《Faulted Perfection》


 Chapter 1

    I remember my face slamming into the blood-splattered floor, as my mother screamed monstrous things into my ringing ears.


    Her shrieks filling my head, repeating as if a demon was hurling them into my memories.


    I recall her breathing becoming sharp, as salted tears rolled from her dusty, blue eyes.


    The yanking of my blonde hair, the smashing of my face into the floorboards over and over as she ignored my screams and begs.


    I remember shards of glass and wood pounding into my skull as blood poured from my fresh, open wounds.


    I remember the feeling of desperation as my mother abused my body.


    My small hands clawing and ripping at her arms, peeling her thin flesh from her body.


    As if reliving the night, I flashed on her screams as they became louder and louder.


    She repeated the same three words as if possessed.


    ¡°I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!¡±


    I recall clenching my teeth, tasting blood from my swollen lips.


    I remember my mother''s drunken power being overwhelming as she thrust my limp body through the backdoor.


    I rolled in the mud sensing the rain collecting in all areas around me.


    I remember the feeling of laying there lifeless, drinking in dirt and blood.


    The overpowering aroma of worms and earth filling my gasping lungs.


    I remember, glass and slivers of wood slipping deeper into my wounds as I painfully tried to adjust on the ground.


    My right eye was swollen and my left was completely blurred.


    Unable to see or move I panted holding back my shrieks of agony.


    I remember, laying there, feeling every part of my body squeeze with torment. Hearing the creaks of the back door open once more I let the feeling of panic rise in me faster than before.


    My head screamed for me to run, move, anything to get away, but my mother''s nails cut into my arms, crushing any hope that was once in my grasp.


    I remember becoming terrified.


    I pleaded with my mother to stop. But I was unaware of what was to come.


    I remember...


    I screamed blood-curdling cries as a jagged bottle ripped through my right eye socket.


    I shrieked as I felt the hot glass pull from the place it layed, and wailed as it shredded through my left.


    I remember, as my body slipped away from the horrors of that night.


    I remember, and I will never forget.


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Mr. G. Cliff</li>


    </ul>


    I trudged along the sidewalk, bumping into passing people. Their rough scoffs echoing inside the back of my head. Cars raced by and the evening of New York came alive. So many sounds, so many smells. I was disgusted but content.


    I made a right, stepping up a few stairs then grasping onto a rounded doorknob. Pushing forward, the door made an eerie sound and I walked inside a large home.


    "Welcome Mr. Cliff "


    I nodded in the direction of the voice.


    "Why do you not have your cane?" The voice asked chuckling, and a man came into sight. "I know you aren''t fully blind, but it is supposed to help. After all, you can only view things about a foot in front of you".


    A low rumbling erupted within my chest and it spilled from my lips. "Ah dear boy, I would rather enjoy what I have then be paranoid about it before I don''t. "


    The man just shook his head and smiled.


    "Well, please allow me to take you to Mrs. Emilia''s quarters."


    I simply nodded and was led down the hall. A clean smell flooded my deep nostrils. It was satisfying and different.


    Making a right I was brought into a large room. It smelled of raspberry perfume and a slight hint of smoke. The man, in front of me, took in a hitched breath, "Emilia! How many times have I told you? No smoking within the psychology building." He stepped forward and started tapping his foot showing his obvious disappointment and annoyance.


    A woman inside just bubbled with laughter.


    "Oh please, if I left you''d probably die."


    The tapping from the man stopped and a sigh sounded. The man started for a window and opened it trying to air out the wretched aroma of sweet and deadly. Though, I personally thought it was quite pleasant.


    "You always say I''m going to die, but by who? You?" He scoffed. "You are permanently stuck in a chair and Mr. Cliff can hardly see. It wouldn''t be that hard to run."


    I smirked quietly at his cockiness.


    "Darling," Emilia dragged the word out as if speaking to a child. "You can''t run forever. And just because I can''t move and he can''t see doesn''t mean we can''t staple your mouth shut and pick away your skin while relentlessly torturing you till your last breath." The room became cold though I was unsure whether it was from her words or from a wind that swept inside from the, now, open window.


    I went back over her words impressed by her creativity and the man shuddered.


    The idea itself was chilling indeed, but Emilia was smiling nonetheless.


    The room became shallow. A towering clock ticked ominously and the man cleared his throat feeling uncomfortable.


    "Right¡­ Well, allow me to get a head start then." And with that, the man fled the room in a quick-paced walk.


    I began to chuckle and stepped forward taking in more of the unfamiliar room through my closed squinted eyes.


    "I see you did some research," I spoke, using a soft tone, trying to strike up a conversation with the interesting woman. She had already amused me within the first three minutes of introduction. A feat that I had previously thought was impossible.


    "Indeed Mr. Cliff. It''s not every day someone at the age of fifty-two gets away with murder. Not to mention twenty-three. Seven of which were children under the age of thirteen."


    Coming closer to the area she was, I let out a short breath then slumped into a floral couch.


    The area we conversed within, was small and delicate looking. A white carpet laid atop the hardwood oak floor. Two floral couches with soft colors faced each other, and to the right of me was a fireplace.


    Green bars with metal vines were placed in front, to keep small children away from danger. Atop the fireplace was simple decorations.


    A low table sat between us and a laced fabric was stretched across the top. A bowl of roses and peonies were arranged which sat wonderfully in the center. To my left, a ways away, was the majestic clock, with a slow swaying pendulum. To it''s right and left, were forestry green curtains that hung from golden-colored knobs near the ceiling, which fell to the ground just dusting the floor. Each slightly covering massive windows that oversaw the landscape of New York. Behind me was a large bookcase filled with writings of old and new authors, poets unrecognized and world-renowned ones, useless scribbles and breathtaking stories.


    "Trying to take in the area?" My host asked.


    I took in a silent breath and nodded. Emilia was sitting in a wheelchair watching my expressions and I could tell she was examining me.


    "Mr. Cliff." I read your letter on remembering. It seems like your mother was terrible to you."


    "That''s one way to put it." I spread my legs getting comfortable and stretched my arms letting them fall on the top edge of the couch.


    "I read through an article that those who you ¡®supposedly killed¡¯ were depressed, mentally ill, or unstable in a sort of way. Did you do it as revenge on your mother?"


    I cocked my head smiling, enjoying her guessing attempts.


    "Did you do it for the need of a difference? Growing old, many complain of becoming bored with their everyday lives. Especially those with no living family members."


    I bent my head straight back and heard as my spine popped. I continued to smile.


    "Perhaps it was a need for attention, I''ve taken the time to look back at your elementary and high school careers. Turns out you had a multitude of friends. All of which would claim you to be an innocent and harmless man. Your father committed suicide when you were eightteen as well."


    I licked my lips entranced by her voice. It was milky and modest.


    "Was it because you wanted to see a dead body again?"


    Chills erupted on my forearms. A warm adrenaline rush filled my chest and my smile grew.


    "Ah. . . I see." Her voice was quiet and she slouched back into her chair. "Mr. Cliff your father committed suicide in front of you, correct?"


    "Yes." My ''s'' dragged out disturbingly making it seem like I was hissing.


    "Right." She said to herself. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head.


    "And could you possibly explain what happened to him? In detail of course." Her hands floated to her lap and she turned her head slightly, patiently waiting for my response.


    I cleared my throat and closed my eyes recalling the memory. I chewed on my left thumbnail for a minute, then brought it back to the ledge of the couch.


    "I had just come home from school. My bag was wet from the snow and my hands were stuffed into the front pocket of my sweatshirt." I said mimicking my childlike self.


    "My dad was at the top of the stairs and he was writing something on the wall. I was hungry, so I just called to him saying I was home."


    I heard my memory come to life.


    "Dad I''m home!"


    "I knew mom wasn''t home because it was a weekday. A¡­ Tuesday I believe."


    I brought my fingers to my lips and grazed my upper lip feeling the softness of my hands caress the thin skin. Emilia shifted in her seat soaking in my every word.


    "Dad?"


    "Son¡­"


    "He sounded so¡­ tired." My hand fell and clasped the other in my lap.


    "There are times when you just have to live with your mistakes. But this time. I don''t have that choice." He said.


    "When he turned around I could see the blood rushing down his arms. My eyes became so big and I stepped back letting my shoulder blades brush up against the wall behind me. I didn''t even notice the knife in his hand." I paused.


    The memory hazed in my mind. I pushed my fingers into my forehead trying to recapture the moment.


    "Take your time," Emilia spoke kindly.


    She was extremely talented at hiding her motives and excitement. Though I knew, every detail to her was important.


    The pendulum swung multiple times before I started again.


    "He brought the knife up," I copied the motion. "And stabbed himself, he was screaming the entire time, i-it was so loud!" My voice rose and I started chuckling. "But it didn''t stop. No no no it¡­ it didn''t stop. My dad brought it back out of his chest and stabbed again then again and again!" I started laughing at the memory.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    My father''s face ripped through my mind. His eyes bulging and his jaw dripping low. His face had gone through different colors. Red, then a deep purple, then sheet white.


    "He stepped forward and¡­" my voice trailed off and I followed my arm that was outstretched in front of me. I saw my teenage self reaching out, screaming at my dad to stop,


    "He fell forward with the knife in his hand. He fell down, down, down¡­" I recalled hearing his body traveling down the stairs. The cracking of bones along the way.


    "The knife slipped from his hand and as he fell it went straight," I clapped my hands making Emilia jump. "Through his head." I realized I was leaning forward with glee.


    I relaxed my shoulders as I slouched on the couch once again. Silence had fallen between us.


    "Mr. Cliff. . .¡± Emilia began, controlling her tone. ¡°Correct me if I''m wrong, but there wasn''t any fear in your tone."


    I ran my tongue from my back, right molars to the left, then smacked my lips.


    "Emilia. That entire story was fear."


    Her face became cold and she peered at me curiously.


    "Are you afraid of me Emilia?" I asked, listening for any kind of response.


    "Only slightly." She replied almost immediately, "I''m glad to know that my hypothesis was correct." She swallowed hard and hit her chest letting out an improper burp.


    I chuckled softly and she began to hum a childhood melody. The tune sparked a couple memories but I shut them down in spite.


    "If I may¡­" I motioned to continue, and she gave me a nod to proceed, "What was your hypothesis?"


    She smiled warmly.


    "That there is almost always, a childhood trauma that has affected the so-called ''psychopath'' into what they have done in the present. Though, I believe that that one incident is not the only thing that has pushed you toward your actions."


    "You may just be right my dear Emilia." I winked. Her words had sparked my interests once again.


    She shook her head and pouted slightly.


    "So, did you kill those people just because you wanted to feel adrenaline again and see a body?"


    "Who says I killed anyone?" I growled lowly, loving the banter between us.


    Emilia smiled, "Come on. Just between the two of us."


    I snorted in disgust but kept the mood light.


    "Aw my dear, just because my sight is shit doesn''t mean I can''t hear the frequency coming from your ass. A recording device I presume?"


    Emilia took in a slow drawn out-breath. "You caught me. Are you gonna kill me?"


    "Wouldn''t you like to know." I stood and moved around the table coming to sit beside her.


    "Mr. Cliff, are you flirting with me?" She laughed.


    "If I was flirting with you, you would know."


    She chuckled in her seat letting her cheeks grow warm. The silence between us was temporary as I wanted to continue on something that was digging into my mind.


    "Tell me kitten. How did you lose your ability to walk?" I asked, placing my hand on her armrest.


    "I will, but only if you promise not to call me ¡®kitten¡¯ ever again." Her words were sharp and direct and I soaked in her sass.


    I raised my hands in a polite mannerism. "Apologies, never again."


    She became comfortable and lounged back in her perminate chair.


    "I was twenty-three, on my way to pick up my daughter from daycare." She smiled and I guessed she was recalling her daughter''s face.


    "The house wasn''t far but for some reason, I was in a hurry. Long story short, I missed the green light and drove right in front of a semi. My car was pushed to its side. Gasoline was leaking and the semi ended up ramming into a tree on the side of the road. I was trapped." A bubble appeared in her throat but she brushed it off by clearing herself.


    "A man was able to clasp my hand and drag me from my vehicle just before it exploded. Everything was engulfed in flames and I wasn''t even worried about it. I was more focused on my legs. I couldn''t feel them." She stared down at her thighs and fidgeted with the material overlapping them.


    "Aren''t you happy you¡¯re alive?" I said trying to sound sympathetic but I heard my thoughts laughing as I longed to smell her blood and sweat. What I would''ve paid or given to see the look on her face. Her innocent, young expression of horror. A smile played on the corners of my lips.


    "That''s the thing¡­ I left one thing out of my story."


    I bit my lip forcing myself to keep a concerned expression present.


    "It is true, I was on my way to pick up my daughter from daycare but I never mentioned my two-year-old son in the back seat. . ."


    Her hands became still and I fixated on her chest. I watched as it rose then faded back into place. I traced my eyes along the veins running from beneath her shirt up to her neck and vanishing underneath her chin.


    "I never even thought about my son. And my daughter was picked up by her father and I never saw him or her again. I lost my son, husband, daughter and my legs."


    I hummed darkly, zoning out and Emilia seemed to notice.


    The door behind us squeaked open and Emilia brightened her face.


    "Emilia, would you like any refreshments brought to your room?" Called a voice. I wasn''t able to see him but I visualized a scrawny man with light brown hair wearing an inexpensive tux.


    "If possible,¡± She replied, ¡°I would like oh, some Triscuits and cheese slices with some sweet tea and my friend here would like. . ." Her voice lowered. "What do you want? My treat." She winked and I smiled, flattered. "Bagels. And cream cheese. Nothing to drink."


    She nodded then repeated my words to the waiter at the door.


    "Right away." The door closed and it was back to Emilia and I.


    "So,¡± I began taking control of the conversation, ¡°I was told to come here yet, I don''t know what this place is."


    "Ah yes! We jumped right into business before explaining where you are. Apologies."


    "It''s quite alright, as long as you explain to me a little bit," I said, forcing a smile.


    "Well, Mr. Cliff, you are sitting inside New York''s biggest psychiatric hospital. Built in 1967 this place is one where criminals or men, just as yourself, that are being persecuted for sickening crimes, and we learn the reasons as to why and treat you accordingly. My name is Emilia C. Swafford. I am the head of this department and treat the more¡­ rare patients."


    "Such as?" I pushed.


    "Patients who commit manslaughter at an alarming rate without a so-called ''reason''. Most people call them psychopaths."


    "And am I?" I gestured to myself. "One of these psychopaths?"


    She nodded slowly, her eyes searching within mine.


    "But my crimes have no proof? How can I be treated as a criminal when there is no evidence that I was the one who committed the crime?"


    "A fair point, but tell me. Do you feel as though you are being treated like a criminal?"


    I sat back and smiled intrigued by my circumstances.


    "If I were to leave," I began and allowed Emilia to take my words.


    "You would be able to leave, but by the law of New York you must come in at least once a week due to public opinion and anonymous vote." Emilia finished.


    ¡°Public opinion and anonymous vote?" I asked, repeating her words.


    ¡°The people are afraid of you Mr. Cliff."


    I licked my lips, unshocked by my newfound information.


    "Scared of me¡­" My voice trailed away.


    "Does that excite you?" Emilia questioned.


    The door swung open and I was brought to the delicious smell of triscuits, bagels, and tea.


    "Your food." said the man with the tray.


    "Why thank you, Mark." Emilia politely replied.


    A platter of our order was placed gently on the table in front of us. I could sense Mark¡¯s eyes glued on me and I smirked. Moments later it was back to the two of us. We had dived into our treats with no hesitation or thought of mannerism. The pendulum inside the glass and wooden box swayed accordingly.


    "So, Hypothetically." Emilia began. I nodded bracing myself for her words. "If you were to murder a twelve-year-old girl. How would you commit this unnatural crime?"


    "Emilia, you are treading in the thoughts of a so-called psychopath. I bid you to brace your mind."


    She nodded, agreeing.


    Taking in the last bite of my bagel I chewed slowly thinking back on the girl¡¯s face. I do admit privately to myself that I did kill her, but will never admit it openly, for the sake of ¡®freedom¡¯.


    ¡°I would first, find a reason as to why this girl should be killed. Which is easy to see.¡± I shrugged.


    ¡°Go into depth, just for my sake,¡± Emilia said, coming closer in her chair.


    ¡°Why, the girl herself was a nuisance. A pitiful soul which contributed nothing to society.¡± I said imaging one of my first crimes I committed just under five years ago.


    Her hair was always knotted, her skirt bunched up and uneven. Her face never washed and she spoke as though every word was slang. Children, these days, are useless. I thought to myself.


    Emilia nodded slowly and picked up a notepad beside her. Her skeletal hand began writing down personal thoughts and she was starting to become psychological with my explanation.


    ¡°So, as anyone else,¡± I said continuing, ¡°I had the authority to teach such a nuisance the ways of correct mannerism and womanhood. Sadly, with today¡¯s atmosphere and the title of ¡®pedophile¡¯, I wouldn¡¯t be able to just walk up to her and begin teaching.¡±


    ¡°And by teaching you mean¡­ ¡°


    ¡°Beat.¡± The word slipped from my lips letting a chill settle in the room. I, however, did not notice.


    I recalled how my plan went out. I waited for the right time taking notice that her lunch began at twelve forty-five and she always went to the bathroom before meeting with her friends. I had simply walked into the building, straight to the bathroom and grabbed her.


    ¡°As any murderer, they must first obtain their victim. The difficulty of this varies depending on time, population of people in the surrounding area, and cameras.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Emilia spoke letting a slight hint of disgust take a drop in her tone.


    ¡°Then, you would have to¡­ find a place to put her and simply begin the ¡®teaching¡¯.¡± I explained.


    The little girl hardly screamed. Instead she fainted in fright. It was as if the world was helping me. I then took her to a secluded place and started teaching the ways a woman should act. I forced her to walk and to tie her hair back. I taught her how to keep her legs closed at all times and when she refused or misbehaved I simply slapped her.


    ¡°And what if this girl ran?¡± I felt Emilia¡¯s eyes on my cheek as I shoved my lower jaw to the right side in a habit of personal judgment.


    The question meant they found evidence leading to the assumption of the girl escaping and having someone larger in size drag her back.


    The chase was short lived. She didn¡¯t make it far and I dragged her by her disgusting, greasy hair, threw her on the bed and committed vile acts upon her.


    ¡°Take her back.¡± I answered honestly. My voice was light even though the meaning behind my words were considered otherwise.


    A bird flew by the window and the fluttering caught my attention. Emilia noticed this as well but continued writing.


    ¡°What a lovely specimen. A robin I do believe. She seems to be searching for food.¡± A smile cracked across my dry lips and the feeling brought my tongue out to wet them.


    ¡°Would you murder her at this time?¡± Emilia¡¯s question shot through me and without hesitation, I replied in a light mood.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    Her brows twitched, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why what my dear?¡± I questioned slyly.


    Emilia laid her pen down on the stand between us and she pulled her leg over the other to prop her elbow on.


    ¡°Why would you kill her? Was it because she ran?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied, though this answer was a lie. Partially at least.


    I killed her because I realized that teaching her was far more inconvenient than I had originally thought.


    ¡°Why not let her go?¡±


    I gave Emilia no reply and sat silent thinking about my personal answer.


    Because I hate her. The child was pathetic, a nuisance, a disgrace, she was Nothing. The idea of letting her go seemed absurd to me and I started chuckling to myself.


    The woman shifted again.


    ¡°What gave you the authority to teach that girl?¡±


    I became silent. I thought long and hard about how to respond yet my mind offered nothing as a response. The feeling of not having an answer was unsatisfying and new.


    ¡°It was your mother, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Her words hovered beside my ear and sunk in making my brows furrow in conflict. She continued.


    ¡°Your mother abused you as a child. She taught you to be a grown man and whenever you failed at this task she slapped you. Didn¡¯t she?¡±


    I was in slight awe at Emilia¡¯s accuracy and smiled in her favor.


    ¡°You, Mr. Cliff, are just like your mother.¡± My smile dropped with unamusement, I arose becoming peeved at the idea of being like my mother.


    ¡°Ridiculous. This is all just hypothetical.¡± I stated.


    Emilia bowed her head in respect. ¡°Of course.¡±


    I trudged across the widespread room and searched for the robin that had once sat on the ledge. She was now in a nearby tree. Her chest pronounced and I examined her slicked black feathers.


    ¡°A truly gorgeous specimen.¡± My voice trailed as I watched her hop from branch to branch.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, I would like to continue our conversation.¡±


    ¡°I refuse.¡± I stated, my voice was stern and I twirled on my heel facing in her direction.


    ¡°Alright. How about a game?¡± She offered.


    My head tilted with curiosity and I saw, in a slight blur, Emilia gesturing for the couch across from herself. ¡°Please, have a seat.¡±


    I followed her instructions and found my way back to my first seat. The couch was cooler now and I sunk down into the cushion. Emilia simply waited for me to regain comfort before explaining further. I locked eyes with hers and she blinked happily.


    ¡°The game is simplistic. I ask a series of questions, you give me an answer. You are allowed to take as much time as you would like, so do not feel the need to reply instantly. Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°Sounds easy enough,¡± I said letting my ears perk with excitement.


    ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡± Emilia¡¯s mood changed within a millisecond and the sight was exhilarating to me.


    ¡°Do you feel anything inside that hurts you?¡±


    The question was odd so I thought about it. Taking in the fact that I was in a psychiatric hospital she must be talking about emotions.


    ¡°Assuming what you''re asking,¡± I started, ¡°No, I do however, get a feeling of anger and that can sometimes hurt my head.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Emilia said, jotting down her notes. ¡°Next is, how often do you lie?¡±


    This question was just as intriguing and I shifted in my seat cocking my head slightly.


    ¡°Everybody lies. It¡¯s the way of human nature. We can¡¯t help but lie. Now in the matter of how often? Well, I¡¯d say only when I want to.¡±


    Emilia blinked a couple of times and bit her lip. She was unsettled by something. She then rolled her paper over itself and resumed eye contact with me. We sat quietly for a few seconds before her thin lips parted and she asked her final question.


    ¡°What do you find, amusing?¡± Her words were light but deep within them I sensed a dark motive. This conversation was dull to me now and I was unwilling to continue. After all, it wasn¡¯t worth my time to continue on such ridiculous topics.


    ¡°A lot of things are amusing.¡± I sighed.


    ¡°Such as?¡± Emilia pressed.


    My mind flashed on a couple obscene things. Death, murder, suicide, anger, saddness, lonliness, the realization of how pathetic humans truly are.


    ¡°The normal things in everyday life. Food, music, simple conversation.¡± I said. I wasn¡¯t exactly lying but those were nothing compared to what actually made me smile. "Emilia. I know what you¡¯re trying to do and I can already tell you. I am a psychopath. I''m insane. I don''t feel emotion toward anyone yet you, you, my dear, are a sociopath. We are very much alike."


    "And what makes you say I''m such a thing?" Emilia asked.


    "Both psychopaths and sociopaths have persistent antisocial behavior. The way you enjoy calling out other citizens, the way you are fascinated in this study is abnormal. Plus, you have committed your own murders, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    Emilia became very still but her own thin smile stayed on her wrinkled skin. She leaned into her back pocket and clicked off her device shutting down the frequency. ¡°How did you,¡±


    ¡°Research darling,¡± I said, cutting her off, ¡°I looked you up.¡± I arose and straightened my jacket. ¡°Do they know?¡±


    ¡°Who.¡± she asked, watching me carefully.


    ¡°The men you¡¯re working for.¡±


    She was silent. So silent that one would have assumed she died.


    ¡°Do they know you killed your family and that story you told earlier was total bullocks.¡±


    She shook her head very slowly, closing her eyes.


    ¡°You poor old man, there is no one in the world as twisted as you.¡±


    A deep frown made impressions on my face. ¡°Go to hell Emilia.¡± I then headed for the door leaving the room.


    ¡°See you next week Mr.Cliff.¡±

 Chapter 2

    The rain was cold on my face. It pelted from the sky and was pounding my body into the ground. As if showing, that I belonged there. But I was still a living species, I had a full life ahead of me before I would be forced to join the millions that lie below.


    Wasn¡¯t there anyone to show pity for me? Wasn¡¯t there anyone to rip my mother out of my life? Or was I the only one to deal with her illusions and psychotic behavior?


    Life after my father¡¯s death continued. Pushing me along to show those around me that I could live in Hell and stay sane.


    But what if I didn¡¯t stay sane? What if I just showed I was?


    ¡°Good morning Mr. Cliff,¡± called Emilia from across the room. I stumbled acrossed the floor dragging my feet in a slow and stalkerish manner.


    ¡°Are you ready to begin?¡± She asked, tilting her head. She was examining my mood and reactions carefully.


    I sat down on the floral couch, sinking into the seat. My eyes scanned the blurry room trying to spot exactly where the educated therapist was.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff? Is there something on your mind?¡±


    I listened to the hesitance in her voice. It was chilling and I smiled at the tension.


    ¡°What is sanity?¡± I asked.


    Emilia resettled in her chair and I could finally pinpoint her exact location. She was across the room sitting in front of the wall of books. Her fingers were rubbing on the wheels of her chair and her toes tapped on the wooden floor.


    ¡°Sanity in simple terms, you don¡¯t suffer from a mental illness.¡±


    I felt my hands tighten and my jaw lock, ¡°And do I have a mental disorder?¡±


    The tapping stopped. My eye twitched at the newfound silence and I heard Emilia draw something from her pocket.


    ¡°Yes, Mr. Cliff. You, have several.¡±


    A clicking sound echoed softly and a small, heated light flickered near Emilia¡¯s lips.


    The silence continued, dragging out the seconds that ticked away. ¡°You grew up with slight schizophrenia, depression, anxiety, Post-traumatic stress, and a slightly narcissistic personality.¡±


    ¡°Narcissistic?¡± I questioned. My smirk spread into a wide-spread smile.


    ¡°Indeed, though many of these you¡¯ve grown out of. I am truly quite shocked. From records after your incident with your mother. You were sent into a hospital which offered a therapist to treat you. After only a month you somehow became, ¡®normal¡¯ again.¡±


    The smell of smoke filled my lungs and I lost amusement in our current conversation. She was asking me something but my mind wandered back to my previous thoughts of my mother.


    Her face haunts me. Her voice echoes in the back of my mind tearing down the walls I spent so many years building. The walls that hid and covered my darkest memories.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff? Your mother, how is she?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about the living.¡± I said rolling my eyes and examining the stitching on the couch.


    ¡°Fair, how about the dead?¡± Her voice scooped upward taking back my attention.


    ¡°Who did you have in mind?¡± I asked leaning forward to show my interest.


    ¡°Edward Fritz,¡± She said the name sternly. Her fingers wrapped around the wheels of her chair and she rolled into my general direction. ¡°Thirty years old, found dead hanging in his living space from a ceiling fan.¡± She stopped across from me and I smiled at the placement we had ended in.


    I controlled my fluttering heart as adrenaline started running. I recalled the scene and first meeting poor Eddy.


    ¡°It has been brought to my attention that you two shared the same apartment building.¡± Emilia continued.


    I hummed with interest as I listened to her trying to piece things together.


    ¡°And that you were officially the last person to see Mr. Fritz. After all, he mentioned you in his note.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, his suicide was indeed tragic.¡±


    Emilia nodded to herself, ¡°Yes, suicide it would seem. Why don¡¯t you walk me through that day?¡± She suddenly pulled out the recording device and placed it on the couch arm beside her.


    I closed my eyes and breathed in the wretched smell of smoke. The deadly scent brought me directly back to the surroundings of Eddy¡¯s front door.


    ¡°The man was crying,¡± I began. ¡°He was sobbing actually, on the fact that his wife left him.¡± Emilia¡¯s eyes were fixated on me. Taking in my every feature and examining my tone of voice.


    ¡°We entered his home and I took in the area of a very empty apartment. Eddy and I had been friends since I moved in. For some reason, he always confided in me.¡±


    Emilia cut in saying, ¡°So you two knew each other?¡±


    ¡°Why yes. I would never enter another man¡¯s home without permission.¡±


    She listened as I purred those words, taking them into note.


    ¡°Eddy was crying hysterically and walking around between his kitchen and living space. His bedroom door was closed and all the blinds were drawn down. The air was smokey and I remember seeing so many burnt cigarette butts. Everything was. . . Off.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the coroner''s office did say he was an excessive smoker. About a two-pack a day kind of gentleman.¡±


    ¡°Indeed he was,¡± I said in agreement, recalling every previous conversation we had together. Always had one lit in hand.


    Emilia took in a slow breath of her own cigarette which was now down to another few minutes.


    ¡°He went into his bedroom and brought out a large manilla folder. It was thick with papers and heavy with the feeling of depression.¡±


    ¡°So, you believe Mr. Fritz was depressed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m positive he was. He lost his wife, his job was a shit-hole and he now had an empty space inside of him. He was nothing.¡± I heard Emilia tap her cigarette and we both watched as the end burned out.


    ¡°What was in the folder?¡± She asked.


    ¡°His suicide note. He kept saying it was just a joke. An activity he did whenever something went wrong in his life. Emilia, this man was planning on killing himself. He was committing suicide.¡± My voice dripped low with darkness and I tried to hold in my cackling thoughts. ¡°He was setting it all up by grabbing a stool from his kitchen bar. He found a rope behind his television set and after a small moment he had the noose tied and was tying it from the ceiling fan above us.¡± I paused to examine the setting.


    The smoke and musty smell. The depressed man climbing down from the stool. It was all perfect. It was. . . an opportunity.


    ¡°Eddy scribbled down something at the end of his note. He then climbed up onto the stool again and started laughing. ¡®What if I did it?¡¯ he repeated, ¡®what if I just killed myself? I could end it all.¡¯ The man was unstable. ¡± I said mimicking his voice.


    Emilia perked up as I spoke, ¡°Do you know what he wrote in the note?¡±


    I lied, shaking my head. ¡°No, how could I? I was¡­ too confused.¡±


    Emilia squinted noting my hidden expression, but refrained from pondering on it further. ¡°He had added the fact that you were present and had absolutely nothing to do with his death. Basically, he was giving you a free pass.¡±


    I grew sly, ¡°How so?¡± I was interested to see if she would figure it out.


    ¡°How about we just continue the story?¡± She said dodging my question.


    I lounged in my seat, ¡°There¡¯s not much to say, he simply got back up on the chair, fastened the rope around his neck, and jumped. He died within seconds. I just feel bad because I was too shocked to step in.¡±


    ¡°It''s a tragedy indeed.¡± Emilia said as she drew her eyes away from me. She was focused now, on getting down her last thoughts while I focused on holding in my cackling laughter.


    My urge to release my psychotic energy within the room was unbearable. I wanted to pour out the truth.


    The truth of how he got back on the stool. How he fastened the rope and started crying.


    I wanted to spill out my rage as I became annoyed by his quivering voice.


    I wanted to see Emilia''s face as I told her I kicked the stool from under the weeping man and listened to the struggle as he swung from the ceiling.


    How I watched curiously as his legs kicked violently and his eyes bulged from his skull as pressure built up.


    He was gone within a few long minutes and I soaked up every moment. Every second, as he gasped for air. Every millisecond that was choked from his jagged throat.


    Emilia set her pen down on her leg and the room became still. We both listened to the clock chime three times and I arose with a heavy feeling on my shoulders.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, are you leaving so soon?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately for you, yes. I have work at home I must finish.¡± I began moving away from the delicate living space.


    ¡°I see, well, just know that next time I would like to dive more in depth with you and your mother''s relationship.¡±


    By the time she finished speaking, I was halfway out the door but I was able to turn around and give her a ragged expression.


    ¡°There is no relationship, she just happened to have given birth to me. She is nothing more than an animal living underneath my bed.¡± I remarked.


    ¡°Some would call those monsters¡­¡± Emilia replied slowly.


    I smirked a little at her comment and closed the door. ¡°So it would seem.¡±


    On my walk home I followed the path I counted out. As I am slowly becoming blind I am learning the trade of how to get around. We count our steps, memorize smells, sounds and other thoughtful layouts. But as I counted, a part of my mind wandered.


    My mother. The wretched woman who destroyed my life by giving me it. For some reason I can¡¯t get rid of her no matter how much I want to. Why is it that I can¡¯t kill her? Why is it that I have her continually in my life? Perhaps it¡¯s because I¡¯m afraid, or childish. Or perhaps it¡¯s the promise she forced me to make oh so many years ago.


    Stepping inside my small apartment home, I listened to the static of the television and soft murmuring from the half dead woman laying on my couch. I slinked past the couch and into my bedroom. Hospital equipment was on my dresser, bed, windowsill and floor. The bathroom light was left on and my closet had been bombarded. My shoulders became heavy and a sigh escaped my lips. My room was small, so any kind of clutter made it seem smaller. But this disaster was definitely crossing a line.


