Killer, Killer, Kill Her (A Luke Hemmings Fanfic) {MAJOR EDITING}

Therapy

"So, Luke. Do you know why you were referred to my office today?"

I sat in a black leather seat, facing another seat, almost identical to mine. A man--- Dr. Benson--- stared at me, clipboard in his hand. He had brown hair with silver tips around the edges. His brown eyes stared into mine, through the lens of his bifocals. He wore a white button down and slacks. His black dress shoes were scuffed around the edges and he had just finished polishing them, from the look and state of the material. And his nails were cracked; broken. He brought the pen to his mouth and waited for me to answer his question.

"Yes." I said, as I pulled my lip into my mouth, messing with the black hoop that was embedded into my skin.

"Would you care to elaborate?" He moved his hands as if showing me the room.

"I guess it's not nice to say certain things." I answered shortly.

"What do you mean by certain things?"

"I think you know, Doc. It's in my file." I jerked my chin, motioning him to look at the bulging black book.

"Perhaps I do. Humor me."

"Most people don't think it's funny." He pursed his lips and waited for me to continue. "I have these voices in my head that tell me to do things. Things that could be considered bad. And I listen. In fact I enjoy it. I look forward to the actions and deeds I get to perform. Sometimes they yell." I dropped my voice. "Other times they whisper."

"What kind of things do they ask of you?"

"There are about 7 billion people in the world. And about 100,000 people die of suicide. Approximately 45 murders are committed each day. And the police have killed over 5,000 of them since 9/11. How does that make you feel?"

"Uneasy. But, we aren't here to talk about me. We're here to talk about you, Luke. How long have these voices been talking to you?"

"Since I was five years old. I remember I was in my bedroom. I was watching the fox and the hound. It was when the bear arrived that I knew that I wanted to do that."

"Do what?"

"Kill."

The doctor wrote something down and sighed. I stared at him, tilting my head to the side. A smile formed on my lips.

"Have you ever gone through with it? Have you ever killed anybody?"

"Yes."

"Who, when, what, where and why?"

"A few girls. A few boys. A couple animals. I've been doing it since I was six. I've moved around a lot. And whenever I move to a new place, I find a new victim. I do it because it's fun. And the voices tell me to. So I obey."

He never said anything else. He sat there, hand beneath his chin, and stared at me. His fingers twirled around the pen, moving from one position to another. His brow furrowed. I could tell he was trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

"Mr. Hemmings. I need to ask you a few simple questions. Answer truthfully please. How do you choose you victims?"

"It depends on a number of factors. Body size. Hair color. Eye color. Gender. Age. Job. Love life. I don't really choose them, Dr. Benson. They come to me." I felt my lips turn up into a smile.

"And how many have you killed?"

"Not enough."

"When do you commit these acts?"

"You really want to know how a magician completes his magic tricks? You wanna skip ahead to the end of the book? Where's the fun in doing that?" Dr. Benson glanced down at his watch.