for the brutal truth behind the day's headlines. And today, ladies and gents, is another dark day for our once great city. Unchecked violence fills our streets, and as the gang warfare on the east side rages onto new heights, we are reminded that today marks the two-year anniversary of that fateful day of bloodshed and destruction that set all this chaos in motion. Two years ago, our city became the setting for a private war. A psychotic young man.

No, not a man, a monster, named Jasper David Rath, now better known as the notorious serial killer, the sundown slasher, went on a citywide rampage, and he didn't act alone. Raith teamed up with his girlfriend, Yarroslavovovar, the daughter of infamous mobster Victor the Wolf Volkov. Together, they hunted down members of the Volkov Crime Syndicate and left behind a trail of bodies and a power vacuum in the criminal underworld that now risks tearing this whole place apart.

Over 60 people lost their lives that day, including Victor Volkov and his maniac of a daughter, whose body was vaporized in the explosion of their family's restaurant. Yikes. The sundown slasher survived, but was apprehended. Here at the studio, we covered every day of the wild trial of Jasper David Rath, and I, for one, was hoping to attend that SOB's execution in person. But of course, our joke of a justice system offered the psycho a plea deal. Pathetic.

Wraith was given 35 life sentences and transferred down to the, uh, how do I put this? controversial All Saints Federal Prison. But was karma done with the sundown slasher? No, sirree. Just a few months into his incarceration, he took a little fall off a fourth-story balcony and landed on his ugly head. News of that happy accident traveled fast,

and I was reporting his death, live on the air, when the last thing any of us ever wanted to hear reached my desk. They were zipping up Wraith's body bag when somebody noticed his little finger. It was twitching. That murderous bastard was still alive, but left broken and mostly paralyzed, an impotent vessel of scorn and misery.

And so he remains, chained to a hospital bed in all saints, and now relocated to the top of the old tower in the center of the prison complex, to a cell they call the chapel, which he shares with two of the other worst killers in our city's history, Nicolai Giuseppe Scarpenado, aka the Christmas Cannibal, convicted in 1976 for the kidnapping murder and mutilation of 15 children

in Dermott Smasher McMurrow, former top assassin of the so-called Celtic cartel, who was caught in 98 after his infamous St. Patrick's Day massacre. The Internet has given these three monstrous cellmates a nickname, the twisted Trinity of All Saints Chapel. But, believe it or not, there are some who don't see all these killers as the bad guys. On Reddit and 4chan and YouTube, rumors swirl and conspiracies gain traction. Lies are being spread, lies about Raith, and there are even those who want the sundown slasher to be set free.

Sounds too ridiculous to be true? Well, joining me now in the studio is none other than Elizabeth Lovejoy, a lawyer, who is now, representing wraith and the appeal process. This love, Joy, welcome to Warning in the Morning. Well, I guess I should say, thanks for having me. But you haven't exactly given me a warm welcome, have you? I've had to sit here and listen to your vile misrepresentation of my client as some sort of inhuman monster. Frankly, the way you've spoken about Jasper is disgusting and highly offensive. Ah! You want to know what I find offensive? The severed head of of a 21-year-old woman. That's what they found in the mini-fridge of your client's bedroom.

Remember? I've interviewed that poor woman's family, you know. I've witnessed firsthand. The wreckage and heartbreak wraith caused. And what you're doing right now? It makes me sick with your little GoFundMe page for his legal costs and all this social media buzz. Tell the truth. This is all really just about getting yourself in the spotlight, about getting views on your channels, isn't it? Huh. Coming from you, that is funny. And hey, I can't help it if your audience is interested in searches for my content at Lizzie Lovejoy Lawyer on all major platforms. Don't forget to like and subscribe, but that's not why I'm doing this.

No, no, I'm defending young Jasper because I know in my heart that he's innocent. Oh, give me a break. We've all seen the footage? CCTV, cell phone videos, police bodycams. There are literally hours of video evidence showing Wraith and Volkova committing mass murder. Fake news, all of it. That's all AI and deep fakes. If people just do their own research, they'll find the truth. The truth is that he's guilty, period.

And to be blunt, our beloved hammerheads have a better chance of winning the Super Bowl than that psycho does of ever getting out. No offense to their fans, of course. The sundown slasher will die in that prison next to the other two freaks, and good riddance. You don't know him like I do. No one does. I've sat by his bed in that awful place. I've held his big scarred hands and looked into his dark eyes. He can't have done those terrible things. His soul is too pure. I've sensed it. Oh, good Lord. Is that what this is all about? You're one of those kooky women, aren't you, who fall in love with imprisoned killers?

You can make fun of me all you want, but I know the truth. And so do my millions of followers. Jasper David Wraith is innocent. He was framed to protect the identity of the real sundown slasher. Just think about it. Poor Jasper was the perfect Patsy, abandoned by his mother at the age of four, raised by an abusive relative, big, strong working in a butcher shop.