    Unfortunately, I was too distracted to come up with harsh words and instead sat down at my cluttered desk. Underneath the piles of paper and used equipment sat my briefcase. Locked inside was a stack of educational papers that were desperately waiting to be graded. I clicked open the identical locks and pulled out the pile of organized papers.


    Taking out my red pen from its respectable place in the pen holder, I started to circle, dot and cross out words while leaving short comments and thoughts in the margins. One by one the names of my students flipped by.


    The papers were on everyday lifestyles.


    I was doing a study on examining my various students and getting a glimpse into their lives through a week''s worth of homework, such as a five paged report. About halfway through, my eyes were straining and I noticed a trend of normality between each student.


    ¡°How dull,¡± I said, dragging out another sigh. I slipped the paper from my hand and laid it face down back into the briefcase. Then with my pen, drew out their grade. I stood up, with the rest of the papers still in hand, and moved to my bed. The television cracked in the other room and my mother shifted on the couch.


    My bed was hard and cold. The light from my ceiling flickered and a sense of numbness grew inside of me. It was as if my room was a physical appearance of what I was on the inside. I felt empty yet cluttered with someone else''s things. It didn¡¯t bother me. It didn¡¯t offend me that I, myself, didn''t care about literally anything. I guess once in a while I was enraged or overwhelmed with some type of emotion I couldn''t name but even then, I felt nothing.


    Justin Showl. The name glowed at the top of his paper but it wasn¡¯t his name that caught my attention. It was his first sentence.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡®I Justin Showl, am a disgrace to my family, myself and the world. It¡¯s not like I wanted to be this way, It¡¯s not like I chose to be like this. I was born this way but how could I ever explain that? I am an honest man with an honest living¡­ But I live with one, so called ¡°Unforgivable fault.¡± I¡¯m gay.¡¯


    My eyes floated over his words and my mouth began to hang as if I was breathing in his every word. It intrigued me to think this boy would entrust me with such a secret.


    The next few paragraphs consisted of all the things many others had. Attending family gatherings, hanging out with friends and partying on school nights. But this boy had his paper soaked in self-criticism. His sentences were emotionally filled and heavy. He was stressed, anxious and afraid.


    ¡®Mr. Cliff, I cannot tell you why I had the guts to say such a thing. Especially in a paper, but I believe that you are not one to judge me. I would love to talk with you sometime. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to say what is truly on my chest. I¡¯m gay, and I can¡¯t change that.¡¯


    I licked my lips feeling them burn after being chapped for so long.


    ¡°Why yes Justin, I would be delighted in listening to you.¡± My words were hollow sounding, but I was still enthused.


    I finished the rest of the papers and went to bed. Sadly, I wouldn¡¯t be able to see Justin til next week, but I didn¡¯t mind waiting.


    The days passed quickly and eventually I went to bed wanting to be well rested for the morning. ¡°Justin, how I hope you have a pure soul.¡±


    The morning was abrupt and short lived. My neighbor awoke me by knocking on my door. The people above were aggressive in their steps and my mother had turned the volume up on the television for her favorite news station. I let my neighbor in, then swept passed her giving her a husky ¡°Good morning,¡±.


    The short lady had the duty of taking care of my mother and cleaning my apartment. She had been absent for the past few days due to personal issues but I was interested to see how well she could tidy up my place in a matter of hours.


    The morning was chilly. A light fog was layering the air and a sprinkle of rain dotted my round glasses. My suit was heavy but I smiled because I wasn¡¯t bothered by the rain or dreary atmosphere. Instead I was looking forward to meeting with my student. He reminded me of a previous student I had before.


    The day dragged on and I was social with the other staff members, patient with my students and polite to the new woman that would occasionally stop by with sandwiches.


    The last bell rang for the day and I couldn¡¯t help but let my chest flutter with excitement. The feeling itself was faint but I think I was enjoying it.


    There was a knock on my door and I listened to the slow swing of its opening.


    ¡°Professor?¡± came a small voice.


    ¡°Come in Justin.¡± I answered, I had started erasing my board making sure to not leave a single marking behind. I had the bad habit of keeping my room abnormally clean.


    Justin came to stand by my desk and I took in a quiet breath.


    ¡°So tell me, how long have you known?¡± I asked setting down the eraser and faced the boy dusting my hands onto my pants. His eyes were averted and lips pushed to the side. He was thinking.


    ¡°Since I was little I guess, I¡¯ve always known I was different but I never thought that it was wrong.¡±


    ¡°What makes it wrong? It¡¯s your mindset.¡± I cut in. Justin brought his head up and looked at me with shock.


    ¡°You, don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything wrong with me?¡± He asked letting his emotions flash through his face.


    ¡°Have a seat,¡± I gestured for my leather swivel chair and Justin hesitantly did as was told. I looped around my desk and leaned against the hardwood.


    ¡°Justin, you remind me of another student I once had. Tell me, what is it you want to do in the future?¡±


    Justin¡¯s hands started to sweat but he answered with maturity. ¡°I¡¯m studying to become a lawyer. I have a girlfriend, and I¡¯m hoping one day after my schooling, we can get married.¡±


    ¡°So you would like to become a part of society in a normal way? You aren¡¯t going to try to push your beliefs into the world?¡±


    ¡°No sir, I have no desire to do that.¡± He reassured me. ¡°I feel bad for my girl, but I¡¯m sure one day she¡¯ll understand. Plus I believe she may already know.¡± He added quietly.


    I hummed with approval, ¡°Keep it that way.¡± I stood tall and stretched, letting my round glasses slip down my nose. Justin furrowed his brows in confusion and spoke his mind.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, what did you mean, ¡®I reminded you of another student¡¯?¡±


    My arms fell down to my side and I smiled at the boy. ¡° It¡¯s best if you don¡¯t know. I¡¯m proud of you Mr. Showl. You have shown maturity and I see you have a bright future. Do what you can for society.¡±


    Justin stood and shook my hand then left the room slightly uncomfortable but confident in himself. I took another look around my classroom then neatly packed my things up making sure that my pencils were in identical and parallel positions. I made sure all my papers for the next day were stacked in a small pile and that all the chairs in the room were facing the correct position.


    After being satisfied with everything, I left.


    Stepping outside I was confused on the vast difference of weather there suddenly was. This morning it was dull and brisk but as the day went on it seems the sky decided to shift.


    The world was bright, and for once I took appreciation for my blindness. Things were getting harder to see but I didn''t mind. Who would want to see the shattered reality of life anyways?


    A week had passed once again, and it was time I would have to see Emilia.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, welcome back.¡± She said sitting by the windowsill. Her eyes were glued on something beyond the glass.


    ¡°Thank you for such a warm greeting.¡± I replied entering the room and finding my respectable spot.


    ¡°Ah, you seem to be in a good mood.¡±


    I listened as she shifted in her chair. I could tell she had lost focus on whatever it was outside and was now fixated on me. I heard as she rolled up to me and let out a sigh.


    ¡°Do I?¡± I asked, letting cockiness spill from my being.


    Emilia nodded, ¡°Yes, though this is peculiar for you. After all, most like you find it hard or even impossible to feel anything.¡±


    ¡°Well, it must be the fact that one of my students opened up to me a few days ago.¡±


    Emilia gave a disbelieving look. ¡°You and I both know that not what it really is.¡±


    I grinned impressed. She really was figuring me out quickly.


    It''s true I was lying. I could never simply be happy over such a trivial occurrence. Instead I was reminiscing about the thoughts of the boy Justin reminded me of.


    ¡°A student you say, wasn¡¯t there a boy at your collage that committed suicide? It¡¯s such a shame. He was a prodigy. A great mind behind innocence.¡± she said letting her voice trail off in a sort of sadness.


    ¡°A guilty mind. Great, but guilty.¡± I hissed while correcting her.


    Emilia sat back in her chair and set the brakes on her wheels. ¡°Explain.¡±


    ¡°He was a lot like Justin,¡± I began. ¡°A brilliant student, a full life ahead of him. But both share the same secret.¡±


    ¡°He had a secret?¡± Emilia asked, raising her brows.


    ¡°Emilia,¡± Her name rolled off my tongue. ¡°He was gay.¡± This comment made the air in the room go stale. She was understanding but confused.


    I continued, ¡° He came out to me after a lecture of mine. He was asking permission to drop my class, there were some boys who were mocking him constantly during my lectures. We sat and talked for a little bit before he left.¡±


    ¡°What did you talk about?¡± Emilia pushed.


    ¡°He was telling me that he wanted to die. To end his life. I tried to tell him not to and he sort of listened to me.¡± My voice trailed off as I recalled him rushing out of my lecture room. ¡°He was going off about wanting to show the world what it felt like to truly be gay. To be different and discriminated against.¡± I knew my knuckles were turning white as I clasped them in anger.


    ¡°Did this bother you?¡± Emilia asked, trying to observe my reaction.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you.¡± I lied. ¡°After all, we psychopaths lack most emotions, as you stated earlier.¡±


    ¡°Alright, how about, do you know where he went?¡±


    I lied again, ¡°No, I had assumed he went back home or one of the campus apartments.


    ¡°I see,¡± Emilia said. She marked something down and peeled her eyes away from me.


    I slowly felt myself ease into the memory. The seventeen year old prodigy standing in front of me, inside my classroom. His frustration coming out through his cutting sobs. ¡°I will show the world! I will show them all! I¡¯m going to scream it from the roof, I¡¯ll kill myself if that¡¯s what it takes.¡± He proclaimed.


    ¡°I dare you.¡± I said, challenging him.


    The boy¡¯s face grew red and I followed him out the doors. No one was in the hall to witness us. No one was there to watch us rush up the stairs. No one was around to witness his insecurity.


    ¡°Professor, I¡¯m not ready to die.¡± He said as he climbed onto the ledge.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what you said a few minutes ago. Just think, you killing yourself will show the world that gays and those just like you are being discriminated against.¡± My smirk grew as I focused my attention on the boys'' backs. Most would think about his past of difficulties, the pity and disapproving discussions. But I couldn¡¯t have cared less.


    ¡°Am I making a difference?¡± His voice was raspy and I could tell he was afraid.


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± I took a step forward and with the back of my hand I pushed the boy from the ledge never giving him a chance to fully understand what I was doing.


    His screams became distant quickly and I left the ledge after hearing his body hit the ground.


    Oh how I wanted to see it.


    The mangled, limp body sprawled across the school''s courtyard. The way his blood would be slowly slipping out his body from fresh open wounds. I wanted to see the possibility of bones jutting through his flesh.


    But sadly, I rushed back to my lecture room. I tidied up my things and was keen on making sure people saw me inside my room around the time of his death.


    ¡°I¡¯m just glad that Justin will not try to make a difference, I¡¯m proud of him for blending in.¡± My words were genuine but Emilia had a salted expression across her face.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, you have a smirk on your face, care to share what you¡¯re thinking?¡±


    I made careful eye contact with Emilia and gave her a big smile. ¡°I guess I¡¯m just proud of myself.¡±


    She hummed a single note quietly to herself, and continued jotting things down. Time passed by slowly but shockingly I wasn¡¯t bored yet. I looked over to the looming clock and listened to it unmistakable clicking.


    ¡°Emilia, we still have some time, would you mind telling me a little about yourself ? It only seems fair.¡±


    My ¡®therapist¡¯ looked at me with curious eyes but a warm expression. ¡°What is it you would like to know? Just know that I do still want to talk about you and your mother¡¯s relationship.¡± She closed her notepad and set it neatly in her lap waiting for my response.


    ¡°It seems we may have a fair trade. With every question I ask, you may ask one in return. Deal?¡±


    ¡°Deal,¡± Emilia sang, letting a bright light flicker within her eyes.


    I began, ¡°Why is it that you chose to take me on as a case? I¡¯m fairly certain you had the choice to object, no?¡±


    ¡°Why yes I could¡¯ve rejected you, but I guess I was drawn to the oddity of your circumstances.¡±


    Her answer was simple and I enjoyed it.She knew how to add an element of mystery.


    ¡°Now, Mr. Cliff. You have made it obvious about your past with your mother. The abuse and other unsettling events that took place while you were still a small child. Anyone in your place would have taken the chance to run and escape that literal Hell. Yet, according to medical and financial reports on file, she is living with you. Why is it that you cling to her in her last dying days?¡±


    ¡°My dear Emilia, I would have assumed you of all people to figure it out.¡± I said biting my inner cheek. ¡°I keep her around because I want to see her die.¡±


    Emilia shifted and nodded. ¡°I see,¡±


    ¡°I too, looked into some files about you.¡± I said taking my turn once again in this conversation.


    ¡°Really? And what is it you found on me?¡± Emilia asked, seemingly slightly intrigued on my curiosity about her.


    Her backstory was thrilling. The perplexity of it captivated my attention and I couldn¡¯t help but question her again. ¡°On the day we met, I accused you of murdering your family. Please tell me again. Your trauma. Just so I can re-examine the facts.¡±


    Emilia straightened and I could sense that she was uncomfortable yet her strong will and stubbornness pushed her to answer. ¡°As you may recall, I was twenty-three. My daughter was in daycare at a house not far from mine. In fact, it was just a quick hop onto a few backroads and I would be there in no more than ten minutes.¡±


    She paused to calm herself before getting into the gritty details. ¡°I was rushing and missed the light. A semi truck smashed into me and I ended up trapped near the side of the road." Emilia took in a long breath drawing out her memory. ¡°There was smoke rising from my engine and I could hardly see. A man grabbed me and pulled me from my vehicle. It exploded no less than a few seconds after. The sound richoteting in my head.¡± She gulped and zoned out, her eyes drawing passed me. ¡°My son was in the back seat and I had forgotten him. My legs were numb and while I was in the hospital my daughter and husband disappeared.¡± She allowed herself to regain control of her dialated eyes and she smiled at me. ¡°Nothing else to say.¡±


    ¡°So it would seem.¡± I said in a low voice. ¡°Yet, I find it interesting that you say ¡®disappeared¡¯ when talking about the absence of your husband and daughter. On word of mouth reports, the woman at the daycare told officers that your daughter did show up but left early with your husband around ten am. Why would he do that without mentioning it to you. And if what you say is true, and I quote, ¡®While I was in the hospital my daughter and husband disappeared.¡¯ end quote. Why didn¡¯t you question him not coming to visit you right away. How could he have known the full incident?¡±


    ¡°What is it you¡¯re implying Mr. Cliff?¡± Emilia asked, letting her face take a twisted expression.


    The right corner of my lips lifted and I quickly gave my theory saying, ¡°I believe, you knew your husband was going to leave and in a last minute gesture you caused an accident killing your son hoping that it would force your husband to stay by you.¡±


    The room was silent besides the slow ticking of the grand clock. Emilia sighed and smiled. ¡°Ah Mr. Gregory Cliff. I can with full honesty say, You are wrong.¡± Her words stabbed my pride and to a point, offended me. I was drawn back by her behavior but couldn¡¯t help but agree with her. Her sigh of relief proved to me, I had made an incorrect theory so therefore it was nothing more than a false idea.


    ¡°So tell me.¡± Emilia started, ¡°What is it like having your mother live with you? On multiple accounts, I have been told that the equipment she uses is messy. Does that bother you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, though Ms. Wadsworth, our neighbor who takes care of the place, does her best to tidy up a little. I, personally, hardly speak to my mother. She is just the thing on my couch.¡±


    ¡°Explain to me what bothers you.¡± She pushed, grasping at anything I put out.


    ¡°Everything. I hate the noise and crackling of my television set. I hate smelling the urine and death just outside my door. I want to go completely blind while looking at all her medicinal equipment and instruments hanging from chairs and lying on the floor.¡±


    ¡°That seems a little extreme don¡¯t you think? I mean, wanting to go blind from simply having a mess?¡± Emilia asked, opening her notes.


    ¡°Of course not. The obscenity of everything being exactly where it shouldn¡¯t be. It¡¯s cruel, vial and unwanted.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, are you¡­ fastidious?¡± Emilia smirked at the idea of me being a ¡®neat freak¡¯.


    ¡°Why yes I am. I prefer things to be in a tidied order. Things in exact place even if I must measure it out. All dust particles must be swept away and anything that could be considered misplaced should be put in its appropriate spot immediately.¡± My seriousness dripped in my tone and I began to shake thinking about my apartment.


    ¡°Calm down, I apologize for bringing up such an emotional topic.¡±


    Taking a few quiet breaths I regained composure. ¡°My turn. I¡¯m still not done with figuring out your hidden secrets.¡±


    Emilia sighed with slight annoyance. ¡°Fine but this will conclude our meeting for the week.¡± she closed her notebook again and put her full attention on me.


    ¡°Tell me about your husband. Why would a married man not visit his wife after such a disastrous incident?¡± I coughed hiding a faint chuckle fluttering inside my throat. The feeling of not knowing was unpleasant and distasteful yet I yearned to reveal her lies. Something about her story was off. There had to be something.


    ¡°My husband was a cop for the NYPD. We were happily married for seven years, until we divorced through mail a week after my accident.He was an honest man.¡±


    ¡°Why the divorce? And why through mail?¡± I questioned hanging onto her every word.


    I realize that Emilia must feel the same way when listening to me. Having the blatant information right there in front of you. As if it were a brick wall with the facts pounded into it on finely printed sheets of paper, but never being able to get close enough to read the small print.


    ¡°I assume, my husband refused to see me because I was the one who brought our son into death. And the divorce, calls for the same reason.¡±


    I was silent, observing her words closely and analyzing the scene in multiple different ways. The story made sense but something about it was missing. There was a twisted element hiding between the lines.


    ¡°That¡¯s all for today Mr. Cliff.¡± Emila said, turning off the small recording device. ¡°Thomas!¡± Emilia called to the door and, shortly after running footsteps, in walked a round young man.


    ¡°Yes?¡± He spoke hesitantly but remained calm.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff and I are done talking, please assist him outside.¡± She said moving her chair towards the window.


    ¡°Of course Ms. Emilia.¡± He strided into the room and I took a stand.


    ¡°Till next time my dear.¡± I said bowing my head to the refined woman.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be counting down the days.¡± She replied sinisterly and we both shared a chuckle as I was escorted out of the room and into the familiar hallway.

 Chapter 3

    Another week had passed and I was once again, welcomed into the quiet room. A different smell wafted into my nostrils as I inhaled the scent of lavender. The door behind me closed and I found my way to my destined spot. Something in the room was off and my senses heightened with intrigue.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. Let¡¯s cut right to the point. The fourth murder you commited,¡±


    ¡°Allegedly,¡± I cut in. Emilia stared at me as she rolled her way to the side of the fireplace. She was keeping her distance and I could smell tension oozing from her presence.


    ¡°Right,¡± she said in a faint voice, ¡°The fourth murder you allegedly commited was a a thirteen year old girl. Paige was her name. This case brought up a multitude of questions. Such as the connection between you two, how you officially killed her and how no one was around to witness it. The overall incident was deemed a suicide yet it hides away in the back of your file.¡±


    ¡°Paige was it?¡± I asked, letting the name roll from my lips. ¡°This one I have no recollection of reading in the papers.¡±


    Emilia knowing I wasn¡¯t going to go further began pulling together the scene. ¡°Female, thirteen years of age, past of depression and medical abuse. She was found by her mother after starving to death. This took place around four years ago.¡± Her tone became grave and anyone could tell this case pushed her to some kind of limit.


    ¡°Ah yes,¡± I said, pretending to know little. ¡°I do recall reading a small article about this. Wasn¡¯t it stated that she had a past for fasting to unhealthy limits? In her diary I believe.¡± I said with a coyness in my tone.


    ¡°When the cops arrived at the scene they found no sign of a struggle. With permission from her mother, they went through her diary and found multiple entries evolving around, depression, anxiety and even the moment when her mental illness began.¡± Emilia said, giving more information to the case.


    ¡°Which was¡­¡± I asked, tilting my head slightly. My pupils were enlarged and I clenched my teeth together refraining myself from smiling. This action was becoming quite easy every time I had to cover up the truth.


    Emilia went on to say, ¡°It said, and I quote, ¡® there was a boy in my class today who called me fat. He said I was so fat that he would never like me. But I like him. I promise that starting today I will never ever eat again. I will become thin and stay beautiful so that one day he will like me.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Young love, ¡° I said, letting the short phrase rise into the room. Emilia frowned. A simple action that went unnoticed.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, she goes on multiple times saying how she ¡®missed lunch¡¯ would purposefully ¡®not eat the treats in class¡¯ and ¡®lie to her parents about eating dinner.¡¯ This poor girl was starving herself. Until her parents found out.¡±


    ¡°Well, good. Her parents found out. What did they do about their problematic child?¡±


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t ¡®problematic¡¯ she was hurt.¡± Emilia snapped but quickly calmed herself continuing, ¡°They started her on therapy and medication but soon because of this she began to think there was something wrong with her.¡±


    ¡°Forcing her into this depression and anxiety phase.¡± I said adding to her statement. ¡°Sounds like a normal reaction that many in society go through.¡±


    ¡°So it would seem. Well, since she thought this, she tried to kill herself by overdosing. She did this twice. She was constantly forcing herself to throw up and would wear weights when she needed to go to the doctors. She was killing herself. Therefore, this poor girl needed to be watched constantly.¡±


    ¡°So, how in the world could I, a man with no connection to her whatsoever, be linked to her death? She obviously had a past with trying to commit suicide, she was depressed and thought it was okay to starve herself.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t you see Mr. Cliff! This is exactly the type you would seek to kill. She contributed nothing to society, she was already willing to die, and she was alone at the time of her death.¡±


    ¡°You just pointed out all the basic items for a suicide. Besides, you can¡¯t connect me with this death. You only want to. Ms. Emilia I believe I am being put up for this image of ¡®Murderer¡¯ Because you can¡¯t cope with the fact that the next generation is fucked up and pushed to the brink of madness. Sometimes kids push through, and unfortunately other times kids decide to fall.¡±


    Our voices were raised to the point of shouting and we both sat back in our chairs. Each slightly defeated.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t understand.¡± Emilia said letting her voice fall.


    ¡°No one does. We can¡¯t see the pressure. We can¡¯t feel what they feel. Instead we stand by and hope that they are strong enough to take it.¡±


    Emilia was speechless and deterred. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the recording device. In a fit of anger she threw it onto the coffee table and began to wheel herself to the window. In my own way of reacting, I closed my eyes and sighed.


    It was going to be a quiet session today.


    Emilia lit a cigarette and opened the window. The outside world spilled in and I looked to her direction. Emilia was a stubborn woman but she couldn¡¯t help but let her sensitive side slip out. Was it because she was comfortable around me? Or because she knew I wouldn¡¯t do anything with it.


    We both understood that the other truly didn¡¯t care. We both understood that the other was damaged and destroyed. But we both also knew that there were different ways to deal with it.


    I dealt with my pain through cold blooded, meaningless murder.


    I dealt with it by watching Paige die.


    Her mother was an old acquaintance of mine from highschool. We graduated in the same year. She tried to reach out to me in various different ways. Though, I ignored her outstretched hand. What would have happened if I didn¡¯t? What would have happened if my heart, this beating muscle inside my chest, filled with compassion? Would I be normal?


    No. I can¡¯t expect that one occurrence could transform me into a normal man. Afterall, it took my mother eight years to turn me into a monster. It took my father one trip down the stairs to ignite my bloodlust.


    Paige was a very simple girl with a complicated philosophy on life. She couldn''t erase the fact that she thought she was ugly. I entered her home with no issue. After all, I simply had to bring a casserole and say, ¡°Your mother called me yesterday.¡±


    Ah how the innocent give in so quickly.


    The scene played in my head. She opened the door for me, letting me in. We sat on the living room couches and started talking. During this time she unknowingly shared her dark past. The way her stomach growled at the sight of the casserole. The way she ran off for a few moments and came back with the stench of vomit.


    I brought up the topic first asking, ¡°Are you sick child?¡±


    She shook her head and cleared her throat. ¡°No, I¡¯m just fat.¡±


    ¡°Fat?¡± I asked leaning forward in the chair. Its legs creaked with my motion. She looked me right in the eyes and told me her story.


    ¡°A boy in my class called me fat. My mom says I¡¯m fine but now every Saturday I have to meet this cranky old woman.¡±


    I laughed lightly at her explanation. She smiled hearing my laughter and continued.


    ¡°It¡¯s true. And recently I haven¡¯t been taking my pills. They are supposed to help me eat but I don¡¯t want to eat. In fact, I haven¡¯t eaten since Tuesday. Before if I did eat I¡¯d go to the bathroom to throw it up.¡±


    ¡°When you say Tuesday, you mean yesterday?¡± I questioned.


    Paige shook her head tiredly, ¡°Two weeks ago,¡±


    ¡°Why my child, that is quite a long time.¡± I said, chuckling. She smiled proudly but began to sway in her seat. Shaking her head, trying to focus, she continued. ¡°My doctor said that if I continue to not eat I could go into shock and die because my body isn¡¯t taking in the things it needs.¡±


    I hummed to her explanation. Just by watching her I knew she was losing conscience.


    ¡°Do you want to die?¡± I asked, dropping my voice into a hushed whisper.


    I watched as she thought about the question and hints of maturity shot through her eyes. This girl had thought about dying before.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather d-die beautiful than awake a-and become ugly. Maybe in heaven I¡¯ll be truly loved.¡± She responded, beginning to stutter.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I said standing up. Her body was shaking and her eyes were losing focus.


    Her body was losing her fight. Her organs were shutting down as her stomach was folding in on itself. She was dying. I knew by her reactions and convulsions that it had been much longer than a few weeks.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fight the urge child. Just let it wrap you up.¡± I spoke to her ear and sat on the ground beside her chair. I wanted to be close as I watched the life slip from her leaf like body.


    ¡°I hope¡­¡± Her eyelids drooped down and her body fell toward me. I grasped the girls shoulders and gently dropped her to the floor. I too, then laid beside her. While doing so, her body became stiff and she was gradually becoming cold, but she wasn¡¯t dead yet. Instead she was shutting down.


    The scene was beautiful. Her hair intertwining with the carpet strands. Her skin slowly ghostly as the cells in her body lost oxygen. She was motionless and still. An hour passed as I sat watching her until the final moment when she stopped breathing. I bent down and smelled her hair taking in more of the vile smell that haunted her corpse.


    What a beautiful sight she was.


    I sighed knowing that I wasn¡¯t welcomed into the home anymore. I grabbed the casserole and left the home, wiping down the doorknob and countertops on my way out.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff,¡± Emilia said, finishing her cigarette. ¡°I must apologize for being so harsh and out of mind. I was just upset because that poor mother now has to continue life without her child.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± I said standing up and coming toward where Emilia was. Honestly though, I didn''t. Who cared about a single life? If someone wants to die, let them. Emilia''s frustration was incomprehensible to me. I couldn¡¯t understand why or how she could put so much thought into the past.


    ¡°It¡¯s not right you know.¡± She began. I was now beside her and she watched as her smoke was drawn out by the window. I was listening while examining her neck and broad shoulders. The skin looked soft and easy to manipulate. ¡°It¡¯s just not right¡­¡± She repeated. ¡°A mother shouldn¡¯t have to see their child buried.¡±


    I was quiet, unable to answer. Emilia lowered her hand and crushed the butt into the hand of her chair. ¡°This world is tainted with evil Mr. Cliff. I just hope you aren¡¯t leading a part of it.¡± She looked up to me and I locked eyes with her.


    ¡°Ms. Emilia. We all are evil, and sometimes we can¡¯t help but let it show.¡±


    ¡°Was that a confession?¡±


    I smiled at her trying question and bent down kissing the top of her head.


    ¡°No,¡± I said in a low tone while moving away from her and sat down once again in my spot. From that little moment, Emilia had her stubbornness return. She wheeled herself over leaving the window open and placed herself near the small table holding her notebook and pen.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try something different again. In the past we did personality questions, We¡¯ve simply talked and I also experimented with emotional attachment.¡±


    I nodded slowly only slightly understanding her words.


    ¡°So today I would like to go out. And seeing as we have roughly over forty minutes left. I¡¯m having you be my assistant. I¡¯d like to see you outside and interacting with the world.¡± She said smiling.


    Stunned and unnamused I frowned at her.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. We are going to your home.¡± Her sentence was cold and I could see she was enjoying my silence.


    ¡°Am I allowed to refuse?¡± I asked knowing my rights.


    ¡°Of course! But that will only give the cops reason to believe you are hiding something. Remember Mr. Cliff, Society is afraid of you and the police are looking for any inch of evidence they can find.¡± She looked me directly in the eyes and continued to smile. She had full control over me in this situation.


    I weighed my options carefully. I wasn¡¯t afraid of her finding any evidence for there was nothing to find. But I was more on the side of not wanting her to invade the privacy of my home. For her to observe me in a different light. Though seeing her in delight from my uncomfortableness was interesting. I could almost say, her sociopathic tendencies were shining through.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Well, I guess it would be amusing to have some guests. Though I do warn you, my home is a mess.¡± I said putting on a thin smile, wrinkling my cheeks.


    ¡°No problem,¡± She said and began to wheel herself from the room.


    It was basic small talk on the way there. The air was still and the sound of traffic overflowed our ears. People rushing and pushing past, cars moving down the road. No one but the deft could escape the chaotic sounds of life.


    I kept my eyes to the ground copying the vast majority of the crowd. Emilia was content and had no problem moving through the crowded areas. My mind was very still. I had a hollow feeling growing inside my body and that empty space inside me grew as we walked into the apartment''s elevator.


    Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes of being fake.


    The ding of the elevator system sounded and the metal box opened us up to a long monotonous hallway.


    About halfway down, a flustered woman was digging through her purse looking for her keys. She looked up and instantly gave off a bright smile.


    ¡°Hey! Mr. Cliff, good to see you. How¡¯s your mother?¡± Her voice was shrill and agitating.


    ¡°She¡¯s doing well, Ms. Briggs,¡± I answered smiling.  In the corner of my eye I saw Emilia watching us interact. The woman found what it was she needed and stepped toward me coming uncomfortably close.


    ¡°You know I called you last night. Were you not home?¡± She asked in a hushed voice. Her words were suggestive yet light.


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± I sighed tiredly, ¡°I pulled an all-nighter at work. Never even came home.¡± Emilia coughed beside me and Ms. Briggs and I both drew our eyes to her general direction. ¡°Ah yes, I have a meeting taking place right now. Please excuse us.¡± I said grabbing Emilia''s wheelchair handles and pushed her past the woman. Her eyes watched us and I observed as Emilia started to giggle.


    The woman stepped into her apartment slamming the door behind her in annoyance.


    ¡°Dear me, seems someone has a short temper.¡± Emilia said, now calm from her personal laughing fit.


    ¡°Ms. Briggs is an interesting woman. I hear her get up and walk to my door at night. She calls about twice a week and is always trying to enter my home.¡± I say pulling out my apartment door keys.


    Emilia hummed in amusement and I turned her around after swinging the door open. I took Emilia in and wheeled her just past my kitchen. She was looking around taking in the new area. The lights were on and windows drawn open. Medical supplies still laced the floor but it had been cleaned in a rushed attempt. My mother laid on the couch watching the television screen.


    Emilia laid eyes on another woman sitting in the chair beside the couch. Their eyes meeting in an unsteady gaze.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff?¡± called the woman taking a stand. She had a hispanic accent but her english was modest.


    ¡°What is it Ms. Wadsworth?¡± I asked from the front door trying to pull my key from its slot. Once released, I stepped to Emilia and frowned at the room. ¡°No need to worry dear, she is simply an acquaintance. Thank you for your time but your assistance for today is no longer needed.¡± I said reaching into my pocket pulling out a lump of cash.


    The woman crossed the room nodding politely to the therapist then grabbed the money and rushed out of the apartment.


    ¡°Forgive her, she is timid when it comes to conversation.¡± I explained.


    ¡°You seem to know a few people in this building. That¡¯s very interesting.¡± Insight dripped from her lips and I knew she was taking mental notes of everything.


    ¡°We can continue our conversation in my bedroom if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Emilia said abruptly. ¡°I¡¯d rather stay here and simply watch you. Occasionally I¡¯ll ask questions but for now just pretend like I¡¯m not here.¡±


    I looked at her confused but nodded and walked around the apartment.  I picked things up and placed them into drawers. I walked into the kitchen and looked through my cupboards. ¡°Would you like anything to drink?¡±


    ¡°No thank you, after all we have just under thirty minutes left.¡±  I nodded again and grabbed myself a glass filling it with water from the tap. Emilia began looking around.


