I was awoken to the sound of fists hammering against my door. My mother was moaning from the next room over after, she herself, was awakened from the noise.

I dragged myself out of bed and caught the time. Five forty-five am. The sound continued pushing the limits of my drowsiness. The eagerness of the person awaiting behind my door was unbearable but I took my time slipping into a robe and grabbing my round glasses.

“Mr. Gregory Cliff, NYPD open up.” Called a voice, it was low and blatantly angry. I unlocked my door and opened up taking in the view of three officers. All wearing identical dark blue uniforms and caps. I also saw that they were uneasy with my expected confrontation.

I rubbed my eyes which hinted that I was exhausted and unwilling to cooperate.

“Mr. Cliff you are under arrest for the suspicion of being an accessory to murder” Said the one to the right. He was tall and had a small brown goatee. The one in the middle stepped forward and asked me to turn around.

As the cuffs were slapped on my wrist my rights were read off. I was also told that my house maid who was my mother's nurse had been notified to take care of her while I was away. Then, in a matter of minutes, I was taken away to the Police department.

While being walked into an interrogation room I overheard an officer calling for a Miss. Swafford on a phone. I smirked observing every little detail.

The shifting eyes, multiple scoffs, the whispers being exchanged all started adding up. This was a bluff and they had nothing on me.

I was locked inside a grey room and told to wait for another officer to come in.Interested to see how they would pin something on me, I waited patiently smiling with unbrushed teeth.

Time passed for a while and I assumed it was now around seven o’ clock. A red light blinked on in the corner of the room and the action only made me smile more.

In came a broad man. He had a stern look in his eye and a slick glaze of sweat on his brow. He maintained eye contact with me as he crossed the room and dragged his metal chair from underneath the table.

Breaking our gaze I could smell a hint of smoke and lilac on him.

“My name is Joseph Young, I am an Officer in the NYPD. Do you know why you’re here Mr. Cliff?” His voice had a booming effect and he was very good at making one want to answer.

“Hello, officer Young, and…” I looked behind him seeing myself smile at my reflection, “Hello Emilia.” There was silence for a still second but a small tapping came from the dark glass.

“Please answer the question Mr. Cliff” Young demanded crossing his arms bringing the focus back to himself.

I folded my hands rubbing my swollen wrist. “Under the suspicion of being an accessory to a crime.” I said, quoting what I was told about an hour before.

Mr. Young, who sat before me, let out a long and slow breath. He then leaned forward and opened a case file. Inside this file were images, physiological exams, some type of report and hand written notes. He slid three pictures in front of me. I rested my eyes examining the faces.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” He asked. I blinked a few times and cocked my head. Only one person looked familiar but I wasn’t about to admit it. Taking my silence as a challenge the man of law continued.

“Mrs Donna Howell, age forty-two. Was in nursing school for her last year.” The officer place his index finger on one of the images, then moved it to his left. “Mr. Franklin Howell, age fifty-three, Construction worker. They were married for thirty years. Had two twin boys. Ethan Howell, age ten, the youngest of the pair, found deceased with the bodies. The oldest son, Peter in critical condition.” The officer laid back in his chair and it shifted which resulted in a screeching noise. Neither of us flinched.

Continuing to smile, I refrained from speaking.

“Mr. Cliff where were you approximately five thirty last night?” Mr. Young pressed.

I smacked my lips for a second turning to face the brick wall to my right. “I finished up my meeting with Emilia at four so I went home. I am a working man, therefore I had papers to grade and emails to return.” I answered with a puffiness in my chest.

“You have an alibi to confirm your whereabouts?”

He pulled out a paper from the file and was jotting down every word I spoke.

“Yes, My mother’s nurse.” I responded honestly.

“Ms. Wadworth, if I’m correct.” Said the cop adding to my statement.

“Indeed.” I nodded.

We were silent as he wrote down the woman's name.

“Alright, and anyone else we should take into account?” He asked, wanting to continue the conversation. He knew it would be difficult to get the answers he wanted but I had no intention of lying to him.

“In fact I do. The woman who lives just down the hall from I. Ms. Briggs is her name. She stopped by my door to say goodnight.”

He gave a shifted look but wrote her name and location down. His eyes suddenly became cold and his demeanor sharpened. “Mr. Cliff I will ask you once again. Have you seen these people before?”

My smile shifted into a smirk and I replied with honesty. “Yes,”

The man in the chair had a glimpse of triumph as I answered, but as I continued his face dropped. “Four months ago I met Mr. Howel briefly at the park. He was teaching his son something. We hardly spoke and the man was acting peculiar. I had places to be so I left without having much of a conversation.”

My statement was unbecoming to the officer and I looked behind him admiring my self esteem and image.

