You do not yet know my story, but it did not begin in a very amazing fashion. I want you to know the
many things that the man I speak of has done. So I cannot begin with a long and boring account of my
first encounter with him, I must start with an epic tale of evil and crime.
Let me tell you I was a common visitor to this deranged man's prison. He had surprised and amazed me
many times in the years I have known him. The score was, by this point, that I would come in and we
would chat about this or that crime he had committed.
It may seem crude, the unflappable nature of me. However at the time I learned of this particular event I
was used to his minor and major slights to the Law and human nature. This beast had long since shown
me that he was not above theft and extortion, torture and murder. I was once his psychologist, and soon
after, his psychiatrist, his friend. So we had developed a report.
Locked away for ten years he had grown soft but remained as evil. I am telling his tale posthumously for
two reasons. Most of my dealings with him were when I was his physician, doctor-patient confidentiality.
The other is that he could no longer be held accountable for them; I had grown to like this man, or at
least his philosophy.
After an overly thorough search by a new officer, I stood at a door with blacked out glass. No one really
tried when searching me, they did not feel the need anymore; but every so often I would get a new guy.
It was my subject's affect on me that made me realize how easy it would be to raise hell in the place. I
opened the door and went through.
Chained to a chair on the other side of a metal table, with a door behind him, and a window on his right,
my left, was the man I had come to see. He was an elderly thing, rather pathetic looking. His appearance
had once fooled me, but I knew to look in the eyes. The malice and contempt shown there was
staggering. Thankfully it was not directed at me.
He grimaced at me as I asked, "Not enjoying yourself today?"
He replied in a snobbish tone, "No, the bell hop was rather rough with me and the cleaners always steal
my good toys." He laughed derisively in a bitter voice.
"Well we both know you're not allowed those toys you love so much."
In a whine he said, "Bu... But I was only playing with them. I wouldn't hurt a soul you know that! Don't
you Mr. Flint" He cackled again. He hadn't for some time, but during his time in prison he had killed or
injured 32 inmates and 6 guards.
"I'm fascinated Loren, but I don't want to discuss your innocent act. The reason I'm here is to ..."
He cut me off saying, “D’ya know? Your name has got me thinking about '84. The year not the number
..." Curious I leaned forward. He continued in that musical voice of his, that enraptures you, saying, "Flint,
Flint. Mitch Flint. You don't mind if I tell you about '84?"
"No, no. Go ahead. We'll follow your whims today."
"That's why I like you. You listen. Most people who talk to me, they stay on a topic and just: What did
you do? Why? How? Ha, ha, ha. Mr. Flint. Alright well it was a hot summer. But as you know, I can adapt
to many temperatures." I nodded, "So I thought, 'let’s turn up the heat! But whom to burn? Well I had
time so I strolled through the village I was residing in. I came to rest in a quaint little park, in the very
center of town. I just watched the vict- ahem; excuse me, people- pass by." A smile was stealing across
his scarred face and I knew that meant pain for someone.
"I noticed a lovely young blonde woman. She was walking with a parasol, for the sun. I noticed her
immediately and watched her stroll. She came to the exit of the park and I followed. I caught up to the
woman at a crosswalk. As we both waited to cross the road I noticed she was in high heels. You know
Mitchell that how I love high heels. I picked up a stone and casually tossed it into the walk where I
calculated she would not notice it.
"Well you know my calculations; the shadows hit it just right, so that when she reached it her heel
snapped. I knelt beside her, gentlemanly, and offered her, my hand across to the bench on the other side
of the street. She accepted and hopped over with my hand. When she sat she began feeling her ankle
and I sat beside her playing the worried bystander. She seemed overly upset about her broken heel. Guilt
flashed over my face, but only for a moment when I realized she meant because they were so expensive.
My god! These people and their ridiculous fashions. Did you know that the heeled shoe has been around
for hundreds of years, supposed to be used in riding horseback? Utter idiocy!
"Anyway Mr. Flint, I offered to help her home and she refused as females often will when they assume
men are flirting. When she attempted to get up she could hardly support the weight on the ankle. I told
her I had to insist. She seemed assured by my caring nature that I only meant her well. How wrong she
was! We hobbled three blocks and chatted the whole way. When we made it to the red-bricked apartment
building she asked if I could help her up the stairs and to her door. I said I would, however knowing how
charming I was I made clear that I was married, which I wasn't. But you know women of that manner,
forbidden fruit and all. With some difficulty on the stairs we made it to the third floor, apartment G.
