The loud echo of footsteps on tile stirred some of the people in the cells lining the corridor. Some reached their hands out through the small gaps in the doors and others shrieked gleefully, but most shied away. As the woman moved further down he corridor, the whisper of insanity flittered around her.
"Again?" She frowned and stopped in front of cell 209, home to the psychotic murderer of the old man, Mr. Williams. Carlos was his name. At a glance, you might think he was simply sitting with his back to the door, but as closer inspection, his shoulder were trembling and he was rocking back and forth slightly.
"Oi! Quit with the mumbling, you're giving me a headache," her hand smacked against the door and the sound ricocheted throughout the now silent room.
The man's head turned to face her. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and cheeks hollow. Fingers like that of a skeleton and eyes as murky as mud. His lips split into a grin that seemed to touch both ears.
"That time again already? It appears they cannot get enough of me," he laughed. It was a jarring sound, like he had swallowed glass. It grated on her ears and she grimaced slightly before grabbing the padlock on the doorhandle and unlocking it.
Slipping the padlock out and pulling the door open, she stepped inside and pulled the man to his feet.
The white shirt hung loosely from his frail frame. His bony torso was accentuated as the woman buckled his arms. She then led him out of the cell and down the hall to where some guards were waiting.
The walk to the therapy room was short. The woman knocked hard against the door and a scrambled young man opened it. His hair, mousy brown and tangled into oblivion, soft doe-like eyes - short and pure looking. A new therapist then.
Carlos' heartbeat sped up as the innocent looking man led him to a chair. It faced a desk, a dark, cluttered desk.
"Please, do sit down," his voice, smooth and silken like honey, quite a contrast to his current appearance. Carlos sat and watched as the man fumble around through his filing cabinets. He found was he was searching for and turned to the door. "Ma'am, these appointments are confidential. If you need to, then please wait outside. I will call you in when we are finished or if something happens."
The warden nodded with a stern gaze and left the room, the guards following close behind.
The shorter man turned back to Carlos and smiled pleasantly. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. "My name is Doctor Matthew Penn. Call me Matt though, alright? Now," Matt flicked through his records. "Murdered a man, hmm?"
The session was quite lengthy and the guards had fallen asleep.
That night, Carlos dreamt of torn, pale skin and wide, hazel eyes, blown up with terror. He couldn't get Matthew out of his head. Each day, he would return and each day he would fall deeper and deeper into his crazed psychotic lust for the small man.
After seven days of his own mental agony, he confronted Matt. During their next session, he knocked Matthew out and bound him to the chair behind the dark desk. Carlos has found a small letter opener on Matt's cluttered desk and picked it up. He balanced the tip of the blade on his fingertip and watched gleefully as a drop of blood fell to the desk.
A soft groan startled him out of his thoughts and he looked over to see Matt blearily staring at him, confusion lacing his gaze. He went to move his hands but yelped when the rope dug into his already red wrists. He locked eyes with Carlos.
"What is the meaning of this? Untie me right now, Carlos!" The psychotic male only chuckled.
"Have you ever noticed how slender and pale your neck is Matt? So beautiful. But, do you know what would make it even prettier?" He answered himself by pulling out the letter opener and tracing it over Matt's cheek ever so slightly.
The tracing of the knife stopped when tears ran over the small cut. Carlos' smile widened and his murky eyes held a satanic glimmer.
"Matthew! My darling Matthew, I thought you were better than this." His gaze hardened into a glare. "Do not cry." The knife dug into his cheek and sliced through til the point of the blade hit his teeth.
Matt's mouth opened to scream, and the stretch tore more of his cheek. A wrecked sob left his body as the blade was slowly taken out.
Before Carlos could stop himself, he was cutting away at the already screaming man. He tore through his clothes and flesh like it was soft butter.
The door was rattling as the guards tried to run through. "Thank God I locker the door, no?" Matt looked at him with a weak glare.
Before the guards could break down the door, he was leaning down toward Matt. His own cracked lips touched a pair of softer, more plump ones. He finally felt sane, at home. His heart felt overjoyed. Until the door slammed open, barely hanging on its hinges. Two guards grabbed Carlos and forced him to his knees.
As more came to untie Matt, he grinned like the maniac he was. "The only way to be rid of me is to kill me, but I doubt you could let that happen, darling Matthew."
As his frail, blood-covered body was dragged out of the room, he left Matt sobbing and aching, body and soul.
His last thought that night was wondering whether or not he finally rid himself of the obsession. The crazed, heat filled obsession that was slowly killing him.