If he had only gotten adequate representation in his first trial, the jury would have learned all that. Uh-huh. And in this fantasy world of yours, Miss Lovejoy, Who do you allege was this real sundown slasher? Oh, that's obvious. It was Victor Volkov, the wolf. And that horrible man had bribed his way into every corner of our city government.

That's why they set up Jasper to take the fall. They were too ashamed and frightened to reveal their connection to Volkov's criminal empire. Aloudi! Well, you're free to believe that and to use your platform to spread their lies. But I will continue to tell the truth. and to fight for justice. And know this, I have made it my mission in life to see to it that Jasper David Rath goes free, and I will be a part of making that happen, even if it kills me.

A summer storm rolled in that evening, showering the city with acidic rain. Dr. Teddy Sunday hummed one of his favorite hymns to himself as he pulled off the highway and drove toward the gates of the prison complex. 25 years ago, when it had first been announced that the sprawling historical, All Saints Monastery south of the city would be torn down to make room for a new prison. Dr. Sunday had been heartbroken. He hated to think of that sacred place being demolished. But he accepted that something had to be done with all the shameless mafiosos and criminal riffraff

that were spreading their sin like a plague across the land. And so, when the plan was amended, and the public learned that the monastery itself would be renovated and used as the prison, Sunday had been deletive. And now, as he showed the guards at the gate his ID, and was allowed to drive inside, the doctor experienced that wave of elation he always felt when passing through the high concrete walls, topped with electrified, barbed wire and guard towers, and into the prison complex itself, where a mix of contemporary steel structures had been erected among, and attached to, the old brick buildings of the monastery complex. The whole thing, a mighty patchworked.

temple of righteous punishment and glorious suffering. And from the center of that chaotic edifice, lit by spotlights from the guard towers, one central tower arose, like the rook on a haunted chessboard, silhouetted against the stormy sky. Holding his briefcase over his head, Dr. Sunday hurried from his car and ran up the high steps to the double doors of the central building. Once inside the atrium, he went through the usual security measures, handing in car keys and watch, getting a security badge for the evening's visit, and letting the staff inspect the medical contents of his briefcase. Thank you, boys, said the doctor, closing his case and adjusting his glasses.

Everything going okay tonight? The security officer shrugged. There were some trouble over in the St. Luke's mess hall at dinner, just the usual. A couple of Skull 18 members attacked the Golden Gunners table, and then somehow two of the Los Peranias ended up getting their third. throat slashed. There's never any reason to that shit. All the gangs in here, they just jump at each other whenever they get the chance. A bunch of psycho chimpanzees and jumpsuits. Dr. Sunday did not approve of comparing prisoners to chimpanzees. Not because it was degrading

for them, but because it alluded to that horribly icky theory of evolution. But he understood the officer's sentiment and wished the man a fine evening. After passing through the metal detectors, Sunday was joined by another member of staff, who escorted him down a corridor and through the wide-open mess hall of the St. Matthew's wing. This area was one of the more modern parts of the prison complex, with sleek white walls and raised balconies looking down into an open courtyard filled with long tables. As they walked on, the walls were soon made of old brick again, and the corridors smelled of mildew. They passed by row after row of cells, where hundreds of monks had once slept and prayed and lived their simple lives. Now the devilish faces of

condemned criminals gazed out through the little windows on the electrically locked doors of their cramped, musty, miserable cells. Sunday was led up a flight of stairs, then down two more hallways than around a sharp corner. The whole prison was like this, a labyrinth of corridors and cell blocks and security rooms. Even after a full year of weekly visits, the The doctor still didn't know his way around and required an escort to find the spiral staircase that ran up, up, up to the central tower. Dr. Sunday resumed his humming as he climbed the stairs, alone now. He reached the second topmost level of the tower, buzzed in at the door, and was granted access to a circular room full of security monitors. Two elite prison guards sat in chairs

under a stained glass window. Both wore bullet-proof vests and were armed like soldiers, with assault rifles lying across their laps. Good evening, gentlemen, said Dr. Sunday. And a heartfelt hello to you, Edna, he added, turning to face the wrinkly old woman who sat behind the security desk. Hey, Doc. And how have the residents of the chapel been behaving this week? Any surprises? Nope. You know the twisted Trinity, Doc. They do their thing, and we do ours." The doctor pouted and shook his head.

No, no. Just because folks on the internet call those inmates the twisted trinity doesn't make it right. The moniker is blasphemous, plain and simple. We really should strive to do better, Edna. Don't you agree? Mm-hmm, my sincerest apologies. It's all right.

We all make mistakes, dear. Sunday walked across the room to the elevator, which only moved between this room and the chapel above it, and it was the only way to access the highest and most secure of cells. Be careful up there, Doc, said Edna, pressing a button on her desk to open the elevator doors. He stepped inside and turned, placed a hand over his necktie and patting his heart. The Lord is with me, Miss Ipsen. I shall fear no evil. The doors closed, and a few seconds later opened again. Dr. Sunday stepped out into the now infamous chapel, where three of the most feared and hated men in the nation had been sequestered to live out the rest of their natural lives.

