The Darker Side of Me

Mistakes

 They were afraid. Nothing in particular happens, but I know now why the cuffs have been increased. They think I am utterly, completely mad. I play the part, laughing at random intervals, taking pleasure in pain. And it frightens them.

Soon enough, the guards dance around me, panic in their eyes. I begin taking joy in that fact, then spending long nights wrestling with my mind, reminding myself of who I am. With each passing day, I worried that was only who I used to be.

No tenders want to feed me, because they never know when I might snap my teeth dangerously close to their soft fingers. The guards no longer take me to showers, for fear of what I might do to the others. So I languish in unwashed, starving misery, sacrificing even my comfort for the role that is now all-consuming.

Many days, or maybe weeks or months after I 'become' mad, I am removed from the slab and immediately bound in shining white electrope. One of my captors keeps a thumb on the button he holds in his palm, ready to shock me if need be. I pretend I am in a compliant mood, though I do retain an unsettling smile. Every time a guard glances my way, he or she immediately finds something more pressing to turn their focus to. I am escorted down a dreary hallway I've never seen, and led through a metal door labeled "Warden's Office."

Just within is my old friend Commander Teague. He stands with his back to us, gazing out the bay window and to the sea beyond. In full uniform, hands clasped at his back and the sun silhouetting his figure, he radiates leadership. His chin-length hair is down today, instead of tied back like when he captured me. He flicks his left hand in an obvious gesture of dismissal. The soldier holding my right arm shifts.

"Are you sure, Commander?" he asks, voice deep and gravelly. "She... she's far gone, sir."

"Really?" Teague replies, pivoting to face us for the first time. "She appears quite sane."

I grin wildly, but my mind is racing. Has he found me out? What will become of my plan now?

There is only one thing to do. I flash a crazy light deep within my eyes. Then, breath heaving, I let myself slip fully into the role. Teague continues to consider me.

"Perhaps not," he decides. "But no fear, Ramírez. I can handle her. I understand madness better than most, after all."

The guard hurriedly drops my arm, relief flashing across his expression.

"Very well then," he says with a formal salute. After handing the button to the commander, he and his companions leave, a touch too quickly.

"They fear you," the commander says, amusement pulling at his insufferably attractive features. As myself, I would have responded all brash and sudden. But I am no longer myself.

"They should," I respond, my voice menacing. I smile so wide that my lips almost split.

"Perhaps so," he agrees, striding forward and stopping mere inches away. He seizes my chin and jerks my head up. His lips hover so close to mine that he could've kissed me. "But I do not," he hisses. Like a thunderbolt, his other hand shoots out and shoves me toward the warden's desk.

Had I not stepped fully into the role, I would've blown my cover. As it is, I sail non- committedly through the air. Pain lances through my back and still-healing ribs when I strike the wood. The sudden collision is enough to jar the electropes loose. I pull my hand free and use it to shove the remainder of my bondage down, down, down, until I maneuver my legs out and am truly free for the first time in weeks. I throw my head back and cackle.

He thinks he can stop me by hurting me? Pain is my constant companion, the only thing I hold dear. I stagger to my feet and rip off a plank of wood that hangs splintered from the ruined desk.

His muttered, "Good, good..." trails off as I round to face him with my improvised club.

I charge and he stumbles back, panic darting into his eyes fast as a minnow, then exiting just as quickly. A switch slams into my calves. My knees buckle and I fall to the expensive hardwood floor. Teague, composure regained, nods at his unseen rescuer.

"Thank you, Warden," he says smoothly.

"So you are scared of me," I say, a lazy twist to my lips.

A heavily muscled, deeply tanned pair of arms forces my head to the floor, where I lie with the side of my face pressed into the cool wood. Teague continues as if he hasn't heard.

"I'll be taking her with me." I can't see his face, but the warden's muscles relax. I shift experimentally, giggling at the whole production, and they tighten again.

"Please do," he says. "And the madman bonus?"

I hear the commander slap what sounds like a hefty bundle of notes onto the ruined desk. The warden slowly releases me, and Teague grabs my bicep and roughly pulls me to my feet. He extends his left hand for the warden's switch, which, after a brief hesitation from the seven-foot man, is relinquished to him. He taps it against my head, a silent warning: Don't try anything. I will use this.

"Do you need an escort? I can have some of my forces guard you," the warden offers. "She's obviously very dangerous," he adds warily, surveying my unhinged smile.

"Oh, no, that's quite all right." Commander Teague smiles coldly. "I'm plenty dangerous myself."