Glen

The room was heavy with silence.

The only disruption to the deafening quiet was the sterile hum of the fluorescents above. His eyes were locked on me with laser focus; never have I ever seen a living thing sit so still. It was unnerving, if for naught else than the quiet rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. I wanted nothing more than to bring an end to it, but I'm very, very patient.

It seemed like the clock had ticked away an eternity before he moved. The sudden motion startled me, slightly. He lifted the manila folder and opened the flap, his attention now on its contents. He scanned every page with deliberate care, meticulously reading, and rereading every detail. With my patience wearing thin, he closed the folder like an ancient tome and placed it on the table, nearby.

"I have to say," he said, at last, "this is an honor. Your file is unbelievable!"

"Most may not see it that way," he admitted. "I, however, do. What made you decide to speak to someone?"

I stroked my chin, thoughtfully. "I've kept a lot of pretty questionable things to myself, this past year. Things that, quite honestly, I would regret not sharing before it's all over. It's a hard thing to be famous, a temporary thing."

The anticipation faded from his face as the full weight of my words sank in. My statement was indicative of pride, which made what he was here for more than just another journal. It transformed the acts of an ill man into the twisted deeds of a ghoul, and I loved watching him squirm, internally, no longer sure if he wanted to hear what I had to say. What I had done was not new or original; it was my obvious lack of illness that caught his attention.

Finally, he pulled out his recording device, his laser focus operating at optimum efficiency, once more. He reopened the file, a copy of his interview questions taped to the inner flap. He readied his pad and pen for his notes and locked back on to me.

"Are you ready to begin?"

I gestured to the recording device. "Please."

He switched on the device and cleared his throat.

"This is the audio file of Dr. Walter D. Cody. I am in the Rusk County Mental Institution on the third of April, 2018. The time is now 3:50 pm. Please, state your name and date of birth for the record."

I smiled. "My name is Glen Alexander Rose, born March 3, 1988."

"Well, now! Happy belated birthday. You're currently awaiting transfer to a maximum-security lockup, correct, Glen?"

"Correct."

"And from that location, you'll await sentencing?"

"Correct."

"You'll be sharing information with me from your childhood to the present, correct?"

"That's right, Doc."

"Why are you sharing the events preceding this interview?"

"Simple," I said. "Infamy is legendary."