There was blood on my hand. It was not mine, I guessed. I looked for a wound, to see if I was bleeding, but I didn't find one. The blood was definitely not mine. I turned around. The first thing which I noticed was a body by my feet. Lots of blood around me. The man was definitely dead, and that I knew when I noticed he wasn't breathing. I didn't recognize him. The man was about my height, had a gold chain around his neck, and he looked like a burglar. I was probably in his own house. Why was I here?. Then, I saw a knife, that too smeared with blood. I was in some room. It was dark; the only source of light was the streetlight outside the window of this room. The night lit up with lights and the loud noise of sirens; police cars. I opened the window and saw that about 20 cars were heading my way. There was a police officer outside the room, pointing a gun at my face.
"Mr. White! Put your hands on the back of your head and stand where you are." The officer had barely completed his sentence that the cars reached here. They shone a light on me, and I did as the officer said. It was a quite a while since I figured out that I was being cornered for the murder of this man, whose face I couldn't recognize. I saw that a few officers, armed, were making an entrance into this shack. I had no chance of escaping, and I knew that even if I had the slightest of chances, the cars would be onto me in no time. So, I stayed put. The armed officers surrounded me, and one of them handcuffed me. I was then taken outside, put into a car and driven to the police station. I spent a night there, and in the morning I was taken to Federal Prison. There I met this man called Bill Sears. He was given to me as a lawyer.
"Your eighth murder in about a month. It must be a habit to move in and out of prison eh?"
"They never caught me before yesterday."
"Ah of course. The old habit of the police- inadequately informing a lawyer. It persists. So tell me. Why did you murder them all?"
"I never wanted to murder them. It just.....happens."
"Uh huh."
"I'll tell you what happens to me. Before I murder them."
"I'm all ears."
"Since about two years ago, I've been feeling hatred in me. I feel a fire in me, which drives me to do things I really don't mean to. It's like something is living inside me. I'm consciously doing things I would never do if I was indeed conscious. Apart from that, I've developed a fear of blood. Honestly, I was never scared of bloodshed. In fact, in a way, I liked fights and bloodshed but in these two years, it's like haemophobia."
"Strange; Considering you've murdered eight people in a year. Go on."
I thought that he wasn't believing me but that didn't matter to me.
"So in each case of these murders, I feel that fire in my hand and head and heart. It increases till it reaches its limit and then I explode. The first thing I know it's that I attack the nearest person near me, and then use any weapon I find near me, and then I kill them. I always faint, after killing them. Every single time. After regaining consciousness, the next thing I see or hear are police officers in their cars at some distance. I know very vaguely that I had done something to them, but till yesterday, I was never sure if I had indeed murdered them. A faint idea of what happened before I fainted, but never sure. I would always run away, and hide."
He seemed way more than intrigued by what I said to him. He pondered over this matter for a long time, and finally he spoke.
"I want you to tell me everything, every single thing, about whatever you remember about all of those murders. Whatever you say may help you in your case. We can try for the insanity plea or-"
"I'm not mad! I'm not mad!"
"I'm sorry. But your story.. It will help you and I need you to tell me everything honestly."
"It's going to take ages. Eight murders."
"I'm sure I have no other work. I have all the time. Begin."