“What did you two talk about?” Mr. Young started again.

“I can’t say I remember. My brain is…” I stopped to scratch my head and squint at the images before me. Their pale faces and bloodied clothes were deliciously charming. “Well, age has been hard.” My voice dripped with coyness which angered the cop sitting patiently before me. He slammed his fist down causing a small echo inside the room.

“Damn it! How did you do it? How did you force this man to kill his family!”

I simply smiled and adjusted my glasses. His outburst was adorable and I foresaw this reaction the moment he walked through the door.

In frustration and embarrassment he scratched the back of his neck sighing. “You’re a fucking monster.” He gathered the file in his hands leaving the images of the deceased on the table and walked out. I twisted my neck hearing it pop near my ear.

I closed my eyes thinking about how the rest of my day would be. Technically speaking, the police could only withhold me for twenty-four hours based on the evidence they have. Which seems to be nothing. I opened my eyes coming to the realization that they haven’t officially linked me to this case, so why was I there in the first place?

There was a light tapping coming from the door and I watched as the handle turned slowly. Emilia rolled herself into the room a yawn emerging from her lips. As she did the camera in the top right corner flicked off.

She saw me looking at it and answered my silent question. “Patient confidentiality.”

I nodded and continued to watch as she wheeled herself to sit beside me.

“How’d you know I was here?” She asked.

I turned my head and shrugged. “Smelled you.” Emilia smiled at my words. Her eyes trailed down from my face to the images and her head bobbed. “You know them?”

I took a swallow and nodded. “Yes. I didn’t lie Emilia, I had met Mr. Howell at the park. He was there with his son. I happened to bump into them on my way to lunch.”

“I see, and do you not remember anything?”She asked. Her question stirred memories and I could faintly hear the conversation that occured four months prior.

“He was talking to his son… about something. He seemed visibly upset.” I said.

I chose my words carefully. It was true that my mind was incapable of recalling the dull conversation, but there were some points on which I could envision.

I was rushing to work, my break was ending after I decided to run out and get some lunch after a coworker told me about this new salad bar. I bumped past this man as he was yelling at his child. The man stopped me and began calling me out. Not surprised by his reaction I turned to face the ridicule head on.

“You Dirty bastard, can’t you see I’m teaching my kid? Jeez watch where you’re walking. This isn’t a zoo.” His ranting continued but he turned away from me abruptly and started pounding his shoe into the dirt by a tree.

I looked down at the boy and made a gesture to sit on the bench that was close by. He followed me and the boy started telling me about his father.

“Visibly upset? Yes, that sounds like Mr. Howell.” Emilia said, cutting into my thoughts.

“You knew him?” I asked.

She smiled. “Only on paper. Mr. Howell was diagnosed with IED, or Intermittent Explosive Disorder. This disorder just means he has impulsive outbursts. The symptoms are being hostile, having impulsivity, and aggression.”

I listened patiently, connecting the dots. Mr. Howell, when I met him that day, was having an outburst against his child...

“I like to light things on fire.” Said the kid. The sentence made me fascinated and I was attracted to this characteristic.

“The boy,” I started, “He was different.” Emilia looked at me with curious eyes.

“Did he say something to you?”

“After the father walked away to take a moment by himself the boy and I chatted for a few. He was polite and well mannered. He spoke about liking attention.”

“The boy, like his father, had an illness. HPD is also known as Histrionic personality disorder. An excessive attention seeker. This leads to inappropriate behavior and if not managed correctly can go down the path of disaster. It was rare to find it in a child so young but he fit the profile unfortunately.” Emilia explained. I could tell she was imagining the file in her hands. The way she zoned out and lost herself from reality.

“How so?” I asked, egging her on.

“I met with the boy once and knew he was not a case in which I could take on. He was screaming any time I wasn’t looking at him. Stripping and throwing his clothes. He even stole my lighter and lit the curtains on fire. The boy was troubled.”

“I see, tell me Emilia,” I leaned in toward her and she held my gaze within hers. “how am I linked to this case?”

Her expressions went numb and I could tell she was uncertain on whether or not she could say. “The boy, Peter… On the way into surgery he.” She stopped and I clung onto her every breath. “He said your name.” I leaned away from her and she did so too.

“What was the surgery for?” I asked innocently, trying to piece together this massive jigsaw puzzle.

“Let me set the scene for you Mr. Cliff. Last night on the far outskirts of New york sat a family of four. Shortly after dinner we assume Mr. Howell and Mrs. Howell got caught in an argument. Not wanting to bother their children they told them to go outside to play. They then went into the garage to continue their disagreement. Sometime during that fight, Mr. Howell stabbed his wife, killing her in cold blood. The youngest son had gone back in and must’ve heard something so he witnessed the crime happening. Mr. Howell, still unstable, then strangled his son. We then assume that he snapped back to normal and after being filled with great regret and remorse he killed himself by using the same weapon he did on his wife. All this we can confidently say happened due to the stab wounds on Mrs. Howell’s body, the fingerprint marks on Ethans body and Mrs. Howells DNA in Mr. Howells wounds.” She took in a hesitant breath before continuing.

