Again - James Patrick March

Thoughts

Once I had left Mr. March's room, I decided it would be best to go and find my father. Assuming he was in our hotel room, I headed there. The walk was short and I found myself right in front of room 62. I turned the door knob but it was locked. I groaned and began to bang on the door with my good hand. 

"Dad, open up!" I hollered at the door in hopes of him hearing me. I heard movement from inside of the room and soon enough the door was opened. It wasn't a pleasant sight to see Sally standing before me instead of my father. She was blocking me from getting inside the room.

"Your dad's busy, come back later." Sally commanded me. I narrowed my eyes at her. "Go play with some toys," she insisted when I wouldn't budge, "SCRAM!"

"This isn't even your room," I stated as I pushed past her forcefully, "so I think you should be the one to 'scram'." I asserted proudly.

I furthered my way into the room. Lying on the bed sleeping was my father. I made my way to the bed and I was standing over him. I began to shake him but he wouldn't wake up. 

"He's passed out. Drunk," Sally said, pointing out the obvious. I turned to look at her and just laughed.  Her hand was on her hip and she had a wicked grin on her face. "I just thought you'd like to know." She cackled and left my room, slamming the door behind her.

I turned to look at my dad again. I lifted up his wrist and looked at the time. 9:07pm. I dropped his wrist back onto the bed and walked to my suitcase. I grabbed my bathroom essentials and some pajamas. Once I had the items I needed, I quickly walked into the bathroom. 

I put my articles on the closed toilet seat. Pulling back the closed shower curtain, I examined the inside of the shower. It was a little grimy but I really needed to clean myself up. Unwrapping my hand was painful. There was a large cut that started below my pinky to the beginning of my thumb. There were smaller cuts surrounding the inside of my hand as well. The bleeding had stopped which I hoped was a good sign.

I turned on the shower and undressed. My shower was brisk and short. I stepped out of the shower and pulled a rough towel around my body. While the towel was around me I brushed my teeth. I finally changed into my pajamas which only consisted of an over-sized black shirt. I left my dirty clothes in the bathroom and walked back into the main part of the hotel room.

Everything was normal, so I shut the lights off and laid down on the couch with a brown blanket that the hotel provided. The couch was surprisingly comfortable. Trying to sleep was difficult because my thoughts were circled around all the events that happened today. 

The murder that I watched earlier this evening kept replaying in my head over and over. Every single detail from it was sketched into my mind permanently. It didn't disturb me though. It felt like I was watching my favorite T.V. show, not a murder. The fact that it reminded me of a happy T.V. show was what was worrying me.  A girl my age should be frightened by this. Traumatized. They would need years of therapy to cope with it. They would want the whole event erased from their mind. I didn't want to forget about what I witnessed. The more and more I thought about it made me almost ache to see more.

What is wrong with me?  I have never, ever  thought like this before. Maybe I'm delusional. Half of myself wants to believe that my mind is just very damaged from what I saw. But the other half wants to believe what Mr. March said was true. In school, we would read murder stories that I always enjoyed. I loved horror films. But, the thought of murdering someone is horribly intriguing to me. I needed to speak with Mr. March again. Finally, my thoughts calmed down and I eased into a deep sleep.

I woke up the next morning and took some clothes to the bathroom. I put on a simple maroon, flowy, knee-length dress with tights. After I was ready for my day, I walked back into the main part of the hotel room. My dad was still passed out on the bed. Rolling my eyes, I made my way to Mr. March's room. I found myself in front of his door in no time. I hesitantly knocked on his door. Moments later, Mr. March opened the door.

"I was expecting you." Mr. March welcomed me as I followed him into his room.  He wore a black pinstripe suit with a black neck tie. He led me to the sitting area in his room. I took a seat on the couch and he seated himself in an arm chair. Mr. March crossed his legs and smiled, "What brings you back to my room, Cassandra?"

"I want to talk more about what we talked about last night. About murder. You said that maybe I enjoyed watching the murder." I stated. 

"You took no action in stopping it," he began, "You are young dear, very young, but you are also very intelligent. Many children your age walk into this hotel with the purest of hearts and dumbest of minds. Your heart isn't pure. I can tell. It's slowly turning black. Your mind is more developed than any other child that I have witnessed in this hotel. You are going to do great things one day, Cassandra."

"How can I have a black heart, but also do great things? Bad people have black hearts. I don't want to be bad." I choked out.

Mr. March chuckled, "You and me. We have different definitions of greatness. You think murdering is bad, but I disagree, darling. It's one of the greatest things in the world." The way he talked about murder was unsettling. 

"So you think I'm going to kill someone? That would be the great thing I do in my life?" I questioned.

"It's a possibility, dear." he answered, nodding.