Sinful Desires

𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬

Isaiah's pov:

DING! DING! DING!

The loud siren wailed, and its red light flashed wildly, making the room feel even more chaotic. My hands shook as I stood frozen in place. The gray wall that had been so ordinary before was now smeared with bright red blood and pieces of flesh. The sharp smell of blood filled the air, and I couldn't look away from the mess in front of me.

BANG!

The door burst open, and the chief stormed in, flanked by several officers. Chaos erupted as some screamed in shock while others lunged at me, slamming me to the floor, my head smacking against the cold ground. "You sick, twisted bastard," the chief muttered, his voice low and filled with disgust, as his eyes darted around the room. I shifted my gaze, catching sight of the third therapist's severed head. Their lifeless eyes rolled back, and blood gushed from their gaping mouth. For a brief moment, their bodies still twitched, as if refusing to accept death.

When I had done the same to the second therapist, he was already lifeless by the time I drove his own broken bone into him. The memory flashed briefly as the chief grabbed me, his hand slick with blood—blood that wasn't his. My white shirt was soaked in it, the crimson stains spreading like a morbid badge of guilt. "That's it," the chief muttered, his voice dripping with restrained fury. "You're going straight to solitary. I'm not losing another goddamn therapist to your brutal madness." His grip tightened as if trying to hold back his own rage, but his eyes betrayed his horror.

The cell door slid open with a loud metallic clang, and the guards dragged me out. Every convict in the hall froze, their eyes wide with fear, some retreating further into their cells as I passed. Paramedics rushed past us, carrying corpse bags and medical equipment; their faces pale and grim. The murmurs of the inmates reached my ears, their hushed voices blending into an unintelligible buzz of unease.

Suddenly, I was shoved onto a cold metal bench, its surface biting through my clothes. In front of me was a large mirror, its reflection confronting me like an unwelcome truth. For a moment, the urge to stand and smash my skull into the glass overwhelmed me. Instead, I stared at my reflection, taking in the streaks of blood smeared across my face, neck, and cheek. It wasn't mine. 

The chief left me under the watch of two officers, who silently went about cleaning the blood off my face and helping me out of my stained clothes. Their hands trembled slightly, but they worked quickly, avoiding my gaze. Once they were done, the chief returned, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression colder than before.

"Because you're a threat to everyone in this godforsaken building, we're transferring you elsewhere. Far away from this city," he said firmly, his voice edged with finality. "You'll be incarcerated in complete isolation—no human contact until further notice." A low, bitter laugh escaped me as I leaned back slightly. 

"If you knew what was going to happen, you never should've put me in that room with that idiot. This isn't on me. You set him up, not me." My words were sharp and deliberate, dripping with mockery. Before I could say another word, a rough hand snapped my head to the side, the force of the slap leaving my cheek stinging. Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the chief's unyielding glare.I didn't feel any pain, but I did taste blood.

That jackass punched me.

"Listen, you worthless scum," the chief spat, his voice seething with anger. "I didn't set up those therapists for murder. They came to help your dumbass. If you ever get the chance to see another therapist for help and you kill them, I'll personally put you on death row." With those words, he let me go, and I slumped back down on the bench. The tension in the room thickened, and the chief turned to the mirror, fixing his appearance.

"You should be grateful I'm not seeing anyone because I'm a threat," I muttered, glancing up at him. The chief's head whipped around, his face twisted in disgust, his eyes burning with contempt. "You should be grateful you're still alive, even after all the monstrosity you've caused in this damn city and prison," the chief sneered, his voice cold and menacing. "Otherwise, you'd have met Dahmer by now."

Two cops entered the room, speaking quietly with the chief. The exchange was brief, and then he grabbed me, yanking me to my feet with a sharp nod. I was shoved forward, my legs unsteady as they guided me down the hall and toward the basement. The heavy back door swung open, revealing a white van with tinted black windows. The sound of the door creaking echoed in the empty space, the van looming ominously in front of me.

The driver unlocked the back door of the van, and two cops stepped inside, guiding me in after them. I sat down, glancing around at the cramped, dimly lit space. The door slammed shut behind us with a heavy thud, sealing me inside with the two officers and the driver. The engine roared to life, and the van jolted forward, its tires screeching on the road as we began to move. After what felt like an hour, the van slowed to a stop. 

The driver and the two cops got out, leaving me alone for a moment. The back door swung open, and the officers gestured for me to follow. I stepped out into the chilly air, my eyes scanning the surroundings. I saw only an eerie silence and the dark outline of an abandoned building in the distance, its broken windows staring back at me like empty eyes. Before the two cops could lead me inside the building, I came to a complete halt, my feet freezing in place.

"I need to piss," I said. "You can pee inside," one of the cops remarked. "I'd rather you keep me in these cuffs than have one of you accompany me. If you don't want to end up like those therapists, do me a favor, undo my pants, and let me piss," I said. "Is that a threat?" the cop asked. "No, I'm being realistic," I said. The two cops exchanged glances as one of them undid my pants and pulled them down. I stopped them before the cop touched my dick.

"Don't mess with my cock. Turn around," I warned. The cops turned around, grumbling. I backed up and pissed on the ground. I finished in a matter of seconds. I turned around and put my cock back inside my underwear. "Done," I said. The cop yanked my pants up and pushed me inside the building. My eyes scanned the dimly lit space, catching sight of a few people sitting in rooms that had no doors. "I thought I was going to be incarcerated?" I asked.

"You're not staying on this floor," one of the cops replied flatly, grabbing me by the arm and turning me down a narrow hallway. We climbed the stairs, and the door to the floor above was locked. The cop took out a key, unlocking it with a sharp click. The corridor beyond was dim and unnervingly silent, as if the place itself were shrouded in danger. There was only one room on this floor. The cop led me into that room and flicked on the light. 

The space was cramped, barely more than a box. A bed sat against one wall, stripped of sheets, with nothing but a thin mattress. Next to it was a toilet and a small sink, the cracked mirror above reflecting the harsh light. The starkness of the room made it feel colder, more isolating. The door had no glass, only a small aperture at the bottom for passing food.

"I thought this was solitary," I muttered, my voice tinged with disbelief as I looked around at the bare, suffocating surroundings. "This is. It's just not your ideal one," one of the cops stated, shoving me inside with a sharp push. "So I'm going to be in handcuffs then?" I asked, my voice steady but laced with frustration. The cops turned back without responding, slamming the door shut behind them. One of them called out, "Go to the opening." 

I walked over, feeling the coldness of the room settle deeper into my bones. When I reached the small aperture in the door, I turned around, pressing my wrists against the metal, the rough edges of the cuffs digging into my skin.

CLICK!

My wrists were no longer bound. As footsteps echoed from the stairs, I rubbed them, feeling the dull ache where the cuffs had once been. I leaned against the door, taking in the smell of the room. It was horrible, stale, musty, and faintly metallic, like something had been left to rot for far too long. But what else could I expect?

A terrible setting for a bad, vicious, mentally crazy inmate.