‹ Prequel: In the Month of May
One-Hundred Days
Day Fourty-Four: Give Up
You give up nothing of your social status of your secret so-called turbulent past, yet of your thoughts you give up everything. You give up every single incriminating and excruciating detail of your thought process, letting every single piece of evidence that stands against you fit perfectly into the jigsaw puzzle of your crime. You keep your name to yourself, create a new one for every city. You give up your thoughts though, your opinions and views, and that is what lets you draw in the people in which you have the most interest. You draw them once you set them in your sights with smiles and honest thoughts about today's society. You strike up conversations based on nothing more than flimsy false identities.
I talked to you the day before the murder, in a coffee shop that I had been going to since I was a teenager. You had stood behind me in line, calm and normal as can be, the only thing that set you apart was that unlike other strangers I had shared this line with before, you didn't keep to yourself. You said hello, asked to sit with me once we had somehow gotten along. We sat across each other in the wall side booth, and you stared out the window as you spoke. We spoke of the weather and the poor taxi service in this city and the rising crime rates. I spoke of the murder that had occurred the week before, of the twenty-year-old woman who had worked at a coffee shop connected to the chain this one was a part of. I saw you flinch when I mentioned her name but I took is as a reaction to the cold air seeping through the suddenly opened doors.
I remember seeing your face on the television, and I remember thinking that the girl you had taken as your own before could have been me.
Except that I was a day early. You kept your indulgent habit of bathing your hands in blood to certain days, days that reminded you of your past. The first day you saw the blood of your own family soaking into the carpet has kept you coming back for more since. You keep everything perfect, down to the second and the means of shedding the skin from bone and blood from veins. You were a serial killer with a purpose; to let that one person know you were still alive, and to let to them know you were coming for them.
I remember visiting you in the jail cell, and you sat there with your head resting on the heels of your hands, eyes focused on the concrete floor below you. You had said that I had no need to visit you, to bother with such a person as you were. I said nothing in return, only waited until the guards placed the metal cuffs around your wrists and ankles and led you to the visiting room.
You kept your hands as far away from me as possible, even when I was sat right next to you. The guards warned me not to get too close, but I knew I was safe, no matter what urges you may have had while I was next to you. You would never break the cycle, despite the fact that you could break free from those chains and these cement walls, even with the heavily-armed guards standing only ten feet away.
You muttered under your breath that I shouldn't have come to see you, that a pretty person like me didn't belong inside of these concrete walls.
You gave up everything to everyone, except for one thing, the one thing that could make or break you despite all of the strength and skill and cunning you had stored inside of you. I moved closer and held your hand in mine. You flinched away but I kept you still near me. I thought to myself of how you were a killer, but how you only were from necessity, and from the things you were forced to witness in a childhood stained by blood.
"You're not a monster, despite what they tell you. A monster wouldn't give up everything they have and know to protect people. They don't know what you did before this, and they have no right to know, it's your memory and your heart. I want to know as much as you would let me, to help you, if I possibly can.
You give up everything to everyone except one thing, and that's the one thing I want to know the most."
You turn away.
"Who are you?"
I talked to you the day before the murder, in a coffee shop that I had been going to since I was a teenager. You had stood behind me in line, calm and normal as can be, the only thing that set you apart was that unlike other strangers I had shared this line with before, you didn't keep to yourself. You said hello, asked to sit with me once we had somehow gotten along. We sat across each other in the wall side booth, and you stared out the window as you spoke. We spoke of the weather and the poor taxi service in this city and the rising crime rates. I spoke of the murder that had occurred the week before, of the twenty-year-old woman who had worked at a coffee shop connected to the chain this one was a part of. I saw you flinch when I mentioned her name but I took is as a reaction to the cold air seeping through the suddenly opened doors.
I remember seeing your face on the television, and I remember thinking that the girl you had taken as your own before could have been me.
Except that I was a day early. You kept your indulgent habit of bathing your hands in blood to certain days, days that reminded you of your past. The first day you saw the blood of your own family soaking into the carpet has kept you coming back for more since. You keep everything perfect, down to the second and the means of shedding the skin from bone and blood from veins. You were a serial killer with a purpose; to let that one person know you were still alive, and to let to them know you were coming for them.
I remember visiting you in the jail cell, and you sat there with your head resting on the heels of your hands, eyes focused on the concrete floor below you. You had said that I had no need to visit you, to bother with such a person as you were. I said nothing in return, only waited until the guards placed the metal cuffs around your wrists and ankles and led you to the visiting room.
You kept your hands as far away from me as possible, even when I was sat right next to you. The guards warned me not to get too close, but I knew I was safe, no matter what urges you may have had while I was next to you. You would never break the cycle, despite the fact that you could break free from those chains and these cement walls, even with the heavily-armed guards standing only ten feet away.
You muttered under your breath that I shouldn't have come to see you, that a pretty person like me didn't belong inside of these concrete walls.
You gave up everything to everyone, except for one thing, the one thing that could make or break you despite all of the strength and skill and cunning you had stored inside of you. I moved closer and held your hand in mine. You flinched away but I kept you still near me. I thought to myself of how you were a killer, but how you only were from necessity, and from the things you were forced to witness in a childhood stained by blood.
"You're not a monster, despite what they tell you. A monster wouldn't give up everything they have and know to protect people. They don't know what you did before this, and they have no right to know, it's your memory and your heart. I want to know as much as you would let me, to help you, if I possibly can.
You give up everything to everyone except one thing, and that's the one thing I want to know the most."
You turn away.
"Who are you?"