The Young Psychopath

THE BEGINNING

As I walked down the dim corridor, flanked by two guards, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. "It wasn't meant to be like this. Rose couldn't be alive. Maybe Mr. Detective is messing with me." Each step felt heavier, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.

"This way," one of the guards instructed, interrupting my reverie. I hesitated, glancing back at the door to the cell hall. Could this really be the end? Before I could process my thoughts, the guard spoke into his mouthpiece. "DDDFR." The door creaked open, and they led me to my cell.

Two days passed in restless torment. Sleep eluded me; I lay in bed pretending to rest while my mind raced with questions. "Did I win? If I didn't, then I still have a chance." The thought gnawed at me, demanding action. I couldn't endure another sleepless night; something had to change.

On the third day, after completing my morning chores, I made my way to the shower. Alone in the steam-filled room, I suddenly heard a voice. "Looks kooky; who do we have here?" I turned to see Dorcas, accompanied by an innocent-looking girl, their hands intertwined as they strolled in.

"Deaf, good thing you're here," Dorcas said, approaching me. She flicked off the running shower with a playful grin. "I need you to hold our towels while we bathe." I just stood there, stunned.

"Take it," Dorcas insisted, shoving the towel into my hands. My breath hitched as I accepted it, feeling the weight of her gaze. She turned to the girl, encouraging her to remove her towel. As the girl did so, Dorcas took it from her and motioned for her to join her under the stream.

I stood frozen, a mix of anger and confusion swirling inside me. "What kind of game is this?" I took a deep breath and, without another word, left their towels on the floor and exited the bathroom. I stepped into the cell hall, my heart racing.

"You look sad today," Sophie said, appearing beside me, her head tilted as if trying to decipher my mood. "Tell me what's wrong; I might be able to help." I didn't respond to her first comment.

"Sophie!" I called, stopping abruptly. "Thank you, but if you really want to help, just leave me alone for now." I continued walking, leaving her standing there, a mixture of concern and confusion etched on her face.

"Haaaacrk! Please get ready for your weekly examination, which will proceed in 10 minutes," a voice crackled over the speakers.

We were herded to the examination room in groups, one after another.

When it was finally my turn, I stood up from the waiting chair and walked toward the metal chair facing the examiner, Mr. Godwin Goodwill. He was a bald, middle-aged man with a gentle demeanor. Usually, I looked forward to these sessions; he had a way of putting me at ease with his friendly banter. But today, I struggled to muster even a smile.

"Ms. Tracy, where are you today?" he asked, his voice breaking through my thoughts. I forced a smile, but it felt hollow. "You look disturbed; I know you well enough to tell," he added, concern lining his features as he arranged his tools.

I glanced back at the girls in the waiting area, then back at Mr. Goodwill. "Just worried about my sister outside these walls." His fingers paused, and he examined my eyes with a gentle touch, as if trying to unravel the knots of my anxiety.

"Did something happen to her?" he asked, jotting down notes.

I hesitated, then replied, "She was injured in the hospital the last time I saw her. I just want to be sure she's okay because I haven't heard anything from her since then."