Inescapable Game of Tag

Program

Sophie

"You." That same blank look. "You are Sophie, right? Sophie Clark." Not once have I ever heard him call me by my last name.

Even though the man was in the center of my senses, I tried so desperately to focus on everything else. Jasmine still getting gushed over by all her guests. Jeffry getting congratulated by his friends and family. Little kids running around. People going around for their snacks and sweets. All of it.

It didn't matter.

Not one bit.

Only one thing mattered to me.

Those hands. Those hands that had wielded that infamous knife of his, and soon a butcher knife, which I had unintendedly supplied him, and then a revolver. The hands that held those weapons and took lives. They were now holding a camera. Just like old times. Back when he was that great photographer in high school, before everyone learned of his crimes.

All that hair. The brown hair that still, after so many years, still had the fluffed up brown locks curling over and around his scalp. His beard had been growing out quite a bit the last time I saw him, but now, most of it was gone, leaving the stubble shadow where it used to exist.

Those eyes. Ugh, those goddamn eyes. They were the same as I always remembered, glossed over, dilated. The little worthy green was squeezed away. Metal, semi-rimless glasses over those very eyes.

He was dressed up. Not those casual wear the hospital would give him. The clothes without any hazards to them. With a tuxedo and tie, he looked completely like a different person. With the "normal" people walking around him, he looked like a normal person.

The only thing that mattered to me.

BLAKE PEDERSEN.

I don't know how long it took for me to comprehend everything, but it all fell back into place. All the noises and senses and chatter. "Oh, sorry," I was stunned to hear that voice again, such words I haven't heard from that voice in so very long. Turning his head back around very slightly, he pursed his lips, "I mistook you for someone else."

The world burned. My vision was wavering in glimpses of flaming red, and sweat was beginning to build up on me, my face getting so painfully hot. It seemed my voice was confined deep within my throat, but still, after a long while, I was able to speak. A stammering, scared, crackling voice.

"N-No... I'm - I am Sophie."

He turned around to face me.

To be honest, I was expecting a knife jamming its way into my gut. Quick but painful. Likely multiple stabs, just as my brother was taken out. I honestly waited for that. Flinching, clenching my jaw, tensing up. When nothing happened, I looked up, nervous.

In that quick second when I looked up at him, he was still blinking down at me. Hands still holding a camera, nothing at all like a knife. Then again, that camera was an enemy to me, as well. All those pictures he took, invasive little pictures.

He looked away, to the side just as I looked up at him. It was concerning, Everything was still burning. I was still very much expecting any of those actions. A stab, a flash of a camera. But, he didn't do that.

With a sheepish smile, he looks back down at me. "Do you remember me?"

What a stupid ass fucking question.

Still, I was to answer. But more than that, I wanted to grab him. So very desperately, I wanted to pull him aside to one of the closed off areas. Oh, more than anything, I wanted to do that.