    As I chugged down my glass of water Emilia wheeled herself up to the couch where my mother laid.


    I felt the muscles in my shoulders stiffen.


    ¡°Hello Ms. Cliff. I understand that you probably can¡¯t hear me. Nor can you respond.¡±


    My mother didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°Your son has kindly invited me into his home. He is making interesting progress.¡±


    I set down my glass and walked from the kitchen still watching the interaction. I leaned against my bar and listened as Emilia spoke.


    ¡°I have many questions for you. But unfortunately with you in this state it would be pointless for me to ask. I¡¯ll leave you be for now. Thank you for sharing your time.¡± Emilia finished. She backed away in her chair and turned toward me. She was wearing a proud smile and I watched as it grew wider with her next question. ¡°Why so far away Mr. Cliff?¡±


    My eyelids grew lazy and I decided not to give a response.


    ¡°I see I have made you uncomfortable.¡± She looked back to my mother smiling. ¡°How about we talk about another suicide.¡± The television cracked and a grunt sounded from the throat of the half dead woman.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. Twenty blocks from here a woman was found slaughtered in her home. Yet, with no sign of a struggle and the weapon layered with her finger prints, it was ruled a suicide. You, being the last person to see her alive.¡±


    I turned away and dragged a stool from under my bar and sat atop it. It creaked under my weight but I regained my focus on Emilia''s image.


    ¡°Twenty minutes left.¡± I said. Emilia locked her jaw and shifted her weight to one side, resting her head onto her boney hands.


    ¡°Samantha Howle, age twenty-three. Found in her bathtub with her throat slit open and her wrist cut twice, each.  She died quickly but in the last few moments she suffered under tremendous pain. She did have a motive to kill herself, we found in her journal entries that she was raped by a man from her last apartment complex. In fact because of him, she had a stillbirth and two forced abortions.¡±


    ¡°You say I was the last to see her?¡± I asked, taking in this new information.


    ¡°Yes, you had lunch with her and she left the restaurant crying. What were you meeting her for?¡±


    I sucked in my apartment¡¯s air then answered with honesty, ¡°She used to live across the street. I would wake up and open my curtains to see her watering her plants. I never really knew her until she invited me to lunch.¡±


    ¡°She used to live across from you?¡± Emilia asked, lifting her chin with her finger.


    A ¡®thump¡¯ was suddenly heard from the next room over. I smiled and explained ¡°Noisy neighbors. My apology.¡± Emilia hummed in understandance.


    ¡°Uh, Where were we?¡± I said to myself , ¡°Ah Yes, she lived one window down from my view.¡± I answered. ¡°She moved out about three months ago and I never heard from her until she got into contact with me, via letter.  She told me she wanted to talk and invited me to lunch. It was a innocent gathering.¡± My voice was tired and I could hardly recall the woman¡¯s face. How long had it been? I traced out the timeline in my head and figured it was about three months after Paige¡¯s death.


    ¡°Why did she leave the place crying?¡±


    ¡°She was upset.¡± I answered. ¡°Ms. Howle, had the ability to over-empathize. Any pain someone felt she felt as well.¡± The memories of her started to slowly come back. She was a short woman with thick glasses. Always wearing a pencil skirt and button up blouse.


    ¡°How did you communicate?¡± Emilia asked. The question instantly brought back the meeting at an outdoor patio. The restaurant was small and simple. She was extremely quiet bouncing her eyes from me to what was in front of her.


    ¡°She had a lined paper journal.¡± I replied recalling the fact that Ms. Howle was mute.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Emilia said. ¡°Ten minutes left.¡±


    The scene came alive in my head. We were sitting across from each other. In between us sat a small rounded table with a white covering. Menus placed neatly before us and water glasses filled to the brim. ¡°She,¡± I began slowly, ¡°Was very patient with me. I arrived late due to overstaying at work. I was going over some papers and lost track of time.¡±


    Emilia pulled out the recording device reminding me to be careful with my explanation. ¡°We were only there for no more than thirty minutes. She wanted me to stay quiet about what I had seen.¡± The television cracked and I looked away from Emilia, adjusting myself on my stool.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Emilia pressed.


    ¡°I saw her getting raped.¡± I answered in a grim tone. ¡°As I said she lived across the street. One night I stayed up late grading papers and when I went to close my blinds I caught a glimpse of her with a man. At first I thought nothing of it until he slapped her across the face.¡±


    ¡°How did that make you feel? Why didn¡¯t you report it?¡± Emilia asked leaning closer in her chair.


    My chest fluttered with adrenaline but I kept my composure as I quickly flashed on the scene.


    Her hair flowing over the edge of the bed, her mouth gaping open as the man took advantage of her. She was limp and small compared to him, struggling beneath his grip. When she tilted her head up in a desperate attempt to scream, I caught her gaze with mine. I frowned and  closed my blinds not caring to see more.


    I continued, ignoring Emilia¡¯s question.


    ¡°She moved out about three days after the incident. I never saw her again until a letter in the mail showed up. She asked me to lunch, as I¡¯ve said and this invitation shocked me and I was even more so when I came to find she was mute. But that didn¡¯t stop her from writing to me of her illness. She explained to me what happened that night and that she would appreciate it if I kept it quiet.¡±


    Emilia nodded, taking in the information quickly. I was running out of time and had no intention of discussing this in our meeting next week.


    ¡°The waiter came by taking our orders I believe.¡± I said, remembering a handsome young man with greased back hair and bright smile. Samantha wrote what she wanted and the waiter left with a polite nod. ¡°We ordered and she suddenly became very sad.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Emilia asked, pressing her brows together and pursing her lips.


    ¡°No idea,¡± I lied. The clock on the wall chimed and our time was up,¡°She got up and left the table. I never saw her after that.¡± I finished.


    I smiled and got up from my stool and stepped toward Emilia.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. I have the sneaking suspicion you are hiding something from that story. Why don¡¯t you tell me what really happened?¡± I bent low and put my mouth next to her ear, as I had done before.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill her.¡± My voice was deep and forceful even in its quiet state. Emilia was stone cold at my words and I wheeled her out of my apartment.


    ¡°Today was fun. Can¡¯t wait to see you again next week.¡± I said closing the door.


    I walked away and entered my room cackling to myself. The scene once again came to life. Her handwriting was neat and I admired her long brown ponytail. She was wearing a grey suit and black high heels.In an attempt to explain, she wrote down what happened acrossed the street that one night.


    Pleased to meet you Mr. Cliff. I would like to start out with explaining a little about me. My name is Samantha Howle, I used to live across the street from you, about one window down.


    I have a mental illness called Hyper-Empathetic. Put very plainly, I feel what others feel.


    What you saw that one night, was a man I am helping. He had slept with me because he was lonely. I¡¯m sure he didn¡¯t mean to hurt me. And I¡¯m not going to press charges.


    I would like for you to keep this quiet as well.


    She slid her journal across the table to me and I examined her words. Slightly fascinated by her illness I tested her.


    ¡°My mother is dying.¡± I said, looking her directly in the eyes. Within seconds her eyes were flooded with tears and she started to sob. Her choked breathing caught others attention.


    Knowing the obvious scene she was putting on, she stood up and clasped my hands nodding then walked away quickly. The occurrence seemed to be nothing more than her saying goodbye but within my hands and her swift and careful movements she had handed me her address and the location of her key.


    The entire situation made me smile mysteriously. My food was brought out to me and I sat there eating in silence.


    Was she worth keeping around? Feeling sad and emotional for others is pointless. You aren¡¯t helping them. Maybe I should step in... I checked my time on my wrist and paid for the meals leaving her order untouched. I also politely tipped the man a little extra and left the restaurant in a solemn mood. Hundreds of people rushed by and colors of all kinds flooded the streets.


    Five o¡¯clock rush hour. Now would be the perfect time. I have approximately fourty-five minutes to get the job done and get home.


    Her apartment was conveniently close and I found the key easily. Slipping it into the lock I looked over my shoulder noting no one was around and no video cameras to spy on my figure. I turned the knob and entered.


    Rushing water filled my ears and the bathroom door was open. I peered in and took in the sight of Samantha laying inside her tub holding a thin blade. She noticed me and closed her legs while balling up to hide herself.


    I stepped in the bathroom taking in the small space. Tinted green walls and subway tiles. A small sink with a cracked mirror above it. In the small right corner stood the toilet which was directly next to the deep white tub. Ms. Howle was inside hiding her scars and watching me closely.


    Neither of us made a noise.


    I walked past the tub and sat on the floor beside her right shoulder. She let out a quick breath and showed me her arm. Lines flowed up to her elbow giving me the reality of her illness. I assumed that after she would give in to her emotions she would drift into depression cutting herself. The lines captivated me and I grasped her hand. It was soft, wet and tense.


    ¡°You know, my mother used to beat me.¡± My words sent chills down her spine and hairs raised on her arms. ¡°She would throw things when I did something wrong.¡±


    I heard Samantha¡¯s breath hitch. She shook her head begging silently for me to stop. The motion caused me to smile.


    ¡°People are so sad. Everyone is depressed. A young boy at my school commited suicide a six months ago.¡±


    Her chin quivered and warm tears streamed down her cheeks.


    ¡°We all should just die.¡± I said calmly. ¡°We all should do exactly like you... Take this blade,¡± I raised her hand into the air as her other arm crossed over her body. ¡°And cut ourselves.¡±


    Within a swift motion I layed the blade onto her wrist and wrenched it back making her bleed. She started to become shallow and her toes curled in a pained reaction, but she didn¡¯t resist me.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it.¡± I hummed putting the blade just under the cut area. ¡°Do it again. Do it because we are in a sad world.¡± She swiped herself this time and more blood began to pour out. It dripped down the length of her arm and dropped into her dirtied water. The smell she gave off was exhilarating and I wanted more.


    ¡°Why are we alive?¡± I continued letting my voice go childish. ¡°Why do we live only to suffer?¡± My questions flowed as she changed the hand where the blade was and positioned it to her other arm. Once, then twice. The blade was slid across her now leathery skin. ¡°We should just die.¡± My words made her shake. Her hands went fluttery as blood seeped out of her wounds.


    Time was ticking away and I had to finish.


    ¡°Come on, you know what you need to do. Do it for me.¡± She was losing  grip of the blade and her fingers were numb. I grabbed her arm again and raised it to her throat.


    ¡°Do it.¡± I hissed. My aggression started to seep from my mouth and I couldn¡¯t wait any longer. The blade was slowly crossing her neck but not deep or fast enough for my liking. So, I gripped her elbow and pushed down on her low arm forcing the blade deeper and slashing out of her neck. She gagged on her blood and passed after a short minute.


    The smell of her blood flooded the room and I quickly got up, becoming aware that rush hour was almost over.


    Being careful to not leave footprints and knowing that the steam and water would rinse off my prints I left the room putting the key in its original place.


    I made it home avoiding the street cameras and paid my neighbor while taking a seat beside my mother. Everything was quiet and I sat thinking about Samantha Howle for the rest of that night.


    The memory of that day made me cackle for I couldn¡¯t get over how easy it was to feel good.


    I kicked my closet door, then went to lay on my bed. ¡°Poor Samantha.¡± I sang, ¡°Bless your soul for being tainted.¡±

 Chapter 4

    A few months had passed and I was still visiting Emilia. Our meetings were scattered but I still did my deed to show up once every week. She was doing her job by recording our meetings, I did mine by showing up.


    ¡°How long had it been since this started?¡± I asked, taking a seat on the couch, ¡°Me coming to see you, that is.¡± I clarified.


    Emilia, who was sitting in her usual spot, wrote down what was on her mind.


    ¡°Three months ago.¡± She replied not even glancing up. She seemed¡­ Distracted.


    ¡°When did the first murder happen?¡± I asked, turning my gaze away from her frail body to the seat I was sitting upon.


    ¡°The murders were scattered throughout different times. Some happened within weeks of each other''s, whereas some were separated by months. But the first ever murder we have begun suspecting you? A few years now. With the NYPD still trying to collect evidence your file and cases remain open and unsolved. Except those who fall under suicide.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± I said letting my voice become quiet. I closed my eyes and thought back to all the faces. All the sounds and smells I had come across in these¡­ experiences. What a delightful way to continue life.


    A minute passed in silence.


    I didn¡¯t mind the silence but I would have much rather used this time to grade papers or re-evaluate tomorrow''s lecture.


    Another minute passed.


    Emilia continued scribbling down something and she would occasionally stop and bring the pen to her lips.  The clock chimed four times and I widened  my eyes taking in the squared ceiling.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff?¡± Emilia started quietly as if speaking to a child.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I responded, bringing my head to take in her image once again.


    ¡°Two deaths occurred the same day you picked up your mother from the home she had currently been staying at. One was ruled as the basic ¡®dying of old age¡¯ and the other an ¡®accident¡¯. Why don¡¯t you tell me what happened the day you went to pick up your mother?¡±


    I drew away my gaze and began picking at my nails while biting on my inner cheek.


    ¡°That was quite a long time ago¡­ About three years ago, no?¡±


    Emilia nodded to my question and I took in a slow audible breath.


    ¡°I had just started my twenty-year celebration at the university when one of my colleagues told me I had a phone call.¡± I closed my eyes trying to remember the day.


    It was raining outside and the roll of thunder could be heard a few miles away. The call was from the home my mother was at.


    ¡°The nurse on the line explained that due to upcoming circumstances I had to relocate my mother to a new home.¡± At the time I was slightly upset but it was nothing I didn¡¯t see coming.


    I thought about saying goodbye to my colleagues, but what was the use? They¡¯ll all leave anyways and no one was speaking with me to begin with. Quickly walking to my lecture room I grabbed my bag, coat, and umbrella then left with efficiency from my own party.


    People of all kinds swept passed me as if being carried by the flooding streets. Their dark umbrellas hiding their masks. Their coats hiding their identities.


    It was as if the coming storm was trying to show the way everyone truly handled grief and pain. To hide it behind dark looming clouds and once in a while let uncontrollable anger like lightning lash out.


    Though with every fight and argument, every mistake and regret, there¡¯s repercussions. Rolling thunder reflects this and once the storm has passed you are left with racing thoughts and destruction.


    Yes, the world and the people within it are all the same. We are all monsters thriving for something we can never have.


    I took a cab to the Home, listening to the rain pelt against the metal machine for minutes, only for it fade slightly then to have the wind pick up carrying more rain.


    Once there, I politely paid the man and walked into the Home. It smelled clean and the lights above were buzzing with electricity. I nodded at the woman behind the front desk and walked down the long hallways. I took my time however, and appreciated the sound of music coming from one of the rooms I passed by. A Cello piece. The low humming of the strings made me dive into past memories. The swaying of the notes was soothing. I¡¯d never heard anything like it.


    ¡°The home was quiet.¡± I started abruptly. Emilia not being too shocked took out her notes and listened for me to continue.


    ¡°I passed by a multitude of rooms. Each slightly different from the other. Some had their lights on, others off. Some had their doors wide open, some only cracked.¡±


    ¡°When you arrived at your mother''s door, how did you feel?¡±


    I took a moment and flashed on the door. It was made of dark wood and had a bronze colored handle. The pattern on the door was intricate. The lines moving up and down some coming together to form a circle only to continue upwards in their normal straight lines.


    ¡°I do not know.¡± I answered honestly. I had the feeling of my stomach sinking deep and I was unwilling to open the door. But, brushing past the emotion I grasped the handle and stepped inside. The room was silent, motionless, empty. I crossed the bare room and stepped up to my mother who was asleep on the bed. I watched as her chest lifted slowly then fell back into place. I examined her small hands seeing her green veins sticking up from under her paper thin skin. My eyes followed a trail of creased skin, watching it end near her elbow and my eyes then followed another up to her shoulder. The roundness of her bone was odd and I moved my gaze to trace her sharp jaw. I squinted taking in her harsh features yet she seemed to look like an angel. Of course all Demons started out as angels.


    Her eyes danced beneath her eyelids and I put my hand out watching it cast a shadow above her face. Her eyes opened and the look of disappointment crossed her features.Her blue iris¡¯ soaking my figure in.


    ¡°Georgie?¡±


    I bit my inner lip hating the sound she produced. ¡°Mother.¡±


    I shook my head snapping myself back to reality.


    ¡°Can we not discuss that day?¡± I asked. My voice had something to it. It sounded strange. A confused expression crossed my face and I lifted my hand up to my mouth covering it.


    Emilia also noticed my sound and she smiled. But that smile wasn¡¯t pleasant.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. You sound¡­ afraid.¡± She smirked.


    I scowled and gave off a fiery look. ¡°Ridiculous. How about you tell me more of those two who passed away coincidentally the same day I happened to be there.¡± I smiled and Emilia smiled even wider. ¡°Well,¡± Emilia said, raising her hands. I listened as she clapped and within seconds shuffling footsteps could be heard entering through the door.


    ¡°The file Miss.¡± A female voice whispered.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Emilia called and the footsteps made the walk out of the room closing the door efficiently.


    Emilia opened the file flipping a few pages and sucked her teeth. ¡°We have on file that of a Doctor S. Elmerse. Male, age eighty-four. Was well known at the facility for being a prankster of sorts. Always talking himself up and chatting with the nurses. He was a nuisance for not listening but had a clean head on his shoulders.¡±


    Emilia scanned the contents further and held up a picture of the man for me. The photo was a headshot showing an elderly man with loose wrinkly skin. His crooked smile was fresh and his eyes were kind. Underneath a brown baseball cap was white strands with a slight hint of red to them.


    ¡°Do you recognize this man?¡± She asked, her eyes watching my face.


    ¡°Yes. I passed by him on my way out from my mother¡¯s room the first time.¡±


    ¡°The first time?¡± Emilia repeated.


    I nodded as my memory forced itself back into my view.


    ¡°Georgie?¡±


    The tone was disgusting. My stomach sank and I grimaced at her sound. I took down a shallow gulp and quickly told her why I was there. ¡°We¡¯re moving you again. Call for a nurse to help you pack.¡± I then, hastily rushed from the room closing the door behind me. My mother¡¯s eyes watched my hunched back.


    I was unfamiliar with this feeling. But I knew I didn¡¯t like it. Whenever I was close to her I wanted to be somewhere else. When she spoke I wanted to rip my ears from my head.


    ¡°I left my mother¡¯s room so she could pack. I knew that if I stayed I¡¯d just be an inconvenience. So I left the room and walked around for a bit.¡± I informed Emilia.


    I recalled my slow steps as I passed by the room playing music and the sound made me stop again. I turned but froze as I caught a glimpse of my face.


    Next to the room was a wide mirror. The edges were embroidered and the surface was sheen and clear. But I wasn¡¯t admiring the object itself, instead I was examining my image looking back from inside the frame.


    My face was slightly contorted and my hair a riled up mess. But my eyes. I placed my hand on the glass feeling its cool surface as I dived deeper into my gaze. My eyes were filled with an emotion I couldn¡¯t name. I¡¯d seen it before though.


    My reflection was suddenly accompanied by another.


    ¡°Doctor S. Elmerse, Pleased to meet you sir.¡± He tipped his hat in a friendly mannerism and took his free hand to place on my shoulder. ¡°What we looking at?¡± He began to search the reflection dramatically and I watched him giving a small smile.


    An optimist I see.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°He greeted me on my walk and we chatted for a little bit. Nothing out of the ordinary. He was a gentleman in a different kind of way.¡± I said looking away from Emilia and putting my eyes on the new arrangement of flowers above the fireplace.


    ¡°What made him stop to talk to you?¡± Emilia asked, chewing slightly on the end of her pen.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. I guess he was the kind of man to start chatting randomly with strangers.¡± I replied with a flat smile.


    As Emilia started scanning the file again thinking of another question I brought back the memory.


    Elmerse was looking off inside the mirror waiting for me to give some kind of response.


    ¡°Nothing doctor, I was simply taking a double look at myself.¡±


    Elmserse'' smile broadened and his hand squeezed on my shoulder, then he released me from his grip. ¡°Well, If I may say so, you look quite alright Mister?¡± His voice trailed off as he waited for me to answer again.


    ¡°Cliff,¡± I replied. ¡°Ah, a Cliff eh? Say¡­ Weren¡¯t you in the papers some days ago?¡± His fluffy brows furrowed in amusement as he leaned forward examining me over once again.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t know.¡± I shrugged, ¡°I better get going, I assume you have somewhere to be too?¡±


    ¡°Why of course friend.¡± He said proudly while hiking up his pants by the suspenders. ¡°Got a pretty little lady around the bend just waiting for me. Catch ya next time pal.¡± He clasped my hand firmly and I complied by giving him a quick shake. Then he spun and went around the corner.


    After watching him leave I looked in the mirror to watch my smile fall into a straight line. My eyes seemed to glaze over and my heartbeat slowed.


    I blinked a few times trying to make up my mind about what my next steps were going to be, unaware that I was being captivated by the slow swing of the string instrument.


    The music from the room broke off at an odd place and I heard cluttering from inside. I stuffed my previous thoughts away to be locked inside the back of my mind for later.


    ¡°After your talk with Mr. Elmerse what did you do?¡± Emilia questioned.


    I was silent for a little bit thinking back to the halls. One video camera at the far left corner watching any interaction that would have taken place. To see me walk into any room at any time. Therefore, this time, I had to reply truthfully.


    ¡°The music from a room I was by stopped and I went to investigate.¡± I said, feeling myself take on an air of mischief.


    ¡°And who or what did you find?¡± Emilia pressed.


    The dark room surrounded me and I took in the smell of brass and chalk. To the right of the room was an abundance of brass instruments. Frenchorns, trombones, Baritone and a small silver trumpet. Each cleaned and shined. To the left of the room was woodwinds. A saxaphone which held itself on a stand, a clarinet lying parallel with a flute on a dresser and in the corner was a large cello.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I announced stepping in further.


    ¡°Hello!¡± spoke a small voice. Behind the cello sat a thin woman holding a bow. ¡°I have a visitor?¡±


    I chuckled amused. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but overhear your playing. Your music is aweing to me.¡±


    ¡°Awe, aren¡¯t you such a sweet cookie. Please sit, I don¡¯t normally get visitors.¡± She cooed.


    I adjusted myself and drew up a chair to sit across from her. She set down the large instrument and placed the bow lightly on her thighs. I could now examine the small old lady. She looked ghostly in the corner. Her eyes watching me carefully and her cheeks puffed outward slightly. I was interested to note that she wasn¡¯t smiling.


    ¡°What about my music was aweing?¡± She asked in a childish manner.


    ¡°Your music is captivating. It makes me feel¡­ something I don¡¯t normally.¡± I answered.


    She smiled and let out a little snort. ¡°We must be alike. For it too, makes me feel when I normally cannot.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Cliff,¡± Emilia began, not appreciating my silence, ¡°From the tapes we see you entered a ninety-three year old Carol Carpenter¡¯s room. She was the oldest in her family with five children and thirteen grandchildren. What did you encounter inside?¡± Emilia huffed slightly and picked up her leg dragging it over the other. Then she crossed one of her arms under her chest, and with the other, she pinched the bridge of her nose.


    ¡°I can tell you are upset Emilia.¡± I said slowly only to have her glare at me through half lidded eyes.


    ¡°Just. speak.¡± She shot.


    I smirked hearing her demand and allowed myself to explain the scene. ¡°After entering her room I noticed she was sitting behind a large cello. She asked me to stay and chat since it was rare for her to have people pop by. I did and we had a small conversation. She was perfectly pleasant.¡±


    Emilia blinked a few times and looked down at the file before her. ¡°You say she was sitting behind her cello?¡±


    ¡°Yes kitten.¡± I said gravely, knowing that I was pushing my limits. Emilia cracked a finger and shlumped her shoulders. ¡°When you left was she still sitting there or had she moved to her woodwind instruments?¡±


    ¡°Well, given that we only talked for about three minutes, she was still in her chair by the time I left.¡± I wetted my lips and chewed on my tongue lightly.


    ¡°What did you talk about?¡± Emilia asked. Her tone had changed to pure curiosity.


    I tilted my head upwards taking in the ceiling once again.


    I hummed for a second trying to recall our conversation.


    ¡°What¡¯s the world outside like?¡± Carol asked. Her smile faded into a thin line. The action made me realize that she and I were very much alike.


    ¡°It hasn¡¯t changed all that much. Good people, bad people, then those in between.¡±


    The small lady scratched her hand momentarily before asking another question.


    ¡°You¡¯re Mr. Cliff. The man from the papers. I have it on my bedside table. I love reading about the stories.¡±


    ¡°Stories?¡± I asked taking a stand and walking over to the small round table.


    ¡°Yes, the ones about death. They say you are their lead suspect in a few crimes. To think I have the one and only Mr. Gregory Cliff in my room.¡±


    My eyes fell on the article. It was cut out and framed. ¡°Seems like I have a fan.¡± I said picking it up. The title of the article was bolded and in spectral font.


    ¡®Gregory Cliff,questioned and judged on the account for 17 murders. How is he getting away with this and who will be next?¡¯


    ¡°Tell me,¡± Carol started. I set the frame down and turned to stand beside her.  ¡°I miss the look of terror... What¡¯s it like again?¡±


    I folded my hands and looked back to Emilia, ¡°Just how the world has changed a little.¡±


    Emilias lips pursed together and then fell into a small pout. ¡°Where did you go after you left her room?¡±


    ¡°Thank you for seeing me, I really do enjoy the company. With the age I¡¯m at who knows what¡¯ll happen in the next few days.¡± Carol said, sniffling a little.


    ¡°What are you talking about, you are still so young.¡± I winked and left the room leaving her door wide open.


    I walked down the hall heading back to my mother''s room passing by a hispanic nurse and avoiding Dr. Elmerse.


    ¡°I was there for one reason and one reason only Emilia. To get my mother out of there. I was tired, hungry and still had things to do.¡± I said clicking my tongue.


    Emilia began to smile. ¡°Alright, no need to get uptight. We are almost done for today anyways.¡±


    I looked at the tall clock and noticed I had only five minutes left.


    ¡°How was the walk out? Your mother is afraid of thunderstorms isn¡¯t she? How did she handle exiting the building?¡±


    A satisfied feeling washed over me instantly as I imagined myself walking through those carpeted halls again. My mother was sitting in a wheelchair with a black duffle bag wrapped around her neck. ¡°Georgie, get me out of here.¡± she demanded.


    I held my tongue as I grasped the handle to the chair. I started forward listening to the wind carry rain which pounded against the walls and roof. The crack of lightning and sound of thunder as it engulfed our very being. Its vibrations shaking the windows and flooding the empty halls.


    My mother''s nails dug into her bag and I smiled as I watched her.


    I passed through crossing hallways, looking down both ways, examining the small hills of the floors and the oddity of the shaking pictures.


    Another crack of lightning sounded but my mother refrained from making a sound. To my right as I passed a long hallway I saw Elmerse. He was looking out a large window. Within seconds thunder roared and the lights flickered before turning off completely. I stopped momentarily waiting for my eyes to get used to the darkness. My senses kicked in and I heard a small yelp come from where the Doctor had stood. The lights flashed on but the Doctor was nowhere to be seen.


    I continued. I was watching the ceiling as the thin beams of lights shuttered. They clinked and buzzed. I passed by Carpenters room.


    While slowly walking by I peered inside. Carol laid on the floor coughing. Her expression etching itself into my brain. Our eyes met and I smiled.


    Ah¡­ That¡¯s where I¡¯ve seen it before. That expression.


    Her mouth was open as she coughed aimlessly into the floor. Her body shaking in uncontrollable movements. Her eyes wide with horror.


    ¡°The walk out wasn¡¯t too odd. My mother was packed and we made our way to the front. I was keen on getting out quickly because I realized the more time I spent there the more money I¡¯d have to pay. We left the building after I gave the front person my final billing information.¡±


    ¡°That''s it?¡± Emilia asked in disbelief.


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±


    Emilia slapped the file in her hands and closed the manilia pages together.


    She hummed before saying, ¡°Unfortunately with the power going out, we lost video feed. Sometime during the storm, Doctor S. Elmerse was scared into fright and tumbled down some stairs into a restricted place. On his fall down, his head was cracked open and he bled out in a few hours. A nurse came across him when she was going down to do laundry. The same night, Carol Carpenter died by falling. Her rib had punctured her lung. She died in a few minutes. Both cases could have survived if attention was given right away, but unfortunately, no one was around. You, Mr. Cliff, were the last noted person they had talked to before their deaths.¡±


    ¡°How tragic.¡± I said chewing on my lower lip. Over the past few months those two words were the only thing I could give up to Emilia. And she would reply back saying, ¡°How tragic indeed.¡± She wheeled herself toward the window and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I took a stand and left the room.


    ¡°See you next week, Mr. Cliff.¡± Emilia called after me.


    The walk home was usual. Every day was blending together. I was taking in the overwhelming smell of gas and smoke. Different perfumes and cologne mixing together as one to create a rancid scent. Step by step I followed my path home.


    People bumping into me like normal and hearing the uncomfortable grunts. It was rare to hear an apologetic word but once in a while it sprouted up.


    A few minutes passed and I walked into my apartment. Ms. Wadsworth was boiling some water on my gas stove.


    ¡°Welcome home Mr. Cliff.¡± She said bowing slightly.


    ¡°Thank you, how was everything today?¡± I asked, setting my things down on the counter.


    ¡°It went well. I took some of my extra time today and cleaned your fridge.¡± She smiled quickly and started packing her things.


    ¡°Really? Thank you,¡± I said walking by the stove and opening the fridge. Inside was a small assortment of things. A jar of pickles, a container of milk, a carton of eggs, two apples and three packets of hot sauce.  That was it. Everything else was thrown away and stuffed into a black trash bag.


    A thud was suddenly heard from the next room over. along with a muffled noise.


    ¡°How long has that been going on?¡± I asked, turning toward the nurse.


    ¡°Hm? Oh, only a little bit. I think that''s about the third time. Noisy neighbors¡± She winked.


    I smiled warmly. ¡°It would seem so.¡± I watched as she put on her brown shoes and neatly stuffed the cash in her pocket.


    ¡°Goodbye, Mr. Cliff sir.¡± She said and rushed from the apartment.


    As she left I listened as she bumped into someone in the hall. They exchanged a few words but I let my attention take hold of the pot with water on my stove. I could tell it had been there for about three minutes, meaning it would be at just the right temperature for my black tea. Before I poured in the water I set it on the back burner to grab some milk. I smiled as I fell into the smell of what I was creating in a simple cup.


    The television crackled behind me as I poured the hot water. My tea bag was already settled at the bottom and instantly my nose was filled with the scent of  bitter citrus and floral, a hint of earthiness and above it all the calming sensation I was suddenly overwhelmed with. I watched as the mixture in my cup became a dark auburn color.


    Picking it up and headed to my room but was stopped when I noticed two shadows being casted from underneath my door.


    My eyelids drooped but I continued into my room.


    ¡°Goodbye Ms. Briggs.¡± I said aloud.


    From behind my door came a shuffling and a short thump as if someone had accidentally brushed their shoulder against my door in passing. There was no response but I was too caught up in my thoughts to be bothered.


    Time went by quickly while I graded papers. One by one my students passed by. I looked to my clock taking in the time. Three thirty am.


    I sighed, dragging myself from my desk. I walked past my closet and opened my bedroom door giving my mother a quick glance before turning off all the apartment lights. Then I shut my bedroom door, kicked my closet and crawled in bed.


    What a long day it had been.


    I thought back to Emilia and I¡¯s conversation. To the moments I spoke or left her hanging. I thought back to the music of the cello. What was the tune like again? What about the piece was so captivating?


    I then thought about the mirror. I closed my eyes and locked that memory away. I would never be like that again. Not even on the day I die.

 Chapter 5

    I was awoken to the sound of fists hammering against my door. My mother was moaning from the next room over after, she herself, was awakened from the noise.


    I dragged myself out of bed and caught the time. Five forty-five am. The sound continued pushing the limits of my drowsiness. The eagerness of the person awaiting behind my door was unbearable but I took my time slipping into a robe and grabbing my round glasses.


    ¡°Mr. Gregory Cliff, NYPD open up.¡± Called a voice, it was low and blatantly angry. I unlocked my door and opened up taking in the view of three officers. All wearing identical dark blue uniforms and caps. I also saw that they were uneasy with my expected confrontation.


    I rubbed my eyes which hinted that I was exhausted and unwilling to cooperate.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff you are under arrest for the suspicion of being an accessory to murder¡± Said the one to the right. He was tall and had a small brown goatee. The one in the middle stepped forward and asked me to turn around.


    As the cuffs were slapped on my wrist my rights were read off. I was also told that my house maid who was my mother''s nurse had been notified to take care of her while I was away. Then, in a matter of minutes, I was taken away to the Police department.