“Now to answer your question. Peter Howell was brought into surgery for his second and third degree burns. Before going in though, he said and I quote. “Mr. Cliff told me it would be okay.” end quote, and therefore that is the link to you.” Emilia was quiet again and I knew she was thinking. “What did you and the boy talk about?” She asked, remembering my words.

I was suddenly brought back to the scene of sitting with little Peter.

My heart picked up in pace and I was captivated at my brilliance. In a matter of minutes I diagnosed the boy. I knew he was wanting attention and so I told him it was okay to do what he wanted. As long as he was fine with dealing with the consequences that followed. The father on the other hand, when I left the boy on the bench to make my final apology, I had convinced the man his wife was having an affair.

Over the next few months my statement must’ve gotten too real for him and he snapped on the account of a small gathering of false evidence.

“I told the boy it was okay to have fun. The father and I simply exchanged apologies and thanks. It was a miniscule thing that occured four months back. The boy must’ve been delirious and said my name on account of that.” My voice was filled with confidence and persuasion. Emilia fell for this and took that moment to leave the room but not before saying,

“Thank you for sharing this with me Mr. Cliff. I’m convinced you had no part in this. After all, there’s not much one can do by just an exchanging of words. I wish I could help you out of here but for the next fifteen hours you will be stuck in this room. I bid you good luck.”

“Thank you Emilia.” I yawned and gave a slight wave.

As the door clicked behind her I thought again about the boy.

His motives were genuine. Everything he did was for what he wanted. Pure attention. My guess is when he came back inside to find no one around he went into a room and lit something on fire. Out of stubborness and self-told motivation the boy stayed inside waiting for someone to scold him. Unfortunately his skin would burn and his needs would never be met.

I imagined the smell of his skin, the way it must’ve stung as the flames licked his soft outer shell. I imagined the smoke traveling down his throat and into his lungs. Filling him up with sickly gases and toxic fumes. My imagination bubbled as I thought about how his skin must’ve looked as he was dragged from the hot ashes. How he must’ve blistered and popped.

The different spots and layers colored in shades of white, yellow, red and black on his skin. The sight I created in my mind was wonderful.

The red light in the corner flashed on again and in walked a man with a ghostly appearance. “Let’s continue where we left off. Oh, and Peter Howell has just passed away.”

The time I spent at the station was much like my other past experiences. Being left for hours, having a sweaty officer rant on about old case files. The whole thing is a manipulative chase waiting until someone cracks. Though, these people are nothing to me. The victims, the cops mankind itself. No one could ever reach my standards as a perfect human being.

Eventually my twenty-four hours were up and I was brought back home upon request. Ms. Wadsworth had just finished dusting as I stepped in through the door.

“Ah, Mr. Cliff. Those policemen asked me questions. But no worry, I answered them with honesty just as you taught me.” She tapped me on the shoulder and left the apartment saying, “No need to pay. Today was well worth my excitement.”

I bowed my head in thanks and listened to her light footsteps traveling away from my door. The television behind me cracked and I turned slamming my fist into its side. The antennas above its plastic frame shifted and the picture on the screen suddenly cleared.

I was upset about how my day was wasted but not completely closed minded to the events. After all, the school was able to hire a tutor and get out a small lesson, Ms. Wadsworth came over and somehow did her job with the eyes of officers watching her, and I still have the opportunity to spend some time alone.

I smiled thinking about tomorrow. It would be a pleasant surprise to visit Emilia.

Two times in one week is definitely new.

A knock suddenly sounded from my door. I assumed who it was as I stepped toward it. Turning the knob I opened up to have Ms. Briggs fall into my chest. The action made me cough but she was far more flustered than I.

“Dear me, I am so sorry! I had to make sure you were okay, some officers knocked at my door asking about you. What happened? They said you were part of a crime.” She walked past me and took in my small apartment. I followed her with my eyes and put my toe against the bottom of the door to keep it from closing.

“Ms. Briggs, I thank you for stopping by, but I am exhausted. How about we talk another time?” I let my wish become saturated with seduction and she enjoyed my tone a little too much.

“Oh? And when would be a good, next time?” She asked, running her hand up my arm and locking it behind my neck.

I parted my lips watching her face become soft and needy.“Perhaps, next week. I have a meeting tomorrow and emails to reply to tonight.”

