Written for the Ruthless: A Hardcore One Shot Contest. See other entries here

.net/u/3102475/Hardcore_Horror_Contest

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the characters. I do own the order in which these words were strung together. Robert Pattinson owns me.

Content Warning for language, non-consensual sex, and gore.

Crossover Book/Series Title and author: Dean Koontz - False Memory (loosely based)

Summary: Prominent and respected psychiatrist, Carlisle Cullen is a genius. He has found a way to control his patients that revolutionizes his life. Sometimes with great genius comes great madness.

Ruthless: A Hardcore One-Shot Contest

Deep Thoughts

by itsjustme1217

My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen and words are my forte. I've made a career out of them and I assure you I am very good at what I do. I'm a genius actually, and I don't mean that in a contrived manner. I venture to say that I am the very best psychiatrist on this side of the world.

My colleagues would be inclined to agree. I learned many years ago how powerful words can be when my own father hurled insults and accusations at everyone in town. He was convinced that if everyone just did what he said that the world would be a better place. The man was delusional and I swore I would never be like him. I'm not. I am so much better than he ever was. I have no need to yell. No need to scream or insult. No, I use my words, calmly, to bring people peace, to cure their ailments, and to control and manipulate them.

It was during my residency, with the Volturi Institute, that I experimented with hypnosis. It became my preferred method of treatment and I studied the field exhaustively. Hypnosis is highly experimental and widely discounted in psychiatry. Most doctors would rather give you a bottle of pills and send you home to deal with your problems alone, but I do no such thing. It is my belief that human beings come to a doctor because they want a professional, a genius, such as myself, to tell them exactly what they need to do to be successful and happy. My full calendar is a testament to that fact of my success. The reverence of my colleagues, the exemplary articles written about me in medical journals, and the respect of my peers is more proof of my greatness. To be blunt, Freud doesn't have shit on me.

When I set up my private practice here in Seattle, Renee Swan was my first patient. She presented with symptoms of indecisiveness, anxiety, and impulsiveness. Her ramblings nearly made my ears bleed. I made the decision to hypnotize her, I had her to lie on the brown leather sofa in my office and I gently spoke, giving her mind directions until she landed in the correct mental state. Once under my spell, I directed her through what she should be doing with herself through the week until we met again. I remember distinctly; her shaking my hand and assuring me how much better she felt before leaving my office that day, even though she could remember nothing of our conversation.

When Renee returned for her next appointment, she showed pride in her successful week. However, she was anxious about what this week would hold for her. As I spoke with her, I soon realized that she had followed my instructions implicitly and done exactly what I suggested. Again, I entranced her and gave orders for nightly dinners and activities with her young daughter. The following week brought the same results. Soon, I found that while she performed my every whim through the week, she was indeed in a perpetual state of hypnosis albeit a higher level, where she was able to interact with others, but still impetuously aware of my directions, though she believed them to be her own. In time, I was able to give her a word-one word that had the power to take me directly to the heart of her subconscious. When I grew tired of experimenting with her, I called her on the phone and spoke the word that made her putty in my hands. When I was sure she was under the full power of my suggestion, I directed her to pack her things and move her daughter to Phoenix. I learned later that she did just as I asked and left her husband without a backward glance.

After Renee, I began to choose my subjects more carefully. I sought out the strong willed and stable to conduct the majority of my research and used that knowledge to restore health to the rest of patients. Sure, there were a few glitches, but nothing I couldn't handle. I know there are those who would call me mad, but the truth is they are only jealous that they are not able to do the same. Everyone lives a lie and has secrets. All are sinners; there are no saints. I'm only smart enough to have learned to work the system to my advantage and assure that I will not be caught. I may burn in hell, but not if the devil can be hypnotized.

I've conducted a great many experiments over the years and stretched the realms of possibility. People believe that freewill cannot be taken away. They want to believe that there are certain things they could never be forced to do. They need to assure themselves in the dark of night they are safe in their warm beds with the doors and windows locked tight-secure with their morals.

However, I happen to be aware of young teen twins in Tacoma, an intelligent brother/sister duo being raised in a devout Catholic home in the suburbs. The papers said the twins were found in the basement of their home in a compromising act. Witchcraft paraphernalia predominated in the room, even decorating the floor and walls. Television news reports showed the twins being taken away to a mental facility with glazed eyes and passive expressions. As their doctor, I could have given witness to how easily the pair, despite their ingrained morals, accepted thoughts of them as a cult unto themselves. I could have testified how easily they fell into each other's arms when I suggested they please only each other. I could have, but I didn't, I only smiled sadly, giving the statement, "You can't save them all."