She made a show of getting in the door and then feigned the inability to make it to the medicine cabinet.
Forcing her caring escort to help her over the threshold. I sat her in a reclining chair. Her 'pad' was decked
with ten year old hippy items. She pointed to the open kitchen and I found an ice pack and bandage for
her. I gave them to her and made my excuses to leave."
I was stunned and asked, "Wait you didn't kill her! You kindly took her to her room and did not kill her? I
don't believe it. You? A good Samaritan!"
"Ah, but you are forgetting the Samaritan came across the robbed man. In this instance I was the robber,
returned to be the neighborly Samaritan. You flatter; the good Lord’s son knew nothing of the likes of
me. No, Mitchell, I was not being a Good Samaritan. I told you I wanted more heat. If I had wanted to kill
her I would have done so in the room. You know, I love suffering. So I left her room. And I had steered
her to invite me up, because I had not the supplies to start a fire.
I came to a janitorial closet at the end of the hall. I went in noticing the glare from a small window and,
standing on a bucket, used the lighter I had stolen from her room to set off the sprinkler system. I did
this, but not before spilling several bottles, ammonia in particular. I then laid a cloth in the liquids and set
that aside. I took an aerosol can and torched the wall. A rush of adrenaline was setting in, but I quelled it
to remain focused. I could hear cries and yells.
"Finally I set the puddles of supplies alight and lit the cloth. As it struck up the whole room was ablaze
and I laid the rag over my arm and bolted from the room screaming. Many people were crowding the halls
and blocking each other. I scurried down the stairs, because most people parted for me, on fire you
know. I made it to the bottom of the stairs and bolted the front door. I lit the walls around with the rag
and then flung it off me, it landed on a cat. I got quite a laugh to see that thing flee and set alight a few
more things for me.
"Screams were all around and I was trying my hardest not to laugh with glee. I headed past a few people
as I trudged back up the stairs to check on my work up there. Good News! The second floor had caught
too. I noticed a few people had escaped and that made me a bit angry. But no matter, some survivors are
okay. I covered my face as I passed the girl hobbling along. No one had helped her and she had just
made it to the top flight of steps. A last few people hurried past and she and I were alone. Everyone was
downstairs trying to find a way out, besides the locked burning front door. Buildings in the '80s were
death traps, just the way I like them. I stalked behind her and made a run in on the second floor, once
again I acted her savior. I yelled that the front door was blocked off and I had a way out. She accepted it
and followed me to the opposite end of the floor. Not a soul was around and it seemed to me the whole
first floor was engulfed in flame. Again I hid my glee, as I realized someone had made it through another
door, downstairs and created a back draft, scorching the entire first floor and everyone on it.
"I was annoyed to find our way bared by flames, so I dashed through a door and found the back
staircase. I led her upwards with soothing words and a confident air. The second floor was ablaze by now
and we only had the third floor, which I had lit first. The greatest part was that all the people flooding out
to escape had caused their fates by changing the air currents and feeding the flames. I admired the
inferno below as we climbed the stairs. We came to the third floor door and I laid an expert hand on it. It
was hot but I could tell was not in direct contact with flame.
It just kept getting better as she began to get suspicious of me after I had sealed her fate. I had closed
the door on the stairwell and faced her. She was looking hard at me. As if confused, she said 'now how
are we supposed to get out of here!' The flames roared and I missed the curse she hurled at me. I gave
in the disguise and laughed. I laughed my most maniacal laugh and taunted her further. I stopped and
heard a window shatter close by. Her terrified face was covered in soot and her hair was singed. We would
have looked quite a sight, with our dereliction. My shirtsleeve was scorched and my face was probably
caked in soot as well.
"A support beam collapsed behind her and I pulled her away from it. She pulled away and stuck her left
arm right in the fire. She screamed, I laughed again. She slapped me across the face. I smiled and tutted
at her, 'you shouldn't have done that I would have let you live.' Though I wouldn't have. I just wanted her
in despair. It worked she sank to her knees and plead with me. Tears streaked her soot stained visage.
I shook my head and cast my eyes down. There seemed to be no way out, but I knew what I would do.
