The Face of Mr. Murderer

"Does it feel good, Mr. Murderer?" I ask him. "Have you finally avenge her?" Copper eyes stare at me, digging deep into my bone and soul. They are dull, lifeless and vacant and so damn insane. "No, Davidson. One more." He looks at me, then points at the ground. "Kneel."

It all leads back to him, the director. The cold hearted chairman's son.

Chocolate strands now white; blue now copper. It stares into he depths of his soul. It stares, and studies and analyzes. It threatens to murder.

As if a ghost haunting his being, "Die." She said, looming over the man tumbled down his bed.

"Die and come home."

He blinks, green irises lit with fear. He blinks, and she disappears. The words ring in his head, over and over. A recording of his own imagination.

Or maybe it is her afterall.