It had originally been the private place of worship for a church official, a nondescript brick room with stained glass windows in the round walls, depicting scenes of saints and biblical stories. One could still almost smell the scent of incense and beeswax candles in that formerly holy place. though now it was mingled with the haze of hospital chemicals in the air, the stench of body odor, and the distinct smell of oil paints. Rubber padding had been added to the walls, and all furniture was locked down in place on the brick floor. Pains of bulletproof glass had been set over the stained glass windows,

and as lightning now flashed outside, ghostly colors bounced around the room, in the shapes of holy faces, stretched, deformed, and larger than life. Dr. Sunday straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and stepped out of the elevator. He glanced up at the many security cameras on the ceiling, then over at the pair of COs, standing to the right. They were big men with bulging muscles, though neither of these correctional officers was armed. As the warden believed, it was too dangerous to allow any weapons into the chapel. If anything were to go wrong, it would be seen on the security monitors below them,

and Edna could push a button on her desk that caused halothane gas to be swiftly pumped into the room through a series of vents, incapacitating everyone inside. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling, and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet. But then you see it, that purple shop pay button. And just like that, you're done in seconds. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the U.S. From major brands like Mattel and Jimshark to entrepreneurs just getting started.

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Go to shopify.com slash dns that's shopify.com slash dns Young nurse Bailey was working today Dr. Sunday was pleased to see and he turned to watch her as she prepared medications for the chapel's oldest resident Sunday liked to watch the nurses. But as the doctor's gaze shifted off the young lady, and down to the elderly serial killer instead, his smile faded. Freak number one, Nikolai Giuseppe Scarpenado,

aka the Christmas cannibal. Old Nikki was sitting up in his bed, his arms strapped into a straight jacket, his ankles chained to the floor. He was rocking back and forth, giggling in his eerie little voice. It was said he used to sing Christmas songs 24-7 in this prison, but as old age had taken hold of his mind, he had regressed, turning childish and giggly instead. A shudder went through Teddy

Sunday. He could still remember the way this wretched little man had terrorized the city 50 years ago, snatching children off the streets on winter nights. The kidnappings and paranoia they caused had practically ruined all of Teddy's childhood Christmases. Sunday was eight years old when the killer was finally caught, and when news leaked of the cannibal's identity, everyone was shocked. The whole city knew Nikki Scarpenado, and not just as the whimsical, puckish, slow-witted nephew of crime boss Caesar Scarpenado, but also as the silly little man who played the role of Santa Claus

at Roma's department store downtown. Teddy Sunday had even gotten his picture taken once, sitting in Nicky's lap. He could still remember that cackling Father Christmas, tickling Teddy's stomach through the itchy holiday sweater his grandmother had made him wear. Santa's breath had smelled of herbs and smoke. And as the doctor stared at him now, the maniac looked more like jolly old St. Nick than ever.

Nikolai was in his 80s, short and pudgy, with a shiny bald head and a curly white beard. His eyes were small, red and watery, like a rat's eyes, and his teeth were gray and rotten in his freakish smile. Dr. Sunday took a moment to say a prayer in his heart. He prayed that the prisoner would die, preferably soon and in tremendous pain, and then be tortured in hell forever, amen.

Taking his eyes off old Nikki, Sunday turned and looked into the shadowy back of the chapel, where the second of the so-called twisted Trinity sat on the edge of his own bed, hunched over an artist's easel. The doctor could just make out the edge of the canvas that the prisoner was painting. It looked to be a green field, dotted with yellow flowers. Freak number two, Dermot McMurrow, whom everyone called Smasher.

McMurrow was the strangest inmate that Dr. Sunday had ever come across, not to mention, the single most grotesque-looking human being he had ever seen. Having developed pituitary gigantism as an infant, this walking nightmare of a man was eight feet ten inches tall, with broad square shoulders like an ox, and hands and feet so large that no ordinary shackles could fit him. He was about 50 years old now, and had spent more than half his life incarcerated, having been convicted in 1998 for the first-degree murders of over 100 men, all of which he had committed in a single 24-hour period. The giant man's hair had not grayed with age,

and was still bright red and pulled up into a tight bun atop his huge, misshapen head. The doctor considered McMurrow for a long moment, and the tubes of paint sitting out on his bed, given to him as a reward for good behavior. He also had a stack of paperback books beside his bed, and was the only one of the three cellmates without change. or restraints.

Sunday didn't believe in all that sort of thing. Prisoners were here to be punished, plain and simple. That is what they deserved. Speaking of deserving punishment, Sunday turned to his left to face the final of the three beds in the chapel, where his patient lay atop the sheets. The young man's long limbs stuck out over the edges of the mattress, and there was a chain attached to one ankle,

even though the prisoner wasn't moving, and had barely moved at all, or even spoken since his accident, 18 months earlier. His skin was patterned in red, raised scars from the many surgeries he had needed, showing where the screws had been driven into his bones, straightening his broken limbs and contorted spine. Dr. Sunday approached the bed and sat on the chair beside it,

laying his briefcase on the foot of the mattress. He leaned and lay a hand on the knee of the prisoner. Freak number three. Wakey, wakey, Jasper David, crooned the doctor. And how is my favorite patient today, hmm? I know you're awake, my boy. Why not say hello to this kindly old doctor

who's doing everything he can to get you better? On the bed, the emaciated body of Jasper David Wraith remained motionless. Sunday sighed, and opening his briefcase, pulled on sterile rubber gloves. He smiled and hummed to himself as he withdrew a syringe and a vial of amber liquid and prepared the injection.