We were feet from where I had started the fire. Logic and experience had taught me that the source
would have less flame later on, with less kindling. I was committed to my role so I turned from her and
walked straight through a wall of fire. It hurt and my flesh was scorched, but I was alive. I laughed one
last time and stepped through the janitor's door.
I looked back to find the girl had followed me through the flame, but had mistimed it, so she had been
caught in a surge. I shook my head at her again. She was on her stomach now, crawling towards me. I
loved it! But I had to leave. I stepped up onto the bucket and scaled the metal rack that had so recently
held the cleaning supplies. I hefted myself onto the sill of the small window and caught a glimpse of her
pleading with me to save her. I looked back and sighed saying, 'Deep down, you know you deserve this!' I
laughed again then slid through the window, feet first."
I had had more than enough, "So you gave her something to torment her in those last moments. But
what about the sides of the building, did the outside not catch fire too? And what did you land on, were
you hurt?"
He smirked mockingly saying, "My dear Flint. If I did not know you better I would think that was
sympathy. No the outside of the building had not caught, it was brick, as I have told you and had it not
been brick I might not have been able to have as much fun as I did. As for landing I caught the lowest
ladder of the fire escape of the adjacent building. It gave way and I rode it to the ground. I dislocated my
shoulder, had twisted my ankle, and limped all the way home, but it was a worthwhile day all the same."
I nodded knowingly saying, "You noticed the fire escape when you first entered the janitor's closet." He
nodded just as an alarm sounded. It wasn't the usual buzz that meant we were out of time. And
goodness knows we had plenty time left, along with things to discuss. I realized as he groaned that it
meant someone had been attacked and all inmates must return to their cells. "Well, until our next exciting
installment. Adieu, Mr. Grave." He bid a good day and we departed. I learned later the injury had been his
cellmate. Loren never admitted to it, but I knew he had ordered the man's death. Loren Grave had
connections and he did not like to share. I also knew that the assassin he had hired would be dealt with
for not killing the cellmate. I left the prison the day thinking about how dangerous a man I had come to be
in contact with.
Transcribed by M. Gardner upon request of the late-in-life Mitchell Flint.
many things that the man I speak of has done. So I cannot begin with a long and boring account of my
first encounter with him, I must start with an epic tale of evil and crime.
Let me tell you I was a common visitor to this deranged man's prison. He had surprised and amazed me
many times in the years I have known him. The score was, by this point, that I would come in and we
would chat about this or that crime he had committed.
It may seem crude, the unflappable nature of me. However at the time I learned of this particular event I
was used to his minor and major slights to the Law and human nature. This beast had long since shown
me that he was not above theft and extortion, torture and murder. I was once his psychologist, and soon
after, his psychiatrist, his friend. So we had developed a report.
Locked away for ten years he had grown soft but remained as evil. I am telling his tale posthumously for
two reasons. Most of my dealings with him were when I was his physician, doctor-patient confidentiality.
The other is that he could no longer be held accountable for them; I had grown to like this man, or at
least his philosophy.
After an overly thorough search by a new officer, I stood at a door with blacked out glass. No one really
tried when searching me, they did not feel the need anymore; but every so often I would get a new guy.
It was my subject's affect on me that made me realize how easy it would be to raise hell in the place. I
opened the door and went through.
Chained to a chair on the other side of a metal table, with a door behind him, and a window on his right,
my left, was the man I had come to see. He was an elderly thing, rather pathetic looking. His appearance
had once fooled me, but I knew to look in the eyes. The malice and contempt shown there was
staggering. Thankfully it was not directed at me.
He grimaced at me as I asked, "Not enjoying yourself today?"
He replied in a snobbish tone, "No, the bell hop was rather rough with me and the cleaners always steal
my good toys." He laughed derisively in a bitter voice.
"Well we both know you're not allowed those toys you love so much."
In a whine he said, "Bu... But I was only playing with them. I wouldn't hurt a soul you know that! Don't
you Mr. Flint" He cackled again. He hadn't for some time, but during his time in prison he had killed or
injured 32 inmates and 6 guards.
"I'm fascinated Loren, but I don't want to discuss your innocent act. The reason I'm here is to ..."
