The Devil We Don’t

A fictional tale of horror and suspense by Matthew Young, with contributions from Autumn Shelton and Dakota Baker

Violent Criminal John Ortiz speaks for the first time since his October conviction

By Eleanor Callahan, for The National Spotlight

Author’s Note:

Evil is defined as “something profoundly immoral and wicked.” A person can be evil, as can their actions. But must a person be evil to commit an evil act? 

Post hoc ergo propter hoc…after this, therefore because of this. Simply put, one thing comes before the next. Cause and effect. If we hold to that, then yes, in order to do evil things, a person must first, themselves, be evil. 

Another, simpler, definition of evil is “the opposite of good.” But what about the absence of good? Is it accurate to classify someone as “evil” simply because they lack the qualities we define as “good?” 

John Ortiz is a violent criminal. He has hurt those both familiar and unfamiliar to him. He’s shown no remorse for these horrific acts. However, in committing them, he was seemingly devoid of malice. What John Ortiz did was evil. The definition fits his actions because they were “profoundly immoral and wicked,” and undeniably “the opposite of good.” But does the definition fit the man? 

Is John Ortiz profoundly immoral and wicked? I don’t know. I’m not qualified to answer that because I can’t read his mind. We have judged him for his actions in this life, and reasonably determined those actions to be evil. The things he did were, in every way, the opposite of good. Therefore, the definition fits the action. But again, does it fit the man? Is John Ortiz the opposite of good? 

He is guilty of committing heinous atrocities, and society has issued a merciful punishment commensurate with the laws of man. Evil begets evil just as vengeance begets vengeance. Society’s punishment is not a vengeful one. It is – as defined by our own civility – proportionate. It is both fair and just that we should condemn him for the evil of his actions in this life. However, it is not our place to judge the evil of his soul. That judgment awaits John Ortiz in the next life. 

He’s not H.H. Holmes, Ted Bundy or the Green River killer. He’s not Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, or Jesse James. He’s not a super villain, forever twirling his mustache. He wasn’t abused as a child, and he didn’t start out torturing animals. He’s not a wannabe thug trying to build street cred. He’s not trying to be rich or famous on the strength of his criminal empire. He’s not trying to prove a point, or teach a lesson. He wasn’t bullied in school or picked last in gym class. He’s not purging sinners to make the world better, and he doesn’t want to just watch it burn for the sake of burning. 

Maybe it’s the way society is conditioned nowadays, or maybe we’re just so desensitized to how screwed up the world is. But we classify evil into subcategories based upon actions, and their precipitating events. “If you commit a violent act against an elderly woman, you go in group A. If you commit a violent act against an elderly woman while stealing her purse to pawn it for crack, that’s group B. If you commit a violent act against an elderly woman because you were cyberbullied on social media, group C.” We use labels like psychopath, sociopath, and narcissist not as justifications for evil, but as a digestible explanation of it. 

……………

The Interview

“You sure you really wanna’ do this?”

“ARE YOU KIDDING…”

Eleanor stopped herself, and took a deep breath. Robbie hated this. He didn’t want her to do it, and he made his feelings crystal clear…several times. Eleanor was tired of explaining herself. And frankly, it pissed her off that Robbie didn’t believe in her. 

But it wasn’t that. Of course Robbie believed in her, and had always supported her in her career. He hated this because it scared him. Robbie was just worried. So Eleanor stopped herself, and took a breath. 

“Are you kidding me, Robbie?” Eleanor had lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I told you a million times! Yes, I want to do this!” She took his hand in hers. “It’s a National Spotlight piece. This is huge for me.”

“I know that, Ellie,” Robbie said. “But this is a lot. I mean, look where we are! This is a state prison!”

Eleanor looked away as two guards approached from further down the hall. 

“Robbie…”

“He’s a really bad guy, Ellie!” 

Robbie’s voice was growing louder. Eleanor was sure the two guards could hear him. She lowered her own voice even more, and spoke as softly as she could. 

“He’ll be shackled,” she said. “There’s gonna’ be a guard in the room with us, and two more right outside the door. The audio and video are both being recorded, so people will be listening AND watching the whole time.” She reached up with her face and kissed him gently on the lips. “I know you’re worried, but it’ll be fine. I promise. I got this.”

