Becoming Sadistic Ophelia
The Making of a Sadist
By Yvette Dubel © 2006
It’s hard to say just when Sadistic Ophelia was born, but it was sometime after the girl known simply as Ophelia had graced the world with her birth.
She’d been the tough girl who’d grown up to be a top consultant to nonprofit organizations serving women and children. Having just completed a meeting with such an organization she was all set to leave as the driver held the door open for her, she paused just before she lowered herself inside---one more look back and she smiled.
There was no hint of the old corner store, phone booth or parking lot that once stood where this new safe haven had been built. Ophelia had rounded up the donations from a few wealthy contributors seeking redemption which only Sadistic Ophelia could have delivered. The end result of their contribution was not only the worthy cause of building this home and playground, but a very personal contribution to Sadistic Ophelia’s gruesome collection. A chunk of well chosen flesh for each sin that brought her to their doorstep prepared to collect.
Driving out of the compound for battered women and children, memories of her stay in such a place crept to the forefront. In a building much like the one she’d just left her mother had discovered that something more was needed to protect them.
“The knife is an extension of your intention and focus of your will. Forget positioning and concentrate on the intention of the strike when you make contact with the blade. Do you want to stop? To kill? Or to finish? This is what makes a hunter great,” she recalled hearing this lesson from her father many times.
One evening about two months after she and her mother had escaped the house of terror they had shared, he had begun stalking her Mother. After work she was leaving her waitress job, and he was crouched in the backseat waiting for her. After scooting inside she relaxed back into the driver’s seat--- and the choking grasp followed by the cold metal swiping across her neck the warmth of her blood burned his hands. He carelessly left incriminating fingerprints throughout the car as if daring them to name him as the primary suspect.
He had what is commonly called political capital on his side. His family had generations of influence as they’d been known for decades to donate and raise impressive sums for political campaigns of those they sought to curry favors from. They were especially attractive campaign supporters of corrupted or corruptible political hotshots. Ophelia’s father, Harold, was never called to trial for his attempt at the murder of her mother or the crimes he committed against her that led to their fleeing to begin with.
While her Mother lie in a hospital bed fighting for her life, Ophelia was told a judge had ordered her to return home to her father. He had full custody of her now. One of the directors of the shelter sat down to explain things to her but it was of no use.
“Believe me we will do everything we can to keep you here, to keep you safe, but we have to honor the court’s ruling. And so in the meantime you have to stay with him while we work this out because you’re only thirteen you have to be in the care of an adult,” the house director explained.
“Did the judge know what he did to me and my Mom?” Ophelia asked the tears welling up in her eyes.
“No, unfortunately that was inadmissible evidence in this case. All the evidence implicating him or suggesting he was an unfit or even abusive parent was excluded.”
They insisted that she had to go and live with him and she had decided otherwise. This all powerful “they” had decided she was damned to a life of victimization and in her mind this was no longer an option. She was on her own now.
At the earliest opportunity she slipped out with only the clothes she was wearing a backpack with a very few essentials. In the blink of an eye Ophelia found herself on the callous city streets with the other lost and wounded people who called it home.
It wasn’t long before she found herself crying in an alley gutter as the rain drenched all that remained of her clothes. She had been robbed and assaulted and they’d taken most of her provisions. This left her defenseless, but at least she still had her jacket, flashlight and a small stash of belongings she’d hid under the bridge to lighten her backpack. However the little money she had from her birthday was gone.
She looked at the necklace her Mother had given her that was safely tucked in her sweatshirt. As the rain poured down with more determination her sobs turned to wailing.
Then with the clarity of freshly scrubbed toilet water, she thought aloud,” If I’d had a knife like Daddy’s this couldn’t have happened.” Moments later she was exiting a pawn shop with her newly acquired hunting knife, hardly a fair trade for the antique necklace her Mother had given her.
Over the next few days she set out to find legitimate work. Without transportation her options were severely limited so she was overjoyed when a corner market hired her to stock shelves and clean up. The job wouldn’t pay enough to get an apartment, but she might be able to get a hotel room once or twice a week. Yet, without a pay advance this still left here without any money in the present.
When her hunger grew small enough she would cross the water under the bridge to go into the woods to hunt. Her early exposure to hunting turned out to be a life saver, without these skills she would have starved or perhaps turned to prostitution or drugs like so many of the others. Fortunately she was familiar with setting effective traps for small game so she was able to provide for her basic needs, except the lean-to shelter left much to be desired as cold weather was fast approaching.
With only a jacket to block out the night cold, she fell asleep making plans for getting money so she could buy a sleeping bag, batteries, a better knife and some proper pots for cooking.