Nurse, help me turn him onto his side. Crossed the room, Nurse Bailey poured a small paper cup of pills into Nikki's mouth, then walked over to Jasper's bed. She took him gently by the shoulders, and together the nurse and the doctor rolled him onto his side. Sunday untied the back of Jasper's hospital gown to expose his spine, with its long surgical scars and the puncture marks of many previous injections, showing pink against the skin. Today's dose is extra strong. My associates think it's time to speed up the process.

Feeling with his fingertips between two vertebrates, Sunday inserted the needle, savoring the feel of it, poking through the skin, and entering the epidural space. As he pushed down the syringis plunger, flooding Jasper's spinal cord, with the burning chemicals, he was pleased to hear a tiny groan escape his patient's lips. That's right, said the doctor, helping to lay Jasper on his back again. As Nurse Bailey walked away, Sunday leaned close to Jasper's scarred and sunken cheek. The medication I'm giving you, Jasper David, this serum of augmented stem cells. It must surely be working by now, regenerating your damaged tissues, growing your nerves, making you strong, and you can try to hide it.

But we both know that you have already regained sensation. So, why aren't you better? Why do you lie here like a slug? Sloth is a sin. I know you are a sinful man, full of wrath, envy, pride, and... The doctor sucked a breath through his teeth and let his gaze pass over Jasper's inanimate body. Lost. But...

Sloth? Really? The doctor shook his head. My partners in the Far East have invested a lot into this drug trial, and they demand results. So, let's try harder, shall we? Can you wiggle your toes? Go on. Just a teeny wiggle.

Do it for me. Jasper did not move. Setting down the syringe, Sunday withdrew a different needle from his briefcase. This one wasn't exactly the standard plastic Medi-pin. usually used to test for sensation, but it would certainly do the trick. Very well, then tell me, can you feel this? Sunday pricked the long, sharp steel needle into the top of Jasper's foot. No reaction.

How about this? He moved the needle to Jasper's shin and pushed it in, hard and fast to the bone. The leg did not twitch, but looking back at Jasper's face, Sunday was pleased to see that the young man had finally opened his eyes. The doctor smiled. He was fascinated by Jasper's eyes. They were so dark, devoid of any gleam of humanity, like the eyes of a shark. Can you feel this? Or this?

What about this? Or maybe this? Dr. Sunday screwed the needle into Jasper's kneecaps, into his nipples, into the fingertip of his right pinky, so deep that a spot of purple blood appeared beneath his fingernail. Jasper's left eyelid twitched just once, just a little, but it was enough, and Dr. Sunday exhaled with joyous relief. That's what I thought. You can start rebuilding your strength again whenever you want to. So what's holding you back?

Are there not things you miss doing? Take for example, he leaned close to Jasper's ear, and taking the young man's chin in one hand, he turned, Jasper's head to face Nurse Bailey across. the room. That young woman, she's a pretty little thing, isn't she? Cute round face, slim waist, big child bearing hips, and such soft, soft hands. Aren't there things you'd like to do to her, my boy? To her flesh, inside and out, bet it's disgusting. The awful things you think about in that sinful mind of yours, things someone like me could never even imagine. Dr. Sunday realized he was starting to pant, and that the sweat gathering of,

on his face was causing his glasses to slide down his nose. Oh my, he straightened up, shoving his glasses back into place, then clapped a hand onto Jasper's thigh and squeezed. Well, I must be off. I'm a busy man and... A woman's scream suddenly filled the chapel. Sunday gasped and spun. Nurse Bailey was beside old Nikki's bed, writhing in place and shrieking. She must have been checking the prisoner's mouth to make sure he swallowed his pills, and he must have been checking the prisoner's mouth to make sure he swallowed his pills, and he must have taken the chance to snap his jaws onto her soft, soft hands. Sunday's eyes went wide at the sight of that demented old man, chomping down his great teeth into the nurse's fingers and shaking his head from side to side like a rabid animal.

Get off her! shouted the guards, running to help. But as one of them grabbed Nikki and the other grabbed the nurse to pull them apart, she screamed again. Stop! Ah! Don't pull! Or he'll bite them off! Blood was gushing out, soaking Nicky's beard. and his rodent eyes glossed over in ecstasy. The guards tried in vain to pry his jaws apart. Someday's gaze darted up to the cameras on the ceiling. He was desperately hoping that Edna was not about to gas the room. He knew how dangerous inhaling the halothane vapor would be.