    While being walked into an interrogation room I overheard an officer calling for a Miss. Swafford on a phone. I smirked observing every little detail.


    The shifting eyes, multiple scoffs, the whispers being exchanged all started adding up. This was a bluff and they had nothing on me.


    I was locked inside a grey room and told to wait for another officer to come in.Interested to see how they would pin something on me, I waited patiently smiling with unbrushed teeth.


    Time passed for a while and I assumed it was now around seven o¡¯ clock. A red light blinked on in the corner of the room and the action only made me smile more.


    In came a broad man. He had a stern look in his eye and a slick glaze of sweat on his brow. He maintained eye contact with me as he crossed the room and dragged his metal chair from underneath the table.


    Breaking our gaze I could smell a hint of smoke and lilac on him.


    ¡°My name is Joseph Young, I am an Officer in the NYPD. Do you know why you¡¯re here Mr. Cliff?¡± His voice had a booming effect and he was very good at making one want to answer.


    ¡°Hello, officer Young, and¡­¡± I looked behind him seeing myself smile at my reflection, ¡°Hello Emilia.¡± There was silence for a still second but a small tapping came from the dark glass.


    ¡°Please answer the question Mr. Cliff¡± Young demanded crossing his arms bringing the focus back to himself.


    I folded my hands rubbing my swollen wrist. ¡°Under the suspicion of being an accessory to a crime.¡± I said, quoting what I was told about an hour before.


    Mr. Young, who sat before me, let out a long and slow breath. He then leaned forward and opened a case file. Inside this file were images, physiological exams, some type of report and hand written notes. He slid three pictures in front of me. I rested my eyes examining the faces.


    ¡°Do you recognize any of these people?¡± He asked. I blinked a few times and cocked my head. Only one person looked familiar but I wasn¡¯t about to admit it. Taking my silence as a challenge the man of law continued.


    ¡°Mrs Donna Howell, age forty-two. Was in nursing school for her last year.¡± The officer place his index finger on one of the images, then moved it to his left. ¡°Mr. Franklin Howell, age fifty-three, Construction worker. They were married for thirty years. Had two twin boys. Ethan Howell, age ten, the youngest of the pair, found deceased with the bodies. The oldest son, Peter in critical condition.¡± The officer laid back in his chair and it shifted which resulted in a screeching noise. Neither of us flinched.


    Continuing to smile, I refrained from speaking.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff where were you approximately five thirty last night?¡± Mr. Young pressed.


    I smacked my lips for a second turning to face the brick wall to my right. ¡°I finished up my meeting with Emilia at four so I went home. I am a working man, therefore I had papers to grade and emails to return.¡± I answered with a puffiness in my chest.


    ¡°You have an alibi to confirm your whereabouts?¡±


    He pulled out a paper from the file and was jotting down every word I spoke.


    ¡°Yes, My mother¡¯s nurse.¡± I responded honestly.


    ¡°Ms. Wadworth, if I¡¯m correct.¡± Said the cop adding to my statement.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± I nodded.


    We were silent as he wrote down the woman''s name.


    ¡°Alright, and anyone else we should take into account?¡± He asked, wanting to continue the conversation. He knew it would be difficult to get the answers he wanted but I had no intention of lying to him.


    ¡°In fact I do. The woman who lives just down the hall from I. Ms. Briggs is her name. She stopped by my door to say goodnight.¡±


    He gave a shifted look but wrote her name and location down. His eyes suddenly became cold and his demeanor sharpened. ¡°Mr. Cliff I will ask you once again. Have you seen these people before?¡±


    My smile shifted into a smirk and I replied with honesty. ¡°Yes,¡±


    The man in the chair had a glimpse of triumph as I answered, but as I continued his face dropped. ¡°Four months ago I met Mr. Howel briefly at the park. He was teaching his son something. We hardly spoke and the man was acting peculiar. I had places to be so I left without having much of a conversation.¡±


    My statement was unbecoming to the officer and I looked behind him admiring my self esteem and image.


    ¡°What did you two talk about?¡± Mr. Young started again.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I remember. My brain is¡­¡± I stopped to scratch my head and squint at the images before me. Their pale faces and bloodied clothes were deliciously charming. ¡°Well, age has been hard.¡± My voice dripped with coyness which angered the cop sitting patiently before me. He slammed his fist down causing a small echo inside the room.


    ¡°Damn it! How did you do it? How did you force this man to kill his family!¡±


    I simply smiled and adjusted my glasses. His outburst was adorable and I foresaw this reaction the moment he walked through the door.


    In frustration and embarrassment he scratched the back of his neck sighing. ¡°You¡¯re a fucking monster.¡± He gathered the file in his hands leaving the images of the deceased on the table and walked out. I twisted my neck hearing it pop near my ear.


    I closed my eyes thinking about how the rest of my day would be. Technically speaking, the police could only withhold me for twenty-four hours based on the evidence they have. Which seems to be nothing. I opened my eyes coming to the realization that they haven¡¯t officially linked me to this case, so why was I there in the first place?


    There was a light tapping coming from the door and I watched as the handle turned slowly. Emilia rolled herself into the room a yawn emerging from her lips. As she did the camera in the top right corner flicked off.


    She saw me looking at it and answered my silent question. ¡°Patient confidentiality.¡±


    I nodded and continued to watch as she wheeled herself to sit beside me.


    ¡°How¡¯d you know I was here?¡± She asked.


    I turned my head and shrugged. ¡°Smelled you.¡± Emilia smiled at my words. Her eyes trailed down from my face to the images and her head bobbed. ¡°You know them?¡±


    I took a swallow and nodded. ¡°Yes. I didn¡¯t lie Emilia, I had met Mr. Howell at the park. He was there with his son. I happened to bump into them on my way to lunch.¡±


    ¡°I see, and do you not remember anything?¡±She asked. Her question stirred memories and I could faintly hear the conversation that occured four months prior.


    ¡°He was talking to his son¡­ about something. He seemed visibly upset.¡± I said.


    I chose my words carefully. It was true that my mind was incapable of recalling the dull conversation, but there were some points on which I could envision.


    I was rushing to work, my break was ending after I decided to run out and get some lunch after a coworker told me about this new salad bar. I bumped past this man as he was yelling at his child. The man stopped me and began calling me out. Not surprised by his reaction I turned to face the ridicule head on.


    ¡°You Dirty bastard, can¡¯t you see I¡¯m teaching my kid? Jeez watch where you¡¯re walking. This isn¡¯t a zoo.¡± His ranting continued but he turned away from me abruptly and started pounding his shoe into the dirt by a tree.


    I looked down at the boy and made a gesture to sit on the bench that was close by. He followed me and the boy started telling me about his father.


    ¡°Visibly upset? Yes, that sounds like Mr. Howell.¡± Emilia said, cutting into my thoughts.


    ¡°You knew him?¡± I asked.


    She smiled. ¡°Only on paper. Mr. Howell was diagnosed with IED,  or Intermittent Explosive Disorder. This disorder just means he has impulsive outbursts. The symptoms are being hostile, having  impulsivity, and aggression.¡±


    I listened patiently, connecting the dots. Mr. Howell, when I met him that day, was having an outburst against his child...


    ¡°I like to light things on fire.¡± Said the kid. The sentence made me fascinated and I was attracted to this characteristic.


    ¡°The boy,¡± I started, ¡°He was different.¡± Emilia looked at me with curious eyes.


    ¡°Did he say something to you?¡±


    ¡°After the father walked away to take a moment by himself the boy and I chatted for a few. He was polite and well mannered. He spoke about liking attention.¡±


    ¡°The boy, like his father, had an illness. HPD is also known as Histrionic personality disorder. An excessive attention seeker. This leads to inappropriate behavior and if not managed correctly can go down the path of disaster. It was rare to find it in a child so young but he fit the profile unfortunately.¡± Emilia explained. I could tell she was imagining the file in her hands. The way she zoned out and lost herself from reality.


    ¡°How so?¡± I asked, egging her on.


    ¡°I met with the boy once and knew he was not a case in which I could take on. He was screaming any time I wasn¡¯t looking at him. Stripping and throwing his clothes. He even stole my lighter and lit the curtains on fire. The boy was troubled.¡±


    ¡°I see, tell me Emilia,¡± I leaned in toward her and she held my gaze within hers. ¡°how am I linked to this case?¡±


    Her expressions went numb and I could tell she was uncertain on whether or not she could say. ¡°The boy, Peter¡­ On the way into surgery he.¡± She stopped and I clung onto her every breath. ¡°He said your name.¡± I leaned away from her and she did so too.


    ¡°What was the surgery for?¡± I asked innocently, trying to piece together this massive jigsaw puzzle.


    ¡°Let me set the scene for you Mr. Cliff. Last night on the far outskirts of New york sat a family of four. Shortly after dinner we assume Mr. Howell and Mrs. Howell got caught in an argument. Not wanting to bother their children they told them to go outside to play.  They then went into the garage to continue their disagreement.  Sometime during that fight, Mr. Howell stabbed his wife, killing her in cold blood. The youngest son had gone back in and must¡¯ve heard something so he witnessed the crime happening. Mr. Howell, still unstable, then strangled his son. We then assume that he snapped back to normal and after being filled with great regret and remorse he killed himself by using the same weapon he did on his wife. All this we can confidently say happened due to the stab wounds on Mrs. Howell¡¯s body, the fingerprint marks on Ethans body and Mrs. Howells DNA in Mr. Howells wounds.¡± She took in a hesitant breath before continuing.


    ¡°Now to answer your question. Peter Howell was brought into surgery for his second and third degree burns. Before going in though, he said and I quote. ¡°Mr. Cliff told me it would be okay.¡± end quote, and therefore that is the link to you.¡± Emilia was quiet again and I knew she was thinking. ¡°What did you and the boy talk about?¡± She asked, remembering my words.


    I was suddenly brought back to the scene of sitting with little Peter.


    My heart picked up in pace and I was captivated at my brilliance. In a matter of minutes I diagnosed the boy. I knew he was wanting attention and so I told him it was okay to do what he wanted. As long as he was fine with dealing with the consequences that followed. The father on the other hand, when I left the boy on the bench to make my final apology, I had convinced the man his wife was having an affair.


    Over the next few months my statement must¡¯ve gotten too real for him and he snapped on the account of a small gathering of false evidence.


    ¡°I told the boy it was okay to have fun. The father and I simply exchanged apologies and thanks. It was a miniscule thing that occured four months back. The boy must¡¯ve been delirious and said my name on account of that.¡± My voice was filled with confidence and persuasion. Emilia fell for this and took that moment to leave the room but not before saying,


    ¡°Thank you for sharing this with me Mr. Cliff. I¡¯m convinced you had no part in this. After all, there¡¯s not much one can do by just an exchanging of words. I wish I could help you out of here but for the next fifteen hours you will be stuck in this room. I bid you good luck.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Emilia.¡± I yawned and gave a slight wave.


    As the door clicked behind her I thought again about the boy.


    His motives were genuine. Everything he did was for what he wanted. Pure attention. My guess is when he came back inside to find no one around he went into a room and lit something on fire. Out of stubborness and self-told motivation the boy stayed inside waiting for someone to scold him. Unfortunately his skin would burn and his needs would never be met.


    I imagined the smell of his skin, the way it must¡¯ve stung as the flames licked his soft outer shell. I imagined the smoke traveling down his throat and into his lungs. Filling him up with sickly gases and toxic fumes. My imagination bubbled as I thought about how his skin must¡¯ve looked as he was dragged from the hot ashes. How he must¡¯ve blistered and popped.


    The different spots and layers colored in shades of white, yellow, red and black on his skin. The sight I created in my mind was wonderful.


    The red light in the corner flashed on again and in walked a man with a ghostly appearance. ¡°Let¡¯s continue where we left off. Oh, and Peter Howell has just passed away.¡±


    The time I spent at the station was much like my other past experiences. Being left for hours, having a sweaty officer rant on about old case files. The whole thing is a manipulative chase waiting until someone cracks. Though, these people are nothing to me. The victims, the cops mankind itself. No one could ever reach my standards as a perfect human being.


    Eventually my twenty-four hours were up and I was brought back home upon request. Ms. Wadsworth had just finished dusting as I stepped in through the door.


    ¡°Ah, Mr. Cliff. Those policemen asked me questions. But no worry, I answered them with honesty just as you taught me.¡± She tapped me on the shoulder and left the apartment saying, ¡°No need to pay. Today was well worth my excitement.¡±


    I bowed my head in thanks and listened to her light footsteps traveling away from my door. The television behind me cracked and I turned slamming my fist into its side. The antennas above its plastic frame shifted and the picture on the screen suddenly cleared.


    I was upset about how my day was wasted but not completely closed minded to the events. After all, the school was able to hire a tutor and get out a small lesson, Ms. Wadsworth came over and somehow did her job with the eyes of officers watching her, and I still have the opportunity to spend some time alone.


    I smiled thinking about tomorrow. It would be a pleasant surprise to visit Emilia.


    Two times in one week is definitely new.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    A knock suddenly sounded from my door. I assumed who it was as I stepped toward it. Turning the knob I opened up to have Ms. Briggs fall into my chest. The action made me cough but she was far more flustered than I.


    ¡°Dear me, I am so sorry! I had to make sure you were okay, some officers knocked at my door asking about you. What happened? They said you were part of a crime.¡± She walked past me and took in my small apartment. I followed her with my eyes and put my toe against the bottom of the door to keep it from closing.


    ¡°Ms. Briggs, I thank you for stopping by, but I am exhausted. How about we talk another time?¡± I let my wish become saturated with seduction and she enjoyed my tone a little too much.


    ¡°Oh? And when would  be a good, next time?¡± She asked, running her hand up my arm and locking it behind my neck.


    I parted my lips watching her face become soft and needy.¡°Perhaps, next week. I have a meeting tomorrow and emails to reply to tonight.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re no fun Mr. Cliff. What¡¯s a girl gotta do to get attention around here?¡± She pouted and headed past the door I was holding open. ¡°Are you going to the crippled lady again?¡±


    ¡°Goodnight, Ms. Briggs.¡± I called shutting the door and not giving her a response.


    ¡°Time, time what time is it?¡± I questioned myself. I looked at the light coming from the stove. Six thirty am. It really had been twenty four hours.


    I walked into my room rolling up my sleeves. I then opened my closet and smiled. ¡°Thought of adding a little air in here.¡±


    I walked over to my desk and started typing away on my computer. Its yellow screen glowing in the dark room. A thump and some shuffling sounded but I brushed it off and went about answering my student¡¯s emails. By the time I finished it was nine in the morning on a Saturday.


    I stretched and rubbed my swollen eyes. I then exited my chair and closed my closet door.


    It was boring at how well the world could adjust to its speed. Not that long ago I was taken from my home and questioned. My mind was stuffed with information and facts. I was squeezed out for confessions after every dull and foreseeable question. But now, the world was still running the same way it had since the world started. People going on about their days, doing what they should and falling into the natural way of society¡­


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, I''m surprised to see you. I wouldn¡¯t have been too shocked if you decided that yesterday would be part of our one week meeting.¡± Emilia¡¯s words were flavored with amusement and I knew she had some kind of goal.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too shocked darling, it''s unbecoming of you.¡± I grinned entering the room silently.


    ¡°I was just thinking about what we could talk about next week but since you¡¯re here now, how about we just get started.¡± She said rolling herself behind me.


    I nodded and sat in my place. As she moved herself, she crushed her burning cigarette into her armrest.


    ¡°Now,¡± She began, ¡°I know about the time you were abused as a child, I know about the time your father committed suicide. How about you tell me what happened in between. It took the authorities about two weeks before they stepped in?¡±


    I noticed there was no buzzing of an annoying device, no notepad waiting to be polluted with thoughts. Just us.


    ¡°Those days are nothing but growing into maturity. Are you certain it is that you wish to discuss?¡± I asked, wondering what she could gain from this.


    Thinking about how the conversation could play, and where she would get to know my thought pattern. How could she learn about my view of the world and those who fill it in around me?


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, don¡¯t think. Just tell me about your past.¡± I listened to the genuinity coming through her tone. I drew in a slow breath as I usually do before going back into contaminated memories. Then I began,


    ¡°A few days after my mother''s attack, Perhaps  two to three weeks, I was able to attend school again. The questions and stirring of words from people all smashed against me. It¡¯s a lot like interrogation.¡±


    Emilia chuckled at my comparison.


    ¡°My classmates were all wondering about my stitches.¡± I raised my middle finger to my eye and gently pressed it against my skin. Then I traced the fine white line from memory.  ¡°The doctors were able to save my eye¡¯s, for the most part, and I was left with a scar. I was told to say I was in an accident and that I couldn¡¯t remember what happened.¡±


    ¡°Who told you to say that?¡± Emilia asked. I was silent and thought about it.


    ¡°My mother, I think.¡± I continued with my story. ¡°I was getting attention from all these kids I didn¡¯t really know. It bothered me. A month went by and eventually people stopped talking to me, all except this one girl. Lia was her name.¡±


    ¡°What a beautiful name¡± Emilia said.


    ¡°Sure.¡± I replied in a hollow way, ¡°She was always around me. Talking and asking about my family. The boys in my class said she liked me but I didn¡¯t understand what that meant. The whole thing is just odd to me. The idea of having empathy, being sensitive, having those kinds of emotions.¡± I stopped talking and tried to rid my mind of her face.


    ¡°What happened to your mother?¡± Emilia asked, laying back in her chair. I leaned forward wiping my hands on my thighs.


    ¡°She was taken away. I would once in awhile recieve letters but none of them ever made much sense. I mean, why would she write to me?¡± I looked toward Emilia and her cheekbones fluffed.


    ¡°Maybe because she was feeling guilty?¡±


    I shook my head lightly and sat back. ¡°No, a person like that doesn¡¯t feel guilt. If she¡¯s never felt it before why would she then?¡± I spat.


    ¡°How was your father? Did he act differently?¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact yes. He was always pacing around the house. He had shifting eyes and he stopped paying attention to me. I was never bothered by it because I didn¡¯t mind being alone. It gave me time to think.¡±


    Emilia rubbed her hands together attracting my eyes back to her moving figure. ¡°What did you think about?¡±


    ¡°Pain, depression, things most people at that age don¡¯t think about.¡±


    ¡°That is because they have other emotions to deal with,¡± Emilia said. Her words didn¡¯t strike me in any way as new information.


    ¡°Now that I think about it. It was around that age I started experimenting.¡± I said lifting my chin with a grin.


    ¡°Experimenting?¡± Emilia questioned.


    ¡°Yes, I started out with the little ants that marched on my windowsill. Then as the days went on, our house wasn¡¯t being cleaned so we had bigger bugs like cockroaches.¡±


    ¡°What did you do to these critters¡±?¡± I could sense Emilia knew my reply and she was almost afraid of what it was.


    ¡°I started out by squeezing them on my fingertips. Then with the bigger bugs I stepped on them with bare feet. The sound they produced was riveting and I heard my heartbeat for the first time. The way it pounded in my head, Emilia I can¡¯t even express to you how I felt. It was all so new to me.¡±


    ¡°Did you go beyond bugs?¡±


    The question stirred around in the room as it filled with silence. I licked my lips and shifted in my seat bringing my ankle up to my knee.


    ¡°A cat. The girl, Lia, was telling me about her orange cat. I asked her to bring it to me one day. I don¡¯t quite recall how it was approved by her parents but suddenly in my hands was this orange cat.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Cliff¡­¡± Emilia started. Her voice was quiet and unsettled. ¡°What did you do to this animal?¡±


    My mouth formed into a toothy, wide smile. The look was eerie and highly unsettling.


    ¡°I ripped it apart. I first found that silencing it would be my best choice. So I squeezed the life from its throat. At the time I didn¡¯t fully grasp at the knowledge of what I was doing. But I guess I had broken its neck.¡±


    Emilia sent an audible gulp down her throat.


    ¡°Brace yourself, kitten it gets better.¡± My voice was crumbling lower as my description grew. ¡°After silencing the creature I grabbed scissors from the kitchen. Unfortunately, they were dull so when I made a small hole I was able to put my fingers in and rip the skin apart. My room was instantly filled with the aroma of death. It¡¯s insides spilled onto my floor and my hands up to the elbows were covered with blood. The blood was thin and slippery. I enjoyed running my hands over its entrails and even sliding them through my fingers. Then, I plucked its eyes out and even tore out its vertebrae.¡±


    ¡°How did Lia take it?¡± Emilia asked slowly. She was clamping her jaw together to keep from being visibly uncomfortable.


    My mind pondered on the image of the cat a little more before I answered.


    ¡°I just gave her another orange cat from the block. No big deal.¡±


    Emilia¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Why did you give her another cat? And why did you have to kill her cat? Why not the one from the block?¡± Her questions were empty of concern but filled with curiosity.


    ¡°Well, if I didn¡¯t give her some kind of cat back then the parents would¡¯ve suspected something. And where¡¯s the fun in killing something that wasn¡¯t given to you? The art of experimenting is that you shouldn¡¯t have to hunt for your next victim. Instead you should simply wait for an opportunity to present itself. Now, there, of course, is no harm in tying a few strings and bending a few rules. The cost of learning something new is far greater than the feelings of some child.¡±


    ¡°Did your father ever find out?¡±


    I uncrossed my leg and stretched giving a one word response. ¡°No.¡±


    Emilia nodded and took out another cigarette to light. I scratched my forehead waiting for the next question.


    ¡°Did anyone at your school find out?¡± she asked in a monotone.


    ¡°No, but they were also a part of one of my experiments.¡±


    The end of the cigarette lit and she flicked closed the open flame. The white addiction laid gently between her two fingers and she then became interested in the conversation again. ¡°What kind of experiment?¡±


    ¡°Kids are easy to manipulate and scare. During story time the teacher would make her voice go a certain way to frighten my classmates. So I began learning how to do the same. I also learned that silence is frustrating to some.¡±


    ¡°So your experiment was to irritate your classmates?¡±


    ¡°In a way. I was doing this to see how people of that kind reacted in certain situations. I found when one person yawns, a multitude of others yawn. If something unsettling happens they will have a reaction as if something is crawling down their spine or some will even exclaim making a certain noise.¡±


    ¡°By  ¡®people of that kind¡¯ you mean those with emotions correct?¡± Emilia asked, reviewing the information in her mind.


    ¡°Indeed. I also found it interesting how my father handled things. Most days he would come home with a worried look on his face and eat very little, but if he came home and I said something bad that happened at school he would eat nothing at all. I created a small page full of tally marks and dates of when my father would eat or not eat. Near the end of his life he hardly ate anything. However, later in life I found that it is due to depression.¡± I said, giving Emilia little of my attention.


    She was able to retain it, and right as she was about to ask another question, her voice caught causing her to cough abruptly. Her chokes were alluring to me and I watched as she rubbed her eyes, swiping away small tears.


    ¡°Excuse me. Smoke must¡¯ve gone down the wrong way.¡± She started to laugh slightly embarrassed. ¡°Before we move on and end our conversation I¡¯m curious. The days before your mother was taken, she still beated you no?¡±


    I felt my jaw crack as my mind hazed over with numbness. My breathing was slow and the pace of my heart was dangerously low. ¡°Yes. What about it?¡±


    Emilia drew in some smoke and closed her eyes thinking about what she was going to ask. ¡°What did she do to you?¡±


    Emilia¡¯s voice changed and her eyes had a glassy tint to them.


    ¡°She abused me. There¡¯s nothing more to say.¡± I uttered sharply.


    ¡°I think there is. Come now Mr. Cliff. What horrible things did your mother do?¡±


    There was, unexpectedly, a knock on the grand door behind Emilia. She grumbled to herself quietly before saying, ¡°Come in!¡±


    In walked an Officer from the NYPD.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Emilia asked, unlocking her chair and turning. ¡°Oh! Mr. Scribs, do you have it?¡±


    ¡°Yes I do, here you are.¡± He outstretched a small envelope to Emilia. She took it immediately and tore it to reveal its bearings.  Mr. Scribs¡¯ gaze shifted from Emilia¡¯s giddiness to my solitude.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff I presume.¡± He said softly walking past Emilia and taking my hand. I smiled thinly and tried to regain attention on Emilia. Unfortunately, Mr. Scribs had other plans. ¡°How was being interrogated? You were in a hot pan for a while yesterday huh? I heard all the big guys talked with you. Boy oh boy were they angry.¡±


    ¡°They truly were¡± I said, catching his eye. The man was tall and old. Around the age of Emilia and I. His white scruffy beard contrasted with his green eyes and his round belly lifted everytime he laughed.


    ¡°Have we met before?¡± I asked in a hushed voice.


    The man''s smile fell for a second but he pivoted to the front of me so Emilia couldn¡¯t see his face. ¡°Only briefly, back a couple years in April.¡± He then turned and gave Emilia a bright smile. ¡°Catch up with you later ¡®Milia,¡±


    She looked up from her letter and nodded. ¡°Yes, thank you Theo.¡± The man then walked out giving us both a wave.


    ¡°So you know Theo?¡± Emilia asked, stuffing the letter into her back pocket.


    ¡°Not really, he and I met under odd circumstances. He¡¯s an interesting sort of man.¡±  I answered, smirking slightly. ¡° and you know him how?¡±


    Emilia¡¯s poker face became present and she hid her smile well. ¡°Oh, he and my husband knew each other.¡±


    ¡°Really? I would¡¯ve assumed you two were closer due to him fetching your personal mail.¡±


    Emilia shrugged letting her eyes fall onto my nose. ¡°It¡¯s a letter from my daughter.¡± The sound she produced was shallow.


    ¡°Nothing from your husband?¡± I asked, pressing into the matter.


    Emilia remained still, not even blinking. ¡°No, I¡¯m not expecting anything from him.¡±


    Her attitude on this was almost unreadable. The way she held herself was dark and there was a tinge of secrecy behind her words. ¡°Now where were we?¡±


    I clicked my tongue taking note of the time. ¡°Can¡¯t we end here for today?¡± I asked with a need for space.


    ¡°No. Mr. Cliff I want to know what happened in those two weeks. Your mother was with you before she was taken away and when the authorities saw you they didn¡¯t even recognize your face.¡± Emilia burned out her cigarette which was now down to the yellow strip. ¡°You are free to take as much time as you need. I understand that this topic may be hard for you.¡±


    I stood up and walked to the window. ¡°It¡¯s not hard for me.¡± I said closing the curtains making it so the light from outside couldn¡¯t be seen. I walked over to the door flicking off the lights. ¡°I just don¡¯t appreciate the way it makes me feel.¡± The room was now swallowed in darkness with cracks of light bleeding from underneath the door and curtains.


    I straightened my back and leaned against the wall next to the clock.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff?¡± Emilia asked softly.


    My shoulder blades slid down the wall and, as my knees buckled, my ass laid on the floor. I stretched my legs and rubbed my face taking my glasses off in the process. As I looked around the room, though without the assistance of my glasses, I was blind. My body laid limp on the ground as I thought of where to begin. Emilia sniffed in and I was able to distinctly pinpoint her location.


    ¡°It was dark all the time.¡± I felt my throat want to close as my memories came crashing to my mind. ¡°My wrists always burned and my feet always cold.¡±


    I envisioned myself in the small room. All the blinds closed, every sound mute. I was lying horizontally on the bed with my back against the painted wall. My hands bound up in zipties, my feet forced to hang off the edge with no covering.


    ¡°I would first smell her.¡± I said remembering the smell of honey and vanilla. ¡°She would creep into my room and cover my eyes with a red ribbon. Before she did that though, she would say, ¡°We do not change society. We must blend in.¡± She repeated that over and over.¡± I rubbed my thumbs together as my throat dried out.


    ¡°She would then take my clothes off. Bringing up my shirt to the nape of my neck. She would pull down my pants and I would be exposed to the bitterness of her touch. Her hot breath made my chin sticky and she would then say my name ¡°Gorgie¡±. ¡±


    I felt my stomach drop as I heard her voice in my head.


    ¡°What was she doing to you?¡± Emilia whispered begging me to continue.


    ¡°It varied. The days she wore her white lab coat she would examine my body. Touching my fresh wounds and asking me questions I couldn¡¯t answer. She wouldn¡¯t remember hurting me so she assumed I did it to myself. She would squeeze my stomach crushing my insides. She would grasp my shoulders and slam me into the wall in which I was forced to lean against.¡±


    I thought back to the dents in the wall. The way the paint chipped around it. I thought about her crushing my insides making me vomit all over myself because of the pain.


    ¡°She would open my mouth and count my teeth. Pour boiling water down my throat. She would scratch my bare skin over and over until I bled. Other days, when she wasn¡¯t wearing her coat, she would sit beside me rubbing my arms and legs. She would rub until my skin was thawed and burned. When she did that she cried and repeated my name.¡±


    I stopped not wanting to continue. Emilia and I listened to the clock ticking beside me.


    I was lost in my memories unable to escape the hold that I was placed in.  Emilia rolled over to me, coming closer. In her eyes were tears and her throat had lost all moisture. She wanted to comfort me but knew that her efforts would go wasted. She knew the emotion I felt within me was forgein. She knew that she had compromised my idea of being above everyone and everything.


    ¡°The day they found you. Your closet door was ripped from its hinges. Can you explain that?¡± She asked in an almost inaudible voice.


    The clock beside me swung and I listened as it chimed ten times.


    Ten times it chimed, ten times¡­ the same amount of time my mother''s fists came slamming against the door.


    ¡°I had been released. My mother cut the ties and locked me in the room. I couldn¡¯t make it out the windows because they were nailed shut, so I thought that hiding in the closet would be a way to release myself. But when my mother returned home and she wanted to look at my back. She¡­¡± My voice trailed off as I looked in the direction she would¡¯ve come from. ¡°Came in calling my name. ¡°Georgie, we do not change society, we must blend in.¡± She knew I was in the closet. She pounded against the thin wood. The whole door shook. The first four times the door just rattled but on the fifth and sixth time I heard the wood splinter. Seven, eight, nine¡­ By the last strike the door was torn from its place and she grabbed my neck. My head was cracked against the wall and I lost conscience. When I awoke, I was in new clothes but tied back up on the bed.¡±


    I twisted my neck hearing it crack a few times before twisting the other way to have the same occurrence.


    ¡°Your mother wrote on you. Do you remember that?¡± Emilia asked.


    I breathed for a few seconds coming back to my senses. I felt something raise my hairs but I brushed off the feeling.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, what you felt was fear. Back then as a child you could feel slightly more than what you can now. At this age all you get is a little tickle going down your spine. In fact you may not even feel it. There is a hollowness in your chest. That is called numbness which is connected to sadness. Do you understand what I am saying?¡±


    ¡°I am Not O.K.¡± My voice was cold and hard.  The tone making anyone¡¯s soul shake within their chest.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Emilia asked, taken aback by my seemingly submissive side.


    ¡°You asked me what my mother wrote. On my skin she wrote, ¡®I am Not O.K.¡± ¡±


    I felt my eyes close and my brows flinch. ¡°The first time she wrote that she was singing.¡±


    Emilia¡¯s chair creaked as she laid back realizing I was just continuing with my tale.


    ¡°What was she singing?¡± Emilia asked.


    ¡°Three blind mice, Three blind mice.¡± I began slowly. My low voice filled the space between us. ¡°See how they run, see how they run. They all ran after the farmer¡¯s wife.¡±


    I stopped and decided not to finish, but Emilia took over. Just as slowly as I had started she finished the small tune.


    ¡°Who cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life, as three blind mice.¡± We were both silent after she finished the song. Uncomfortable air wrapping us closer together.


    ¡°I hardly feel that emotion now.¡± I started quietly. ¡°As a child I knew I was above others because I didn¡¯t have to deal with what they did. But with my mother around, I gagged on the air. With my mother I felt as if Death was holding me. But now?¡±


    I grunted standing up. I maneuvered my glasses back to my nose and flowed my fingers through my hair. ¡°Now when I think back I hardly feel anything.¡±


    ¡°Do you not feel that tightness in your chest? That electricity running across the thinness of your skin?¡± Emilia asked, skeptical.


    I placed my hands on her armrest and knelt down in front of her so I was looking up to her face. The years were defined greatly as her wrinkles casted shadows across her defining features. The bags under her eyes were low and heavy. The wisdom behind her pupils were fractured and shattered.


    ¡°No, instead I feel as though everything inside me is dead. I feel as though my insides have disappeared and there is no need to exist. I feel, as though my head is heavy but all I can do is smile as I hear the thumping of my heart get faster in pace. Those memories excite me Emilia because they made me into what I am today. I¡¯m better than normal people, I¡¯m better than you and I¡¯m better than my mother. I am not afraid of anything anymore because I have survived death by the hands of the one who gave me life.¡±


    I stood and placed my hand against Emilia¡¯s cheek. Her warmth matching mine and I softly rubbed my thumb from her nose to just under her eye lightly pinching the skin.


