Confessions of a Serial Killer: Cynthia Young

Chapter Seventeen

The man looked unwell. Underneath the drizzle of blood, his skin had hints of jaundice and dehydration. He wore a cheap suit that looked like it belonged to a car salesman or a family lawyer.

"Dr. Mann, I'm here," the man panted. "I didn't mean to--" He stopped speaking abruptly when he noticed me for the first time. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sly grin appear on Dr. Mann's face. "No, no, no, no! You're going to kill me!" the man yelled hysterically.

I glanced at Dr. Mann and then back at the man. "I'm not a killer," I replied softly. Dr. Mann let out a snort so faint, I wasn't sure if it had been in response to my statement or if the hair in his nose had bothered him.

"The book--it said...I did everything I could. Please don't make me defend myself," the man whined.

"Confessions of a Serial Killer?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. The man nodded, looking more fearful than before. "I have a book too."

I walked backward toward the couch to grab my book. I had known this room so well, I didn't have to look away from the man as I moved. If I had broken eye contact, I was uncertain about how he would react. When I reached the couch, I was relieved that Confessions of a Serial Killer was still there.

I brought the book to the man, but once I got closer to him, he jumped back. I stopped, and I held my hand out. He glanced at the book, but he shook his head and looked away. The damage had been done. Dr. Mann broke this man, and he would never be able to be calmed by anyone other than Dr. Mann. Realizing the book was useless to him, I set it on the floor.

"The book isn't a prognosis, Reginald. You don't have to do what it says," Dr. Mann said, feigned concern deepening the lines of his face. Reginald shakes his head before he reaches into his pocket and pulls a weapon out.

The man held a knife, but it was so small, I could hardly see it from where I was standing. It appeared to be covered in blood. I wondered if Reginald had actually killed somebody or if another of Dr. Mann's patients had only convinced him he did. When Reginald brought his arm forward in an attempt to be threatening, I had to look away.

Laughter formed in the bottom of my lungs, and it was waiting to be expelled. I held it down, knowing that if it escaped, the man would come for me, and despite the puniness of himself and his weapon, his delirium made him unexpectedly dangerous.

"This is exactly how it plays out," Reginald said, his throat croaking. He was holding back tears; he was truly pathetic. "I am going to kill you," he pointed to Dr. Mann, "and then she's going to kill me."

"Go to the afterword in your book. It explains everything," I said. Reginald looked in my direction, but he refused to make eye contact. He was genuinely afraid of me. "You are Dr. Mann's puppet. He's manipulating you." Reginald looked at Dr. Mann in disbelief, but it was disbelief in me, not in Dr. Mann.

"I don't have my book. He took it. He said it was dangerous, and he was right."

"I know where it's at, and you can read it yourself." I side-walked to Dr. Mann's desk. I looked down briefly to open the drawer, but then I looked back at Reginald. He was staring intensely at Dr. Mann like they were having a nonverbal conversation.

As I opened the drawer, I couldn't get past how wrong it felt. To disrespect Dr. Mann in front of him like this was odd. I suspected that he didn't stop me from exposing him because he knew the power he held over Reginald. At this point, I didn't care about Reginald's sanity. The police should have been here by now, and I was just buying time to get out of the situation.

I am surprised to find that the drawer is filled with random objects. I moved a stress-ball, a ruler, a slinky, and a hairbrush, but I couldn't find any keys. Panic struck my confidence like a bat. With Reginald and Dr. Mann occupied, I went to the filing cabinet.

I opened the top drawer and was met without the resistance of a lock. Relief filled the hole the panic left, but a feeling of uneasiness rested shallowly on my mind. Instead of books, the filing cabinet was full of files. I took them from their places individually, hoping that at least one copy remained hidden between them. I had started to throw the files frantically, unable to contain myself.

"Cynthia, what are you looking for?" Dr. Mann asked me, his voice soft as if he were speaking to a child. His arms were half-raised, his hands shaking wildly. His bird-like eyes were widened beneath his crooked glasses. He was playing the victim, and I wondered if it was for Reginald's sake or if the police had arrived without my knowledge.

"Where are the books?" I questioned angrily, making sure to keep the volume of voice low.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Cynthia," Dr. Mann replied calmly. I turned to Reginald who looked just as confused as I felt. He refused to meet my gaze.

"He moved them. I swear," I whispered, my voice cracking. I took a step toward Reginald, and he jumped back, terrified that my attention was focused on him.

I took another step toward Reginald, and he moved back again. We repeated this dance until he was against the wall. He still had his knife out. He couldn't see that he was the predator in this situation. He shouldn't have been shrinking away.

Reginald looked at me and then behind me at Dr. Mann. He took a strained breath before he ran toward me, his knife on a path to my stomach. I was about to move over when Reginald kept running past me. I was confused for only a moment when I realized he was going to try to kill Dr. Mann.

With my feet placed loosely on the ground, I jumped on Reginald's back, bringing us both down. On compact, all my bones seemed to become even more solid. The ache of the impact was drowned out by the rush of adrenaline.

I knew that I had saved Dr. Mann's life, but that wasn't why I stopped Reginald from his attempted murder. The police would be here soon, and Dr. Mann would face justice for manipulating me. I stood up and took an offensive stance, expecting Reginald to get up to try to lunge for Dr. Mann, but he didn't move.

On the carpet, a stain of blood was starting to grow under Reginald. I pushed him over so that he was lying on his back, and I noticed that his tiny knife was now lodged into his side at an awkward angle. He was breathing heavily, so I knew that he was still alive. I assumed the gravity would help contain the blood from finding its way out, but I didn't care about the outcome either way. The police would be here, so I didn't bother to call.

"That's the second person you've killed," Dr. Mann said. I looked up from Reginald to Dr. Mann. He wore an impressed smile, his eyebrows raised. "One more, and you're officially a serial killer."

"He's not dead yet," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"The knife looks like it hit his liver. That's rarely a good outcome," Dr. Mann taunted. I looked away from him to the ground, trying to find Confessions of a Serial Killer.

"The knife is still in him. He'll be fine," I stated as my eyes searched the floor.

"He pulled it out." I turned to look at Reginald. His breathing was shallow, and his blinking was irregular.

"If anything, I saved your life. It's not my fault he was holding the knife," I said, dismissing Dr. Mann.

"From where I'm standing, it looked like he was trying to protect me from you, and then you stabbed him," Dr. Mann replied. He walked to his desk and he leaned against it. I turned to look in his direction.

"That's not what happened." Dr. Mann reached into his pocket and pulled out loose candy. He dropped them in his mouth, his lips smacking together.

"Well, that's what I saw," Dr. Mann replied smoothly.

Over Dr. Mann's chewing, I heard the sound of sirens. Of course the police would show up at the worst possible time.

"It only matters what they see," I said.

"I'm going to be honest, Cynthia. It's pretty damning."