Monster Minds [completed]

Chapter 7

"...the whole thing - the cries, the blood, the agony - gave me relaxation and a certain pleasure."

- Andrei Chikatilo was a cannibal who liked the taste of blood. He was a prolific killer who admitted to to 56 murders, mostly female, with victims of all ages. He said it gave him an 'animal satisfaction' to chew or swallow nipples or testicles.

Chapter 7

It was early morning, dawn had painted colours to the canvas of the sky, and for the first time in a few days, I was feeling good. My ankle was healed completely, I had showered, and most importantly, Mum was teaching a dance class in the next town over... and she wouldn't be back for at least twelve hours. My house arrest was still—apparently—in motion. Mum's trust in me was surely going to be her downfall. As soon as she locked the door behind her, all rules previously enforced meant nothing. I was free.

Nicola had reluctantly left late the night before, but not before we discussed everything wrong in her life and everything that was disastrous in mine. I tried to keep her sympathetic dial turned low, which proved quite difficult when she burst into tears upon learning the extent of Dad's injuries. Her crying created a parasite of guilt inside my stomach, which gnarred at my insides. I had barely shed a single tear since the night of the accident and those that I did let fall were not for him. They were for George. Does that make me a bad person?

I pushed aside the negative thoughts lingering in my mind and reminded myself that it was a good day. A very good day.

I threw on a white blouse and jeans, deciding that sneakers were probably the best option. My ankles sighed in relief when my feet slipped nicely into the black shoes; they had escaped a day of high-heeled torture. Tying my hair back into a bun, I searched through the now empty house for my phone, ID card, the spare set of keys and the recorder I shoved under my bed. Finding my confiscated necessities in the top draw in the shed, I hurriedly grabbed an apple and the bus timetable, making sure I locked every window and door before I left the house.

After a shiver inducing fifteen-minute walk to the bus stop and a cramped twenty-minute bus ride, I finally made it to the prison gates at eleven. I jabbed the intercom and patently waited for the robotic voice of the gate guard, or as I like to call him; the gate keeper, to fill my ears.

"Please state your name and purpose."

"Emily Silverman, here by instruction of Dane Silverman." I said smoothly, the words coming off my tongue on autopilot.

The buzz that signaled the opening of the gates sounded and I stood back as the gigantic barbed fence swung inwards. I waved at the watch guards, who sat with their snipers in the towers, as I walked up the wide graveled pavement that lead to the main building.

The three-story structure housed at least fifteen thousand of the world's most notorious serial killers. The first two levels was where all prisoner activity occurred; cells, cafeterias, gaming rooms and libraries. The top level was specifically for offices and guards, who had their own cafeterias and gaming rooms. But, the worst level of all was the one that everyone knew about but hardly anyone saw; the basement, the execution rooms. Except for the workers, every single man sent here was sent to die. Their deaths wasn't an if, it was a when. Even for George.

The only exceptions to this rule were the people lucky enough—rich enough—to secure themselves a re-trail to be transferred to a different prison.

The front desk ladies were shriveled and grumpy (as usual) and glared up at me as I approached the desk.

"Signing in sheet, please." I smiled sweetly at the moody old ladies, all dressed in the same white, straight falling, lady dress with matching rose broaches secured above their heart. The rose was a symbol of their level of work, any woman who wore a red rose had worked at the prison for over twenty years, usually in the same position.