    ¡°I am perfection.¡± I then walked away from Emilia and gave a backhanded wave as I left the dark room.


    Emilia sat alone in the darkness looking to where I had once sat.


    ¡°No Mr. Cliff. You are faulted beyond recognition.¡±

 Chapter 6

    My classroom was heavy and sticky with heat. It was going to be another warm day just like it had for the past four days. The morning would be cool but quickly, the sky would open up and the sun would cast down its heated rays, warming the pavement and buildings.


    After arriving, slightly later to my classroom than usual, I opened the windows and clicked on a spinning fan. Its irritable sound was forgotten, after it sent out a wave of coolness onto my face. I filed my papers together and started to write out english theories on the board.


    I became content with the day. Everything was slowly getting back to normal, as students and teachers stopped bringing up my late night interrogation from a couple of nights ago. I avoided thinking about Emilia but I was planning on taking the time this weekend to visit.


    One by one students piled in grumbling about the heat and other things. It was the time of the school year where homework assignments would pile up and tests and quizzes would automatically become the norm.


    A few late assignments floated to my desk and after finishing writing on the board, I turned to hear the bell ring.


    ¡°Good morning class,¡± I said, giving them a smile. They respondes respectfully and a few pulled out books to take notes. As my lesson began I paced the front of the room slowly. Making eye contact with a couple of students and nodding to others.


    The clock behind my ticked away and after an hour of lecturing I asked my students to pull out their computers and books and begin their assignment. As I was just about to head to my desk a hand went up.


    ¡°Yes Daniel?¡± I asked, recalling his name and image from the multiple faces I had to memorize.


    ¡°Uh, since we have a little more time than usual, could we, uh, ask some questions about your connection with all those murder cases?¡± He stuttered nervously.


    In an instant every student had their eyes on me and their curiosity pushed me to accept this confrontation. I had no reason to refuse and it would be interesting to see where my own students stood in this grand mystery.


    ¡°What is it you would like to know?¡± I asked. Instantly, a multitude of hands throughout my classroom rose and tension was suddenly present.


    I nodded toward a student and they slowly lowered their hand and began by saying, ¡°Why are you a suspect in these cases?¡±


    ¡°The police have found that I am the last person many victims see. That, unfortunately, puts me as a suspect.¡± I answered stuffing my hands into my pockets.


    Another student began after receiving silent permission from me. ¡° What was it like being interrogated?¡±


    ¡°It was alright,¡± I shrugged, ¡°They simply went through a series of questions and tried to find a link between me and the cases. Though, as always, they never find anything.¡±


    A girl with a tight blonde ponytail took down her hand and cut in with her question, ¡°If the police can¡¯t find a connection between you and the victims, besides you knowing them, why are they so sure you actually committed the crimes? I guess what I mean to say is, what other evidence do they have against you that makes you their top suspect?¡±


    I smiled at her bravery to stand up against the police, ¡°They don¡¯t have anything. It''s simply protocol to bring in people and I am one of those people.¡±


    A couple of students scoffed and whispered to each other.


    Steadily, the hands fell back down and their questions were answered with honesty.


    I finally nodded to the last hand. He spoke silently so I shushed the class and asked him to speak up. He was fearful but swallowed his fright and spoke. ¡°Why do so many people think you¡¯re the killer when it¡¯s obvious you aren¡¯t? There¡¯s no evidence of you actually committing the crime, no video, no fingerprints, nothing except assumption. In fact, most, if not all, the cases were considered suicide. So why did the public push you to go visit a psychiatrist?¡±


    This question sparked me as interesting for it was the first time someone had brought up Emilia. Every question beforehand was about the cases, the interrogation, the ¡®so-called¡¯ evidence. I drew out my hands from my deep pockets and adjusted my glasses.


    ¡°Ladies and gentleman there was a killer out there. Someone who took the opportunity to murder.  People became afraid. As they should. When the news got out that I was the last to see many of these people before they were laid to rest. The assumption that I was killing them grew. This means that people put their fear on me. With that fear now in a human form they wanted to feel safe and since there¡¯s no evidence to put me as holder of these crimes, they instead used their votes to put me into weekly visits to the hospital. Every week on my choosing I go visit this woman and we simply talk. I do not blame anyone because I understand why they are doing what they are doing. This is an act of fear, and I am their target.¡±


    ¡°My dad says that this whole thing is stupid. That the police are wasting their time trying to pin it on you instead of actually trying to find the real killer.¡± Daniel said, scowling.


    ¡°Who even said they were murders?¡± The blonde ponytail spoke up. ¡°We all know those people committed suicide or they were mere accidents. Mr. Cliff is innocent and we are using him as a pawn.¡±


    Seeing as tempers were rising I decided to end the topic there, ¡°Alright everyone, thank you for your questions now start on your assignment. It¡¯ll be due by the end of this week.


    Sounds of grumbling erupted from the students but they did as they were told. I stepped to my desk and began grading papers and answering questions from students only on the topic we learned about.


    I knew the bell was about to ring as students started packing up their things and whispering to each other. As soon as the bell sounded, my students flooded out from the room. Some thanked me while others were too distracted with their conversations to say goodbye.


    I finished my grading and decided to head to the teachers lounge. My next class wasn¡¯t for another hour so I had some time to myself.


    Walking into the air conditioned room, I was greeted by other teachers. They were talking amongst themselves quietly so I decided against starting a conversation.


    I walked over to the counter which held a large variety of coffee dispensers and I dug into the white cupboards searching for my tea.


    ¡°Don¡¯t want coffee?¡± Asked a tall man walking up to me.


    ¡°Good morning Don, and no, I prefer tea.¡± I smiled putting my hand around the box of tea bags.


    ¡°Haha, should¡¯ve known. So, how have your classes been? I can¡¯t imagine it being easy after what happened. The news is all over school. My own students are asking about you.¡±


    I chuckled lightly as I started warming up some water. ¡°It¡¯s different. I wasn¡¯t expecting this much attention about it, but I¡¯m glad my students trusted me rather than jump to conclusions. It¡¯s nice to have a level headed group of kids.¡±


    ¡°I bet.¡± Don mused, taking a sip from his mug. My water had just finished warming and I was now dipping the tea bag into the water watching it slowly dissolve and change color.


    ¡°I hate to ask,¡± Don started scratching his beard. The start of his conversation made me turn to actually look at him. He seemed older than I remembered. A beard now hugged his face and his kind eyes were hidden under bushy brows. His dress shirt was wrinkled after being tucked into his pants. ¡°But, why do you think the killer did it? If there even is a killer at all.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I questioned pulling the tea bag out and throwing it away. I brought the cup up to my lips and slowly sipped on the earthy taste.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I mean, all these deaths seem in no way connected. It¡¯s just the account that the world is going to crap, so people are taking the chance to escape now. But, if on the off chance there was someone behind it all, what do you think it would be? Why kill them?¡±


    I thought about his question carefully and leaned up against the counter. Its edge sinking into my lower back. ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you.¡± I took another sip and we finished the conversation with simple small talk. After the brief catch up he smiled, shook my hand, then walked away to join the other teachers.


    I walked over to a couch, which faced a window, and sat down being careful to not spill my hot drink. I pondered upon my day thinking of moments when it was hard to hold in the urge to spill the truth.


    To tell them that I¡¯m far more twisted then they could imagine. To tell them the real reason as to why I truly murdered and watched them all die.


    I shook away my giddiness and sunk into my spot. The cushion surrounded my firm figure and I was comfortable for the time being. I decided to not continue my train of thought on myself and instead focus on what the other teachers were discussing.


    To the far right, where Don had stepped, was a small group of professors. Don the science professor, Reese the math professor and Cassidy a math and science professor. They were all in hushed voices but the room was silent enough that, from where I sat, their words could be heard.


    ¡°Anyone noticed the rise of students doing drugs recently? It¡¯s ruining my class attendance. Half my class didn¡¯t show up because of campus parties, which had drugs and alcohol. They were all too hungover and wasted to attend. Damn kids.¡± Cassidy cursed.


    ¡°I noticed it too, a student of mine was high during class and was trading in the back with the kid next to him.¡± Don said, adding to Cassidy¡¯s comment.


    ¡°Whoa, I guess now that you mention it, a student of mine suddenly just stopped showing up to class. Evan Holsted, a bright kid, was helping around with tech but after he stopped showing up I had to fail him.¡±


    ¡°Fail him?¡± Cassidy asked with a shocked tone.


    ¡°Of course. Half my class credit is through attendance. Since he missed the past month along with not turning in assignments, I had to fail the boy. Damn shame honestly.¡± Reese explained.


    ¡°Wonder what his parents had to say,¡± Don asked, scratching his beard.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t even care. According to them, he disappears sometimes.¡± Reese responded.


    ¡°Disappears?¡± Cassidy asked with concern. ¡°What does that mean? Don¡¯t they get worried? I mean, that¡¯s their child.¡±


    Reese just shook his head. ¡°Nope. They aren¡¯t worried. In fact he¡¯s been missing for a while. They are convinced he¡¯s fine so they refuse to call it in for a missing person.¡±


    ¡°It''s those drugs. Kids get addicted. The kid¡¯s probably dead in a ditch somewhere waiting to be found.¡± Don said, crossing his arms.


    ¡°Jesus man, this is my student we are talking about. I don¡¯t want him dead!¡± Reese said panicking slightly.


    ¡°Relax, it was a joke. I¡¯m sure the kid is fine. Just somewhere getting into trouble. Hey Greg!¡± Don called to me.


    At the sound of my name being called I looked toward their direction. ¡°Ever dealt with drugs before?¡± Reese asked.


    I hummed digging through my memories. ¡°Personally, I¡¯ve neer dabbled in with those kinds of things. Instead I found other things more intriguing. Though,¡± I continued suddenly thinking back to a night long ago. ¡°I did happen to walk by someone who overdosed.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± Cassidy asked, coming to sit beside me on the couch. The two men followed and stood around adding me into their group of gossip.


    ¡°Yes, it was late one night and I happened to walk past a strip joint. Women of all shapes and colors were out front picking up gentlemen but I wasn¡¯t interested. Instead I was looking forward to an email retaining some important information from a¡­ friend of sorts.¡± I explained. My detail may have been over the edge but they didn¡¯t seem to mind. Instead, my colleagues were leaning in, captivated by my story.


    ¡°On my late night stroll ,and after passing this place, I noticed the dark alley beside it. There was a person coming out to vomit in the streets. They wobbled in every direction and I could tell how hard it was for them to breathe. I stepped forward helping the boy sit down on the curb and asked someone to call 911.¡±


    ¡°Wow, you must¡¯ve saved that boy¡¯s  life!¡± Cassidy said in awe. She placed her hand on my arm and the two professors looked at eachother rolling their eyes.


    I cleared my throat and smiled. ¡°Maybe, I never saw him again once he was taken away in the ambulance.¡±


    ¡°Congrats on doing the civil thing.¡± Reese said, a little skeptical.  A bell sounded and Cassidy pulled her hands away from my arm.


    ¡°Shoot, I have a class in ten. Talk to you guys later.¡± She then left the room but not without gently glazing her fingertips across my shoulders. Almost instantaneously as the door clicked close the two professors jumped into aggression. ¡°How¡¯d you do that?¡±


    ¡°Is it some type of cologne you¡¯re wearing?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way it could¡¯ve just been your hero story.¡±


    Taken aback by their sudden reaction I laughed momentarily. ¡°What are you two going on about?¡±


    Don spoke up and answered my question by saying, ¡°Cassidy, Reese and I have been trying to get with her forever now. And suddenly you say one thing and she¡¯s all over you.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I took a sip from my tea noting that it was almost gone. ¡°Didn¡¯t notice.¡±


    Reese rolled his eyes and scoffed at my words. ¡°Didn¡¯t notice? She¡¯s hot! One hell of a smart and educated lady with the body of a fitness trainer.¡±


    The two professors walked up to the counter to pour themselves another cup of coffee and I took down my last gulp.


    ¡°I best be off chaps, talk to you via email for the rest of the week.¡±


    ¡°Yeah see ya.¡± Don said, giving a toothy smile as I exited the lounge. I walked the halls, nodding to pacing students and staff members until I made it back to my room.


    Still empty but slightly cooler than this morning, I sat down in my seat and laid back closing my eyes.


    ¡°I wonder if Emilia will bring up that case.¡± I said in a nonchalant way. My soft voice was drowned out by the fan beside my desk. ¡°What was I doing out that night anyways?¡±


    My memory surrounded me and I was swept into the moment.


    The night was cool and my breath could be seen. Cars raced by and the city night was filled with millions of sounds. I was walking down the sidewalk with my hands stuffed into my pockets and coat zipped to the top letting the zipper rest just under my chin.


    ¡°Hey baby, want one of us to come home with you?¡± called a woman standing against a tall building. Inside the gastrous place, glass and leather vibrated to the beats of songs. Lewdness of multiple women dancing and parading around, all trapped in their own erotic world. I continued past the calling women and made a right to stop for a breather.


    ¡°Help.¡± Came a voice farther down the alley. Curiosity edged me toward it and I walked up to a figure lying on the ground. A boy no older than sixteen maybe. In his hand was a bottle of pills and around him laid needles. His mouth was foaming and his eyes watering. I watched as he choked.


    The boy gagged and flopped to his side. The sight didn¡¯t stir any kind of emotion inside of me, so I continued to watch to see if the animal would do anything to amuse me. To my silent want, the boy did. He closed his eyes and shook out another pill from the bottle into his already full mouth. Its vibrancy being swallowed up into the foam and disappearing. His body continued to convulse and shake.


    I watched until he stopped moving. I watched until the foam dripped onto the pavement and I could see his swollen pink tongue. I kept my eyes on him until the person I headed to meet showed up.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff.¡± I turned abruptly and walked away from the body. ¡°Here it is. You should also be receiving an email from me here shortly. I don¡¯t know how many more times I can keep this up.¡± the man said, putting his hands on his hips after giving me a white envelope. As a car passed his blue inform shined and a silver badge lit up.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said confidently.


    The man gave a low affirming hum and walked away from me. After seeing him walk out of the alley, I too left the dark place and started my way home.


    ¡°Hey baby, want a mama to keep you warm tonight?¡± A woman called leaving her post. Her heels echoed behind me, the sound drumming inside my head.


    ¡°No thank you. It¡¯s seen as wrong by society to spend a night with someone like you.¡± The heels were now beside me and she popped her lips out in an ¡®O¡¯ shape. ¡°Please, let¡¯s go against the flow. Society is stupid anyways.¡± I stopped in my place and looked at her. She was wearing a brown fur coat and underneath was a red crop top, spandex shorts and fishnets with red heels. Her clumpy curls framed her oval shaped face and her lashes curled up to her brows.


    ¡°What do you say baby? Mama makes you feel good tonight?¡± she asked in a sickly manner.


    ¡°My place is a little too cramped. How about we go back to your place?¡± I agreed, suddenly shifting my mood.


    ¡°Sounds good to me baby, lets go.¡± She gleamed latching her arm through mine and dragged me a few blocks away. On the way she started spouting payment types and certain acts she was trained to perform. I, however, was detached from the conversation. All her information went in one ear out the other, for I was determined to make her pay for the words she had sprouted moments earlier.


    The audacity to go against society.


    ¡°The name is Sapphire, you just sit your little hiney down sugar and I¡¯ll be right back.¡±  She winked at me and then left the room. The home was quite large and I questioned her reasoning to be what she was. The room I was situated in was a deep purple with yellow light illuminating the ceiling. Upbeat music matching the one from the club was playing but it wasn¡¯t loud enough to cover the voices from the next room over.


    Sapphire had walked into her bedroom to disrobed and prepare when a man drunkenly grabbed onto her arm.


    ¡°The hell Damien. What are you doing here? I have a client.¡± She hissed.


    ¡°Screw the client, I¡¯m your boyfriend, we were together¡­¡± The end of his sentence drifted into a slurring of words. She shoved him away and their argument continued for a bit until he finished the bottle of booze in his hand and passed out from his high.


    Huffing, Sapphire re-entered the darkly lit room. ¡°Now, what would you like your show to be?¡± Her hips started to sway and she rocked herself slowly, stepping up to my form.


    ¡°Sit down.¡± I said pointing my finger to my knee. A little confused she propped herself onto my knee and wrapped her arms around my neck.


    Sapphire was a beautiful woman. Big eyes, small jaw. The way the bags under her eyes cupped the bottom of her lids. I examined her lips. Their small shape being drawn back until they disappeared into regular skin. Her neck was slender and clean of makeup. Her hair flowed gracefully over her shoulders and twisted on top of her breasts.


    ¡°Do you really believe what you said?¡± I asked as my hand grazed up her spine then lightly grasping the back of her neck.


    ¡°Which part?¡± She asked, cocking her head and licking her lips.


    ¡°The part when you said that we should simply forget what society thinks. To go against it.¡± My left hand was now trailing up her leg to her thigh. My fingers running over the fishnets and tracing the outline of her figure.


    ¡°Society is fucked up. So I don¡¯t care what it thinks about me. I could die tonight and the world wouldn¡¯t care. Why do you think that is?¡±


    I could sense the honesty behind her answer and I drew her in closer. Her eyelashes now fluttering directly in front of my own.


    ¡°Because you are a stain on society. Getting rid of you would only make the world a better place.¡± I growled to her face.


    She didn¡¯t understand at the moment what I was doing and swung her legs around the chair I was in, catching me in her grip. ¡°Oh, what a turn on.¡± She flipped her hair and rubbed her hands from my shoulders down my chest. I took my left hand and brought it into an identical position to the other and held her head in my hands.


    ¡°Just a stain.¡±


    My right hand twisted and my left grasped her hair pushing her head in clockwise direction. Popping noises filled the room and my hands were met with the tickling sensation of her neck snapping. The shock of horror that was left on her face put a smile on mine. It looked identical to the boys from earlier.


    I placed her on the floor and walked around the room searching for something in particular. I hadn¡¯t gotten my revenge from what she said. I grabbed a washcloth from her sink and, to my pleasure, an axe by her fireplace.


    Walking back to her body I cleaned her neck of any oils I may have left, and then began to swing the axe down into her body. Blood rushed from the body and the sound it produced, I memorized. Twenty three times I swung that axe. Cutting her body down.


    Satisfaction crawled into my skin and I walked into her bedroom to frame the man lying on the ground wasted.


    I ruffled my hair, slightly loosened my jacket and quickly walked from the room taking the washcloth with me and wiping down any final fingerprints.


    Coming back to the present I frowned with curiosity. That night was unwanted and distasteful. Though I may have enjoyed the events I was highly unsatisfied with the time wasted.


    My door was swung open hesitantly but in walked a student holding a pile of papers.


    ¡°Oh, Mr. Cliff. Excuse me, I didn¡¯t think you would be here.¡±


    ¡°No need to worry Daniel. What made you come back? I don¡¯t have you in my next class.¡±


    Daniel shortened the distance between us and laid the papers onto my desk. ¡°Just came to hand in my assignment.¡±


    ¡°A little late are we?¡± I questioned dragging them to me and flattening them in my hands.


    ¡°Sorry. My dad and I were arguing all weekend and I just never got to it till last night.¡± He said, rubbing his hands together and shifting his weight.


    ¡°Last night? This was two to three days worth of work.¡± I noted.


    ¡°What can I say. The life of a college kid.¡± Daniel laughed.


    ¡°Daniel. How are things at home? I don¡¯t mean to pry but you are one of my students.¡±


    I was careful with my pushyness and didn¡¯t want to come across as nosey. Daniel was a favorite of mine. Hard working, good morals.


    ¡°Well it was actually about you, Mr. Cliff.¡± He said, averting his gaze away from mine. My jaw shifted and I leaned back in my chair.


    ¡°How flattering.¡±


    Daniel laughed again and he eased up with my dismissive mood. ¡°He¡¯s just skeptical about you. He¡¯s convinced you did the murders but I think it¡¯s stupid.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate you taking my side Daniel.¡± I hummed.


    ¡°Of course. You¡¯re one of the best professors we have at this school. There¡¯s no way you could have done it. A lot of people want to start protesting against the police about this but we also don¡¯t want to start a riot of some kind.¡± He said, sighing.


    I let out a forced chuckle to cover up my own pride. ¡°Daniel. This is society. We must not fight the system. Instead, simply stand your ground if you think something is right or wrong. But do not fight it. I do not mind the attention this brings.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± He asked, meeting my eyes for once. I bowed in response.


    ¡°I heard you were paired with Emilia C. Swafford. Is that true?¡± He asked.


    ¡°It is.¡± I said, smirking. I fiddled with the papers in my hand then laid them inside my desk so that after school I would put them into my briefcase to be graded later at my apartment.


    ¡°You know the rumors behind her right?¡± Daniel asked in a whispered tone.


    I leaned in, ¡°Rumors?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the one about the dirty cops and her husband.¡± A group of students walked in through my classroom door and Daniel shot upright. ¡°Sorry to bother you, I should be heading to my next class, gonna be late.¡± He then left the room swiftly as another group walked in. Slowly my classroom filled and their grumblings about the heat that hovered in the air.


    The day continued on like normal and it was now time for me to head back home. Packing everything into my briefcase, I walked out and said my goodbye¡¯s to many passing acquaintances.


    Work was a wonderful distraction but home was the place I was most comfortable. I wish I could understand the things I would feel from time to time. A soft feeling inside my chest, hardly there but big enough to notice. The pain in my head after listening to endless conversations and questions.


    It was the emotion that comes with a simple headache.


    I crossed the street and entered the all-too-familiar apartment complex. I was greeted by the people fetching their midday mail and excused as I entered the elevator. While inside the metal container I fiddled with my watch which had stopped ticking at two fifteen.


    A child stood in front of me holding his mother¡¯s hand. She was busy watching the glowing lights above and clutching onto her brown bag of groceries to  notice me eyeing her. Her lean build was calming to the eye. Her clothes¡¯ light and colorful. Her son was kicking the ground bobbing his head as if entranced by something on the floor.


    A ding sounded and the metal doors slid open revealing the small but long hallway of doors. She stepped out and I followed her for it too, was my floor. I stepped up to my door and messed around with my keys.


    The boy and the mother continued down further in the hall until they stopped at an identical door. ¡°Hold on dear or you¡¯ll make me drop the food.¡± She said, trying to not tip over. The boy was not letting up on his grasp to his mother''s hand and continued to stare at the floor. ¡°You need to let go of my hand, I have to get my keys. Let go.¡± She said, trying to wiggle her hand from her sons. I dropped my briefcase and walked toward the woman.


    ¡°Need a hand?¡± I asked, outstretching my arm to her. She looked at me and smiled.


    ¡°Thank you, I¡¯m so sorry, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s up with him.¡± She allowed me to grab the brown paper bag and she dug into her pockets finding her keys. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, these keys are no easy feat to use.¡± She said laughing and sighing all at once.


    ¡°I know, I struggle with them all the time.¡±


    She slipped the key and pushed the door open. The boy instantly detached himself from his mother and ran into the apartment.


    The mother shook her head exhausted.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you around in the complex before. New?¡± I asked.


    The woman smiled to herself and then looked up to meet my eyes. ¡°We are. My husband um. Unfortunately lost his job along with everything we had. So we had to move here. Not that you want to know anything about that.  I¡¯m so sorry for wasting your time.¡± She said reaching for the bag from me. I kindly handed it to her and began to give a quick response.


    ¡°No need to apologize. I¡¯ve heard it all. If you need anything I¡¯m right down the hall. Apartment C 11.¡±


    The woman¡¯s smile brightened and the vibe of awkwardness between us vanished.


    ¡°Chloe. Chloe Walker.¡± she said extending her slightly free arm.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. Gregory Cliff. Welcome to the second floor.¡±


    ¡°Thank you again, and I¡¯ll remember to go to you for anything. Nice to know I got sweet neighbors.¡± I tipped my head and we both parted ways.


    ¡°Oh! Mr. Cliff, good to see you again. Who were you just talking with? Someone new?¡± Ms. Briggs sang coming up to meet me. I was just at my door with my hand wrapped around my keys.


    ¡°Why yes, Mrs. Walker and I were just getting acquainted.¡± I replied.


    ¡°Ah a Mrs. Thank goodness. She¡¯s mighty pretty. I¡¯d hate for her to steal you away from me.¡± She said leaning against my door frame. ¡°I just brewed some tea, would you like to join?¡± She baited.


    ¡°No thank you Ms. Briggs. I have a few things I need to take care of.¡± I kindly rejected.


    ¡°Shoot. I thought of all the things that would work.¡± She snapped and walked off back to her room. I opened my door and walked in grabbing my briefcase from the ground. ¡°You think a lot of things Ms.Briggs.¡± I said quietly to myself, closing the door.


    ¡°How was today Ms. Wadsworth? Any noise or struggle?¡±I asked, turning to face the obedient woman.


    ¡°No sir. Is there anything you would like me to do before leaving?¡± She asked timidly.


    ¡°Not today, Thank you, Here¡¯s your pay. Have a good night.¡± She bowed and left the room grabbing the cash from my hand on her way out.


    I glanced to my sink then to the counters. I took in the floor and then looked at the small living space. Dirty, full, cramped and clustered.


    I dropped my keys in their bowl and headed to my room, shutting the door after stepping inside. My chest was tight and I bent my neck cracking it in relief.


    ¡°Another day done.¡± I said to the nearly empty room. I didn¡¯t have much to do for the rest of the day, so I was content with the thought of going to bed early. An odor was being emitted from my closet but it wasn¡¯t bad enough to bother me.


    As I started my normal end of the day list, I propped up my computer and opened my briefcase to reveal a small stack of papers.


    Swiftly, the pile disappeared and my email was emptied. Taking a look at my watch I sighed again remembering that it was broken. I untwisted the clip and placed it on my desk.


    As I was closing my screen, it binged, signaling I had gotten another email. Reopening my computer I saw that the email was from an institution.


    Emilia C. Swafford - Medical file and improvement.


    Hello Mr. Cliff,


    This is a little something I send to all my patients here at the hospital.


    First off, I would like to congratulate you on making improvements over the last few months. Our talks are quite interesting and overall informative on your character.


    Second, is we have so far gone over eleven full cases. Though you are still a lead suspect, I can say with full confidence that this may help the public feel slightly more at ease with your public presence.


    And finally, If you ever want to confess to any crimes, let me know. :)


    Thank you for doing your civil duty to keep the public safe and I look forward to seeing you sometime soon.


    Sincerely - Emilia C. Swafford.


    Looking at the email I maintained my natural mood. Was she trying to be sweet? Or simply hitting a nerve? I slid my finger over the mouse pad and tapped on the ¡®reply¡¯ button. My screen became white and a blinking curse started to pulsate on the page.


    Dear Emilia,


    Thank you for the email.


    -  Mr. Cliff.


    Also, Do you know of any watch repair places in town?


    I then hovered my mouse over the send and tapped letting the simplistic response fall away.


    I then closed my computer and slid into bed after flicking off the light. Sirens sounded from the window, and lights flashed through my room. However, I was still able to close my eyes and drift to sleep immediately.

 Chapter 7

    ¡°Mr. Cliff.¡± Emilia started, ¡°I hope you realize that your silence does not count for time. You must communicate with me.¡±  She stated impatiently.


    I sat sullenly, in my usual seat and stared into my hands aimlessly. My lips were dry and my glasses had fallen to the brink of my nose.  The room was quiet, besides the humming of the air conditioner in the corner. Dust floated about, and I finally shifted in my seat.


    Emilia watched me with observant eyes, waiting for anything in my mood that would budge. ¡°How about we start with a simple thing. How has your week gone?¡± Her hands folded in her lap and she mimicked my expression.


    ¡°It was normal. Woke up, went to work, dealt with the usual rumor, went home, finished work and went to bed. The next day I repeated everything.¡± I replied.


    Emilia slouched feeling defeated. ¡°Mr. Cliff, is there anything on your mind?¡±


    I shook my head.


    Annoyed with my silent response, Emilia started to tap her nail against her skin. She then shifted and tapped it on her chair handle. ¡°It has been three hours. I have other patients. Please, there has to be something we can talk about. Did you learn anything new over the past few days?¡±


    An image appeared in my mind and I straightened my back. ¡°Actually, yes.¡± My eyes stayed glued to my wrinkled hands and I traced my view over a blue vein popping from my leathery skin.


    Relief washed over her face and she quickly grabbed her pen and pad. ¡°Perfect! Let¡¯s hear it then.¡±


    ¡°I learned about a rumor involving you.¡± I coyly said, letting my chin raise in mischievousness.


    ¡°A rumor?¡± Emilia asked. Her attention bounced between her blank page and my face.


    I nodded then continued, ¡°I heard you were involved with dirty cops. So I did a little digging and found out that since your husband was a cop himself you became well acquainted with some men on the force.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s not a rumor, Mr. Cliff, that''s the basic fact.¡± Her voice was light and her kind words dipped in unease. ¡°Of course I would come to know those men, it would be odd if I didn¡¯t. All the christmas parties, retirement parties, basic get togethers. The men on the force are like family to me.¡± Emilia said defensively.


    ¡°Emilia, the rumor is that those men helped you with something.¡± I dropped my head to the side and smiled thinly.


    The woman sitting before me sat up slowly and eyed me curiously. She set down the pen and bit her lip. An act that made me believe I was on to something. She pulled the recording device out. Something about it had become so normal I forgot it existed.


    ¡°Where is your husband?¡± I asked letting the air between us become even more tense than it was originally.


    ¡°No offense Mr. Cliff, but I do not feel comfortable sharing more about my life than I already have.¡±


    ¡°So then why pressure me on mine?¡± I snapped. We both sat in silence taking in the underlying uncomfortableness. A sigh emitted from Emilia¡¯s lips.


    ¡°How about we skip the small talk for today and jump into something that has been on my mind. As you may know, there is a large population that thinks the NYPD are simply pinning you for cases that clearly don¡¯t have any connection to you. Two cases in particular jump out when brought into such arguments.¡±


    I leaned to my left letting my elbow rest on the arm of the couch and listened to her talk.


    ¡°A young boy named Cole passed away one night from an overdose. You weren¡¯t anywhere near that area nor had any reason to be near that area. Another was the death of Laura Copper.  She was brutally murdered by an axe. All the evidence is pinned toward her ex-boyfriend who, unfortunately, was too drunk to remember anything from that night. In the report he claims that they had a fight about their relationship but then blacked out. When he awoke she was dead and the murder weapon in his hands. He called the police and turned himself in, but couldn¡¯t think of committing the vile act.¡±


    ¡°Drinking can make the best men turn rotten.¡± I said, shaking my head slowly. The scene replayed in my mind. That night was a waste but I sure as hell enjoyed myself. ¡°What do you think happened that night Emilia?¡± I asked purely out of curiosity.


    It was no hidden fact that Emilia was sharp on picking up on things. I was almost eager to see if she could find those fine lines of connection.


    ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure what to believe. Though I will say, I spoke with Damien myself. He was so shaken up about this crime. His reaction was indifferent to other previous cases like this one. He also brought up something that wasn¡¯t in the file. Something involving another man.¡± She paused as she recalled the conversation. ¡°Laura was a ¡®lady of the night¡¯, a common day stripper with the name Sapphire. She supposedly was working that night. The other women she was with said she picked up an older gentleman. One with blackboots and round glasses.¡± Emilia spoke slowly trying to cause a reaction in me.


    ¡°How interesting.¡± I said, not giving much attention to it. I was monotone with my response and knew, that with the obvious facts, the police wouldn¡¯t look much further into the case unless a real witness or confession was brought up.


    ¡°My thought is. Though it doesn¡¯t happen often, she took the man to her home and knowing that the ex was there, he killed her, then framed the boyfriend.¡±


    ¡°A wonderful hypothesis.¡± I enthused, picking at my nails. ¡°But you have other questions that need answers. Such as, Why kill her in the first place? The boyfriend had motive, a reason to lash out. Plus, you can¡¯t be quite sure that they went back to her place. Who was the man she was with?¡±


    ¡°How do you know he had a motive?¡± Emilia asked beginning to write something down.


    ¡°You mentioned earlier that he was her Ex-boyfriend.¡± I replied emphasising the Ex. ¡°I assumed that he was upset about something. After all they had a fight moments before her death.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Emilia said, dropping her bottom lip. ¡°Well I am no investigator and I unfortunately only have photos of the crime scene. Therefore, I cannot make full claims on what happened that night.¡± She said partly retracting her previous assumptions.