Did she hermit? Help me! Nurse Bailey shouted, calling, not to a member of staff, but to the gigantic inmate in the back of the room. Startled out of his artistic concentration, Dermit, Smash or McMurrow, Immediately stood and turned, Dr. Sunday shuddered. As the prisoners grotesquely distorted, primal features came into view. With his jutting forehead, wide-set eyes, bulbous nose, wide cheeks, huge rounded chin and big pale ears,

he looked like an albino gorilla with a ginger beard. MacMurrow had on a pair of reading glasses, and he held a paintbrush in one giant fist. But he now set these both aside and stomped toward the commotion. his insanely massive body hunched and hulking. Dr. Sunday swallowed, expecting the worst, but the giant man only stepped up in front of the struggle, held out a foot-long index finger, and spoke one word, and a voice like an earthquake.

No. At once, Nikki Scarpenado obeyed, opening his bloody mouth, then hung his head like a shame-faced puppy. Nurse Bailey stumbled away from the bed, ghostly pale and trembling, holding up her bleeding hand. The guards pushed Nikki back onto the bed and began to lash more restraints over him.

The old man giggled, licking the blood from his lips and his mustache. Smash her sighed, a sound like wind in a cave, and turned to stomp back to his bed. Putting back on his reading glasses, the giant resumed painting his flowers. Dr. Sunday released a nervous breath. Madness, he gushed, grabbing his briefcase, standing, and marching over to the giant. to the injured nurse. Come with me, my dear. That bite looks deep.

You'll need stitches. He led Nurse Bailey to the elevator, and once they were safely inside, he glared at her. You should not have done that. Me? She stammered, shivering from the pain. What did I do?

You called her that prisoner for help. You can't trust any of them, least of all that nasty smasher fellow. You think he's some sort of gentle giant? Hmm? Well, he's not. He is a Philistine, like Goliath of old. An irredeemable beast!

As the elevator descended, the nurse grimaced and shook her head. No, no, Dermit helps us with Nikki. He takes care of him. You know what else he used to do? Smash people's heads! Crush their skulls with his bare hands! Oh, that's just an old, like, urban legend. Dermit's actually a...

a model prisoner. They're not even children of God, those three. There's something unnatural, unholy, something of the Nephilim about them. And it is our duty to carry out the harsh justice of the Lord upon such forces of darkness. Oh, yes. The nurse did not respond, but swooned, beginning to faint. Doctor someday reached an arm around her waist to steady her, holding her close, inhaling the mingled sense of her coconut shampoo and the fresh metallic,

tang of the blood spilling from her fingers. In that moment, with the memory of Jasper's pain fresh in his mind and his arm around this vulnerable young woman, Sunday's heart was filled to bursting with gratitude, and it took all his self-control not to erupt into song and shout out a hymn of thankfulness. He really did have the best job in all the world. Upstairs in the chapel, Jasper David Wraith closed his eyes again. He hadn't really listened to any of the anything that the crazy doctor had said. What would be the point? There was nothing much to interest Jasper in the real world anymore.

He had lost all the things that made life interesting, the thrill of the hunt, the feel of his blades sinking into flesh, the orgasmic relief of the kill. Not to mention all the other things, a bedroom of his own, green tea, the internet, his 82 Lincoln Continental. Jasper had traded it all. whole life, his body, his everything, all for one day of wondrous bloodshed, hand in hand with, well, she was gone. The golden-haired bitch was dead. He had watched the flames rise up around her perfect body and seen the building explode into fiery rubble around her. Before she turned up

in his life, Jasper had been a feared and wanted villain of the night, and now he was...what exactly? just another carcass, another lump of bones on a cold mattress. His every meal had to be spoon-fed by a nurse. They wiped his shit for him too. And he was forced to listen to the annoying, childish laughter of that Santa Claus freak across the room day and night. Jasper was trapped twice over, first in all saints' prison, and then again in his own mind. He had always spent a lot of time in his imagination. But these days, not even his ferocious fantasies could bring him any pleasure,

because now they could never come true. To imagine his next kill was like, like chewing on cardboard and pretending it was steak. And when he tried to mentally relive his past murders, he found that the memories were all tainted, soured, reduced to bleak reminders of that which he could never do again. And so, he lay, time oozing slow around him, the broken heart in his sunken chest mocking him with each unwanted beat. But it wasn't all bad, he supposed. Jasper had a new lawyer now, and he did find a modicum of

pleasure when she came to visit, as she did later that day. The female wasn't especially attractive. Her hair was dark and curly, her eyes a little too close together, and she applied so much heavy makeup that she might as well have been wearing a Halloween mask. Her perfume, too, irritated Jasper. It smelled like gummy bears and ass. She also had a nasty habit of laying her hands on his body. Jasper didn't like that. Her flirty touch was nearly as painful to him as the needles of Dr. Teddy Sandy.