He cut me off saying, “D’ya know? Your name has got me thinking about '84. The year not the number
..." Curious I leaned forward. He continued in that musical voice of his, that enraptures you, saying, "Flint,
Flint. Mitch Flint. You don't mind if I tell you about '84?"
"No, no. Go ahead. We'll follow your whims today."
"That's why I like you. You listen. Most people who talk to me, they stay on a topic and just: What did
you do? Why? How? Ha, ha, ha. Mr. Flint. Alright well it was a hot summer. But as you know, I can adapt
to many temperatures." I nodded, "So I thought, 'let’s turn up the heat! But whom to burn? Well I had
time so I strolled through the village I was residing in. I came to rest in a quaint little park, in the very
center of town. I just watched the vict- ahem; excuse me, people- pass by." A smile was stealing across
his scarred face and I knew that meant pain for someone.
"I noticed a lovely young blonde woman. She was walking with a parasol, for the sun. I noticed her
immediately and watched her stroll. She came to the exit of the park and I followed. I caught up to the
woman at a crosswalk. As we both waited to cross the road I noticed she was in high heels. You know
Mitchell that how I love high heels. I picked up a stone and casually tossed it into the walk where I
calculated she would not notice it.
"Well you know my calculations; the shadows hit it just right, so that when she reached it her heel
snapped. I knelt beside her, gentlemanly, and offered her, my hand across to the bench on the other side
of the street. She accepted and hopped over with my hand. When she sat she began feeling her ankle
and I sat beside her playing the worried bystander. She seemed overly upset about her broken heel. Guilt
flashed over my face, but only for a moment when I realized she meant because they were so expensive.
My god! These people and their ridiculous fashions. Did you know that the heeled shoe has been around
for hundreds of years, supposed to be used in riding horseback? Utter idiocy!
"Anyway Mr. Flint, I offered to help her home and she refused as females often will when they assume
men are flirting. When she attempted to get up she could hardly support the weight on the ankle. I told
her I had to insist. She seemed assured by my caring nature that I only meant her well. How wrong she
was! We hobbled three blocks and chatted the whole way. When we made it to the red-bricked apartment
building she asked if I could help her up the stairs and to her door. I said I would, however knowing how
charming I was I made clear that I was married, which I wasn't. But you know women of that manner,
forbidden fruit and all. With some difficulty on the stairs we made it to the third floor, apartment G.
She made a show of getting in the door and then feigned the inability to make it to the medicine cabinet.
Forcing her caring escort to help her over the threshold. I sat her in a reclining chair. Her 'pad' was decked
with ten year old hippy items. She pointed to the open kitchen and I found an ice pack and bandage for
her. I gave them to her and made my excuses to leave."
I was stunned and asked, "Wait you didn't kill her! You kindly took her to her room and did not kill her? I
don't believe it. You? A good Samaritan!"
"Ah, but you are forgetting the Samaritan came across the robbed man. In this instance I was the robber,
returned to be the neighborly Samaritan. You flatter; the good Lord’s son knew nothing of the likes of
me. No, Mitchell, I was not being a Good Samaritan. I told you I wanted more heat. If I had wanted to kill
her I would have done so in the room. You know, I love suffering. So I left her room. And I had steered
her to invite me up, because I had not the supplies to start a fire.
I came to a janitorial closet at the end of the hall. I went in noticing the glare from a small window and,
standing on a bucket, used the lighter I had stolen from her room to set off the sprinkler system. I did
this, but not before spilling several bottles, ammonia in particular. I then laid a cloth in the liquids and set
that aside. I took an aerosol can and torched the wall. A rush of adrenaline was setting in, but I quelled it
to remain focused. I could hear cries and yells.
"Finally I set the puddles of supplies alight and lit the cloth. As it struck up the whole room was ablaze
and I laid the rag over my arm and bolted from the room screaming. Many people were crowding the halls
and blocking each other. I scurried down the stairs, because most people parted for me, on fire you
know. I made it to the bottom of the stairs and bolted the front door. I lit the walls around with the rag
and then flung it off me, it landed on a cat. I got quite a laugh to see that thing flee and set alight a few
more things for me.