    ¡°Indeed. It is simply a thought.¡± I said bringing, once again, silence between us.


    Emilia began the next conversation by asking, ¡°How is Ms. Wadsworth?¡±


    My own maids and mothers nurse¡¯s name intrigued me and I was once again interested in what this conversation could give for information.


    ¡°She¡¯s doing well.¡± I responded.


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear, could you tell me how you two met? I am curious about what the circumstances were.¡±


    I itched my chin and blinked a few times trying to focus on the memories I needed.


    ¡°She and I met under pure coincidence. She was on her way to work when we ran into each other. We got to talking and she told me about her living situation and life issues.¡±


    ¡°Where was she living previously?¡± Emilia asked.


    ¡°With her family. As you may know, Ms. Wadsworth is Hispanic. Her entire family lives under one roof, and she was one of the few in the family to get out, and actually maintain a decent job.¡± I said. ¡°When we met, I ran into her while. It was in the area she used to live. She was originally very quiet but after I bought her some coffee to apologize, she opened up about wanting different work, so I offered her a job. Within a few minutes we were set and there was really nothing to it.¡±


    ¡°What were you apologizing for?¡±


    I became silent with thought and questioned on what I should explain.


    ¡°A¡­ person we both knew in a way, passed away. She and I collided and her bag was ruined so to make up for it I treated her to coffee.¡±


    ¡°I see. Well I¡¯m glad you were kind to her. She seems like such a sweet young lady.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because she is. Ms. Wadsworth and I are quite informative on eachother.¡± I explained.


    ¡°That explains why the police always question her whenever you get taken in for investigations. She¡¯s always your alibi or able to confirm your where-abouts.¡± Emilia said writing things down occasionally.


    I hummed letting the room be filled with the echo of my soft voice as it mixed with the air conditioner. With this silence, Emilia began writing more and I was overwhelmed with the thoughts and memories of before.


    Ms. Wadsworth was leaving her home while having, I believe, her mother yell at her. Poor Ms. Wadsworth dropped her keys while fumbling out onto the street. I was a ways away from her and paid no attention to the words that were being tossed around or the woman herself.


    After picking up her keys she hastily took off and turned into a small street. I happened to be going the same way so I traveled a respectful distance behind her not wanting to alarm her in any way.


    She made another turn and didn¡¯t pay any attention to where she was going. Her nose was stuck looking through her bag and she walked right into a tall blackman who wore a navy colored sweatshirt and black sweats. The man was visibly upset and began cursing at her.


    I, still not paying very much attention to what was happening ahead, continued traveling toward the two. My hands were in my pockets and my eyes were stuck on the ground and I counted my steps.


    Ms. Wadsworth clutched her back and became timid, taking small steps backwards from the abusive man. Confusion gripped her features and she was having trouble getting around the tall man.


    As I drew closer I heard the man saying some fairly harsh things to the woman, which gave me a disgusted taste in my mouth. He then reached for her bag shoving her out of his way and bolted down the alley toward me.


    Ms. Wadsworth fell to the ground screaming, as the man left her on the ground. The entire action was ridiculous and I made the split decision that this man was a useless piece to society. Any person who purposely harms others for their own good is a criminal. A delinquent that deserves to be shut up in jail.


    Just as the man passed, I slid my foot out tripping him mid-run and watched as the man tumbled over himself. I heard as his face hit the pavement and hios skull crack as it dug into the pavement. Seconds passed and I wrinkled my nose in repulsion.


    The small hispanic woman ran up to me, after regaining herself, and started to snatch up her bag and the things that had fallen out of it. We both made brief eye contact then looked to the man lying on the ground.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t he moving?¡± She asked. I knelt down to the man''s side and laced my fingers on his neck looking for a pulse. Nothing.


    ¡°Help me lay him on this wall.¡± I said roughly. She did as told and we both stepped back looking at our work. The tall man was now sitting, hunched over and a trickle of blood flowed from just beyond his scalp.


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell if you don¡¯t.¡± I said, looking carefully at the woman''s face. A bird chirped from the top of one of the buildings and a car passed by on the road. My eyes were looking for any indication of what she might do. Scream? Run?


    ¡°Ok.¡± She said, making one slow nod. ¡°I need a new job. You buy me a drink and give me a new job?¡± Her eyes were now on me and I admit, I was shocked at her reaction.


    ¡°Ok.¡± I agreed. The rest of that day we spent our time learning about each other. Her english was broken but she gave off the vibe of not caring for other people. She was shy, quiet and only truly cared about earning money. A trustworthy person I allowed into my life.


    Putting together a plan, I bought the apartment next to mine, made a deal stating that she helps clean my apartment while taking care of my mother, while keeping her mouth shut about anything she may see or hear. The woman agreed and smiled reaching out her hand. ¡°Melony Wadsworth. Thank you sir.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. Why did you ask me about a watch repair place?¡± Emilia started, trying once more at a topic.


    ¡°Ah yes, my watch broke yesterday at two fifteen. I was trying to find a place that could repair it.¡±


    ¡°I see, well I don¡¯t know of any good watch repair place but there is one downtown.¡± She informed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll look into it. Thank you.¡± I said nodding and rubbing my wrist. It was a little odd not having the feeling of leather wrapped around it but nothing I couldn¡¯t not get used to.


    ¡°To my recollection of reading your reports. You used to have a dog no?¡± Emilia asked.


    ¡°Why yes.¡± I answered, ¡°A tall rottweiler. A strong dog he was. Sadly though I had to put him down because a runner shoved his hand down his throat.¡± I scoffed.


    ¡°That man went to the hospital didn¡¯t he?¡±


    I clicked my tongue showing my dislike. ¡°His wound became infected.¡±


    Emilia nodded then added into the conversation hoping it would lead to somewhere. ¡°After you put your dog down you moved. Right around the time Ms. Wadsworth did.¡±


    ¡°Does that strike you as, out of the ordinary?¡± I sighed figuring where this was headed.


    ¡°Slightly, I mean, the odds of you two knowing the same man, then her leaving her job and suddenly working for you while also moving into the apartment complex and the apartment right besides yours that you just purchased on the same day? I feel as though there is something you are keeping from coming up. Something like a secret. Something big and dark enough to keep silent.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°I think you are reading far too much into this.¡± I said waving a hand at the conversation. I wanted to change the subject because the boredom I received from this one was uncomfortably unsettling. ¡°What Ms. Wadsworth and I know, is nothing of importance.¡± I hissed.


    ¡°Pardon my intrusion.¡±  Emilia bowed.


    Time continued and Emilia gave up on learning anything. ¡°I feel a little disheartened because this conversation was a little all over and not very informative. Next time I¡¯ll be sure to have a case that we can discuss. Enjoy your week.¡± She rolled herself to the window and lit up a cigarette. I took my stand and left the room thinking back to the topics we discussed.


    She still wasn¡¯t telling me everything about her husband. Ms. Wadsworth and I¡¯s arrangement needed to be discussed and the topic of my dog being put down had ruined my appetite.


    Stepping out from the cool building I was hit by a wall of humidity. I bounced down the stairs and started home.


    My walk back was usual and short. I exited the elevator entering my hallway.


    Pulling out my keys I noticed a young figure standing in front of my door. Stepping up to him I unlocked my door and looked at the kid. It was Chloe Walker''s child. ¡°Want to come in?¡± I asked quietly.


    Without giving any sign or notice he entered the apartment willingly.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Mr. Cliff.¡± Ms. Wadsworth called from inside.


    I followed the boy and started up some tea. ¡°Want anything to drink kid?¡± I asked, giving him a side look. He shook his head and wandered the small apartment space smiling at the nurse. She was just finishing up her cleaning duties but smiled back at him.


    The boy looked at the woman on the couch then sat beside her on the floor leaning his back against the stiffness of the furniture.


    I gestured my head to the kitchen after getting the attention of the nurse and she quickly walked over with a rag still in her hand.


    ¡°How did today go?¡± I asked in a hushed tone. ¡°The police give you any issues?¡±


    ¡°No sir. Police didn¡¯t come in at all, they just stood outside your door.¡±


    ¡°Good, and the boy?¡± I asked motioning to the kid sitting in my living space.


    ¡°I sorry Mr. Cliff. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°No worries. How about¡­¡± I stopped and nodded to my room.


    She smiled then looked down, folding the rag in her hands.  She was hiding her real emotions and the boy behind her watched us with a keen expression.


    ¡°Doing well, fed and cleaned. Just as you would like.¡±  She answered.


    ¡°Good, please watch the tea for me.¡±  I ordered. I slipped from the kitchen and stepped up to the boy who was sitting on the floor. His eyes were taking in my body and I was impressed at his examination. ¡°What''s your name kid?¡±


    A moment of pure silence passed until he reached in through the top of his shirt and pulled out a long chain with two dangling chips. I bent down and took hold of the dogtags in my right hand.


    Reading the metal through my glasses, I found that his name was  Clance Jay Walker. Under his name was a phone number and under that were the simple words ¡®I am autistic¡¯.


    I bent down letting my old, creaking knees hit the floor and I repositioned myself so I was able to sit on the ground comfortably.


    ¡°Nice to meet you kid, I¡¯m Mr. Cliff. Your mom know you¡¯re here?¡± The boy nodded and itched his arm. ¡°Did you need something?¡± The boy shook his head and then started looking around the room.


    Behind me I heard the pitch of the water and I smiled at the kid. ¡°Tea?¡± His eyes met mine but I never received a response. Deciding for him I stood from the floor and looked to Ms. Wadsworth. ¡°Go ahead and pour three cups. I guess we have a guest for tonight.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± She called from the kitchen bustling around and doing her duties.


    My pant cuff was suddenly tugged on and I looked down to see Clance using me to stand. I assisted the boy momentarily, and after the action he began to wander the room again. I watched him thinking of autistic characteristics.


    Those with Autism are likely to pick up on things most don¡¯t. Their view on the world can be drastically different than that of a ¡®normal¡¯ person. But with how quiet he was I wasn¡¯t too worried about him saying anything. Afterall, he didn¡¯t seem to speak much with his own parents.


    ¡°Tea is ready sir.¡±


    I twisted on my heels and watched Ms. Wadsworth set out all three cups to sit beside each other at the bar connected to the counter of the kitchen. I grabbed my bag and opened it on the counter, finding some papers, then sat down on a stool and began reading.


    Ms. Wadsworth stood across from me and sipped her tea silently.


    The boy, however, reached for my door and I took in Ms. Wadsworth''s worried look.


    ¡°Come here Clance and drink your tea. Nothing in that room that you need to know about.¡±


    Clance obeyed and left the door closed. He trudged over and sat beside me, taking his tea. He was a little confused by the smell of it but slowly gave it a try. Ms. Wadsworth chuckled as he gave a distasteful look but then continued to drink it.


    ¡°Ms. Wadsworth, this is Clance Walker. He and his mother just moved in down the hall in an apartment close to ours. We will treat them with respect.¡± I said, not looking up from the paper in my hand.


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± She responded politely giving the boy another smile.


    ¡°Now, let''s talk about what''s been on your mind.¡±  I kept my tone light but my face was dark and heartless. I set down the papers and stared into her brown eyes.


    An audible gulp sounded from her throat and she quivered when talking. ¡°What about?¡±


    ¡°Ever since I brought in the thing, we know not to talk about in front of other people. You have been very¡­¡± I stopped to look down into my cup swirling around the liquid inside. ¡°Distant.¡±


    As if electricity ran through her limbs she jumped slightly at my words. ¡°I do not mean to come across that way. Mr. Cliff has been very generous and kind to me. I respect the things you do. I protect the things I know. The thing is just¡­¡± Her voice trailed off as she looked to the door of my bedroom.  ¡°I feel sorry for it.¡± She finished. The pity in her voice was something I couldn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a human being.¡± I said picking up my papers again.


    The boy having forced himself to finish the tea sniffed and laid his head on his arms and he sat watching my face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll let it go eventually. I have a plan after all.¡± I added.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± She said growing quiet.


    I looked to Clance and patted his head. ¡°The things we hear here must not be told elsewhere. Can you keep a secret?¡±


    The boy popped his head up and nodded. ¡°Good. Now run along and go home. I¡¯m sure your mother will be back shortly.¡±


    The boy slid from his stool and automatically followed my orders. After the door clicked I started drinking my tea and grading papers again.


    Ms. Wadsworth stood silently drinking her own tea, watching me with hesitance. My mother from behind, groaned and the tv clicked on. The static faded into a commercial which filled the room but I blocked the noise using my inner voice.


    After about five pages, Ms. Wadsworth spoke. ¡°Mr. Cliff? sir,¡±


    ¡°What is it darling?¡± I asked not lifting my eyes from the words on the pages.


    ¡°My family would like to see me sometime soon. What should I say to them? They have many questions.¡±


    I sighed, taking in her words. I set the papers on the counter and cocked my head frowning at her. ¡°I suppose next week Saturday would work. Things should be slow around that time and it will mark a one year on the last murder I commited.¡±


    The woman nodded once and looked into her half empty cup. ¡°What should I say to them? About you?¡±


    ¡°Tell them the truth. I am a teacher at a local college. I have you working for me and that I like tea.¡±


    ¡°What do I say about working for you? What about how we met?¡±  She continued.


    ¡°Simply say, I pay more and the hours are better, we met randomly on your way to work.¡±


    She was unsteady about a few things but still absorbed my answers. ¡°They heard about the killing Mr. Cliff. The one man we....on my way to work. They know I was around that area. How do I explain to them why you hired me? How do I tell them I am not paying for my apartment?¡±


    I took down the last bit of my tea and slid the cup to her. She grabbed it preparing another cup of tea for me while also taking care of the empty cup beside me.


    ¡°Ms. Wadsworth. You lie to the police every week for me. You have learned to bounce around the truth and withhold information about certain things. You kept the fact that I have a living man in my closet and you lie to people saying that you are my alibi on nights and days that murders are committed. Why are you having an issue with lying to your family?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, it is because they are my family that I have a hard time. They are my blood, my roots.¡± She turned, still sinking in the tea bag. ¡°Don¡¯t you have family that you tell everything to?¡±


    I was silent for a minute, letting my mind wrap around her innocence.


    ¡°Trust is something you force on people. I forced it onto you when I killed that man. I forced it onto you by taking you into my life. I bought you an apartment beside mine, I gave you a job when you left yours. I trust you because you help me. My family didn¡¯t do shit for me. My father gave up, My mother is a roach and my brother.¡± I stopped hearing my own words fall from my mouth. It had been a long time since I had even thought about my brother.


    ¡°I do not trust.¡± I finished quietly, ¡°No one but you. Family is nothing to me. In society we must fend for ourselves or the world will eat us alive.¡±


    I stood, letting my stool skid across the floor. The sound it produced caused her to cringe and wrinkle her nose. I grabbed the cup of tea from her and the papers from the counter, then fled to my room for silence.


    I set everything in my hands down onto my desk, then turned to my closet. Opening the doors I looked down on the man trapped inside the dog crate I had no use for.


    I looked at him.


    His eyes swollen from tears. His mouth and cheeks are scared from being burned by the gag. His hands and feet bound up in zip ties and his blonde hair all ruffled up after being cleaned.


    ¡°Just a little longer. Soon you will have a chance to escape. Just a little longer.¡±  I sang to him.


    His muffled screams started to grow and I slid closed my closet door. Walking to my desk I  clicked on my small fan. The humming of its blades disguised the screams into mere background noise.


    I began grading again, forcing my mind to not think about my brother.


    ¡°What a disgusting creature. An abomination. A pest.¡±


    My tongue spewed out insults like poison and my eyes grew heavy as I became distracted from work.


    I wondered where he was. I wondered what he was doing. I wondered if he ever thought about me. Was he even still alive? Aware that I was alive? Would he be impressed by my work or disgusted? Would he even care to listen?


    I shook my head and slammed my hands down onto my desk. The feeling of confusion is something I rarely felt. But each time I did, I burned with annoyance.


    Closing my eyes I took in my room¡¯s atmosphere.


    Empty. Become empty. Nothing cluttered. Nothing cramped.


    My chest lifted slightly with each inhale. It would fall with each exhale. I focused on my skin. Its tingling sensation. I focused on my systems. The way they worked inside my body without me needing to think about it. I focused on the darkness around me. Its blackness shutting out those painful memories.


    Painful? Is that the right word? Slowly, I became dead to the world.


    My heart slowed and my blood was all I heard.  The way it flowed through my veins. The sound it produced as it rounded and twisted through my body. What a curious sound it was. Unwillingly, I fell asleep at my desk being sucked in by the feeling of darkness and cold.


    What a wonderful thought to fall asleep to. To be consumed by darkness...


    A tapping began and I opened my eyes to nothing.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I called softly. My voice echoed soothingly into the abyss. ¡°Ah, a dream.¡±


    I looked around waiting for something to appear.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff.¡± Said a familiar voice. I peered to my right and saw the set up of the room I was accustomed to seeing once a week.


    ¡°Emilia.¡± I walked to the space and looked into her face. It was slightly distorted but overall the furniture and air was correct.


    ¡°Do you fear death?¡± She asked. I sat on the couch and crossed my legs while my arms stretched across the back of the cushions.


    ¡°No.¡± I answered. Emilias'' head tilted into a strange position but her voice was heard again. ¡°Why?¡±


    A journal appeared beside me and on the cover was the name Simon Harris/ Cliff


    ¡°Do you know what this is Emilia?¡± I ignored her question and recalled a memory.  She was silent and gave no response.


    ¡°This is my brother''s diary. I read this and memorized every word. His thought process was fascinating to me. The things he comprehended at such a young age. Listen to what he wrote.


    You know how some people fear death?


    How they fear the unknown?


    I don¡¯t


    In fact I accept it.


    it''s a part of life. Everybody dies, everything that lives must come to an end


    How it will end, is up to fate.


    It¡¯s up to the paths people choose to take in their journeys.


    I am not afraid of these things.


    Instead I am afraid of life.


    Waking up in the morning and the knowing that, something in some way, will go wrong


    How everything that happens to us is not anyone¡¯s fault, but our own.


    The words we speak can be used against us


    The things we say and make public can cause the world to shut us out and leave us in complete darkness


    And in these moments, we have no one to blame but ourselves.


    We run from truth.


    We hide behind masks for a reason.


    To stay hidden and avoid something we hate to encounter.


    Because pain is real


    And pain is in our daily lives.


    We can¡¯t run away from living.


    We can¡¯t shut the world out expecting it''ll do the same.


    When we hide, the demons and monsters come find us. And when we open ourselves up, the demons and monsters leave us to be at our most vulnerable.


    There¡¯s never a perfect medium.


    No one to blame


    No one to hate.


    No one there to truly care.


    Our lives are based on our mistakes.


    The fewer you make at the beginning, the bigger they are when you do make them later in life.


    But the more you make to start off, the wiser you are yet, the more judgment you will receive.


    Life is unfair.


    Life is hard


    I am not afraid of death because it''s something I can accept after a moment.


    But I am terrified of life because I know anything that happens is a result of my own failure.


    I am afraid of living


    I am afraid of reality.


    I am afraid of what I know will happen, and there¡¯s nothing I can do but go through it and suffer alone.


    ...


    Why do I think like this?


    Because my mind is trying to escape the one thing no can.


    When we do escape there''s no turning back and our choice could be the biggest mistake in our lives.


    Choosing death and the unknown over life.


    To leave our mistakes behind and run from the world in which we think cares too little or too much.


    So many people do it.


    The choice to commit suicide.


    To give up on themselves and leave forever.


    Therefore life, Is the biggest fear of every living species on earth


    This is a fact I am forced to accept.


    That I am afraid to live.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this interesting? A child wrote this. My own brother.¡± I said.


    As I looked up, Emilia was nowhere to be seen and the couch on which I sat had transformed into a wooden chair.


    I looked down again, not minding the stillness of the dream.


    ¡°Dear brother, I wonder what it¡¯s like to have a soul as emotional as yours. We were born together, but taken apart on the same day. Do you regret anything? Do you wish you could be as heartless as I?¡± My lips became hard and my feet grew heavy. I was stuck looking through his diary. Flipping through endless pages of grief and sorrow.


    ¡°What a thought to think about.¡±

 Chapter 8

    I don¡¯t know how to feel about dreams. Some say they are your inner feelings, others say it¡¯s your subconscious trying to tell you something. But I don¡¯t have feelings and my subconscious is hardly ever apparent. I sat up at my desk thinking of what the day would look like for me.


    It was a Sunday, so no schoolwork. I saw Emilia yesterday and I know Ms. Wadsworth probably won¡¯t stop by until later this afternoon.


    I decided that I would spend the morning going through some emails, drinking tea and enjoying the quiet of my apartment. Later this afternoon, I will head downtown to get my watch repaired and on my way back I could see someone that has been trying to get into contact with me.


    I stepped out of bed and made the covers lay neatly. I then walked into my kitchen, started up some water and dug through my cupboard for some Citrus tea I wanted to make. The scent wafted through my apartment and I heard my mother awaken from the couch. Since I had a few minutes to wait, I couldn¡¯t stop my mind from thinking about the dream.


    I wasn¡¯t unsettled, annoyed or confused. I was simply curious.


    I stepped away from my kitchen and walked into my living space far enough to where I could see my mother but not close enough to where she would notice my presence.


    ¡°Why did you choose me?¡± I started in a normal voice. My tone was deep and soothing. ¡°Why did you decide to hold onto me instead of him? Was it because I was the first born? He was only a few minutes behind.¡± The water behind me, could be heard bubbling. ¡°How did you not prepare yourself for having children? Any other person would¡¯ve worked hard to gain money so they could support both their children but instead, you sat on your ass and decided that only one would fulfill your appetite. That only one could fill your broken home.¡±


    I heard as my voice started to get heavy and I was blinking back a stingy pain in my eyes. I turned away and let out a breath, my head released itself from the tension and my shoulders rolled downward into a slump.


    ¡°You should have just killed us both.¡± I stated, then walked back into the kitchen to pour myself some tea.


    I found myself back inside my room taking in the silence. I looked to my closet and suddenly flashed on an old memory.


    Around the time I turned fifteen, I received a package. It was small and box shaped so when I tore it open I was met with a small journal with the name Simon Harris/ Cliff.


    At the time I didn¡¯t understand who it was, until my father explained that I had a twin brother they gave up for adoption, due to their poor financial status. Interested as to why I was mailed this, I opened it and read the first few pages. They were dull and deemed unimportant to me at the time, so I threw the book away. Or at least I thought I did.


    I opened my closet and started pulling out small boxes. Inside were books on Anatomy, Psychology, Mathematics and English. I had the basic stories every child owned and read as a kid. But deep within the box was the leathering covering of a book. My fingers curled around its pages and binding as I pulled it from its dusty home.


    Closing my closet, after organizing the mess, I walked to my desk and opened to the first page.


    Hello,


    My name is Simon Harris.


    I am an only child and was adopted into a family the day I was born.


    I am twelve now.


    I¡¯ll use this to write all my deep thoughts because that¡¯s what my mother said to do.


    She¡¯s a doctor of sorts.


    She told me that the mind can be a very dangerous thing. It can hurt people and that it is hurting me.


    I don¡¯t want to be hurt though¡­


    So starting today I will write what it is that¡¯s on my mind.


    -Simon.


    My brother¡¯s handwriting was fine and I could see he had a steady hand. Flipping to the next page I was met with an emotional mess.


    Today I will write about myself.


    About the pain I¡¯m dealing with.


    I write this from my Doctor¡¯s point of view.


    Looking at yourself inside and out.


    ...


    You¡¯re broken.


    I¡¯ve never heard of a soul being so broken.


    You were pounded to the point where you look like dust.


    They say with every tear a crack appears.


    But you''re only 13.


    How could this have happened in such little time?


    You smile everyday, give hugs and support to those who need it.


    So why?


    Wait.


    No one has given you a smile?


    No one has hugged you when you''re sad?


    But¡­


    How could that have happened?


    You tell them everyday that your life is hard.


    You show them pieces of yourself.


    What?


    They take advantage of that?


    How could they do that?


    Aren¡¯t they your friends?


    ¡­


    Alright.


    Let''s take a look at your body.


    What are these scars!


    You''re covered in them.


    Your back looks to be stabbed a hundred times over.


    And your arms,


    Even your neck,


    They¡¯re scratched.


    I¡­ I¡­ don''t want to look at you anymore.


    Let''s go to your heart.


    ¡­


    No¡­


    It¡¯s faded¡­


    It¡¯s black.


    I don''t understand.


    You are always happy.


    So joyful, that it pounded out love to those near you.


    You trusted them.


    You believed in them.


    But..


    Why not yourself?


    ¡­


    It''s dark.


    So dark¡­


    Please give it back light!


    Someone!


    Please!


    Help!


    ¡­


    Sometimes the ones who smile and are the happiest, Are hiding painful memories, journeys that they had to push through alone. They ignore God in hatred. Frustration. Asking people around them ¡®why?¡¯


    yet.


    No one answers.


    So they continue smiling. Digging that hole deeper.


    Till the day they break¡­


    Finishing the page I was curious as to what this meant. Why was he examining himself in such a detailed mannerism?


    ¡°What a freak.¡± I said heartlessly. I flipped the page and saw that it was the one from my dream. I guess I could agree with him that life was a terrifying adventure. But why let that consume you. Just take control of it.


    ¡°Pathetic¡±


    I flipped to the next page.


    What is something you always think about?


    The one thing that pops into your beautiful mind.


    Sometimes.


    I think about everything at once.


    The past and the future surrounding me and swallowing me whole.


    The way my past tears me to shreds and cuts me down into pieces of sharp glass.


    No one can touch me,


    pick me up and put me together unless they do it with care.


    I think about the future and how it overwhelms and sets my body on fire.


    Burning me as if I was in the desert without water.


    Sometimes.


    I think about nothing.


    A sheet of black covering the world.


    Even the things sitting right in front of me.


    Every person that I¡¯ve loved,


    cared about,


    trusted.


    Vanishing.


    Disappearing from my sight and life.


    I think about my accomplishments.


    Were they worth the time and effort?


    Worth the tears, sweat and pain?


    I think about the things I can¡¯t control.


    The people who force themselves into my life.


    The things that leave me when I beg for them to not.


    So many things to take in.


    I start to wonder.


    Is it just me?


    Am I alone like I think sometimes?


    Am I really suffering or is this normal?


    Do I think too much or not enough?


    What is it I really should be thinking about?


    Whatever it is, i¡¯m sure I¡¯ll think about it someday.


    I just want to get out.


    Out of my head.


    Out of my thoughts.


    Out of this suffocating feeling of thinking.


    I flipped to the next page not having anything to say about the last one. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. My shoulders popped when I stretched and I took in the time. Ten fifteen.


    ¡°I still have some time¡­¡± I looked down to the page in front of me. My brows furrowed together as I started reading. ¡°How interesting. He started going insane.¡±


    Today I turned fourteen.


    I see people.


    But they aren¡¯t actually there


    I turned to the next page and was suddenly entranced by his entries. They were confusing but insightful to what was really going on in his mind.


    So what is wrong with you?


    I¡¯m psychotic.


    I talk to a fake version of me and together we talk about the younger me sitting on the ground cutting himself.


    screaming for the pain to stop.


    I sit on my windowsill and pretend I can fly


    then lay on the ground and beg for the earth to swallow me whole.


    I sit in my closet to lock out reality.


    I listen to music and create a world where I am a simple no body.


    I yell at an outline of someone I¡¯ve never even met.


    I cover my mirror because I¡¯m afraid of the monsters that will climb out of my reflection.


    I cry in a corner for no reason.


    I envision myself shaking hands with devils and pretending to become one of them.


    This is my reality.


    This is who I am.


    I¡¯m a mess.


    A monster.


    A freak.


    So go ahead doctor.


    Tell me it¡¯s all a lie.


    Tell me I¡¯ll be fine.


    Tell me this is nothing more than a dream.


    A mirage.


    But how can you?


    When you yourself are just one of the creatures I made up?


    The journal entry was saturated in something I was unable to name. My hollowness seemed to mourn with it and I sat quietly examining the words over and over. There was no way for me to emotionally understand what he was going through. Everything I read seemed similar to my father but still, it was as if his words meant something different.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff?¡± came a woman¡¯s voice. Without hesitation, I got up from my chair and immediately headed for my door. ¡°Mr. Cliff, it¡¯s Chloe from down the hall.¡± The womans voice was soft and weary. I could tell she was nervous but still pushed herself to speak with me.


    Curious, I forced a smile and opened my door to the young modest woman. ¡°Hello dear, is something the matter?¡± I asked in a friendly way.


    ¡°Oh no, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to apologize for my son. I was told he went into your apartment. He does that, I¡¯m so sorry I should have told you about his habit and,¡±


    I cut her off by raising my hand and laughing a little bit. ¡°No need to worry. It was fun having such a young guest drop by. As long as you knew where he was I had no problem.¡±


    A wave of relief rushed through Mrs. Walker¡¯s face and she looked down at her feet in shame. ¡°Thank you so much. I still should explain a few things though.¡±


    I looked around in the hall and back into my apartment before stepping out to join her. ¡°I would invite you in but I have a few things in the way.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Oh please don¡¯t feel bad. I stopped by without any warning. Besides this won¡¯t take long.¡± Her fingers twiddled together and I became infatuated with her smell. It was something new. ¡°My son, as you might have noticed, has severe autism. He can¡¯t really talk because the sounds are just too hard for him to produce.¡± She explained.


    ¡°I gathered that from his dog tags. That¡¯s quite a smart thing for him to have.¡± I said crossing my arms and keeping the conversation moving.


    ¡°Thank you, it was his father''s idea.¡± She scowled a little saying that, but her face brightened as she continued. ¡°He may not be able to talk but he can definitely listen. He¡¯s tricky about that.¡± She laughed. The sound from her mouth sparked another infatuation. I¡¯ve heard that laugh before¡­


    ¡°Yes, I remember reading that kids, like him, can pick up on social cues and even read the atmosphere differently than others.¡± I added.


    Chloe nodded smiling. ¡°Yes, So once again I just wanted to apologize and explain a little bit. If he ever drops by again just send him back to my apartment.¡±


    ¡°Will do Mrs. Walker.¡± I nodded. She gave a very big smile then turned and headed back to her apartment. I took in a silent but lengthy breath through my nostrils. The smell of her was delicious and I became slightly delusional.


    I opened my door but not before giving one last look in her direction. I met eye contact with Clance before he waved and ran back into his apartment with his mother trailing behind.


    I walked back inside my own apartment and finished my tea. My brother¡¯s writings were fascinating in a way but time consuming. I wasn¡¯t curious enough to get into them more for right now.


    I finished my tea and got ready for the day. By the time I finished replying to emails and my second cup of tea, Ms. Wadsworth was knocking on my door.


    ¡°Good afternoon.¡± I said letting her in.


    ¡°Afternoon sir.¡± She replied. I exited the room and left her to the chores. I was now on my way downtown.


    Twelve forty-five was the time I last saw from my kitchen stove. My watch sat gently inside my right pocket and I called for a cab, knowing that walking would be a pain for I was still losing my sight. Not to mention my body was growing weaker with age.


    After a few minutes of me twiddling my thumbs in the back seat of the yellow vehicle, we pulled up to a small outdoor market. I paid the man for his time and stepped inside the one building labeled, ¡®Tom and Jerry¡¯s Watch Repair¡¯ .


    The air was dusty and had an oily smell to it. Cabinets of glass held beautiful gold and silver watches. The floorboards beneath me creaked but I was too focused on the small hunched man behind the counter to fully notice their glamour.


    ¡°Appointment or walk in?¡± He asked. His small, white, prickly beard poked out from his chin and his light brown eyes watched me carefully as I replied.


    ¡°Walk in.¡±


    I looked down at his clothes. His pants were tattered and stained but his shirt was neatly tucked and buttoned.


    ¡°Whatcha need?¡± He asked flopping his arms onto the glass counter and lifting his chin up so he could see me through his glasses. I raised my hand lifting my watch from my pocket.


    ¡°It stopped ticking a few days ago. Was wondering if you could fix her up for me real quick.¡± I said, giving a flashy smile.


    ¡°Of course! No problem at all.¡± He said, taking it from me. He started examining its detail and leather straps as if walking through its lifetime. Slowly, he went into the back and I heard a few things clutter about, but I paid no mind to it.


    My eyes wandered throughout the room. Everything seemed to be in a place it was destined, but because of its placement the whole room seemed cluttered.


    My eyes caught a glimpse of a shiny piece of metal, and I walked to it peering inside. My blurry vision was placed on a small round container. Sitting atop a purple velvety surface wrapped in thin laces of gold was a small pocket watch. The top of it sat a crown that spins to whined it up and the design on its face was incredibly intricate. Beside it, laid two similar pieces but one in a silver and the other a rose gold. Each with crowns at the top and their faces being blessed with a scenery of detail.


