Destination 1974

Chapter 16

| Knock, knock, motherf***er... |

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I scratch at my skin, wanting to peel it off. I scratch my collarbone, clawing at it and discolouring it, even more, every day. I wish boiling water can be poured on me. Again and again. Until the flesh is melted to the bone.

I just want to feel something again, and if scratching away my skin is what will do it, then that's what I'll do. I refuse to break away my memories, feeling my mother crawl on my skin every day like a phantom bug.

What am I doing anymore? What's the point?

Where am I going with this? Am I just playing through the motions, trying to get by?

I don't want to get by.

I want to leave.

I want to live.

I absentmindedly knock on the table and rub my wrist under the cold metal of the handcuffs. Then, I hear it. I hear a knock on the black mirror. I turn my head and look at the dark void behind my reflection with squinted eyes. Then I hear it, one more knock.

"Clyde?" I say accidentally. I hear odd noises outside, and then my interrogation room door opens. I squint to the sudden burst of light, and I blink vacantly once the door is closed.

"It's just me," he mumbles before walking around the table to sit across from me.

"I've never killed a child, Clyde," is all I can muster out. Clyde blinks, his eyelids heavy with annoyance.

"I didn't come here to question you about who you've killed. I came here to just ask one question."

"What's that?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm completely bonkers," I reply with a raised eyebrow and a sh!t-eating grin.

"No," he leans in, "why? Why did you call your mother that day? Why did you tell her you don't want to do this anymore?"

I pause, "for selfish reasons."

"Selfish?"

"The people who were killed, they weren't so innocent," I raised an eyebrow at Clyde, and he mirrors my expression.

"How so?"

"They sold their kids to my parents - just like my real parents sold me to my current parents," I lean in, "I don't protect my parents because I like them, Clyde. I loathe them."

"Then why do you protect them?"

"I protect them to protect myself," I lean back, "If you don't follow orders in this world, Clyde, you get punished. However, if you follow the rules, you get rewarded."

He hesitates, "do you feel guilty?"

"I don't even know what guilt feels like anymore. I've had my emotions sealed inside of a titanium bubble for a long time, Clyde."

"Why did you do it then - why did you confess?"

"Because of you."

Clyde's eyes widen.

"Because you popped my bubble - wait, no - you invaded my bubble, and forcefully pulled me out of it."

"Is that supposed to be bad?"

"I was safe in there - because I couldn't make choices for myself," I fold my hands on the table, "but now that I'm no longer sealed away, all I can do is think about how I never wanted to be here. How I loathe myself for ruining these children's lives and taking away others..."

"So you do feel guilty."

"No, what I feel is regret. I regret the one thing that changed my life for the worse. And that regret turns into anger - because no matter what angle I look at it from, I cannot undo what's happened without selfishly living to tell the tale."

"Wanting to live isn't selfish, Desdemona."

"But killing to do so is."

I lean back and sit up straight, "do you still stand on that offer to help me catch the Pasco Family?"

Clyde raises his eyebrow, and leans one arm on the table, "What're you talking about? Haven't we already figured out that you're one of them?"

"I think we've established that, yes," I roll my eyes, "but that doesn't mean I necessarily lied to you. I want to stop my parents, to protect them from themselves."

Clyde leans in, "how do you propose we protect your parents from themselves?"

"I have to kill them," I reply, causing him to scruff his curly hair and avert his gaze to the table.

"I should've expected that answer, but you still caught me off guard with that one..."

I allow a smile to crack on my lips, "good," I raise an eyebrow, "so, will you help me?"

Clyde looks at me with uncomfortable features like he's just been kicked in the crotch. "Uhh, what?"

I roll my eyes again, "you want to stop my family, correct?"

"Well, yes, but there are more legal ways of going about it than killing them," his voice goes up an octave as he speaks. I find his reaction rather amusing, but odd; like he's hiding something.

"We don't have time, Clyde," I lean closer, and catch that damn mirror in the corner of my eye. I hesitate for a moment.

"Are we being watched?"

"What?" he looks like a fluffy brown owl with how wide his eyes are. I lean back and look at him with an uncomfortable knot in my gut.

"You sonofab!tch. You're trying to get more information out of me since they think I trust you more," I cut myself off, "and it worked."

"No, this has nothing to do with them!"

"I thought I could trust you," I blink at my statement; I trusted him? Why the hell would I trust him?

"Well, I thought I could trust you too before you pulled a gun on me --" I freeze, "I'd say it's a fair game here, Desdemona..."

"You asshole," I growl with squinted eyes. Clyde's posture shifts and he hunches his head closer to me.

"Keep going, I think it's working," he whispers while glancing at the mirror. Now it's my turn to look baffled.

"Wha-"

"That's how the game works, sweetheart," Clyde cuts me off, leaning back with a smug look on his face. That abrupt change in his demeanour was so subtle, but I saw it. I try not to smile as I stand up and get in his face. I harshly scratch his cheek, playing along with his little game, and he jumps back with wide eyes as he grabs his face. Police suddenly burst into the room to grab me away from Clyde, and he ever so slightly winks at me as he's escorted out of the interrogation room.

What's on his mind? What is he thinking?

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