Psychopathy

Prologue- Baby Psycho

The young man sat in the passenger seat of the car, pointedly ignoring everything his father was trying to say to him. It wasn't like his father was saying anything he hadn't heard before, and when he realized he was about to get the same speech for the umpteenth time, he had quickly tuned out. That speech was old, boring, and monotonous: three things the young man hated more than anything else. He turned his gaze to the window, hoping something out there would catch his interest.

"Son," his father said, but he didn't turn his gaze away from the window. The identical buildings they were passing by had a better chance of interesting him than anything his father had to say did. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and finally, he turned his head to look at his father. "Thank you for coming with me today."

"You didn't give me a choice," he replied curtly, shrugging his father's hand off of his shoulder.

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? If I recall correctly, your little stipulation required that I-"

"I only said that you have to visit her once a week. I didn't say you had to be with me when you did. You can visit her completely on your own and still hold up your end of the deal," his father said, the slight rise in volume at the last sentence telling him that he was getting aggravated. Good. Aggravation led to anger and lashing out. It was always interesting to watch his father's calm demeanor finally break. Some would call him a bad son for pushing his father's buttons in such ways, but he didn't really care about that. It was entertaining, and that was all he cared about.

"You say that as if I'd actually go visit her on my own," he responded, and his father sighed. "The only reason I'm visiting her at all is because you told me I had to if I wanted that trust fund. I don't get why it's that important that I see her."

"She's your mother, and she wants to see you."

"Maybe she shouldn't have gotten herself locked up then."

"She's not 'locked up'. You know that. She's just getting help," his father insisted, and he started looking out the window again.

"She's on a set routine every day, has a long list of rules she has to follow, and isn't allowed to leave. That sounds like she's locked up to me."

"I'm not going to argue this with you. If you want your trust, you'll continue to see your mother, with or without me, once a week until she's released or you turn 21. Whichever comes first," his father said, ending the conversation and turning his attention back to the road. The endless one-way roads were about to start, and while he loved them- they kept things more interesting- his father wasn't as much of a fan.

For the rest of the ride, he entertained himself by counting the number of blue cars he saw parked along the street. It was a simple, unsophisticated way of entertainment, but it was better than nothing. It at least distracted him of the drabness of what he was about to do. God, how was he going to get through three years of this? How was he going to get through having to visit his mother, something he really didn't want to do, every week for three years? That was 156 visits. Maybe he'd get lucky and his mother would be released before then so he didn't have to go visit her.

Is the trust fund really worth that amount of aggravation? he wondered, before internally sighing. There was a lot of money in that trust fund. All he had to do was get through the next three years, and then it would be his, and he'd never have to see either of his parents again. He could do whatever he wanted. With that amount of money, he could do anything. The thought was appealing, he had to admit. That level of freedom was more appealing than anything in his life ever had been.

Eventually their car pulled into a familiar parking lot, and the young man sighed. He'd been here a few times, of course, when his mother had first been locked up two and a half years before. After those few times, he had quit visiting. He simply didn't care enough to do so. But then his father had held that trust over his head, forcing him to start visiting again. So there he was, about to enter that damn mental hospital again for the first time in two years.