    ¡°You like them?¡± Came a voice from behind. I turned slowly to be met with soft brown eyes and a white beard. But his shirt wasn¡¯t tucked in nor his pants stained.


    ¡°Yes, they definitely catch my eye.¡± I answered honestly.


    The man nodded stepping beside me to look at the work of art himself. ¡°When we got these in, I wasn¡¯t sure what the price would be. So I told my brother if someone comes in with a price we¡¯d be willing to sell.¡±


    I hummed, not very interested in his small explanation. ¡°They are wonderful but I¡¯m not here to buy.¡±


    ¡°No? Then is there anything I can help you with?¡± He asked, raising his voice slightly.


    ¡°I believe,¡± I started turning to the counter just as an identical man walked out, ¡°Your brother was assisting me.¡±


    ¡°Tom! What are you doing keeping this man waiting?¡± Screamed the man beside me.


    ¡°Relax Jerry, I was just going through the motions. I don¡¯t want him to come back with a complaint.¡± Called the other. Their tones were serious and slightly jarring. As their bickering continued I enjoyed banter. Though, I was waiting for an opportunity to end it.


    The two men were very similar to each other but their voices are what made the difference.


    Tom''s voice was heavy and strained whereas Jerry¡¯s was light and had a kick of enthusiasm in it. By easily piecing facts together it seemed that these two gentlemen were twins and started a business together. One doing the work behind the scenes and the other on the floor selling what he could.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I nearly shouted. They both stopped and looked at me. ¡°My watch?¡± I asked, coming up to the counter.


    ¡°All set. Here you go.¡± He smiled, placing it into my hand. The leather band had been cleaned and the metal was shined. But the best part was it had begun ticking again.


    ¡°What do I owe you?¡± I asked, reaching into my pocket searching for cash.


    ¡°Nothing! All first time customers get a free fix on the house. Next time you come in, I do a little more like getting those scratches out and polishing the base.¡±


    Jerry stepped beside me like he had done before still annoyed with his colleague.


    ¡°Say what¡¯s your name?¡± He asked, ¡°We¡¯ll write you down in our book and give you a call once in a while to check in. We do all kinds of clocks. Not just watches.¡± I smirked realizing their game but complied due to their politeness. It seemed only fair.


    ¡°The name is Gregory Cliff. I¡¯m from uptown. And thank you for the fix. I will definitely remember this place next time I need a fix or polish.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Tom clapped his hands then looked to his brother. ¡°Till next time. Have a good day Mr. Cliff.¡± Jerry called from the counter. I walked out and left them with a simple ringing of their hanging door bell.


    The sun was still high above and I started walking the street as I put my watch onto my wrist. Five minutes passed two. Since I was out I could meet up with someone I¡¯ve been meaning to see. Just on the outskirts of town I knocked on the door of a man that works for me. I was standing at the top of a few stairs surrounded by a black veined fence. The door I knocked upon was red. It quickly swung open and I was greeted to a man who smelled of peanut butter.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff? Wasn¡¯t expecting to see you around these parts.¡± The man was around the same height as I and had large biceps. He stepped from inside while quickly grabbing a blue coat. He then closed the door to his home and we stepped out into the street.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we go somewhere private?¡± He asked, leading the way to a park. The walk was silent and I searched the area for anyone that may recognize who we were. Luckily, no one was paying too much attention to us.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, It¡¯s dangerous for you to be here let alone show up at my own home.¡± The man began.


    ¡°Mr. Stone,¡± I said bluntly, ¡°I was in the area and recalled that we have an overdue meeting that needs to take place.¡± I watched as his eyes traced the area behind me and I did the same behind him.


    ¡°This has been going on for far too long. You promise that this will be your last kill? This is the fifth year that I will be working for you. Covering up all those murders and accidents is more difficult than it may seem.¡± He said crossing his arms and becoming defensive.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, your job is over. I¡¯m not planning on killing the kid.¡± I replied.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re not?¡± Mr. Stone asked, bewildered.


    ¡°No, I have other plans for him. Nothing you need to worry about. But I do need security on a few things. Did you get those images deleted and those hard drives swiped?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes sir, My buddy down at the station did it for us. So nothing to worry about.¡±


    ¡°What if someone double checks? I know how hell bent you cops are.¡± I growled.


    ¡°Relax.¡± Stone said, placing his hands on my shoulders. ¡°Everyone at the station trusts my man down in the evidence locker. He almost got caught erasing your things but the police trust him a ton so they won¡¯t fight his written word. If he says you weren¡¯t anywhere on that video camera then it becomes a fact. You weren¡¯t there. Plus you got your nurse as an alibi along with your job, you got those case files with facts always ¡°Mysteriously¡± changing.¡± He said pridefully. ¡°You¡¯re safe as a bunny in winter.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I said looking past him again. The hands on my shoulders were removed and Mr. Stone scratched his head.


    ¡°But man oh man were those two cases hard to get by.¡± He said, still scratching.


    ¡°Which ones?¡± I asked, bringing us to a seat.


    ¡°You know¡­ Oli and Courtney.¡± He said, trying to refuse the shiver that desperately wanted to fly down his spine. ¡°Those were some twisted details.¡±


    I smiled at the thought of those days.


    Back when I first started killing I did everything with my two hands before I realized that having them kill themselves would be easier.


    But how do you convince a child to do that? How could you do it with an infant?


    Only just born a few months ago, at that time, the child wouldn¡¯t stop crying. His wails of torment jabbed themselves through walls and into my old home. It was late. Very late. The world was still and nothing moved or made a sound. No cricket was heard and no bird sang. Nothing but the sound of a child. My hate towards this thing grew into something inhuman. I wanted nothing more than for it to stop.


    My boots were frigid as I slid them on and my coat had an uncomfortable feeling to it.


    I was cursing the child under my breath as I made my way across the freshly fallen snow. The crunching it made under my feet was incomparable to the screeching of that damned child. I opened their door with ease.


    What a shame they don¡¯t lock up.


    I walked down their hall and up their stairs right into the child''s room. On and on were his screams. He was crying for comfort, food, attention but I didn¡¯t care. I had to shut him up.


    Once again the night was as it should have been.


    Silent.


    ¡°The fingerprints they found I was able to swipe just before they were scanned. I feel like you weren¡¯t even trying to be sneaky.¡± Mr. Stone started.


    ¡°I was tired.¡± I defended with a monotone voice.


    ¡°But Courtney was almost worse. You had blood all over you and the neighbors even witnessed someone matching your description. That and the fingerprints and all the DNA and video footage caught. I still can¡¯t believe we didn¡¯t forget anything. There was so much evidence to put you on Death Row.¡±


    ¡°Courtney.¡± I repeated her name slowly. ¡°What an odd girl she was. No older than eight I believe. She too, screamed loudly. All the more reason to make it quick, I guess.¡± I shrugged feeling no guilt in their deaths.


    ¡°You are a sick bastard. You¡¯re lucky you pay me so generously. Me and my wife are going to Paris once this year is over. For her it¡¯s vacation. For me? It¡¯s a break from all this psychoticness.¡±


    ¡°She was so light too.¡± I continued not registering his words. ¡°All I did was walk in and throw her into the freezer.¡± I felt needles travel up my arms as if reminding me of her fingers scratching my neck and arms. ¡°Her poor little fingers were bitten off by the seal of the giant cooler. It was a wonderful sight."


    I decided to continue the imagery in my head. It''s description getting dark and psychotic.


    I flashed over the scene, laying out every single detail. The tiled floor, the yellow walls.


    It was honestly so easy.


    Her pounding from inside the container was extravagant. Listening to the endless screams and clawing.


    I wanted to watch.


    I wanted to see her facial reactions as she desperately tried to survive. The cold eating away at the innocent flesh. Her eyes spread with horror.


    All the blood. I loved the blood.


    It was a strawberry red, and smelled vile. Leaking and staining everywhere. Soaking into the cracks of the floor and running down the contrast of the freezer.


    I remember laughing maniacally as I picked a finger from the floor. Its frailness looking delicious...


    Stone shifted slightly and finally let the shiver climb down his back.


    ¡°All that blood. What a sight for adrenaline.¡± I finished having the corners of my mouth curl upward. ¡°Anyways, thank you for chatting. I must be off. Ms. Wadsworth must be getting anxious.¡± I started walking away when Stone called from behind.


    ¡°The end of this year we are done. No more favors.¡± His voice sounded exhausted as if trying to explain that he regrets his permanent decision.


    I smiled and exited the park. ¡°Trust me. I won¡¯t be around long enough for you to beg me for favors.¡±


    Arriving home Ms. Wadsworth was adjusting my mother on the couch. I didn¡¯t agnolish her and she didn¡¯t mind. Crossing the living room to my room I locked the door behind me. The motion was odd for I almost never locked my door. There was simply no reason to. But nevertheless I did.


    I looked at my watch and took in the time of four thirty-seven. I wasn¡¯t tired but I had nothing to do. No one I wanted to speak to. Nothing I wanted to remember. I paced my room filling in time when my eye caught onto my brother¡¯s journal.


    I slowly stepped to it and sat at my desk finding the page I had left it open to. The words, once again, made me smile. What a twisted thought process.


    I¡¯m fifteen now. Don¡¯t know how much more I can take.


    My mother says she doesn¡¯t want me in her life anymore.


    That I¡¯m a burden.


    Her words hurt me.


    I¡¯m starting to lose my grip on reality.


    Imagine all sound being completely drowned out by your world.


    The people you meet,


    The things you see,


    Monsters that attack you.


    Even though it¡¯s not real I still experience it as a first hand event


    It¡¯s what I see.


    I see a world that¡¯s only there for about 10-20 minutes tops.


    I talk to strangers I feel like I¡¯ve known my entire life.


    I lay on a hill of tall grass when I actuality I¡¯m standing in my room.


    I can feel wind sweep past me.


    I can hear different tones in faraway sirens.


    The temperature rising and dropping.


    You may not understand, but this curse of mine is what keeps me going through the hard days.


    It¡¯s my escape


    It¡¯s my reality


    This insanity¡­


    It¡¯s what I need


    To feel like I''m sane.


    I couldn¡¯t grasp at what my brother meant in this but the thought entertained me for once. I continued through the journal and started the next entry.


    I feel so alone.


    Numb?


    Finally something I could understand. The feeling of numbness. But why does he say it in such a devastating way? Being numb isn¡¯t bad, In fact it¡¯s my reason for being powerful. It makes you superior to others


    The next page was blank but tucked inside the folds was a paper neatly wrapped up. I opened the paper letting the sound of crinkling fill my room.


    A blank screen


    A blinking cursor


    The determination to fill the page


    With something


    Anything


    But what is it worth?


    I sit in my room for hours on end pretending to be in a world I can never fit in with.


    I pretend to be something I¡¯m not


    A hero


    A faultless human being


    A strong person


    A sane person


    Someone


    Who isn¡¯t me


    Why do I do this?


    Type and cry?


    Why do I continue to fill this page with empty thoughts?


    Empty¡­


    I feel like that lately.


    Just empty


    It¡¯s almost worse than being numb


    With numbness I didn¡¯t have to feel anything


    This is me just doing nothing and feeling everything pretending as if its nothing


    There¡¯s no emotion


    Just pain


    Just questions


    Things I can¡¯t fight


    Things I can¡¯t see


    How am I supposed to win when I¡¯m fighting myself?


    I can¡¯t exactly lose¡­


    It¡¯s so quiet.


    Tears hurt my eyes


    The constant rubbing of my hand on the tender skin.


    The itching sensation as the tear travels down my cheek to my chin.


    I don¡¯t understand it¡­


    I don¡¯t know how I got here


    Why do I have these nights where I cry for seemingly no reason


    And when I look for a reason I''m filled with more pain.


    I think back to what I want.


    Approval


    From who though?


    Everyone says they¡¯re proud.


    Is it something else?


    Recently I realized I lost the capability to love.


    I feel nothing for a friend.


    I feel nothing for an enemy


    And nothing for the girl who confessed to me.


    I feel nothing for my parents and I feel nothing for myself.


    Instead I feel as though the world around me is spinning.


    Going faster and faster as I look for answers


    Everything makes my stomach churn


    It¡¯s as if the walls are caving in.


    Where was I?


    Oh¡­ love,


    What is it like to fall in love?


    To fully trust someone with everything about yourself


    To not be judged


    Or is this the idealistic and twisted view I was forced to see growing up.


    It makes me wonder if my parents are in love


    If my friend is truly in love


    And If I will ever be loved.


    No,


    I know I can be loved


    There are people out there who have said so


    They sacrificed everything for me


    But what have I done?


    Do I deserve their love?


    Do I even want it?


    I don¡¯t want something I don¡¯t need.


    Is love a necessity?


    If so then what happens to those who never find it?


    What happens to those who can¡¯t give love


    Only the falseness of it


    What happens to people like me?


    I need to stop


    To stop digging this hole and refilling it with more questions than answers


    Lets just make a conclusion


    ¡­


    You are loved.


    But you don¡¯t deserve it.


    You feel bad for the people that care


    But are fateful for them anyways.


    And hey¡­


    You filled the page.


    I continued to the next page. Love, what a pathetic and useless emotion. It doesn¡¯t even exist. Human beings are animals, we lust and feed off of others in need of attention and sexual interactions. It¡¯s easy to see that you don¡¯t need it. After all, why would you need something that doesn¡¯t exist.


    I can¡¯t sleep.


    But how could I ever tell them?


    I feel like I¡¯m being watched.


    The walls have ears


    The mirrors have eyes


    The vents speak and I am losing my sanity


    Why is this happening?


    Why to me?


    I was awoken again. This time though, I got about two hours compared to my normal one.


    My subconscious is going through something that my conscious refuses to.


    I don¡¯t understand myself.


    I¡¯ll stop everything for someone else but when it comes to myself I pretend like it doesn¡¯t exist.


    That dark hole growing inside my chest.


    That echo rolling around inside my head


    The waves of emotion that wash through me leaving behind trails of misery and grief


    I simply cover that image with a sheet


    Making it seem as though it is a blank canvas


    No color


    It doesn¡¯t exist


    Day¡¯s pass


    How many days has it been?


    I replace the silence with music, motion, screaming, talking or static.


    I hate the silence


    It forces me to think


    It forces me to look back


    To look ahead


    To be silent


    Has it always been this way?


    Has it always been this hard?


    When did the world become so terrifying?


    How do we ignore it?


    I can ignore my emotions as if it is a dead fish in a round glass bowl.


    It just sits there on my counter


    Floating


    Waiting


    Rotting


    I don¡¯t notice it.


    I avoid the responsibility


    I avoid the death of it.


    I pretend like it¡¯s still alive and swimming around


    I act like it¡¯s breathing.


    But it¡¯s starting to smell


    That canvas is starting to blacken,


    That sheet beginning to tear


    Those emotions start to overflow


    My music,


    My voice,


    My screams,


    My static,


    It¡¯s all going away and I¡¯m being left behind


    In the silence.


    How?


    When?


    Why?


    How did this happen?


    When did this happen?


    Why¡­


    I can¡¯t handle it


    The pressure is too much


    My face is starting to show my pain


    My voice is showing my fear


    My subconscious is going over that line and bleeding into my consciousness


    Bleeding?


    Am I bleeding?


    Am I able to bleed?


    Should I even be allowed to bleed?


    Maybe I should try?


    The pain is a different pain


    It¡¯s swallowing me.


    It¡¯s rippling up my arms


    It drips down down onto my legs


    Its warm but cold at the same time


    The sound of it is distracting me from the silence.


    I like it.


    But I hate it.


    Maybe¡­


    I should just go back to sleep.


    I hope no one notices


    I hope they ignore me


    Like I did


    Pretend I¡¯m still okay


    Avoid the responsibility of asking the hard questions


    Avoid the topic of depression


    That¡¯s right just go back,


    To sleep.


    Turning to the next page there was nothing. No more writings, no more hidden pages.


    I closed the diary and decided to put it back in the box. No need to re-read something I don¡¯t understand.


    My brother¡¯s words were something I believe a mere child should not have gone through and think about. The torment it must¡¯ve caused him. The excessive pain he must¡¯ve gone through. I could hardly wrap my head around the idea of feeling that much.


    ¡°Dear Brother, May you rest in the feeling of peace. Someday I shall join you but I doubt you would care.¡±

 Chapter 9

    ¡°Good morning, Mr. Cliff. Good to see you again.¡± Emilia called with a smile on her face.


    Entering her room I didn¡¯t get a hint of smoke and the fragrance she wore was mild.


    ¡°Morning.¡± I said nearly tripping over my own feet.


    ¡°Dear me, Are you alright?¡± She asked, calling to me from across the room.


    I straightened myself and dusted my jacket down collecting my thoughts. ¡°Yes I¡¯m fine. I guess I¡¯m going to have to start using my cane.¡± I said lightly disliking the idea of needing assistance. Emilia produced no sound meaning she had nothing to give as a response.


    Finding my way to the nearest couch, I sat down and relaxed. ¡°Something seems different.¡± I said trying to examine the room.


    ¡°In what way?¡± Emilia asked.


    I closed my eyes not really thinking of an answer. Instead I concentrated on the void in my head. Its calming effects masking my image and consuming me whole. I never even thought to wonder why it was happening now of all times.


    Emilia, knowing that she wouldn¡¯t receive a response, produced her own. ¡°I guess I may be different. My daughter is visiting today and I decided that for her, I wouldn¡¯t smoke.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t change yourself to make others like you Emilia.¡± I said letting my words sink in. My bluntness was harsh but it was an honest opinion.


    I heard Emilia chuckle and wheel herself closer. ¡°Perhaps.How about we start today by getting into some nitty gritty details.¡± A slapping sound was heard directly in front of me and by opening my eyes I was met with the blurry vision of a manila folder on the table before me.


    ¡°Female, eleven, drowned in her bathtub. Male, twelve, poisoned with fertilizer. Any guesses on who killed them?¡± Emilia challenged.


    I shrugged and turned away looking to the light coming from the closed window.


    ¡°Megan was found by her parents. The door to the bathroom was left open and they reported footprints. Unfortunately, they soon retracted that report by simply saying they were delirious.¡± Emilia was quiet again and I felt her eyes tracing over my face.


    I was stone cold and I knew she wouldn''t get anything from looking at me.


    ¡°Sam was found by the neighbor''s dog. Police assume it is the same killer because these two children only lived three houses away from each other. A few eye witness reports were brought in but then almost immediately retracted.¡±


    ¡°What a shame.¡± I said irritably brushing my hand through my hair.


    Emilia¡¯s breathing stopped. I listened closely for it to begin but when it didn¡¯t I turned to look in her direction. Her body was still. I continued waiting.


    ¡°Do you know nothing? Honestly?¡± She whispered. Her voice was so quiet that I even had to lean in to catch her words. ¡°These are children Mr. Cliff. What could they have possibly done to deserve to get murdered?¡± Her tone was sharp and I leaned back letting a smile set onto my face. I loved this side to her. So direct and cold.  ¡°How can you smile when I just told you children were killed. Mr. Cliff, how can you not understand the pain this causes people. You may be psychotic but can¡¯t you pretend to show a little sympathy?¡±


    ¡°Ask the killer for sympathy.¡± I said.


    ¡°You are the killer!¡± She screamed, throwing the papers at me. They flicked and jolted in different ways. Their vibrations against the air sounded similar to birds'' wings.


    Once they settled I started to laugh finding the situation amusing.


    ¡°Now you laugh? What is so funny about this situation?¡± Emilia asked dumbfounded.


    I couldn¡¯t help my bubbly expression to soak through the lines on my face. My heart beat could be heard and it reminded me of their deaths. Emilia wheeled herself away from me and I continued laughing letting it grow and subside only to then grow once more. I couldn¡¯t control it, it was bliss.


    The door behind me clicked and I knew Emilia had left the room. Her smell lingered softly and I slowly began to take control again.


    Taking in a deep breath I licked my lips. A high pitched sound was suddenly heard and I looked for the source. What a smart girl. She purposefully got upset just to leave the room. When she did she left the recording device just in case I was provoked to spill my thoughts.


    ¡°Ms. Emilia.¡± I began, The clocks¡¯ ticks filled the room, hammering inside my head. ¡°I applaud your performance. Why do you ask such harsh questions? The ones you know I have no answer to. And how could you ask such an impossible thing from me? Fake sympathy?¡± I stopped for a second thinking about what that would be like. ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure if I can do that. You¡¯d have to have a heart.  Maybe those children didn¡¯t deserve to die, but I can¡¯t help but laugh. It¡¯s funny to me. I like the way it gets my heart going. You criticize me for not feeling anything but why can¡¯t I criticize you for feeling too much?¡± I took a long breath and added a thought, ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m not the only one faking emotion here.¡± I stopped talking and simply thought for the remaining of my time.


    ¡°Emilia. I am not the bad guy.¡± I stated just as the door behind me creaked open and in came a man.


    ¡°Hello Mr. Cliff. My name is Sean Ariz. I will be taking place for Emilia for the rest of the time.¡±


    I nodded and frowned at the man. His voice was soft but had the ability to be expelled loudly.


    ¡°Do you have any questions for me? We only have about ten minutes left.¡± He asked, wanting me to take control of the conversation.


    I crossed my legs and cocked my head. ¡°Will Emilia stop seeing me?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No sir. She just needed some time for herself. Plus her daughter is showing up sometime today.¡± He responded.


    I partly wished I could see what the man looked like but knew that any effort I could try to make would be wasted.


    ¡°Tell me about Autism.¡± I demanded politely.


    The man shifted and took in a short breath, ¡°May I ask why first?¡±


    ¡°There is a family that moved in down the hall from I. Their child, Clance is his name, has Autism. I would like to know more that way I can help the boy if need be.¡±


    ¡°Of course, I would first like to say it would be best if you simply stayed away from the kid. But Autism, or autism spectrum disorder (ASD), refers to a broad range of conditions characterized by challenges with social skills, repetitive behaviors, speech and nonverbal communication. Studies have shown that one in about fifty-four children will have this disorder. This of course, makes it common.¡±


    ¡°I see¡± I was quite impressed by how informative this man was, but still wasn¡¯t too keen on his character. He is far too friendly and I assume he knows exactly what kind of person I am. He¡¯s comfortable and confident, Emilia was very much like this but she was able to easily slide into a safe category. He, one the other hand, is difficult to read.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff. If I may,¡± Sean started letting a thin grin spread across his lips. I nodded to let him continue. ¡°What made you become a teacher?¡±


    I closed my eyes and thought for a bit back to when I was a simple man with no lingering title of murderer.


    ¡°I don¡¯t quite remember. I¡¯ve always enjoyed the idea of being in control and influencing other human beings. Teaching just happened to be a way to have that ability.¡±


    ¡°What other choice would you have chosen if not teaching?¡± He continued pushing the conversation.


    ¡°Well, in my younger years, like when I turned seventeen I was a cab driver.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sean asked, coming closer in his seat.


    I hummed nodding my head, ¡°And by the time I turned twenty two I went to school and became a teacher. I never really had any other goal in life. Teaching was just something that I always wanted.¡± I finished. Sean cocked his head and let his eyes fall to his hands. He then sat back and sighed lightly. Not in an annoyed way but in a way you would alone as if being content and having nothing to do but sigh.


    I forced myself to yawn to show the boredom I was getting from the silence. I knew he noticed my hint but did nothing to continue a topic. This showed me that the man was dull and had no intention of going further with these two cases. What a shame. They were quite fascinating. In fact they were one of my earlier works. Children for some reason were easy to obtain and kill. And their expressions were what I drank up everytime. They could satisfy my hunger for adrenaline for months.


    ¡°How about we stop here for today. Be safe on your walk home and next week Emilia should be waiting for you. It should be best to simply forget today¡¯s conversation with her. I  am guessing it will make the transition smooth.¡±  Sean suggested.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I stood up and waddled my way to the door awkwardly.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Sean asked quickly coming to my side to assist me.


    ¡°I am, my sight is leaving quickly. Do you have a cane I could borrow perhaps?¡±


    Almost instantaneously a man came beside me taking my hand and placing a wooden cane into it.


    ¡°Ms. Emilia said you might need this.¡± He explained. I smirked and thanked both men before exiting the hospital. I hailed a taxi but just before entering my phone went off.


    I brought my phone to my ear and answered. ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Mr. Cliff.¡±


    ¡°Hello, Ms. Wadworth. Is something wrong?¡± she sounded distressed and frightened.


    ¡°Uh, You need to come home its¡­.¡± A plate could be heard shattering from the other line and I waited for a response.


    ¡°Melony?¡± I questioned the phone.


    There was some rustling on the line before her breathing came back. ¡°Chrysanthemum¡­¡±


    My body went stiff and my blood ran cold. The same amount of adrenaline I would get from murdering a helpless victim I got from a single word. But this was different. This was the feeling I received when I was a child waiting hopelessly for my mother to beat me. This was the feeling I got when I almost died.


    Arriving inside my apartment Ms. Wadsworth was sitting beside the couch. Her eyes swollen and filled with fear.


    ¡°I-I didn¡¯t,¡± She started.


    ¡°Leave.¡± I said, cutting her off. I didn¡¯t want to hear the excuses or complaints. She arose from her spot and hurried from the apartment. As she went, a white towel slipped from her waist and fell to the floor.


    I was now alone in my apartment. The doors closed, windows and shades darkened.


    I leaned over and picked up the towel grasping it within my fingers. But instead of raising it to me I crouched down on my knees and went to it.


    I heard my breathing. The way it echoed inside my head and ears. I felt my chest rise and fall with the weight of something I couldn¡¯t name.


    Now crawling on the floor, I made my way to my mother who laid motionless on the couch. Her body, cold and exposed. Her hair was twisted back and her eyes dully open. Her lips parted with small clumps of foam dripping from them.


    On the floor was an assortment of white pills and next to them was an orange bottle giving its prescription.


    I leaned back against my personal chair and looked at my mother''s body.


    ¡°How unfair.¡± I whispered. Something warm slipped from my eyes and I felt my skin tighten. I looked away from my mother¡¯s body. ¡°How dare you. How dare you leave.¡± I rolled forward on my knees and started using the towel to clean up her face. I forced her eyes closed and gently laid the now, stained towel over her white expression.


    ¡°I hope you suffered. I hope you could hear everything. All the things I¡¯ve done were because of you. I wanted to be here when you died. But I missed it. Do you even remember what you did to me?¡±


    My chin itched and my eyes burned.


    ¡°You beat me. You squeezed the life from me. You trained me to feel nothing. You taught me to give up on people. To see the world through closed eyes. You murder yourself like you murdered me. How dare you.¡±


    I took in a quick breath and screamed, ¡°How Dare You!¡±


    A knocking came from my door and I somehow could tell who it was. ¡°Not today Clance, go home.¡±


    His small feet fled from my door and I was now drowning in the darkness of my apartment. My eyes laid on the white within my hands and I fell backwards letting my spine lay against the ground.  Now facing my ceiling I could concentrate on what was happening to my body. A chemical reaction pushed my eyes to produce tears. Those tears are connected to the running of my nose and my throat was dry harshly making me gasp at the cool air. My chest tightened and I felt pain.


    I was crying. I couldn¡¯t understand why. I was  happy she was gone. The first day passed quietly. The second day I slept. I was exhausted and motionless. The third day I ignored the calls. The fists against my door. I ignored my growling stomach and the pleading inside my head.


    Ms. Wadsworth, who had a key, came by on the fourth day and set a plate of food beside me. She didn¡¯t speak, or move anything. She simply came in then left locking the door behind her.


    I lost track of time and when I opened my eyes again I found two different flowers placed beside me.


    One, a white chrysanthemum. Its leathery petals spread outward and around in every direction. The soft yellowness in its center fading lighter as it grows out into the white. Seemingly hundreds of petals flowing from the tip of the stem could be seen. The flower itself meant many things but one in particular called to me.


    Death.


    Ms. Wadsworth and I had a code. When my mother was dying that would be the word to say. ¡®Chrysanthemum¡¯.


    Beside it, laid another white flower.  Its petals were bigger and twisted delicately into one another. Looking at it straight on, the petals seemed triangular. It was a white rose. Its center swirled beautifully and I was lost in its grace.


    The white rose also had many meanings but in this time one had true fulfillment.


    A knock came from my door and for once I actually gave a response.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I called sounding ragged and worn out.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, it''s Sean Aliz. I¡¯m here with the NYPD. Can you please open the door?¡±


    I slowly dragged my body from the ground and used the couch as support. The room was extremely blurry but I found my way to the front door.


    Unlocking it, I twisted the handle letting the hallway light seep into my apartment.


    ¡°Afternoon Mr. Cliff. Do you remember who I am?¡± asked Sean. I revolted against his smile. I nodded rubbing my eyes. By my touch I knew they were swollen and red.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff, you missed your meeting yesterday with Emilia. We have come to check on you. Is everything alright?¡±


    My head dropped and I closed my eyes. Two officers brushed past me and found my mother¡¯s body on the couch. I didn¡¯t put up a fight at their unlawful act because I already knew they had deducted me from her death.


    ¡°Ms. Wadsworth informed Emilia of what happened. I¡¯m sorry for your loss. Would you like to come to the facility or stay here and await Emilia¡¯s arrival?¡±


    A body bag could be heard from behind and the men whispered to each other.


    ¡°Here.¡± was the only word I could make out of my chapped lips.


    Sean nodded and asked me to step into the hall as the men carried my mother''s body away.


    Almost like fate had called upon it, Emilia appeared down the hall. She was quiet as she wheeled herself to me. ¡°Thank you Sean. You may now leave.¡± Her words were direct and forceful but she said it with a kind tone.


    Together, she and I entered my now empty home.


    ¡°How does it feel?¡± She began. I walked to the room and sat down in the spot I had spent so many days.


    ¡°I can tell you haven''t moved for quite some time.¡± She said noting the dust around my figure. ¡°You must be sore.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± I said turning my neck to hear it pop.


    She smiled at my action and continued. ¡°What did you do as a reaction to her death? What kinds of things went in your head?¡±


    I bit my lip sucking on the blood that poured from the small wounds.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff?¡± Emilia pressed.


    I took in a deep breath before saying, ¡°I told her how much I disapproved.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Emilia replied softly. Her eyes went from my figure to the two white flowers that laid on the ground beside me.  ¡°What are those?¡±


    Even though I couldn¡¯t see I knew what she was speaking of. ¡°They are flowers Ms. Wadsworth brought  one night while I was sleeping.¡±


    ¡°They are beautiful.¡± She awed.


    I picked them up bringing them to my face so I could, once again, examine their intricate design.


    ¡°What kind of flowers are they?¡± Emilia asked dumbly.


    ¡°A chrysanthemum and rose.¡± I responded.


    ¡°Why those flowers?¡±


    I itched my nose with my free hand and adjusted my glasses. Their scent was soothing and I felt myself warm up to the conversation.


    ¡°Every flower has a meaning. Some have a multitude while others only a few. Yellow roses stand for friendship, joy and caring. Pink lilies mean love, femininity and adoration.¡±


    ¡°What do those flowers mean?¡± Emilia asked, nodding her head to the ones in my hand.


    ¡°The White Chrysanthemum means Death.¡± I answered softly.


    ¡°And the white rose? Doesn¡¯t it fall under the category of love? They are normally found in weddings. I believe they are meant for new beginnings, purity and everlasting love.¡±


    ¡°You are correct my dear,¡± I said, ¡°But it also stands for silence.¡± The word floated from my lips and hung in the air thickly laying itself in the room.


    ¡°I never loved my mother you know.¡± I numbly said.


    Emilia slowly drew her eyes to the ground and nodded. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°She was evil. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s fair for her to leave in such a simple way.¡± I bit.


    ¡°Suicide is no simple thing Mr. Cliff. It¡¯s something the mind must first accept and comprehend.¡± Emilia defended.


    ¡°Please, I just wanted to see her suffer. That¡¯s why I kept her around. Why I kept her close. To watch her last moments of life as she flashed through hers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but maybe it¡¯s for the best?¡± She said trying to reassure me of better things.


    ¡°We made a deal.¡± I said deliriously. ¡°A deal that I would¡­¡± My words couldn¡¯t escape my lips.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff? What deal?¡± Emilia pushed.


    ¡°Forgive me Emilia, but I must take some time to think. My mind has something it must explain but not to you. At least, not right now.¡± I stood and draped the flowers over the top ledge of the couch. ¡°You know, I used to enjoy the silence. It¡¯s stillness and solitude never bothering me.¡±


    Emilia backed up in her chair listening to me as I made my way to the front door. I opened it wide enough so she could wheel herself out and leave me.