Over the years, I acquired a special collection of my favorite patients. The more of a challenge they presented, the more powerful I feel when I break them. Mary Alice Brandon was the first I hand-picked. I happened upon her at a coffee shop one day late in the fall. She was a sprightly little thing; full of energy. As I watched, she held court in a booth over several others her age. I was impressed by her leadership qualities, the effortless way that she controlled the situations and people around her. I knew immediately that I wanted her for my own.

A few weeks later, the young Miss Brandon took a terrible tumble, outside that same coffee shop. She awoke with a compulsion to seek guidance from a professional-such as myself. Over the next several weeks, Mary Alice began to lose her memories. One by one, she shared them with me and I plucked them from her. Would she still be the same assertive confident person with the guidance and devotion of her parents? Would she still be a kind and caring girl without her friends and popularity?

Turns out, without her preconceived notions, Alice can be quite vindictive. With virtually no prompting from me, Alice is quite the little manipulator. Lies drip from her tongue like venom and spread like wildfire, ensnaring everyone around her in their web. She likes to keep herself surrounded in turmoil, feeding off the blood, sweat, and tears of others.

Completely void of any memories of her past, I left her, sleeping peacefully, in a meadow a few towns away. Of course, how much fun would it be if I didn't give her a bit of help? I convinced Alice, as she would find on a paper in her pocket; she had the ability to see visions of the future. Then, I took the liberty of implanting two. The first she accomplished with more ease than I had anticipated. She walked roughly five miles, to the first diner she saw and using a special hypnotism that only a woman possesses, she picked up the first man who walked through the door. Following her second vision, which she had in the bathroom of the diner, she brought him home, to me.

The boy, Jasper Whitlock, as his identification revealed, proved to be an equally stimulating subject. With no family of his own, the young, former boxer in the Marines was quite happy to do what he was told. At six foot two with a permanent scowl on his face, Jasper can be quite menacing. However, with his baby blue eyes and soft blond ringlets, he looks like a cherub, on his knees, sucking me off. He wasn't always an easy ally. He had great reserves and fought me the best he could but in the end, he bowed to me, a single tear running a ragged trail from the corner of his eye to his stubbled jawline. So beautiful. I remember distinctly leaning over his arched body and licking it away. Funny how one person's pain can taste so sweet to another.

I played happily with Jasper and Alice for several months, alternating between bringing them both pleasure and pain. I especially enjoyed the way my teeth marks marred Jasper's body from our extreme lovemaking. The boy is able to withstand a great deal of punishment, and I used him profusely to defuse my tensions. Sometimes keeping his body bound and his mind supple. Sometimes allowing him to fight me, both mentally and physically. I especially enjoy these forms of play. Watching him struggle so hard, sweaty and red faced from rage. Then whispering the magic word that brought him to his knees in submission. It is on these occasions that I tend to take him hard and fast, biting into his flesh at the peak of my climax. The bloody marks leave magnificent scars that serve as reminders of sweet nostalgia. After our encounters, I simply pluck the memory from his mind and insert a memory of a fight he was in long ago, using bits and pieces of his real memories to weave the tale tight into his mind.

Emmett was easier prey. At twenty-four years old, Emmett McCarty was a perpetual child I found in a mental hospital. A hulking man with a continuous smile on his face, Emmett had not a worry in the world. His easy-going nature amused me greatly, and I wondered if I could change it. Readily, he agreed to play my game and he slipped under easily. With only a few sessions, I was able to tamper with his memories. I explained in detail the relaxed state of immobility his mind and body would return to should he ever hear my voice say the magic word. The nurses were immediately impressed with Emmett's progress. I took the time to explain that sometimes patients have lapses. A great deal of the time, patients get worse before they get better, I warned.

True to my prediction, the fun-loving man was found beating the janitor in the men's bathroom. I was paged after the incident occurred to tend to Emmett, who was in a state of shock, after what he described as a bear attack. When the memorial hospital called to report the death of the poor janitor, I hid a smile as I informed the nurses. Later that same month, Emmett wandered off the hospital grounds into the woods where he was brutally raped and beaten. Hidden in a small safe, where no one will ever find it, there exists a photo of the fear and utter hopelessness on his face just before I uttered the word that would bring the towering man to supplication. Of course, I took the memory away and gave the memory of an attack that I saved him from, weaving us an unbreakable bond. I allow paranoia to seep through his veins and keep him ever on edge, ironically, only ever feeling completely at ease and safe with me.

