Confessions of a Serial Killer: Cynthia Young

Chapter Eleven

Dr. Mann quietly sat next to me on the couch as I removed pieces of glass from my feet and knees with a pair of tweezers. I had expected Dr. Mann to ask me questions to help me recall my memory, or I thought he would at least try to talk me into reporting the incident. All he had done was sit on my couch and let out sporadic deep breaths.

I would take an occasional glance at the tainted spot on the floor. If Dr. Mann had been in his right mind, he would have observed this, and he would have noticed the stained wood. He sat on the couch like he was a golem.

Once I finished withdrawing all the shards I could tweeze, the sun had already risen. The outside road started to buzz as people began their errands for the day.

I turned my body to look at Dr. Mann. Noticing my movement, he looked up from the spot he had been staring at for the past hour and a half. I expected a grin, but his beady eyes had no flame.

"I woke up covered in blood. I took a shower, and then when I came out here...there was more blood--not really a lot," I said, taking the loss and speaking first. Dr. Mann blinked, but he didn't appear to react to my news. "I don't know what happened, and I hoped you would be able to give me some hypotheses," I lied.

"Cynthia..." Dr. Mann began, "I can't help you." The weight I had unknowingly been carrying in my chest dropped to my stomach. My nausea from hunger turned into the nausea of anxiousness. Dr. Mann had given up on me.

"Of course you can. You always do," I squeaked, my throat tightening. Angry tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. If he thought he would drop me as a client before I dropped him as a therapist, he was mistaken. Dr. Mann looked down at the floor, refusing to meet my glare.

"The help you need is not the help I can provide. I know a few psychiatrists who are better suited for your needs," Dr. Mann said. He finally looked at me, an expression of sorrow etched onto his face. "I've failed you. I am so sorry, Cynthia."

"Dr. Mann, for all we know, I didn't even hurt anybody," I replied, attempting to convince him of my implausible innocence. "This blood could belong to me. I don't need anyone's help, but I need you to listen to me."

"Cynthia," Dr. Mann hesitated, "I have to call the police."

I shook my head and jumped up from the couch. The soles of my feet were sore from the picking I had done with the tweezers. I focused on that pain, hoping it would help me forget about my mental anguish. "No, you don't."

"You don't know what you've done. We can have professionals piece it together for you. This is the only way I can help you," Dr. Mann said. He stood up so that he was eye-level with me. I couldn't tell if he was trying to be comforting or intimidating, but he was failing at whatever manner he attempted to convey.

Dr. Mann reached into his pocket, and he pulled out his phone. I saw his thick fingers smash into his glass screen. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I suspected he was calling the police. I ripped the phone from out of his hands.

"What in the--" Dr. Mann began, looking exasperated. I held his phone at my side. Dr. Mann may be bright, but his reflexes were abysmal. As long as the phone was in my possession, he wouldn't be able to use it.

"Dr. Mann, please--" My voice trembled, and I let out a breathy laugh. "Please don't." Dr. Mann stared at me, analyzing my behavior and calculating the possible outcomes. He was treating his phone like a hostage. Whatever he said next, I couldn't believe. He would say anything to ensure the life of his phone, and subsequently, the life of himself.

"If I don't turn this in, I am an accessory," Dr. Mann explained after a moment. "I will be held responsible."

"If you don't tell them, they won't know. The court system in this town is a joke. Dr. Mann, you can help me, and I won't hurt anyone again. Don't call and ruin my life from what you were supposed to prevent," I begged. Dr. Mann seemed to be evaluating the worth of my offer. Because he was thinking about it, I knew he was considering how I could be right. A prideful smile threatened the corners of my mouth.

"Cynthia, I will give you an hour to turn yourself in before I do," Dr. Mann said, smothering any assurance I had. "Spend your hour however you please." The smirk that escaped me fell from my face. The world around me seemed to fade away as my brain became marinated in my fury.

"That doesn't work for me, Dr. Mann," I declared, my voice surprisingly strong. I felt an abrupt calmness move through my nerves. My distraught was no more, and for the first time, I was seeing things clearly. "Why would I take an hour of freedom when I could have the rest of my life?" I questioned, walking toward him.

"You won't get much jail time--if any. I'll testify on your behalf, Cynthia. I promise you I will fix what I've caused. Once this is behind you, your freedom will be one you have never experienced." Dr. Mann was grasping at straws, and he knew it. He wanted to help me, but he had nothing he could offer that would make his proposition appealing.

I thought about my options, and I realized that unless Dr. Mann was restrained, he would find a way to notify the police if I didn't take his deal. This was the moment Confessions of a Serial Killer were leading up to. I had a decision to make, but it was one that was already made.

Despite my certainty about what I was supposed to do, I couldn't go through with it. Dr. Mann was feeble, but he had become a true friend over the years. Dr. Mann didn't deserve death. Even in my condition, I didn't understand how I was supposed to be the one to kill him. I needed a cogent reason, and my freedom was not a good enough one.

"I'll take the hour if you give me Confessions of a Serial Killer," I negotiated, defeated. Dr. Mann stared at me and then at his phone in my hand. He glanced back at where the puddle once was, and I wondered if he finally noticed it was unlike the surrounding floor.

"Cynthia, that book is what started all of this," Dr. Mann said, his voice unsure. "It is not a good--"

"What harm can a book do in an hour?" I challenged. Dr. Mann contemplated. I could tell he was at war with himself, but he didn't have any other option. He knew that, and he knew that I knew that.

"Alright," Dr. Mann said. "If you give me my phone, I will tell you where the book is."

"Deal." I reached out my hand, and Dr. Mann reluctantly took it. An exultant grin overtook my face. I had won.

"It's at The Story Mann." My eyebrows rose in confusion, but my smile never faltered. "But, Cynthia, you're going to have questions, and when you want answers, I'll be at my office." I handed him back his phone. He glanced at it like he was going to betray our deal, but then he put his phone back into his front pocket

"Dr. Mann, the only answers I need can be found in Confessions of a Serial Killer."