The archive of the forgotten

Foxglove

I sit down in front of the cell. The boy cannot be older than seventeen. I look at him as he slowly lifts his head and looks in my eyes. He smiles, he looks as if he is still high. He probably is. "Good morning Duncan, that's your name right?" He nods "Yes, Duncan Jones" He says with a surprisingly posh accent. I frown, "I did not expect such an accent from you Duncan." He chuckles. "My father is a bestselling author did you expect me to have a cockney accent?" "No but your mother was american. You've lived here all your life. I expected you to" "Sound like an american? My father would never allow it. He would even allow my mothers language to be spoken in his presence." I write something down.

"So duncan, do you know why I am here?" he nods. "You are here to examine if I am deranged enough to have killed my mother." I smile. "That is one way to say it Duncan. I am here to look if you are fit to stand trial." he smiles. "How do you knw I am not lying?" "I have my ways" I say but to be honest I cannot read this boy, he is fully blank everytime he says. His dark hair in the way of seeing his bright blue eyes. "Have you ever met a psychopath doctor?" I smile and nod. "Several duncan, I study them. You can just call me Zeke." "Doctor will be perfectly fine." He answers. As if he wants to keep this proffesonal. This is a strange inividual.

"Tell me about your family Duncan." I say as I start to write. "My father says I have potential to be a great writer. Which is why he planned to make me study literature instead of forensic psychology." "What do you think of your father?" "Pompous fucking bastard." He says with a smirk. "I have always been a mommy's boy." He says while smiling. "I am so thirsty." He says. "Here" I give him my bottle of lemonade. "Thank you" He says while taking a sip. "And your other family members?" I ask. e smiles. "I had a older brother who ran away. No idea where he has gone. Maybe he is dead too" I frown as I look at him but he begins to laugh. I smile. "Good joke" I say nervously while scribbling something down. "And my mom, she was always a ray of sunlight, she is extremely beautiful. She is the most intelectual person I know. I always wondered why she even married my dad. To be honest I see nothing interesting or attractive about him. He should be the one dead." "Did you mean to kill your dad?" He chuckles. "Even if that would be the truth dear doctor I would not tell you at all." I take a deep breath. "Of course you would not."

I smile "So what do you know about plants." "Learned everything from my mother. I have an expertise in it. I love determining what kind of plant something is, I love knowing what i can eat when i see it on a hike." "What do you know about foxglove." "Perfect poison, it tastes sweet. So if you put it in some kind of soda it is perfect for a quick death." I nod. "And your mother taught you that." "Indeed she did, but internet could tell that to anyone, just like it tells people how efficient antifreeze is." I chuckle.

After about an hour talking to this strange soul. I do not fully understand him while Ive always been able to understand my patients very easily even when they are absolutely deranged. I understand all my patients, all the psychopaths all the sociopaths. I understand the way a mind isn't supposed to work but this young man is an enigma, it is almost as if he is pulling wool over my eyes. I want to understand him. What is real about you duncan and what is a lie?  I stand up and leave him. "Doctor?" he says, almost as if he is begging me for something. I turn around. He stand up and walks to the bad. "Yes?" I say, wondering what he wants. "If I would tell you I did not do it. Would you believe it?" I look down. "I do not know Duncan."

I put the file on my desk and pick up my pen. I look at the glass bottle of pills, they are filled with cyanide. I smile, not yet. Duncan is far too interesting. I will study him, he doesn't need to die or at least as long as I still can get some data out of him. He won't die. Even if his father says so. I am the harbinger of death in these prison walls, no one tells me what to do. I run the clock of time here and it has not stopped for Duncan. But beware duncan, one step and you are in the gutter.

I wanted to write a story about an angel of death or a deranged doctor. Which I think has succeeded. I already had the first few sentences to start the book but I didn't have a lot so I have not a lot to describe it. Though both of these people believe they are playing the other but do they really?