With Rosalie Hale, I was less cautious and I nearly paid for the indiscretion. Her overly wealthy, absentee parents made Rosalie convenient to me. She arrived at my office with feelings of guilt and despair over her thoughts and feelings. It was not so far a leap to turn her agoraphobic, instilling the fear in her subconscious after a month of sessions. This assured she was always home when I was ready for her. I would ring her cellphone at any hour of the day or night and mommy and daddy's good girl would answer. As soon as she said, "Hello," I uttered the word that would have her pulling open the door for me, naked and willing. With Rosalie I tried a different tactic and it served me well. After the word was spoken and she was under my spell, I would give the name of the newest actor or musician all the young girls were lusting over, and that is who Rosalie answered the door for and believed she was with while she spread her legs eagerly for me. It was nice to have a willing partner that wasn't totally lifeless or putting up a fight. I always erased her memory of the sex before I left, but Rosalie was smarter than I gave her credit.

My favorite part of our weekly sessions in my office was Rosalie's utmost glee at confessing to me every single thing that had happened over the week. Every disgusting and shocking thought that went through her pretty blond head, spilled from her lips to my ears. Naturally, I used a great deal of the information against her during the secret time we spent in her bedroom. Imagine my surprise when one day Rosalie announced, nervously, she believed someone was sneaking into her room, having sex with her at night while she slept. She confided that she had woken on several occasions with the oozing from her center, the sheet wet under her. She could never remember anything the next morning and suspected she was being drugged. Her description of a video camera, she had installed earlier in the day in her bedroom, were the final words she spoke before I deeply put her under.

That night, at midnight, knowing her parents were out of town, I rang Rosalie and followed typical protocol, telling her that I was boyfriend Royce. I told her to expect me and a few of my friends within the next ten minutes. As I fucked her in on every surface in the room, in every position I could possibly imagine, Rosalie was under the impression that she was being gang raped. Her tears flowed over her pretty cheeks as I slapped her. Her screams filled the air as I fucked her mercilessly, leaving her bruised and battered on the bed. I left her with her disturbing dreams as I slipped the tape from the video camera and escaped into the night.

I was not surprised the next afternoon to learn from my secretary that Royce King and four of his closest friends had been arrested for the rape and assault of Rosalie Hale. It was, however, unexpected news that Mr. King was being treated in the county hospital. Detectives revealed that he turned up unannounced at the Hale home early in the morning. In a fit of rage after what he had done to her the previous night, Rosalie had swung a ball bat at him as soon as he entered the house, taking out his knee cap. The house maid called the police when she found Miss Hale clawing Royce's eyes out with her hot pink manicured nails in the family's foyer. Even in her battered state, she was able to obliterate his kneecap, break his nose and permanently blind Royce King. I found the entire situation quite entertaining and, for the first time, I was impressed with Rosalie Hale.

I enjoy my time with all my pets but none more so than Edward. At nineteen years old, Edward Masen was a music prodigy. He could play any instrument placed in his hands and could compose music that would make the angels in heaven weep. A genius in his own right, I was enamored with Edward at first glance. It was more than the unusual bronze shade of his hair or his high level of intelligence. There was something special about Edward, and I wanted to pick him apart and find out what it was. A most fascinating creature, Edward is the epitome of good in the world and I wanted to possess him. I wanted to watch him fall from grace into the depths of blazing hell.

I first laid eyes on him at one of his concerts being held at the university. I made certain I was able to speak privately with him before the evening came to a close. The main problem was Edward's parents. They overly doted on their only child, and harassed my office with concerned phone calls, when he insisted on seeing me in weekly sessions after our initial meet. After I assessed that it would be impossible to break the strength of their bond, I decided to include Elizabeth and Ed Sr. in my plans for their precious son.

After some time learning everything about Edward Masen, I was able to determine that while he was genuinely sympathetic and compassionate to others, the bulk of his thoughts and memories revolved around his parents and his music. Unlike the others, who needed an explanation in great detail; Edward was clever enough to make the scenario come to life with only the simplest terms and guidance. When the time was right, I secured an alibi for Edward and called his phone to say the word that would begin the night's festivities. I felt comfortable living out this fantasy to the fullest as the family lived in a secluded area. Still, the encounter with Rosalie kept me slightly cautious and I checked the home thoroughly for cameras as soon as I was admitted by Edward. No betrayal was to be found and, with my security in intact, I followed Edward to the basement.