So why exactly did Jasper enjoy the visits of Lizzie Lovejoy? Because, simply put, whenever she sat behind him and leaned very close, And they stared into each other's eyes, as they were doing right now. Jasper could just manage to forget, momentarily, his dismal current circumstances, and could embrace instead the fantasy again, imagining in crisp detail, just what he would like to do with her ugly body. Her eyes would have to go. They unnerved him.

But eyes were easy to extract. Next, he would want to wash off her makeup. That wouldn't be hard. not once the head was removed from the body. Then he could simply put it in the kitchen sink and grab a sponge. Her limbs were nothing special. He would chop them off at the shoulders and the hips. But her torso?

Well, let's just say that the lawyer had a lot of meat on her bones and Jasper. Jasper had been a trained butcher. He was very good at that job, and he enjoyed it. The carcass carving part, that is, not working the counter. Fuck customer service. Oh, Jasper! sighed Lizzie Lovejoy. What's that little gleam that just came into your eyes?

I think I know. She held out a fist, straightened two fingers, and walked them like little legs up Jasper's chest. Because I was just thinking the same thing. It's just too bad we can't have more privacy. She glanced over her shoulder, at the COs by the elevator, then back at him.

But don't you worry, I'm working on that. Oh, you should have heard me on the news the other day. I told everyone what a beautiful soul you have. The reaction online has been very lively. And ooh, did I tell you about our newest GoFundMe supporter? They've already donated four figures. And now they've asked to meet with me in person. And I'm like, honey, for money like that?

I'll let you smash my like button in person. Ha! Just kidding. I have no idea who they're just. are, of course, but they go by the username Captain Mesty and... On the bed, Jasper spasmed. A furious, animal groan leaked from his throat. Lizzie Lovejoy jumped, clasping a hand to her heart.

Ooh, you startled me there, Jasper. You okay? Was it... That username? I'm sorry, sweetie. It's probably someone's idea of a joke. But it's not very nice of them to use that name, is it? I guess it reminded you of... That awful girl. But you never have to worry about her again, Jasper Baby. She patted his chest, then straightened the collar of his gown.

She's gone, and I'm here now, and I'm going to get you out of here. And then you can move in with me. I've already set up a hospital bed for you and everything. I can change the bed settings with an app on my phone. How neat is that? And she kept talking, on and on and on, though Jasper didn't hear another word. not after Captain Mesty. That had been the online persona of Jasper's best friend in all the world.

The person he messaged every morning and evening, pouring out his heart online, telling about his kills, about his dreams. But it had all been another of her lies, another trap to lure him in, to use him. And Jasper, Jasper had fallen for the female's trap. Never again. That's what Dr. Sandy couldn't understand. Jasper would rather lay on this lumpy bed and rot in this stinking prison for a thousand years than let anyone use him like that ever again.

Over the coming weeks, Jasper tried not to let that little mention of Captain Mesty push him even deeper into despair, but it was difficult. She started popping into his head throughout the day, unbidden, her form, a woman-shaped void, with one dazzling blue eye set against its dark and curvy silhouette. She only had one eye in the end, after Jasper sliced open the left half of her face with a meat cleaver. And when he slept, she started creeping into his dreams too. But in there, she took on a different form, the form of a cunning and ravenous she-wolf, watching him from the pouring rain, or standing beside a fountain in a moonlit park,

or sneaking up on him in an empty alleyway. Her head cocked, her fur bristled, her one blue eye penetrating Jasper with its icy animal gaze. Jasper had to find a way to distract himself from these intrusive thoughts, and so, for the first time, he began to actively pay attention to the prison life around him in the chapel. With his head propped up on his pillow, he would sweep the strange, circular room with his eyes, observing his two freakish cellmates and the guards and the nurses, as they all went about the practiced rituals of their days. After that Nicky guy tried to snack on nurse what her name's pretty fingers, she had not returned to the chapel. Her replacement was a male nurse,

a big, mean-looking guy, and Jasper could tell that this nurse and the guards all wanted to punish that cackling cannibal for what he had done. But they never did, because any time someone got close to the elderly prisoner, who was now strapped 24-7 to his bed, Jasper's other cellmate, Smasher would turn and give them a hard look, or pointed them with a giant finger, and they would cower in place, and make it clear that they were only giving old Nicky his meals, his meds, and his sponge baths. Jasper wasn't sure what to make of Dermit Smasher McMorro. The Neanderthal-looking giant with the red beard and a top knot was truly an enigma. Jasper knew the stories, of course, and had once gone down a Wikipedia rabbit hole about the massacre

the inmate was famous for. The devil's Donnybrook. That's what they called it. March 17, 1998, when practically the whole of the Celtic cartel was slaughtered at the oversized hands of their head assassin. Smashers certainly looked the part of a monstrous murderer. Jasper didn't know humans could even get that big,

like a goddamn ginger-sacquatch. But while people like the guards and his lawyer and Dr. Sunday all trembled at the sight of Dermit McMurow. as he might suddenly snap and rip them limb from limb, Jasper saw something else in the huge man. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was not the instincts of a sociopathic killer. Smashers spent most of his day reading and painting flowers for God's sake,