Eleanor saw the familiar look in Robbie’s eyes, the look she had seen so many times before…the look that told her she was getting her way. She couldn’t help but smile. 

“You really promise?” he asked. 

“I really promise,” she replied.

Her smile grew larger. 

“You’ll be here when I’m done?” Eleanor asked. 

“Right here,” Robbie replied. “This very spot.”

The taller of the two guards shook his head. 

“The waiting area is down the hall,” he said. “Someone will come get you. There’s vending machines, and other various refreshments.”

Robbie looked at the guard, and then back to Eleanor. 

“Okay then, Robbie said in a defeated voice. “I’ll be waiting right there, I guess…in the waiting area.” Robbie couldn’t help but sigh a little. “With the vending machines, and various refreshments.”

………………..

The room was exactly as she had imagined. Cinder-block walls, and a single door with a small window in the center. An officer stood watch beside it. The ceiling was approximately twelve feet high, with a video camera mounted in one corner. A metal table sat in the center of the room, with a matching metal bench on either side. All three were bolted to the floor. 

Eleanor sat on the bench. Her notebook, her favorite pen, and her voice recorder were laid out neatly in front of her. Across the table sat the man she had come to interview. He was restrained by full body shackles, and he was cuffed at both wrists to the metal loop protruding from his side of the table. Eleanor had only been sitting for a moment or two, but already regretted wearing her thin slacks. The metal bench was hard, and cold against the backs of her legs. 

“Good afternoon, John. My name is Ellie…” She stopped herself, immediately wishing for that introduction back. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. My name is Eleanor, and I’m a reporter with The National Spotlight.”

“Nice to meet you, Ellie,” John replied through a smirk.

Eleanor paused, frustrated by her slip. That was a rookie mistake, and she was certainly no rookie. 

“We have communicated through your attorney to arrange our meeting today.” She kept her voice flat. “I have a signed release, granting your permission to conduct this interview, and to publish your contextual-remarks through an article in The National Spotlight. I’m recording our conversation to ensure accuracy. Can you please now verbally confirm that I have your permission to proceed?”

John nodded.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Okay good. Let’s get started.” Eleanor picked up her pen. “I want to know your story, John. Why are you here?”

John hesitated briefly before answering. 

“You know why I’m here,” he said, looking around the room. “I hurt people. That’s a stupid question. Thought you were a reporter, Ellie. You’re wastin’ time. Ask me what you came here to ask me.”

Eleanor straightened, and locked her eyes on John’s. 

“Okay, why did you hurt those people?” She asked. 

“There you go!” John’s lips curled slightly at the corners. “Almost there! Which person you wanna’ know about?”

Eleanor glanced over at her voice recorder to confirm the power indicator-light was glowing red. She wanted to be sure nothing got missed. 

“You were convicted of committing violent crimes against three different people,” she said, her voice remaining flat. “Let’s start with the first. He was your coworker. You attacked him with a steel bar, and crushed his windpipe. That was after you knocked him to the ground, and broke several of his ribs by repeatedly kicking him.”

“Wasn’t a steel bar,” John said, shaking his head. “It was a jack handle…more like a pipe.” 

“Okay,” Eleanor replied. “My mistake. But you still crushed his windpipe. Why?”

John shrugged his shoulders. 

“Pipe was round, you know? Not sharp. Wouldn’t cut.” 

“Cut what?”

Eleanor knew the answer the second she asked the question. She felt a flush of warmth fill her cheeks. 

“I pushed hard as I could. But his neck was really thick.” John let out a laugh. “Guy had a neck like a bull! So I just kicked him a bunch.” He paused briefly before continuing. “I didn’t like that guy. Walked around like he was better than everybody, you know? Always had something smart to say. Damn…” His face took on a confused look. “I can’t remember his name. Mike, maybe. Or Mark. Something like that.”

“Kevin. His name is Kevin.” Eleanor felt suddenly sick. “He has a wife, and four young children.” 

John nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s right! Kevin!” John replied with excitement in his voice. “Know-it-all Kevin!”