    ¡°I would sit alone for hours doing nothing but listening to the silence. It was beautiful, calming. I would think, and discover a new train of thoughts.¡± I spoke with no control over my wording.


    Emilia rolled past me and exited the room.


    ¡°Silence is like a verbal communication but with no emotion behind it. It¡¯s lifeless and cold. Unwanted but needed. Silence is something we cannot escape.¡±


    Emilia faced me and waited for the door to close her out. She was frowning slightly and I could see the pain in her eyes as she listened to me.


    ¡°And what are your thoughts now, Mr. Cliff.¡±


    Bringing the door to a close she never received a response. I turned and faced the dark room letting my answer linger on my tongue.


    ¡°It¡¯s too quiet.¡±

 Chapter 10

    ¡°Mr. Cliff,¡± Emilia spoke softly trying to not startle me as she rolled beside me. ¡°This is a lovely service for her.¡±


    A small room held us, along with just under thirty others. Everyone dressed in black. Whispers only to be heard. The smell of smoke and peonies filled the air and a heavy weight of sadness washed through everyone as they paid their respects.


    ¡°Thank you Emilia.¡± I said crouching low so we were more level.


    I unfortunately, over the past few days, had lost my sight. I imagined her smile being thin and unwavering. That her eyes were tracing the small crowd, watching and examining.


    ¡°Do you miss the ability of sight?¡± She asked, leaning her head closer to mine.


    I scoffed slightly under my breath and shook my head. ¡°Not in the slightest.¡±


    A pause fell between us momentarily before Emilia piped up again. ¡°So who is everyone here? I know you can¡¯t see, but you must have some idea, no?¡±


    I took in a deep breath and concentrated on the multitude of voices in the room. ¡°Far right corner by my mother''s casket is the Thimps. Interesting folks, though, most animal protesters are. Beside us, a few feet away, are my cousins. A small family of hard workers and thriving business owners. The few behind are those who used to know my mother from before, they worked with her just before she quit her job in her late forties. In the room beside us is a large family with six kids. They were our neighbors before we moved. Others are friends I never met or given the chance to know.¡± I wetted my lips imagining the faces and recalling the memories.


    ¡°Ah, how interesting.¡± Emilia hummed. I simply agreed and we continued the rest of the service in silence. It was overall a small, respectful service with a tinge of uncomfortableness between all the guests. They knew her past, her mistakes and of her children. They knew of all the dark secrets and cracks in her sanity.


    Though no modest person would dare to address such a dark past at a mournful moment in time.


    Ms. Wadsworth and I walked home together after the day had come to an end. Her hand helped me up the few stairs and into my apartment. I was calm and understanding with her silence. The past few days had been hard for her. She blamed herself for allowing this tragedy to happen and had trouble forgiving herself.


    I knew she was waiting for me to yell at her. To tell her our arrangement was over, but I somehow never found the energy to do so. My days were now meaningless. No reason to kill, no reason to continue with my life.


    I waited years to watch my mother die. Even with this wish I still did as told by fulfilling her wants of making the perfect world. To rid of those who were wretched in society''s eyes. But it had come to my attention that maybe I was the one who was wrong.


    ¡°Melony,¡± I said softly as we reached my apartment door. The name rolled off  foreignly and unfamiliarly. It had been a long time since I said her first name.


    ¡°Yes sir?¡± Ms. Wadsworth asked hesitantly. Her voice was dry and I listened as she itched her arm.


    ¡°I have a job for you but it won¡¯t be till later. Do you promise to do it no matter what?¡± I was alright with her saying no but I¡¯d find it disheartening if she did.


    ¡°Of course sir, anything.¡± She responded. I gave a half smile then nodded and together we both walked into the silence of my apartment. She flicked on the lights and I found my way to the couch where my mother used to lie.


    ¡°Anything you need sir?¡± She asked her voice full of sincerity.


    ¡°Please make some Pu erh tea and tidy up the place. Perhaps pack my mother¡¯s things so that it¡¯ll be easy to sell later on.¡± The scent of death still hung in the air and I pondered on the thought of what I would do for the rest of the night.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± She replied starting her short list of chores. As she rustled around I decided that it would be better to think in my room, so I sat up and found my way to my wanted destination. Sitting near the edge of my bed I focused on the sounds. It was different then before but not to a great degree.


    I felt like I was spinning. My ceiling fan spun slowly causing a soft and soothing hum. The cars on the street to my right and below were aggressively loud, their engines roaring inside my head. The sink from my kitchen turning on and off caught my attention but not before a slamming noise came from my closet.


    ¡°What a pleasant idea,¡± I stated quietly.


    I scoffed slightly and slowly went to my closet, opening the door. ¡°Boy, I have a job for you.¡± My face went light and I tried to calm his whimpers. ¡°Ms. Wadsworth, a hand if you could.¡±I called and waited momentarily.


    She walked in holding two cups of tea and set them on my desk. She then stepped to my side and waited for further instructions.


    ¡°Release him.¡± I said, walking back to my bed. ¡°Give him a pen and some paper, make him comfortable.¡±


    I heard rustling and the soft pants from a new voice.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say a word child.¡± I continued,  ¡°I have your parents somewhere and if you try to run you wouldn¡¯t even make it to the elevator.¡± I bluffed. The lie ignited something and I was excited to hear how he would react to my demands.


    Ms. Wadsworth brought him to my desk and sat him down. She gave him the needed accessories as I had listed before and it was now up to the boy on his choice to obey.


    The boy sat at my desk with a heavy feeling and Ms. Wadsworth gave him the extra cup of tea, she clicked on the small desk lamp and soon the boy was prepared for the task I had for him.


    ¡°Write everything as I say it. Please.¡± I said. ¡°We will be writing a letter to someone dear.¡±


    The boy sniffed and prepared himself. Our night had begun.


    I drank about three cups of tea and the boy had just over seven. There were a few hours in the night where sirens were relentless and the neighbors were bothersome, but still we trudged through the task I needed to complete.


    Ms. Wadsworth excused herself from my apartment after a few hours and the boy was put back into the closet after a bundle of papers were finished.


    I laid in bed with my eyes opened. The cool air dried them out but it didn¡¯t hurt like some would think. Instead it was a soothing feeling. I cracked my ankles and blinked a few times as if thinking I would regain my sight by doing so. To no avail I left my eyelids closed and my bottom lip sagged.


    It was going to be a Monday in the morning and it would be the day I put in my two week notice. I imagined all the complaints and protests I would receive. I thought about the sad acceptance many would endure and the endless rants from other teachers about their jealousy.


    But not only would I be quitting my job, I would also be telling the apartment manager that I would no longer need this living space in a few weeks. That it could go back up on the market in fourteen days.


    Morning came slowly and I was unable to tell if I actually slept or not. Ms. Wadsworth, who now had a key, helped me out of bed and into a work related outfit. She filed together my papers and helped me down the hall then into the street. The walk was quiet until she began to hum.


    The tune was sweet and stirred memories of when Emilia would hum during the silence between us. I wondered why that tune haunted me. It seems I heard it frequently enough throughout the past year to know how the notes flow together. Up then down, hold then eventually, go back up. I¡¯ve personally never hummed the tune before for I saw no need to. It seemed childish. And I was raised to be modest.


    ¡°Here is your room Mr. Cliff. I will be back after your day and help you home.¡± Ms. Wadsworth said, taking a slight bow before leaving.


    I nodded and thanked her then found my seat and waited for my classes to begin. It was difficult at first, to teach, but I was able to find a groove which allowed me to answer questions and teach the well-needed lesson.


    Hours passed and eventually the day had come to a close. My classroom door swung open and two pairs of shoes walked in. One matching Ms. Wadsworth¡¯s usual sliding flats and the other a well polished, confident walk.


    ¡°Afternoon Mr. Halsted.¡± I said, putting a smile on my face.


    ¡°Impressive.¡± Said a rough voice. ¡°I guess I made an impression on you throughout these past few years.¡±   A jolly yet slightly sarcastic laugh sounded and I continued to smile politely.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The laughter subsided and he eventually found the emotion in the room. ¡°So, what is it we needed to talk about?¡± He asked, clapping his palms together in an uncomfortable mannerism.


    I arose from my seat to show my respect and Ms. Wadsworth came to my side almost instantaneously. ¡°I am putting in my two week notice. Next week Friday will be my last. I thank you for giving me this opportunity to teach and grow but I feel as though my time here must come to an end.¡± I bowed my head and stretched my arm out waiting for his hand to take mine.


    ¡°Whoa, Gregory, are you sure about this? I mean, the kids here love you. Your students always succeed and I must admit you are one of the best teachers we have on campus. I¡¯m willing to give you a week or two off but don¡¯t leave yet.¡± His words soaked in an empathetic emotion. The want behind it was saturating the air and I paused thinking.


    I took in a long breath feeling it fill my lungs and my chet rising slowly. Ms. Wadsworth shifted slightly beside me pushing me to make a decision quickly.


    ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain that my decision to leave is the best. This job has recently become a hindrance and I am ready to move on.¡± My boss slouched and I felt his waves of pity and frustration.


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯ll be sure to find a replacement quickly. It was a pleasure having a man like you work on my team.¡± Mr. Halsted grabbed my hand and lightly tapped it with his left.


    Ms. Wadsworth and I left, taking the walk home slowly. Noticing all the sounds and smells from the outside I realized where I was. ¡°Melony?¡± I questioned quietly halting in place. ¡°Mind if I make a little stop?¡± My voice came out genuine and Ms. Wadsworth was a little afraid but then realized my true intentions.


    ¡°Yes sir. I will take you to Emilia.¡± Her tone was lifted and our trust was slowly growing to what it used to be. Over the past few days I had simply been demanding orders from her and she would comply with no excuse. We never speak and when she was done helping she distanced herself. But now, for once, I felt as though she was starting to become comfortable by me again.


    We crossed the street and I was detached from her and brought to the all too familiar room.


    I was seated on the couch and I pictured how the room used to look. Floral couches, green curtains and golden rods. But the smell of the room was different. Instead of the normal flower arrangement that used to sit in the center of the table it was now something else. I leaned forward and took in the smells of the flowers.


    ¡°Can you tell what they are?¡± Emilia asked, opening the door behind me. She wheeled herself beside me and I smirked thinking of how to answer.


    ¡°Sort of. I can differentiate between the lilac and lilies but¡­ The soil inside is overwhelming that last scent.¡± Emilia hummed and leaned back in her permanent chair.


    ¡°Sapphire,¡±She answered.


    I repeated the word confused at the name.


    ¡°The official name is Browallia Speciosa but many refer to it as The Sapphire.¡± Emilia added. I nodded thinking more on what it may have looked like.


    ¡°I feel as though recently flowers have been around me since her death.¡± I said folding my legs together and stretching my arms over the back edge of the couch.


    ¡°So why did you pop in today?¡± Emilia asked, trying to decide whether she wanted to take notes or not. The question itself was blunt and pushing but I paid no attention to it.


    ¡°Honestly, no reason. I just wanted to chat with someone such as yourself.¡± I replied letting my head bounce back. We sat in silence for a bit letting time pass by but every minute felt slow.


    ¡°Would you like to discuss a case?¡± Emilia started. She was calm and willing to go with any sort of conversation.


    I shrugged giving no response but she nodded and went to grab a folder. Within the time she was gone I had stretched and re-adjusted.


    ¡°Male, thirty-six. Joshua Grey. Father of one seven year old girl. Shot and stabbed to death. No murder weapons found, no evidence of a break in and the girl missing.¡± Emilia cocked her head to the right and watched my expression change from slight apathy to amusement.


    ¡°The girl is missing?¡± I asked, avoiding the obvious conversation.


    ¡°Yes, there were no witnesses and we assume that the murderer had an accomplice based on the two types of wounds. With the girl missing and no trace of any sort of evidence it is very puzzling. Have any ideas?¡± Emilia pressured.


    ¡°Perhaps. Though if I tell you, you must do something for me.¡± I sang. I let my sound come out low and I smiled, deciding to not hide my mischievous atmosphere.


    ¡°What would you like?¡± Emilia asked, pulling herself closer and laying her hands on the armrest between us. I reached forward slowly and grabbed her hands within mine. They were soft and light. I felt the veins underneath the paper thin skin. The smooth tendons and nerves huddled together in a gracious pattern.


    ¡°Don¡¯t resist.¡± I whispered. I listened as Emilia''s breathing halted and hitched. I could tell she was nervous but willing to do what it took for my response. ¡°I believe there was only one killer, he went into the home with a plan in mind. Fulfilled his plan and the daughter.¡± I rubbed my thumb along the knuckle of her¡¯s. ¡°She helped.¡±


    Intrigued by the new idea she leaned in and got into the same hushed tone as I. ¡°Why?¡± She asked.


    ¡°What do you know about the father¡¯s behavior? The relationship between the two. Figure out why a man¡¯s child would play a hand in the murder of that bond.¡± I finished and leaned closer placing my lips upon Emilia¡¯s cheek. The warmth she produced was exhilarating. I wanted to taste the salt from her skin. I wanted to smell more of her scent.


    After a few long moments, I leaned back and found my way out of the room. ¡°Till next time, Dear.¡±


    I knew Emilia wouldn¡¯t just sit there stunned. She, instead, would get to work immediately trying to find connections and answers. She would look into my ¡®theory¡¯ and eventually match my story with fact.


    The murder was one of my more fascinating ones. The father and I hardly knew one another but we never agreed on anything. He was a kind man to the public eye so I contemplated his life but once I saw his daughter I knew, he was broken.


    His home was small yet grand. Fine pieces of art and delicate tapestries. A simple two story house with glass walls and rock formations inside. Entering was easy enough, for the house maid let me in.


    Noises could be heard and I followed them curiously til I was met with the sight of him beating his daughter. She screamed and cried begging for it to end.


    I stepped in the room but neither noticed. I found a chair in the corner of the room and examined them. The man was tall and lanky. His greasy blonde hair scattered and the loose strands played against his brows. His piercing blue eyed stare shot through the girls body as his arms came down again and again. The sound his punches produced were exhilarating and I smiled at the scene.


    The girl laid on the ground huddled into the fetal position. Her hands covering her head and her legs tucked into her chest. Minutes passed and I knew I was enjoying this more than I should have. But the power behind his abuse was interesting. What was it the girl had done to deserve this kind of beating? How was he okay with harming his only child?


    Society looked down on his behavior yet here I was, sitting and smiling at the display.


    The man ceased his attacks and straightened his back. I saw the pools of sweat layer his skin. His shirt drenched while his skin glistened. A sight to see indeed.


    I brought my hands together slowly and took a stand. My first, slow clap caught his attention and they both looked at me. His expression went from shocked to bitter almost instantaneously and I smirked at the outcome I was presented.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The man shouted, taking a step forward.


    ¡°My name is Gregory. We¡¯ve bumped into each other a couple times at work.¡± I casually responded.


    ¡°Bullshit. I¡¯ve never seen you before. Get out of my house!¡± The man swung his arms out dramatically trying to become bigger than me. But I was no little girl.


    ¡°Or what?¡± I mocked. I reached behind my lower back and grasped the warm handle of my gun. Drawing it out, the man hesitated then snorted.


    ¡°You can¡¯t shoot me.¡± He said as his hands lifted into the air. I cocked my head to the right and found my finger tracing the trigger. The little girl got up and ran from the room. I twitched thinking of what she might be doing. Time was running out but I was having so much fun. The audible gulp from the man entranced me and I took in his figure. Fear racked his body and his eyes searched mine for forgiveness. I wanted more.


    ¡°Get on your knees.¡± I chirped.


    Tears began to fall from the man''s eyes. ¡°Please, I-I swear I won¡¯t ever touch her again. I¡¯ll do better I¡­¡± His sobs choked him from saying anything further.


    Thumping could be heard from the hall and in came the little girl. Within her hands layed a knife from the kitchen.


    ¡°How inspiring.¡± I whispered. My finger pulled and a shot rang throughout the room. The man crumpled to the ground not making a single sound. Instead small, quick breaths were heard. His dark red blood seeped into the carpet floor and I crouched low to watch.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you call the police?¡± I asked, not looking at the little girl behind me.


    She was silent and walked over the body raising the knife above her head. The bruises on her arms were swollen and her cheeks red.


    ¡°Because I wanted to help.¡± She laughed.


    It was amazing to see such a small little girl take the final breaths from her own father. Over and over she pushed the blade through his back. Letting it sink deeper into different areas. All she could hear was the simple sound of murder and her sight was covered by red.


    Eventually she stopped and held the knife in her hands. We sat quietly taking in the smell of his death.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡± I asked.


    All she could do was nod.


    ¡°Mr. Cliff?¡± Ms. Wadsworth called. I was now sitting in my room listening to my ceiling fan spin.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I questioned.


    ¡°Why is it you wanted to see Emilia?¡± She asked.


    The question was peculiar, for Ms. Wadsworth had never wondered about my actions before. I sat thinking of how to respond.


    ¡°I¡¯m testing something out.¡± I answered. ¡°And only Emilia can be my main experimental group.¡±


    I felt my nurse hesitate but accept my words. ¡°Is there anything you need for today?¡±


    I shook my head content with the day. ¡°Then I shall take my leave.¡± She said walking from my apartment and locking the door behind her.


    My mind examined the activities that took place throughout the day. No more working, my apartment, from what I could sense, was becoming more vacant, and Emilia and I¡¯s relationship was morphing. Everything was going according to plan.


    ¡°Splendid.¡±


    I arose from my seat near the kitchen and found my way into my bedroom. My upstairs neighbors were loud but I enjoyed the background noise for once. I rubbed my face and made the motion of avoiding glasses. It was odd to not have them on my nose but ever since I lost my vision there was no need to wear them.


    My chest became heavy and I suddenly thought of suffocating. I wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about this, but I endured the pain it produced. I fell backwards onto my bed and drifted to sleep feeling as though a weight of some sort was covering me.

 Chapter 11

    ¡°Mr. Cliff? You have a guest.¡± Ms. Wadworth stated, walking into my room. Her soft patter of steps found their way around the edge of my bed to stand beside where I sat. I was placed on the left edge of my bed listening to the traffic. I found myself enjoying the little noises from the world yet a dull feeling was always captured inside my chest.


    ¡°I do?¡± I asked, taking a stand and holding out my hand. My arm was grasped and I was taken to my living space. It felt cool out in my living space and I heard a small, hitched breath being taken from the kitchen. I smiled instantly knowing who it was.


    ¡°Melony, Please check in on our friend in the other room. I believe he was having chills last night.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± She said. She went back into my room and closed the door behind her.


    I turned to face the direction of my guest. Though I couldn¡¯t see, I was still able to pinpoint their exact location knowing how people in the past have entered my room. I thought up different scenarios in my head of how to interact but I accepted that whichever one I chose, they would have the same outcome.


    ¡°Hello Clance Walker. What brings you here?¡± I smiled, deciding to be polite.


    Shuffling sounded and I followed the sound as it paced the room. The footsteps were lovely and the swishing of his pants reminded me of a flag lightly flapping from the wind.


    Knocking erupted from my door distracting me from the child and I let them know it was unlocked.


    The door opened casually and a citrusy smell wafted into the room.


    ¡°Pardon the intrusion Mr. Cliff.¡±


    I listened as the door clicked close.


    ¡°No worries, Mrs. Walker. Is there something I can help you with?¡± While I focused on our conversation, I also listened as the boy walked to the door of  my room. His body was now close enough to mine that I could take in his scent. It was sweet, due to being by his mother, but slightly musty which I found intriguing.


    ¡°I was just looking for my son, which I seemed to have found. I am so sorry.¡± She apologized, stepping forward  to grab her boy.


    Guessing that the interaction between us would be short, I was surprised to hear her halt only a few steps from me.


    ¡°No need for apologies, It¡¯s a delight to have guests.¡± I replied, keeping silence from falling between us. Though my attempts were lost as I received nothing more to the conversation.


    Mrs. Walker was now difficult to pinpoint after being still for so long. I shifted raising my left ear to the air patiently.


    ¡°I appreciate the politeness but I am sorry. I know you are busy with trying to adjust. How have you been?¡± Mrs. Walker asked, suddenly moving again. A hand appeared on my shoulder awkwardly but slid away almost as quickly as it appeared. We were now next to each other and I searched for the reasoning behind this situation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been fine.¡± I said nonchalantly. I brought my hand to the back of my head to scratch it. A feeling of awkwardness entered the room that Chloe refused to notice.


    ¡°Are you moving?¡± She asked, picking up dust with her fingertips.


    ¡°I am. There is nothing here for me anymore. I believe it is time in my life to take my leave.¡± I turned my figure to her direction and cocked my head as I imagined her curious image taking in the room.


    ¡°Chloe?¡± I asked, letting her name dance on the tip of my tongue. ¡°Is something bothering you?¡±


    An audible gulp could be heard and Clance took this chance to enter my room.


    ¡°It¡¯s just that.¡± She bagan, ¡°My mother once met this man. It was only a few years ago and he helped her with something.¡±


    I shifted my weight wanting her to continue. Her pace of story-telling was slow but had a way to keep my attention.


    ¡°She was dealing with this coworker who had been bothersome for quite some time. He would follow her, and try to get into contact. He even went as far as buying the apartment next to her to stay close.¡± She continued.


    ¡°Sounds to me like your mother was dealing with sexual harassment.¡± I gave as a response.


    ¡°She was.¡± Chloe whispered to the wall. ¡°But it was more than just him following her and contacting her. At work he said the most inappropriate things and violated her publicly.¡± I could hear the irritation and embarrassment in Chloe¡¯s voice. ¡°But this man my mother met. He said he would take care of it. He said all she had to do was keep it a secret.¡±


    I smiled thinly as memories started to stir inside my head.


    ¡°Suddenly the coworker disappeared, and my mother was free. She never even cared about what happened to him. It may have been a coincidence, or a miracle but I always entertained the thought that perhaps¡­ That man my mother met, actually did do something.¡±


    A crinkling of paper sounded and Mrs. Walker pulled out an old image. ¡°She told me, this was the man who saved her. That if I ever found him, I should thank him for her if she died before getting the chance herself.¡± Chloe was now facing my person and hesitance washed through her before continuing. ¡°Mr. Cliff? Are you the man who worked this miracle? This image I have is of her and him and I must say, you share a resemblance.¡±


    I let my smile fade and I frowned in her general direction. ¡°If your mother¡¯s name is Jane, then yes.¡±


    No sound could be heard. I counted the seconds, waiting for her to give me a response. A ragged breath entered the atmosphere of the room and I realized Chloe was crying.


    ¡°Mrs. Walker?¡± I asked, coming closer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± She whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t want a murder¡¯s hand near me.¡± Her words were rude but understandable.


    ¡°Who said I murdered anybody?¡± I contested.


    ¡°Please, the day we entered this complex everyone told me you were evil. A man so ill that getting caught in your lies was unavoidable. At first I didn¡¯t want to believe it because you seemed so genuine. But my son wrote to me that you have someone hiding here.¡± She took in a hitched breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. ¡°You saved my mother and since I am her daughter I will follow the promise she made to you. I will not tell. But you¡¯re a monster, I don¡¯t know whether society created you or if your mother twisted your mind into thinking this was right.¡± Chloe quietly exclaimed.


    ¡°What is wrong about what I¡¯ve done.¡± I asked, pressuring the woman before me.


    ¡°Murder is wrong.¡± She bit.


    I let out an amused chuckle. Finding the situation undeniably adorable. I helped this woman''s mother from evil but in turn, she says I''m the true evil.


    ¡°You do resemble your mother.¡± I started ignoring her blatant explanation. ¡°The first time I saw you I knew right away who you were. A murderer never forgets. I honored your mother¡¯s promise as well. She said to never harm anyone who was a part of her future family. So I abided by those rules. Your son, otherwise, would have been perfect.¡± I licked my lips thinking of the endless possibilities.


    ¡°Clance baby, we¡¯re leaving.¡± Chloe called. She watched me with horrified eyes and I felt them examining my person. Clance waddled from my room and went to his mother who immediately grabbed his hand and paced to the door.


    ¡°It was a pleasure to see you before I go, Mrs. Walker.¡± I called, only to add in the effect of cockiness.


    She opened the door and firmly pushed her child out to the hall. ¡°Likewise. And Mr. Cliff?¡± She asked before completely leaving.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I listened for the end of what she was about to say and I smirked at the words that were produced. ¡°She says thank you.¡±


    The door closed and I was left abandoned with the memories of so long ago. Jane had seen me multiple times before on her way up the elevator. But one day we got off at the same time.


    A round man walked beside her and violated the boundaries of  innocence. Jane was embarrassed and unsure how to react. We made a promise that day to have a secret between us.


    Getting rid of the man was easy. I tracked him down and slit his throat. My dull scissors made a mess as I dug into the open wound locating his vocal box. It wasn¡¯t deep and I was careful to not cut the two main veins, so his blood loss was minimal compared to a normal slit throat. I also cut his tongue to shreds and left the man bleeding for the next three hours. His body writhed on the floor but I left out of disgust. The last I heard of the incident, he was in the hospital recovering and no suspects.


    Ms. Wadsworth exited my room. ¡°He is doing well. What would you like me to do next?¡±


    ¡°Figure out the bus routine.¡± I said. ¡°Get back to me on that when you can.¡±


    Ms. Wadsworth nodded and shuffled from my apartment. Alone, I found my way around the apartment doing small tasks such as making tea, and listening to music. I had found after my experience from picking my mother from the home that I preferred slow and low cello music. It helped that my computer could take demands from spoken word otherwise I would have been helpless trying to click links without sight.


    The hum of the stringed instrument vibrated my ears and I was swallowed into mindless chaos. I began to feel my chest lift, and an emotion slowly washed over me. An emotion of fear. The shallow feeling engulfed me and for the next three hours I sat silent.


    When the looping song ended I could hear a faint knocking. I removed the headphones I was wearing and listened.


    More, soft knocking.


    ¡°Boy, what is it you need?¡± I called to the closet behind me.


    A muffled noise could be heard along with a struggle, but it calmed after he realized I wasn¡¯t there to release him. ¡°Relax child, in a few days everything will be over. You will be free and I will be on my way.¡± More silence followed and I suddenly remembered an intention I had.


    I told my computer to open a blank document and I began to type from muscle memory. The keys clicking and my inspiration to write this letter overflowed.


    For the rest of the week, I worked on selling the last of all the furniture in my apartment. I put in my final payment and work was informed that I would officially not be returning. Ms. Wadsworth explained to me the layout of the bus route and I told her my intentions of how the day would be.


    She was silent but understanding. Afterall, it was the only way she would be able to be free. Free from me.


    I was honest with myself. I regretted not having more time.


    ¡°Boy, do this and your parents will be saved. You don¡¯t have to come back, but remember that if you tell anyone, I have people who can take care of everything for me.¡± The boy breathed heavily and left to fulfill his duty. In his hands was a file full of my brother¡¯s writings, a detailed list of all my victims, and a personal letter to Emilia.


    I heard my watch click a distinct note and I knew it was three forty-five.


    ¡°Time to head out Ms. Wadsworth.¡± I held out my arm and she took it leading me from the room. Its emptiness was something I could relate with. No meaning, no hidden passion. No underlying emotions to be found, just an empty space that could never be filled until someone else took control of it.


    I was led down the familiar halls. Brought down to the main floor by the elevator and finally led down the  stairs that entered out onto the street.


    ¡°Twelve paces forward. It was a pleasure working for you Mr. Cliff.¡±  Ms. Wadsworth bowed.


    I clasped Ms. Wadsworth¡¯s hand and brought it to my lips. ¡°Thank you, I hope you can get away cleanly.¡±


    Within her hand she held an envelope containing more money than one would know what to do with. She bowed and turned walking down the street, holding the money and a single briefcase.


    The boy by this time was entering the New York''s Psychologist building. Feeling rushed, he asked the woman at the front desk for Emilia C. Swafford.


    ¡°I have an important letter for her from Mr. Gregory Cliff. Please, it¡¯s urgent.¡± The boy panted. The woman at the desk was surprised and a little uneasy at his appearance but she told him the way to her room.


    I, however, took my first step forward after hearing the buses break from the far left on the street. In my right pocket was my round glasses. I was wearing my casual grey suit and my hair was slicked back. A smile plastered on my face.


    ¡°Ms.Emilia? I have this for you!¡± The boy cried entering the room giving no thought of knocking. ¡°It¡¯s my duty to give this to you.¡±


    He placed it within her hands before she could get a word in. Emilia was with a client and going through paperwork, but when she saw my name on the envelope, she quickly excused herself and went into the room next door.  Interestingly enough, it was the room where she and I were first introduced.


    My second and third steps were slow, and I brushed by people who scoffed at me. The air was cool and I imagined a dark world.


    Dear Emilia C Swafford,


    My lovely therapist.


    It has been an honor talking with you over this past year. Your patience, anger, frustration and wittiness is something I always seemed to¡­ enjoy?


    Fourth, fifth and sixth step. Halfway there.


    You should be proud of me. After all, I was able to keep it quiet for so long.


    And you should be proud of yourself.


    After all, you are now the first person to have a written copy of my confession.


    Let me give you a brief review of everything that has happened to me.


    I was born and separated from my brother. I grew up with emotion to some extent, and I loved killing insects and animals because it made me feel powerful.


    My mother abused me until the day she was taken away.


    My father committed suiced in front of me, and I had to continue my life with no one.


    I recall a day where I suddenly felt nothing.


    No more emotions¡­  no more pain.


    I was only taught that Society is what I needed to be like.


    ¡®We do not change society, we must simply blend in.¡¯


    I murdered those I deemed unfit for this world.


    I murdered pests, men and women who I saw as worthless.


    Many I could''ve killed, many I could¡¯ve tortured.


    So many that deserved to die.


    But I realized something.


    When I think back to all those people, the faces of men, women and children.


    I hear their screams.


    I tasted their tears.


    I felt their deaths.


    It was so amazing to feel that adrenaline going through my veins¡­


    It was so amazing to feel something again.


    Seventh to tenth step and I was now to the curve. But I still had two more steps to go. Two more steps til I could leave. The bus was only a few car lengths away now and the crowd to cross the street was too distracted by their phones to notice my intentions.


    I only regret one thing.


    That I wasn¡¯t there to see my mother die.


    I told her I would be there to watch as her soul went to Hell.


    A place I believe I too, may end up at.


    Though, perhaps the Lord will have mercy over me.


    Afterall, I was only doing my job.


    To help society.


    You were doing it too my dear.


    I know what you did. I figured it out. Your crime and mistake.


    Your husband cheated on you with the woman at the Daycare. You found out and set it up with cops. They covered for you. You got into the accident while they murdered him and they took your daughter to live with your sister.


    You made sure your own son died too. But you weren¡¯t expecting to lose your legs. You forged the devorce papers and gained all his money and wealth.


    Only to continue living in the same town.


    To continue with your job of ¡®helping¡¯ people.


    Darling, you are just as twisted as I.


    Perhaps we will meet in Hell.


    I wish I could tell you all this in person but I realised that you wouldn¡¯t be able to do what you wanted with this information. For you too would be locked up for crimes. The exposure of those cops would be revealed and you would lose everything you worked so hard to achieve. I send you this letter knowing that you will do what you want.


    Yourself, or society.


    Perhaps saving yourself would be helping society. I guess I will never know...


    -Mr. G. Cliff


    I took out my glasses and they found their respected place on the bridge on my nose. Then, I took my final two steps forward. I didn¡¯t even hear the horn of the bus sound. I never heard it¡¯s breaks, the gasps from the crowd I never even heard a peep.


    My life was taken away and the only thought I had was perhaps now I could truly be free from being this faulted perfection.


    Emilia rocked back in her chair as she sat by the floral couch. A dumbstruck expression etched itself  upon her face. Gathering her thoughts, she pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Before lighting the end of her obsession she burned an edge of my letter.


    She flicked it to the floor and watched it burn. She then wheeled herself to a tall black cabinet and pulled out my file. Inside was a large amount of papers and records. She also pulled out a blank page and grabbed her pen.


    Mr. Gregory Cliff,


    You are by far the rarest case I¡¯ve ever had the possibility to work on. You solved my secret, committed your own murders and lived through hell. You survived but I now realize what the cost was.


    You are a monster.


    I will always remember your name.


    You believed you were perfection and perhaps you were.


    But to the world you were an indent.


    A mistake.


    A mark of evil many looked upon with disgust.


    Though I believe you are a mix of the two. A compromise on death.


    Till we meet again,


    From your therapist and perhaps friend,


    -Ms. Emila