When she arrived at the corner store for work she was introduced to the assistant manager. Although the two got along well, Ophelia was careful not to share too much information over the next several weeks for fear she’d end up in the foster care system. She listened carefully to Kay’s lessons on life. Her classes were held in between customers until one day….
As the last customer left Kay turned to face her, “You know I was raised in the care system after my Grandmother died when I was 14, so I’ve been on me own since I was about 16. And you know what I learned? The world is full of wankers.”
“How did you make it on your own,” asked a very curious Ophelia.
“By not making the mistakes I made,” Kay laughed as she replied.
“What do you mean?” asked Ophelia
“Ok, for example trying to survive on the streets or in run down neighborhoods infested with predators…knowing what I know now I’d go take my chances surviving in the woods. Surviving on the streets made me feel that I needed a group of associates to hang out with and as a ticket to earning street credibility which is waxed road to doing time. No, you don’t want to go that route. Although the alternative that I’ve settled on is still a dead end of another kind I guess. No matter how you slice it, it does seem this life is intended to be hell if you’re not one of the wealthy fluffy ones.”
“What do you mean by dead end?” Ophelia inquired.
“I work here and then I go to yet another training program that’s supposed to help me get a job. This time I’m getting training as a metal work, a welder. I’m was hoping to get trained as a book keeper but that one was full. If I complete this one for welding they told me it’d help my chances of getting in next time because of my odds of getting a job as a welder around here,” offered Kay with a sigh.
“Then why make you take the class if it’s not going to help you get a job?”
“Because that’s what the workforce development commission is interested in funding in the way of job development,” Kay answered. “I’ve lived on the streets and it’s not an experience I’m interested in repeating. It’s not so bad really. I’ve started making knives so I’m working developing a line of them that I can sell as utilitarian art pieces.”
“So you’re an artist?” Ophelia inquired.
“That’s what the business consultants have told me. See when I lived on the streets it was such a relief to get into the woods where I didn’t have to be afraid of being robbed or worse and all the fluffy twats were sure to be lost.” Her sentiment was punctuated by a rough snort.
“So you lived in the woods?” asked Ophelia
“For almost two years after I left the homeless shelter. When I didn’t have money for food I could always hunt and that’s how I got interested in knives,” she shared and then went on to educate on Survival 101. “In fact, I have a knife I’ve been tinkering with that’d be perfect for gutting an animal or attacker. I’ll bring it for you tomorrow. ” She looked Ophelia squarely in the eye as she concluded.
“What’s the most important lesson life has taught you?”
“Hmm…..It’d have to be to watch your own back and don’t be afraid to help someone else in the process. In whatever way makes sense for you, commit yourself to justice and helping those in a worse situation than yourself. Where you see wrong, refuse to be a part of it….never keep the secrets of corruption…” Kay’s words of wisdom continued to flow like rain water and Ophelia caught them in a bucket for future analysis for truth.
Their shift flew by and Ophelia left with renewed hope that she would indeed survive the situation she found herself in. She tried to contain her excitement mingled like sweat with relief. Although her pay was meager what it made possible was still something to be grateful for because it wouldn’t always be this way. Of that she was certain.
Thankfully tomorrow was pay day and she was very much looking forward to the bed she could afford only for the weekend. During the week Ophelia found wooded areas to sleep and her concern for safety was pushing her further and further away from the center of town. But on weekends she treated herself to a cheap hotel room and long hot bathes, the remainder of her money could be stretched, however thinly, to feed her most of the week. These were the thoughts that paced around in her head as she tried to force sleep despite the voices she could hear moving around in the park.
When Ophelia arrived at work the next day, she found Kay standing outside by the phone booth shaking her head as she smoked a cigarette. It was impossible to avoid noticing that there had been a fire and broken glass remained where once the front window and entrance had been. Ophelia held back the tears asking Kay, “What happened?”
“The owner was about to get busted for operating a child porn ring and one of the parents decided to teach him a lesson and set the store on fire while he was closing out the office last night. And now that he’s dead we don’t get paid because he hasn’t been paying in to Unemployment Benefits, so we’re screwed,” Kay said with an audible sigh at the end.
“I guess I’ll be relocating sooner than I thought,” said Ophelia with a half laugh.
“Yeah, you and me both….oh, here’s that knife I wanted to give to you.”
Ophelia looked at it closely, before she offered her sincerest gratitude. “I’m sure this knife will save lives someday and I will never be without it. Thank you.”
“No worries, kid….you just use it to stay safe.”
It seemed like only the day before that she and Kay had stood in the parking lot near the dilapidated phonebooth having that exchange, but it wasn’t yesterday at all.