Eleanor had spent two months preparing for this meeting, but was still caught off guard by John’s demeanor. He showed no real signs of malice towards his victim beyond a mild dislike. But he also displayed no remorse for trying to sever the man’s head with a pipe. 

She decided to forgo taking notes during the interview. Eleanor hadn’t jotted down anything yet, and she suddenly felt very silly holding an unused pen in her hand. She set it down on the table. She had her voice recorder, and would simply work from that when putting her piece together. 

“Don’t feel like writin’?” John asked. “Man, Ellie, what kinda’ writer don’t wanna’ write?”

“I’m a journalist,” she replied. “I have to see and hear everything before I write it. The pen comes later.” 

“Okay, Ellie, if you say so,”John said. “Anyway, there was that other guy I got charged on. Guy in the forest. What’s his name?”

Eleanor was furious with herself over the botched introduction. Him continuing to call her Ellie was making her skin crawl. Did he know that? Was he doing it intentionally? She was fairly certain that he was. 

“Kyle,” she answered.

“Kyle, okay.” John rubbed his left wrist behind the handcuff. “I didn’t know him. What was his deal?”

Eleanor looked directly at John’s face, trying her best to read his mind. Was he baiting her? Was she being played with? Again, she was beginning to think the answer to both questions was yes. 

“He was part of the search team. He’s the one who found you…both of you, actually.” 

Eleanor detected a pinch of anger in her voice. She hoped John didn’t notice. She didn’t want him to know he was getting under her skin. 

“Oh yeah?” John asked. “He was the hero, huh? I didn’t know that.” John opened his mouth to yawn, and stretched back as much as his shackles would allow. “He got messed up, but I didn’t catch a body on that one, either.” 

“He got caught in one of the traps you made.” The anger was still there. Eleanor tried to check it, but it was swelling. “You dug a hole in the ground that was almost fourteen-feet deep. You put six concrete blocks at the bottom, and covered it over with sticks and branches. Then you strung up fishing-line two feet in front of the hole.” 

John shook his head. 

“More like three feet,” he said. “Half as tall as a six foot guy. Gotta’ be like center of the body or it don’t flip right.” 

Eleanor bit down hard on her tongue. Had she bitten any harder, she would have tasted her own blood. 

“It worked exactly how you designed it,” she said. “He tripped on the line, and went right into the hole, straight down to the bottom. He landed head-first on the concrete.”

“I saw him.” John’s eyebrows raised as he spoke. “I was in a tree pretty close. Up in a pine, so they couldn’t see me. But I could see them. He was down there for a minute! Dude that was with him was freaking out. Hollerin’ and all. Dude started crying’, I think.” John snorted, seemingly with satisfaction. “Guy that went down, Kyle you said? He wasn’t making any noise. Figured it was a wrap for him, you know? It was maybe, I don’t know, like a half hour I guess before anybody else showed up. They pulled him out with the helicopter. I shoulda’ split when I heard it comin’, but I hadda’ see that guy! His head was wide open! I could see his brains! They put tape or something over it. I guess to keep it from falling out. I could still see it, though. Never saw nothing like that!”

Her stomach was a knot. Tears of rage were forming in the back of her eyes. This man was worse than she had imagined. The casual way in which he spoke about the horrible things he’d done was sickening. Eleanor was at a loss for words. 

“Maybe Robbie was right,” she thought. This WAS a lot. DID she really want to do this? He was out there right now! In the waiting area, with the vending machines, and the various refreshments. She could go out there, and they could leave. Robbie could take her home. 

Then John’s voice was inside her head. It slithered, and hissed…and cackled. “Man, Ellie! What kinda’ writer don’t wanna’ write?”

“I HATE YOU!”

Did she say that out loud? 

No, thank God. That was a scream only heard in Eleanor’s mind. 

“Ma’am, it’s the prisoner’s meal time. We need to take the inmate down to the mess for his tray.” 

Eleanor turned her head towards the guard. He had moved several steps closer to the table. 

“His tray?” she asked. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard replied. “We’ll need to escort you to the waiting area for the duration of the lunch period. If you need anything to eat or drink, there are vending machines, and other various refreshments there.”

Eleanor nodded. 