and he spoke less than one word a month. So weird. Nikki Scarpenado, now there was a killer. Jasper hated him too, of course, creepy little weirdo. But at least, Jasper felt some sense of kinship in the fact that Nikki maimed and injured anyone he could when the opportunity arose. Except for Smasher, that is. Those two had a strange relationship. Smasher acted like the older cellmate's doting mother,

cleaning drool from his beard and tucking him in at night. So, yeah, the chapel was a weird place. But not as boring as Jasper had first supposed. And by the end of that summer, he had almost gotten used to the routine, Dr. Sunday coming and going, with his excruciating injections and his needle fetish, and Lizzie loved joy with her candy-sweet words and her bubblegum pink fingernails. Jasper even began to accept that this new normal might continue on forever. It was like he had forgotten all about the world outside the prison walls. But things were happening

out there. And change was coming for the men chained up in All Saints Chapel. It was a It would happen fast and, from Jasper's perspective, out of the blue. Though with proper hindsight, the clues were all there, waiting to be found, like a she-wolf in the night, blessing the ears of all who listened to the sacred music of her haunted voice. Last warm day before the autumn chill set in, when everything changed for Jasper David Wraith. Sunlight was streaming in blinding rainbows through the stained glass windows, so no one in the Chapel was especially surprised by the fact that Lizzie Lovejoy, emerging from the elevator

and sauntering toward Jasper's bed, was wearing a pair of large, dark sunglasses. But Jasper was surprised, shocked even, by something else about the woman coming to visit him. Her smell. She smelled different, like flowers and oranges, and beneath the perfume, the flesh, the pheromones. He knew that smell. He knew her. Hey, Jasper, it's been a while. Jasper didn't move. Well, obviously, he hadn't moved in a long time.

But in that moment, when he heard that voice, he extra didn't move. The gravity of that impossible voice, it pinned him against the mattress. He couldn't breathe. And he couldn't take his eyes off the woman standing by his bed. With an enormous effort, Jasper opened his chapped lips, swallowed. painfully and said, Possible. She crouched, leaning closer, her voice low and soft, said Yara Volkova.

Here I am. Checking around to make sure the staff wasn't paying close attention, Yara lifted a hand and pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead. She had done a good job with the heavy makeup, achieving an eerie resemblance to the real Lizzie Lovejoy, and the wig she was wearing looked exactly like the lawyer's hair. But Yara's right eye, it was just as bright and blue and hypnotic as Jasper remembered it, just like in his dreams.

Her left eye was missing, and the socket was empty, a dark pink void. A vertical scar ran down the left side of her face, mostly hidden under the makeup. Dead am, Jasper? Am I really? Hmm, sounds like somebody's only heard half the story. She flashed him a half smile and let her sunglasses. fall back into place. But perhaps I'm being unfair. You don't know what really happened.

What's been happening? She lowered herself into the chair beside his bed and leaned to place her elbows on his mattress. And what's more? I used to think it was true, too, that Yara Volkova was dead. The way Charlie explained it to me was that Yara died in that fire

and that the young woman he pulled out the back of that flaming building. seconds before it exploded, was someone else. He said I was free to become someone new, whoever I wanted. I tried to believe that. But now, she sighed and shook her head. I've come to accept that he was wrong. Charlie is.

He's loyal, and his family is unbelievably friendly. But he's wrong about a lot of things. Now wait. Do you even remember Charlie, Jasper? I'm not sure you two ever actually met. He's my driver and my savior, and probably my best friend in all the world. Jasper was still too much in shock to say anything. Even his thoughts had ground to a halt, frozen in his mind, like his body was frozen on the bed.

So, yeah, I'm alive. As for your lawyer, the doughy-eyed Elizabeth Lovejoy? Well, I'm afraid that she is not. I visited Lovejoy's office this morning. See, I'm a big contributor to the free Jasper David Raith campaign, and she was all too happy to schedule a meeting with me. And then I killed her. Jasper's eyelids twitched.

No doubt, you were wishing to do that yourself. But if it's any consolation, I did my best to honor you in her killing. She leaned in closer, a twinkle in her eye. I cut off her head, Jasper. Can you believe that? Me! She grinned. He gazed back, taking in a shaky breath, feeling the skin tingle across his whole body beneath the papery hospital gown. You always made it look so easy, chopping a person apart. But it took me a while. The spine is really tough. I managed it in the end. But I don't think

it's for me. I'm far more comfortable with guns. Jasper blinked and was confused to feel something wet on his cheek. His eyes were watering. Fuck. Yara gently wiped the tear away with her sleeve. It's okay, Jasper. I know you're still angry with me. I don't blame you. After how everything went down, how we ended things,

well, breakups are never easy. And I am sorry to surprise you like this, but something's come up. And frankly, I need your help. Jasper heard a sound like a growl, rising up and realized it was coming from his own throat. Hear me out, Yara whispered. Manipulative, even if what I felt for you was real, so I'm sorry.

