Unidentified.

Chapter Eighteen

There were FBI people everywhere.
And when I say everywhere.
I mean everywhere.

I am kind of flattered, I never knew I was so important.

After, the hotel room conversation with Aaron and me getting arrested, I am pretty much done.

All the Agents took everything I have. Mckillsalot, Sharpie, my pack, and even down to the bar of soap I used at the hotel. I mean, what the hell?

I am so fucking done with everything.

I really have nothing to live for.

Killing people is hardly a regular hobby.
I could never be normal or settle down and have a legit family.
I had fooled myself in a false reality, and actually thought that I could be loved. Even by someone as nice, caring, and wonderful as Aaron.

Damn, was I wrong.

I groaned in pain as I was tossed in a bullet proof, metal van.

Then even fucking more agents came and cuffed my feet to the floor of the van, making sure I was secure and not getting out any time soon.

Then someone stepped into the van, closed the door and it was locked from the outside.

The person turned to me.

I really hoped it was Aaron so I could get a chance to speak with him more, however it wasn't.

It was a old, balding ginger with hard, cold hazel eyes.

"Hello," he said and sat down at a cool, metal bench across from mine, "My name is Nate Holden, but you can just call me Holden, and I am here to interrogate you." He gave me an almost friendly smile.

I leaned backwards and then containment vessel started to move away from the hotel.

"OK so how many people have you murdered."

"Too many to count." I told him shortly.

He exhaled as if he didn't like the answer to his question but continued on.

"Who was your first murder?"

"My Dad, Rick Evers."

"How did you feel about it?"

"Nothing." I said," I felt nothing when my parents died, or anyone else by my hand died."

I looked straight into Holden's eyes and said,"Even now I feel nothing. Because I am a Soulless. Emotionless. Bitch. And I like to hurt and kill people. Write that down in your little black book, you fucking pansy."

Then I actually noticed his book, it was the same kind of little, black book Aaron had and I found in his backpack on the way to New York.

My eyes started to water,
Ugh. The signs were all right in front of me, why didn't I freaking notice them?!

Holden was a little startled by my pervious answer and was trying to gain back his composer.

When he finally did he continued to ask questions about my life, there was no point in lying, my life was pretty much over anyway. I had been caught.

When the vehicle stopped, Holden stopped asking questions and knocked three times rapidly on the metal door.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, Holden rushed out as fast as his freakishly twig-like legs could carry him.