“I know,” she said. “Various refreshments are my favorite.” She looked across the table to John. “How long until you bring him back?”

“Approximately thirty-seven minutes,” replied the guard. 

Eleanor stood from her bench, turned off the recorder, and collected her things. 

“Thirty-seven minutes, it is,” she looked from the guard, to John, then back to the guard. “Alright, Javert, escort-away!”

………………..

The break was just what Eleanor needed to clear her head and quiet her nerves. And spending that time with Robbie also helped. He had always been a reliable source of mental strength and emotional stability for her. The calm to her chaos. 

She didn’t share much about the meeting so far, and Robbie knew not to push. She would talk. But that would be later…when she was ready. She would talk to him as her best friend. Then use him as a sounding board, a collaborator, and an editor. Robbie was an amazing partner. 

The room was as it had been thirty-seven minutes ago. Eleanor took her seat on the bench, greeted once more by the hard, cold metal beneath her. She placed her recorder on the table, pressed the power button, and waited for the red light to glow. 

“Okay, John, are you ready to begin?” 

There was more confidence in her voice now, and she felt more in control. 

John nodded. 

“Ready whenever you are, Ellie.”

“So, we began with the original question; why are you here?” she said. “The simple answer is because you committed acts of violence against three people. From there, we narrowed it down. I asked why you hurt those three people by committing such acts.”

John nodded again.

“But you don’t really seem to have much of a reason, John.” Eleanor shrugged. “And you clearly have no remorse for what you did.”

“Those two are still alive,” John said. 

“Would you care if they weren’t?”

John cocked his head, and raised his brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but remained silent. 

Then he smiled. 

“Why don’t you like being called Ellie?” He asked. 

Eleanor felt a pang of fear in the bottom of her throat, and immediately looked away. It wasn’t John’s question that frightened her; it was the familiarity in his voice when he asked it. He spoke through his smile as if they were old friends. In that moment, Eleanor understood what was sitting across from her, and a chill ran up her spine. 

“I like being called Ellie in my personal life,” she said. “But I use my full name for my work.”

John nodded. 

“Yeah, makes sense…work-life balance, you know?” John rubbed his wrist again. “Keep it separate.”

“That’s the idea.”

“No, I get it,” John said. “There’s the you the world sees. The writer. No, sorry…the journalist. Then there’s the real you.”

Eleanor shook her head slowly.

“No, John,” she said. “That’s not it. There’s only one me. I use my full name for work because it’s professional. That’s all.”

“Okay. So what, only your parents call you that?”

Hearing this man mention her parents caused Eleanor’s new found confidence to wane. 

“My mom calls me Ellie.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “What’s your dad call ya’?” 

“Ellie Bop.”

Damnit! Why did she tell him that? He had rattled her. No! She had LET him rattle her! John had taken control of this interview, and Eleanor needed to get it back. 

“That’s cute,” John said. “Dads always come up with the best nicknames.”

And there it was. 

“Yes, they do,” Eleanor said. “Did you have a nickname for your little girl?”

John offered a slight smile, and a little nod. 

“Yeah, I call her little bit.”

“You USED to call her that, you mean. You called her that before Kyle stumbled upon you two in the woods that day. The last day, John. The day when…” 

……………

The classification is the sugar we bury the medicine in so we can keep it down without vomiting. It’s a defense mechanism. An imaginary wall we blindly choose to believe will keep the evil out. The classification is a glaring example of our hubris, and our crippling ignorance. We really believe there is always a reason for the evil that people do. If there is a reason, we can understand it, and we can classify it. By doing that, we lessen its power. We rationalize it through the linear concept of cause and effect. Post hoc ergo propter hoc…after this, therefore because of this. 

I don’t know if John Ortiz is evil. Again, I’m not qualified to decide that. I can’t read his mind, and I don’t know what’s in his heart. But I know the things he’s done. So the question remains: did he do evil because he is evil? Is he profoundly immoral and wicked? Is he the opposite of good? 

Maybe he is. Maybe he is the opposite of good. But somehow, I don’t think so. 

In my opinion, he is not the opposite of good. He is the complete absence of it. John Ortiz is not the devil we know, he is the devil we don’t. And it is that unknown evil that scares me to my core.