He followed my every command passively, an emptiness in his eyes as he suspended his drugged and unconscious parents from the rafters. There was just enough time for him to prepare for the rest of the night. It wasn't long before their pleading wails filled the air – along with the soft, classical music I had suggested to Edward. It was to be the perfect back drop for our night together. In Edward's mind he knew not what he was doing. He was a marionette, simply following orders. I wasn't always able to witness the performance my subjects and I thanked whatever divine being that was in charge in the heavens that I had a ring side seat at what the newscasters called the most horrific and gruesome murders in King County history.

Wide awake and coherent, I allowed Elizabeth and Ed Sr. to watch as their perfect son plunged his tongue into my ass. The sounds of their struggling and cries of despair mingled with the classical compositions, heightening my enjoyment until finally-unable to hold back any longer-I turned and shot my seed into the prodigal son's mouth. Empty and sated, for the time being, I gave Edward his next set of orders as his mother screamed and cried. Poor Ed Sr. was unable to hold back as well as Edward obliged him with his talented tongue in the same manner.

Leisurely, I sipped on cognac from a crystal goblet as Edward connected the battery cable to his mother's nipples. The beatings came next and I had to jack off three times as I watched Edward systematically torture and violate his parents with all of the instruments at his disposal.

The last set of orders was for Edward to drive back to his college dorm and go to sleep. He would remember nothing of this night, only that he spent the evening alone. He had no classes the next day and would be returning home to his parents for brunch, allowing him to witness the crime scene firsthand as he discovered his secret destruction. My only regrets were that I wasn't able to see his beautiful face twisted in agony at the sight of his own handiwork. Yet again, I had underestimated one of my pets.

It is so much work being a puppet master, having to be able to do all the thinking for you and for the puppet. They need so much instruction, having to be told every little detail. The forethought and preparation that goes into each encounter would be unfathomable to a lesser man. I suppose I was a bit lazy with Edward, taking too much stock in his high intellect.

I had no idea Edward would attempt suicide instead of phoning the authorities. Nor did I know that he would slip into a catatonic state from the shock of what he saw, leaving me powerless, unable to control him for three whole months. When he finally awoke, I immediately put him under my spell, and told him in hushed whispers that he was never to try and end his life again. I implanted a sense of immortality in his brain, convincing him that no matter what he did to himself, he would live. Dejected, but resigned, Edward came out of the session a better and more responsive patient.

With his imminent release from the hospital and the loss of his only family, the question of who was to be his caregiver was prudent. Although he was of age and vastly wealthy as the only surviving member of the Masen line, he would need special care and observation over the next few months of recovery.

Being an upstanding citizen and well respected psychiatrist, when I inferred taking Edward home with me to continue his progress, not one person objected. In fact, they shook my hand and patted my back, hailing me for my self-less work with teens. After all, I had taken in four other troubled children over the years and completely turned their lives around. They live a carefree existence, without any life or death issues or choices of any kind over which to worry and contemplate. They wear the best clothes and drive the best cars. Ask in the small town of Forks and you will find that they are good looking, smart, and polite teenagers. They'll tell you I am an even-tempered and compassionate man who gives of his time and money excessively.

My family keeps a sprawling house, on the outskirts of Forks, Washington. While, I spend the majority of my week in Seattle, I always return to the small town to enjoy time with my family on the weekends. I cherish Friday nights when I enter through the front door to have Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, and Edward surrounding me with hugs and welcoming home daddy. My wife, Esme, cooking our family dinner in the kitchen. She adores babying the children all week long but especially looks forward, as do I, to the weekends when we all play together.

We have both been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. A great deal of preparation has gone into making sure everyone is ready to do their part. Esme so loves a good vampire tale, so when the town chief came to me in confidence and begged for my help with his depressed and unresponsive daughter, Isabella, I readily agreed. I've spoken with each of the others, in their heightened states, about taking a special interest in the girl. Ask the impressionable Isabella Dwyer and she'll tell you we are a family of vampires. She is excited about the prospect of spending the weekend with the Cullen family. Adrenaline and power surge through my veins as thoughts of holding the chief of police's daughter under my will flood my mind.

Edward kneels naked by my side, already in an altered state of mind, as I begin the weekend by manipulating their pliable minds. I make certain I have every one's attention before I whisper the most powerful word in the English language, at least when it falls from my lips, "Twilight." This weekend, under the guise of entertaining the lovely Isabella, they will all amuse me. I explain quickly but carefully to Edward that Isabella belongs to him, she is his destiny, her body and blood made just for his pleasure.

Esme eyes me with awe, asking only if I think Edward will hurt the girl.

"We can only hope," I answer with a smile.