The cell isn't like a prison in a foreign country. The attendants don't give me raw meat to devour and leave me to contract a fatal disease so they don't have to care for me anymore. I'm wallowing in my own subconscious, desiring human contact or at least communication. That's inhuman enough, and it might be enough to kill me. Without the use of disease. All I see are four white walls staring back at me with nothing to say to me but, 'Clear your mind of past life. This is what is now, and this is what will be'.
The voices refuse to listen, giving me a dire headache. The attendants encourage me to talk to other cell mates, but the whole ordeal isn't really for me. I mean, why would I want to form a relationship with any of them? They shake their cage bars and climb on the walls like animals. Basically, they are all deranged. I'm beginning to think I am too, but at least I resist instability. I see a sliver of blonde hair pass through a space between one of my neighbor's cell bars. Jen.
"You're not even slightly brought down by the fact that I might be on death row?" I call out.
"No, seeing as how many people you've put there already!" I grind my teeth, taking in the uncomfortable pressure. I've given up trying to convince her of my innocence. It's not worth it to waste breath that could be spent collaborating with an attorney. Where is my attorney anyway?
"Where is my attorney?" I demand.
"Like they're going to get you out your predicament." She chortles, nearing me.
"Thanks for the encouragement." I beam fakely. Jen pulls the bench, which is placed directly in front of the cell, closer to the bars. "Oh what a grand predicament it is! I don't even know who you are anymore. Honestly, I couldn't have predicted this outcome in the slightest. And to believe you almost swept me off my feet that one night. So do you actually know French or was it all just a hoax for a one night stand?"
"Will you ever find out? I don't think soooooo . . . " Landon, tell her to go away. Tell her!
"Stop, Landon! Stop it!" I exclaim, digging my short, stubby fingernails into the cinder block walls. Little dots of blood are drawn from the small scratches that appear on my fingertips.
"What?" Jen questions. "Whatever. I don't care about the French at this point. It's meaningless compared to everything else. What I do care about is how you managed to visit all these crime scenes when they were of your doing? How do sick minded serial killers like you live with themselves?" My face is half concealed by a shadow and my bloody fingers dangle at my sides.
"I can answer that actually. Thanks for the compliment–"
"Is it just me or has some of Oliver rubbed off on you?" Jen asks.
"Maybe I acquired a part of each of you. Your emotion and his-" I paused when Jen sent me a death glare.
"Please don't say conscience. Oliver may have had some faults, but at least he knew what is was to be a good friend. That is before you stabbed him in cold blood. How did you get pulled so far in to this little game you call insanity?"
"It's not my game. It's his game! The hooded man has been committing all these murders! Hell, he probably even murdered my parents! The culprit fox wants me in here! He's always two steps ahead, and now he's got me right where he wants me!" That's right. And you can't escape what's right in front of you. He could just kill you now, but why not wait it out? Why not sweat waiting for him to pull out a slick blade? Why limit suffering? "Because suffering doesn't benefit anyone! Get out!"
Jen scrambles to her feet, grabbing her paperwork hastily in the process. That's right. Run. And don't come back. "Don't come back, please. Leave me be." I slide down to the floor, sweat beads dripping in a steady rhythm against the concrete floor. I turn my head slowly towards the mirror and find it perfectly still. It's perfectly unaltered except for the fact that I'm staring back at myself through it. I'm staring back at my sketchy self.
"Oh, are you going to start hallucinating now, Landon? Either that or I've been hallucinating this whole time. Go ahead, mirror Landon. Talk back to me. What so you have to say?" Then I just realize that I'm talking nonsense. I'm talking crazy. "Crazy is as crazy does . . . " I trudge towards the mirror, cocking my head to the side. I stop right in front of it, bringing my fingers to slide down the glass. After scratching my head, my fingers slide down the glass in front of it a second time. Only they're coated in something red. I touch the top of my damp head and look down at the blood, and then I do notice the metallic scent heavy in the air. My eyes roll back in my head at the sight of fractured glass, falling in pieces to the floor. "This isn't a hoax."
"What did I hear in there?" A guard moves like a snake to the front of my cell where I'm lying motionless on the floor. "Medic! I need a medic now!" She calls in. "An inmate is bleeding to death! Oh how in the hell–" She gags as she opens the cell gates and holds the hem of her shirt up to my bleeding skull. I grab her hand forcefully and pick up a shard of glass closest to me.
"He's coming! He's coming! You don't understand! He's coming!" I stick the sharpest end of the glass in her thigh and crawl to the open exit as she screams in pain. Other guards file in yelling random nonsense. "I have to get away . . . " Someone lifts me up, and I feel the glass leave my grasp. "I have to get away . . . hooded man . . . mirror . . . bad . . . " Hushed words leave the mouths of the officers when they inspect the broken mirror.
"He needs to be treated then moved."
"Maximum security?"
"No. Someplace much more suitable." The world goes dark soon after my limp body is being dragged. Reality leaves me like it did even when I was completely conscious. He's coming.
YOU ARE READING
The Counter Born (#Wattys2016)
Mystery / Thriller(Completed) "'Do you remember that night? Do you remember that night, Landon?'" The Streepers die instantly from a fatal car accident along with their son hours later in the hospital, or so he thinks. Landon amazingly pulls through, but with long te...