But I want to be forthright with you this time, and to make it a fair trade. You help me with my thing, and when it's done, you'll be far away from All Saints' prison. Freedom, Jasper. That's what I've come to offer you. Never! Jasper growled. Yara exhaled. Seriously? Did you even hear me?

God, you used to be such a good listener. Prisons changed you. He groaned again. Relax, it's a joke. Though I do need you to change if my plan's going to work. I need you strong again. And I know all about that doctor, about what he's been giving you. I think it's just what you need if you let it work.

But you have to crave it, Jasper. Strength, power, energy. Jasper felt his heart racing in his church. felt his temperature rising. At that moment, he hated Yara more than he had ever hated anything in all his life. He hated her for surviving, for seeing him like this, and for giving him, for giving him hope again. Because, God damn it, she was right.

He did want to hear her out. So he hated her for being right, too. What's this? Yara straightened up. It's about my twin brother, Caril. You remember Carill? He was the one who pushed you over that balcony. He's still here in All Saints, but I can't get to him.

He's been sent to solitary for his own protection. That's down in the basement of the St. John's wing. I'm doing what I can from the outside to aid him, but eventually, they're going to let him back into Gentop. And as soon as that happens, the vultures in this place will descend. We Volkovs? Let's just say we aren't too popular these days. Every gang has it out for us.

The only chance my brother has of surviving is to escape. Otherwise, he will be torn apart in here. Jasper tried to grin, to show her the depth of the pleasure he felt at the prospect of Kirill Volkov being literally ripped into bloody pieces. Of course, she was probably being metaphorical in her use of the phrase, but Jasper hoped not. I've been planning this for a long time, Jasper, every detail, every contingency. and I know how to pull it off.

The only problem is, it involves passing through some very large numbers of very violent gangsters, all of whom want us dead. She leaned in close again. Her eye squinted painfully. Corill and I will need an escort, a protector. So how about it?

You're in this prison for cutting your way through a whole mafia. Think he could handle a dozen at once if it means getting out of here? Jasper swallowed, clearing the phlegm from his thursday. throat and said, as audibly as he could manage. Your carefully plucked eyebrows rose from behind her glasses.

Fuck me, as in, I can go to hell? Or as in, that's what you desired to do to me? Is that what it would take to motivate you to get off your back? Getting me onto mine? She grinned, leaning even closer. Her smell was intoxicating, filling his mind with drunken rage. Tell me, Jasper, are you still? the virgin. He squeezed her throat, and her eye went wide. Then his eyes went wide too, because because his hand was not lying limp on the sheet. He had brought it up, seized his fist around her pretty neck, and he could feel her pulse in his fingertips as he squeezed. Jasper had moved. The squeak of furniture alerted him that someone else had noticed this unexpected movement.

Glancing back, he saw smashers, strange, curious eyes fixed on the two of them. Then Jasper looked up at the cameras on the ceiling. No doubt they had noticed too. Shit, he had to be careful. Jasper released Yara. She sucked in a breath and brought her own hand up to feel her neck. But she did not back away. And when she looked at Jasper again,

her smile was the widest it had been since her arrival. Good. I think that's my cue to leave. I have a lot of work to do. So do you. Straightening her wig and her sunglasses, Yara stood. You will get better, stronger, become the best you've ever been.

I know you will. Because, unlike your headless lawyer, I believe in the sundown slasher. I believe in you, Jasper. And it's time you start believing in yourself again, too. She started to walk away. Jasper tried to call after her. But the sound that came out of his mouth was more of a muted bark. She stopped, turned, and stepped back to his bedside.

bending to listen as he whispered, right eye squinting and thought. And then she left, blowing him a little kiss as the elevator doors closed in front of her. On the bed, Jasper released a long sigh, a dozen conflicting emotions swirling within the hot, moist air of his breath. He flexed the fingers of his right hand again. The muscles there were frail, weak, hard to control, but he could feel them. He could use them. He could exercise them, make them stronger. And she was right. He would get better, because now he knew he could.

And now he had a reason to. That whole world of possibilities was back. All his plans, his fantasies, the thousand methods of murder he had never had time to try before. They were waiting. All those bodies walking in the sunlight. They were waiting for his blades. And, sure, he'd settle for making his next slew of victory. whichever prisoners in here he needed to kill in order to escape.

He'd even drag Yara and Kirill along for the ride if necessary. But once they were out, once he was free, then he'd do what he should have done that first night, when Yara Volkova first walked into his butcher shop, all smiles and giggles and sweet lies. He would turn that brilliant, seductive, traumatized, murderous, beautiful bitch into minced meat. He would take his time.

He'd make her feel it. Every agonizing moment, he'd use his blades, his hands, his lips, and... Wait, no, not his lips! Where had that thought come from? Never mind. Just the blades, yeah. To cut, carve, slice, and separate. Yes, he would pay Yara back for everything she had done to him, taken from him,

and he would use her pain to fuel his resurrection. The second coming of the sundown slasher was at hand. Thank you for tuning in. For Yara's perspective, be sure to watch Part 1 on my other channel. The links just below in the description.