"Screams were all around and I was trying my hardest not to laugh with glee. I headed past a few people
as I trudged back up the stairs to check on my work up there. Good News! The second floor had caught
too. I noticed a few people had escaped and that made me a bit angry. But no matter, some survivors are
okay. I covered my face as I passed the girl hobbling along. No one had helped her and she had just
made it to the top flight of steps. A last few people hurried past and she and I were alone. Everyone was
downstairs trying to find a way out, besides the locked burning front door. Buildings in the '80s were
death traps, just the way I like them. I stalked behind her and made a run in on the second floor, once
again I acted her savior. I yelled that the front door was blocked off and I had a way out. She accepted it
and followed me to the opposite end of the floor. Not a soul was around and it seemed to me the whole
first floor was engulfed in flame. Again I hid my glee, as I realized someone had made it through another
door, downstairs and created a back draft, scorching the entire first floor and everyone on it.
"I was annoyed to find our way bared by flames, so I dashed through a door and found the back
staircase. I led her upwards with soothing words and a confident air. The second floor was ablaze by now
and we only had the third floor, which I had lit first. The greatest part was that all the people flooding out
to escape had caused their fates by changing the air currents and feeding the flames. I admired the
inferno below as we climbed the stairs. We came to the third floor door and I laid an expert hand on it. It
was hot but I could tell was not in direct contact with flame.
It just kept getting better as she began to get suspicious of me after I had sealed her fate. I had closed
the door on the stairwell and faced her. She was looking hard at me. As if confused, she said 'now how
are we supposed to get out of here!' The flames roared and I missed the curse she hurled at me. I gave
in the disguise and laughed. I laughed my most maniacal laugh and taunted her further. I stopped and
heard a window shatter close by. Her terrified face was covered in soot and her hair was singed. We would
have looked quite a sight, with our dereliction. My shirtsleeve was scorched and my face was probably
caked in soot as well.
"A support beam collapsed behind her and I pulled her away from it. She pulled away and stuck her left
arm right in the fire. She screamed, I laughed again. She slapped me across the face. I smiled and tutted
at her, 'you shouldn't have done that I would have let you live.' Though I wouldn't have. I just wanted her
in despair. It worked she sank to her knees and plead with me. Tears streaked her soot stained visage.
I shook my head and cast my eyes down. There seemed to be no way out, but I knew what I would do.
We were feet from where I had started the fire. Logic and experience had taught me that the source
would have less flame later on, with less kindling. I was committed to my role so I turned from her and
walked straight through a wall of fire. It hurt and my flesh was scorched, but I was alive. I laughed one
last time and stepped through the janitor's door.
I looked back to find the girl had followed me through the flame, but had mistimed it, so she had been
caught in a surge. I shook my head at her again. She was on her stomach now, crawling towards me. I
loved it! But I had to leave. I stepped up onto the bucket and scaled the metal rack that had so recently
held the cleaning supplies. I hefted myself onto the sill of the small window and caught a glimpse of her
pleading with me to save her. I looked back and sighed saying, 'Deep down, you know you deserve this!' I
laughed again then slid through the window, feet first."
I had had more than enough, "So you gave her something to torment her in those last moments. But
what about the sides of the building, did the outside not catch fire too? And what did you land on, were
you hurt?"
He smirked mockingly saying, "My dear Flint. If I did not know you better I would think that was
sympathy. No the outside of the building had not caught, it was brick, as I have told you and had it not
been brick I might not have been able to have as much fun as I did. As for landing I caught the lowest
ladder of the fire escape of the adjacent building. It gave way and I rode it to the ground. I dislocated my
shoulder, had twisted my ankle, and limped all the way home, but it was a worthwhile day all the same."
I nodded knowingly saying, "You noticed the fire escape when you first entered the janitor's closet." He
nodded just as an alarm sounded. It wasn't the usual buzz that meant we were out of time. And
goodness knows we had plenty time left, along with things to discuss. I realized as he groaned that it
meant someone had been attacked and all inmates must return to their cells. "Well, until our next exciting
installment. Adieu, Mr. Grave." He bid a good day and we departed. I learned later the injury had been his
cellmate. Loren never admitted to it, but I knew he had ordered the man's death. Loren Grave had
connections and he did not like to share. I also knew that the assassin he had hired would be dealt with
for not killing the cellmate. I left the prison the day thinking about how dangerous a man I had come to be
in contact with.
Transcribed by M. Gardner upon request of the late-in-life Mitchell Flint.
| High Heels' Heat by: WM Gardner |
