Heiter never liked human beings. No, not once in his life had he ever been close to one of his own kind. Even as a child, when all the other kids were playing, talking and forming important bonds, he was off reading alone in the corner. It was probably the reason he was the way he was, cold and uncaring. Perhaps, if he'd had at least one friend, one human friend, he wouldn't feel the need to make his own. He wouldn't have killed those people, he wouldn't have started his 'sick' experiments. Perhaps he wouldn't be in the situation he was in now.
His centipede, his beloved pet, was no more. It had turned on him, tried to kill him, and in the end had come apart in a bloody mess. Only the middle woman, Lindsay, survived. He'd tried to subdue the cops that had invaded his home to use as replacements, yet they died, killed by the gun he kept near in case of emergency. It'd taken hours to clean up the bodies.
As for the girl, she'd had to suffer through another operation. This time to seperate her from the dead flesh connected to her, threatening her life. She'd struggled, of course, but he'd prevailed. He kept her in the basement, tied to a wheelchair. Because of what he'd done to her legs, she'd never walk again. Part of him just wanted her to die, now that she was the only one left out of the three she was just another human to him. But at the same time, he couldn't just kill her. It was strange, as he'd never had such problems before. Perhaps it was because she was the only part of his pet that had survived? But then, why didn't he feel the urge to find more people to connect her to?
He cared for the woman daily, cleaning her, feeding her, all the while listening to her screams. She could get so loud sometimes, it drove him absolutely crazy...and yet he refused to take the steps needed to silence her. He wondered why she just wouldn't give up. Her body must be exhausted, after all, with the constant struggle day after day. And he knew she wasn't sleeping at night. He knew very well, because her crys still kept him awake even after the lights went out.
The only time he could ever get her to be quiet was when he brushed her hair. He didn't do it often, only every few days. He'd tell her to lean back against her chair and run the brush through the angry knots that always appeared no matter how good of a job he'd done the time before. She'd stay completely still and silent while he did this, and he'd be carful not to pull too hard as he worked on the soft locks. The moments were strange and fleeting, but it was in this time he'd actually wonder why he hated her so. But as soon as he put the brush down, she'd be back to misbehaving, and he'd wonder why he didn't just put a gun to her head.
This woman confused him so. She was just another human, and he couldn't see why he even bothered. He wanted to be done with her, slit her throat and watch the life drain from those pretty eyes of hers. He wanted to hold her and comfort her, cooing softly to her in German. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to love her.
In some ways, Heiter was trapped just as much as Lindsay was.