A Surgeon for Society

by Jake Willard
author and surgeon

Hello Reader

Underground publishing, has unique advantages for someone like me since I am now serving double life sentences in what we call the CTC or Colorado Territorial Correctional facility.

The CTC is a prison, like any other lock-up, giving people like me a Doctorate in Crime, while making you slice bread types feel good and safe.

You are not safe!
You are just safe from me.

Unlike more mundane self-histories, I will not start at the beginning of my life, because that is unimportant to the story. 

I was born, I grew up, I learned to kill.

What is important is Choice. 

This morning you might have chosen to have a Danish or coffee.  Maybe, in your past, you chose to become a Professor. 

I chose to kill. 

But, not randomly!
Not like some psychopath, killing only because it is a blonde female or the moon is full.

No, I chose to be the Surgeon for Society.  I kill to help society.
It is delicious.

My targets are unique.  They could be prominent in society.  Likely, rich.  What they have in common is selfishness, greed, and power.

They could be those arrogant professor types, or the surgeon that believes he is God, or more likely the politician that promises the world but delivers only Cleveland.

Just imagine, if I had been in Germany in the 1930s and saw the rise of Hitler.  How much good I could have done by killing Hitler. The millions that would have been saved!

I have changed history with my supreme choices.

The following description was my very first series of executions beginning with my horrible family.  But, it is the ones I am most proud of, though my techniques were crude at that time. 

Remember your first clumsy kiss, or your first deep and wasted love crush?  Maybe the time you lost your virginity? 

No doubt the memory comes easily to mind.

My first kill is one I remember with relish and layered smells, sounds and emotions, though very inefficient and messy. I believed I left a lot of clues for the police. 

But, I learned from my alpha.  Indeed, I learned patience and to research every detail of my target. 

Oh, it is easy now to leave few clues for the police.  Though I have been less successful a few times.

But, much more rewarding and satisfying is to allow the clues to lead the police to my next victim.  Now that is a beautiful thing. 

Let the justice system take one of my targets from civilization for me.

I love that one.

My only concern with that approach is the victims will likely end up in a prison, when I would have taken their lives, while watching their eyes gloss over.

Still, the present laws do not support my actions, and this is why I am writing this behind bars of a maximum security prison.

No doubt, in your heart, you silently thank me as your hero, my reader, as you think of those you wished were dead.

I make them dead, for you.

Read on, please, I hope you will move on to the buy the complete works.

I will have plenty of time to produce more chapters.
I have many more chapters to write.

My first kills

By Jake Willard

My name is Jake.

Someone may find my photo in my shirt pocket after I finally give it up, and perhaps believe the photo is my family, older aunts, uncles, maybe a grandpa.

“Ohhh, look at the kindly lady in the first row, I bet that was his mum!

And, the gent standing just behind her, that might be his dad!”


It is not!

All the people in that photo are dead.

I like to think of special people that way.


Oh, right,

I had a family, with a mommy and daddy and two older sisters.

But, they really weren’t mine!

I knew because of the way they treated me!

You know?  Like dirt.

Jake do this, Jake do that, Jake you will never amount to anything, Jake you have no future.

That was Jake’s song!

I heard that tune for a long long time.  Every time I felt good, someone would cut my feel good out of me.

Even if I did get a smile every now and then, someone would cut it out of me, and make me feel bad.

Now, it is my time to make a difference.

Now, I want to make more dead people, more quiet people, people that cannot cut me.

I will kill the arrogant.

Why, you ask?

The dead never tell you that you have no future, no talent, no reason to live.

That is only for the living, telling someone are nothing, I mean.


Dead they are, till someone stops me!

Surely, the coppers should have caught me with the first sister thing.  But I was shrewd!

I took a tube down the Rister Falls,  South River just after.

The South River ran so fast, and so cold, that by the time someone found them, I was three hours away, downstream, shivering, asking anyone around me for dry clothes.  Plenty of witnesses.

Could not have been me. 
No blood, water washed it all away.

Cut their smiles out, I did!

A small knife I used, caused me to get real close to them, watch their eyes dull out, their cries more like mewingly at the end.

Started on the face, of course, but the blood got to be too slippery for me to cut and squeeze their throats.  So, I had to move down to the neck and cut the arteries.

Oh, that was grand fun, with the spurt, spurt, spurt.  But, it slowed as they died, and became more of a trickle.

Oh well.

Personal, it was to me.  Frightening to the core for them.

They did not have the energy to tell Jake, he was nothing anymore.

In those final heartbeats, Jake was all to his sisters.

Waited for a spell on my folks.  Had to!

The waiting almost broke me in fanciful anticipation, yet worried the coppers would catch up with me. 

But, while I pondered on them, I knew I would find more arrogant people in other towns I could practice on.

Cut that smile out, I did!  Put a smile on me.

Small knife for them, a big boost for me.

The South River took me away from where I could play, and the old handy highway thumb got me a ride back to my nest.

Three years I waited on Mum and Dad, but I got them.

They had mended their song since I was the only one that had a future now, but every now and then I got the word or the glance, “you are nothing, you will be nothing.”

So, looking back, what can I say?

I shut up the killers of my life.  I shut them up one by one.

Coppers come and find me!

But, till you get smart enough, old Southie river will give me a high tube ride to find another one to send over,

Without their smile!

by Edwin Forester Ph.D.
Colorado Territorial Correction Facility

The aforementioned patient, Jake D. Willard, was psychoanalyzed during my tenure (1982-1990) at the Dixon Psychiatric Unit, a part of the Colorado Department of Corrections.

This subject, Jake Willard, is a fascinating study of nature versus nature in serial killers.  Jake had normal sisters, and since these grew up in the same mother/father setting, it is a compelling case of nature over nuture.

Jake does follow a somewhat typical pattern in the sense his childhood fantasies of revenge and control grew over the years to include killing. 

It is of special note here that though he is very proud of his first killings, his family. Jake grew from there into a non-sexual predator of both genders. 

Normally applied techniques, like the Rorschach inkblot test, showed little abnormal mental behaviors.  The subject showed all normal emotions during each of the sessions with the exception he had no remorse about the people he had chosen to kill.

He believed each deserved it, and he had “cleansed society of the horrible one using carefully developed surgical techniques!”

His violent history only began with his first victims.  

No doubt, he is charming to most people, thereby covering his true nature.

It is also important to note he is non violent in the prison setting, stating that these are all his real family.