A/n: Okay this story is just something I came up with and just for fun, I just wrote what my mind told me to write down. I'm not even sure if it makes sense sooo... read at your own risk.
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I was heading towards a room at the end of the hallway. I was scared, of course, I have never in a million years thought that I would be given a project such as this. This will be my biggest achievement yet.
I fixed myself as I was face to face with the door of Room 24. The men with long white robes opened the door and I got in the dimly lit room. There was a girl staring at me and I would be lying if I wouldn't say she's beautiful. She was sitted courtly, and gestured for me to sit on the chair across from her. As the door closed the whole room became eerie.
"Hi," I broke the silence as I slowly head towards the chair and place my bag on the table.
She just continued to stare at me. I was beginning to feel my hands sweating.
"I am-"
"I know who you are," she cut in. Even with such an angelic voice, the aura was demonic. I cleared my throat and began to speak again.
"So you must be aware why I'm here?" I asked. She kept that careful stare before giving a slight nod.
"Of course, a lot of people like you have already come here. The same intentions, the same questions," she sneered. I shivered at the coldness of her voice, I don't blame her though. She's probably the talk of the whole town. "They all leave right away though, perhaps fear took over them," she continued.
"Well I assure you that I will not give up," I spoke confidently even though I was shaking inside.
"I applaud your bravery," she mocked.
I ignored her tone and took out everything I needed and set it on the table. She eyed the papers and files in front of her; I was busy looking for my pen until she spoke up.
"Do you believe them?" she asked almost as if she was desperate for me to answer no.
"Pardon?" She stopped staring at the papers and looked at me with those emotionless eyes.
"Do you believe this?" she asked once more but her voice was now monotoned.
I was not sure if the articles are what she was referring to or the stories the people have filed in general.
"The articles? To tell you honestly, I do. Articles are the real deal, you know everything there and it's written by the people who actually investigated, researched and studied about the certain topic. What's not to believe?" I answered but I was doubting if that was what she wanted to hear so I continued. "But if you're talking about the people then no. They only know what they heard of and pass it down to the next person."
Her eyes were blank and she was quiet for a long moment until she caught eye of the interrogation paper I prepared. From her lap, she took out her hands, which was handcuffed, and reached for the paper. As she got it she read the contents. A moment later she spoke up.
"Don't ask me these questions." she told me sternly. I frowned, I worked hard on making the questions not personal enough.
"What do you mean? It's the perfect questions for the arti-"
"All these just ask why," I gave her an annoyed look. Isn't that the reason for all this?
"What if I'll answer you with an I don't know?" she continued.
"What? Why wouldn't you know? You, yourself, were there," I scoffed.
"The questions are just the outside story," I was silent for a moment which gave her the cue to continue. "The articles aren't everything. They're still just opinions from journalists. They sugarcoat the most important details and blind everyone with a stupid made up opinion. Sometimes it's not just about the 'why' because anyone can give you false details; why did it happen and what happened are two different things."
She was so calm, it was scaring the hell out of me. Then what she said actually hit me. The articles I read about her were all just an outside point of view, no one really knows what really happened cause they all just ask her why she did it.
I get it now and at the same time I don't. I don't want to pry into personal stuff because I know it's leading there and as a journalist, we stop when we know what we needed. But I really want to understand the whole mess without getting involved in the mess.
"What do you want me to ask you then," I stuttered.
Suddenly I just feel like leaving. Now I know what she meant by they all leave right away.
She provokes people to ask her personal stuff, and believe me when I say that it's not easy to do that especially to someone like her.
"Anything you want to know," she smiled bitterly. I know she can sense the fear that's overwhelming me. "Are you scared? Don't worry, I don't think I can escape these shackles that easily." she chuckled with no hint of humor as she raised her securely tied up hands.
I breathed heavily and gained my composure. I'm going to do this.
"I reckon this is the time the 'people like me' ran out from that door huh? But I'm not leaving," she slightly raised her eyebrows obviously taken aback but hid it immediately with another blank expression.
"Very brave," she sighed. She remained to stare at me until her face became serious and honestly, it was enough to almost make me pee myself. "What makes you think I'll tell everything? Do you really think I'm going to let everyone know why I killed my brother?"
The way she said it. Do you really think I'm going to let everyone know why I killed my brother?
It's like she's afraid.
"Don't you want justice from all those accusations?"
"Dealing with those false beliefs are far better than them actually knowing the truth, because if they do there's no way they'll leave me alone."
She stared at me intently while she said it. Making sure that I really understand what she's saying. And I do exactly.
So I piled up all my papers properly and put it neatly in my bag. She leaned back as I reached for my bag and put it on the floor.
"There," I said with confidence in my voice as I also showed her my recorder and threw it across the room. She frowned. "It's not a journalist's business to pry on personal matters and share it in public, but I'm no journalist right now, I'm a friend who's willing to listen and keep everything a secret."
"You're really doing this? What, just to know everything?" she chuckled.
"Just to make sure that it won't be haunting you anymore. From the way you say that you're alright about the lies means that the truth hurts more. I might not know you that well but I know when people are having a hard time. So please, trust me." I pleaded.
I want to know everything but I also want her to feel like someone's there for her because from the looks of it she rarely gets visitors.
"Trusting a stranger?" she asked but somehow the question was for her. She sighed and put on that blank expression. "What do you want to know."
It was not a question, more like a command if that's even possible.
"What happened?" I stared at her seriously.
You know that feeling where your heart stopped because the love of your life said she'll never leave you?
Well that was what I felt when she smiled at me. It was small but I know it was geniune and hell did she look ravishing.
And my heart didn't stop because I like her or I love her. No, that is not my intention here. My heart stopped because a murderer, a killer, a criminal, an outcast was willing to share something to me.
It stopped out fear.
Somehow, forgetting to write the article and just hear her out was going to be biggest achievement ever...
And this is only just the beginning.