“You’re no fun Mr. Cliff. What’s a girl gotta do to get attention around here?” She pouted and headed past the door I was holding open. “Are you going to the crippled lady again?”

“Goodnight, Ms. Briggs.” I called shutting the door and not giving her a response.

“Time, time what time is it?” I questioned myself. I looked at the light coming from the stove. Six thirty am. It really had been twenty four hours.

I walked into my room rolling up my sleeves. I then opened my closet and smiled. “Thought of adding a little air in here.”

I walked over to my desk and started typing away on my computer. Its yellow screen glowing in the dark room. A thump and some shuffling sounded but I brushed it off and went about answering my student’s emails. By the time I finished it was nine in the morning on a Saturday.

I stretched and rubbed my swollen eyes. I then exited my chair and closed my closet door.

It was boring at how well the world could adjust to its speed. Not that long ago I was taken from my home and questioned. My mind was stuffed with information and facts. I was squeezed out for confessions after every dull and foreseeable question. But now, the world was still running the same way it had since the world started. People going on about their days, doing what they should and falling into the natural way of society…

“Mr. Cliff, I'm surprised to see you. I wouldn’t have been too shocked if you decided that yesterday would be part of our one week meeting.” Emilia’s words were flavored with amusement and I knew she had some kind of goal.

“Don’t be too shocked darling, it's unbecoming of you.” I grinned entering the room silently.

“I was just thinking about what we could talk about next week but since you’re here now, how about we just get started.” She said rolling herself behind me.

I nodded and sat in my place. As she moved herself, she crushed her burning cigarette into her armrest.

“Now,” She began, “I know about the time you were abused as a child, I know about the time your father committed suicide. How about you tell me what happened in between. It took the authorities about two weeks before they stepped in?”

I noticed there was no buzzing of an annoying device, no notepad waiting to be polluted with thoughts. Just us.

“Those days are nothing but growing into maturity. Are you certain it is that you wish to discuss?” I asked, wondering what she could gain from this.

Thinking about how the conversation could play, and where she would get to know my thought pattern. How could she learn about my view of the world and those who fill it in around me?

“Mr. Cliff, don’t think. Just tell me about your past.” I listened to the genuinity coming through her tone. I drew in a slow breath as I usually do before going back into contaminated memories. Then I began,

“A few days after my mother's attack, Perhaps two to three weeks, I was able to attend school again. The questions and stirring of words from people all smashed against me. It’s a lot like interrogation.”

Emilia chuckled at my comparison.

“My classmates were all wondering about my stitches.” I raised my middle finger to my eye and gently pressed it against my skin. Then I traced the fine white line from memory. “The doctors were able to save my eye’s, for the most part, and I was left with a scar. I was told to say I was in an accident and that I couldn’t remember what happened.”

“Who told you to say that?” Emilia asked. I was silent and thought about it.

“My mother, I think.” I continued with my story. “I was getting attention from all these kids I didn’t really know. It bothered me. A month went by and eventually people stopped talking to me, all except this one girl. Lia was her name.”

“What a beautiful name” Emilia said.

“Sure.” I replied in a hollow way, “She was always around me. Talking and asking about my family. The boys in my class said she liked me but I didn’t understand what that meant. The whole thing is just odd to me. The idea of having empathy, being sensitive, having those kinds of emotions.” I stopped talking and tried to rid my mind of her face.

“What happened to your mother?” Emilia asked, laying back in her chair. I leaned forward wiping my hands on my thighs.

“She was taken away. I would once in awhile recieve letters but none of them ever made much sense. I mean, why would she write to me?” I looked toward Emilia and her cheekbones fluffed.

“Maybe because she was feeling guilty?”

I shook my head lightly and sat back. “No, a person like that doesn’t feel guilt. If she’s never felt it before why would she then?” I spat.

“How was your father? Did he act differently?”

“As a matter of fact yes. He was always pacing around the house. He had shifting eyes and he stopped paying attention to me. I was never bothered by it because I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me time to think.”

Emilia rubbed her hands together attracting my eyes back to her moving figure. “What did you think about?”

“Pain, depression, things most people at that age don’t think about.”

“That is because they have other emotions to deal with,” Emilia said. Her words didn’t strike me in any way as new information.

“Now that I think about it. It was around that age I started experimenting.” I said lifting my chin with a grin.

“Experimenting?” Emilia questioned.

“Yes, I started out with the little ants that marched on my windowsill. Then as the days went on, our house wasn’t being cleaned so we had bigger bugs like cockroaches.”

“What did you do to these critters”?” I could sense Emilia knew my reply and she was almost afraid of what it was.

“I started out by squeezing them on my fingertips. Then with the bigger bugs I stepped on them with bare feet. The sound they produced was riveting and I heard my heartbeat for the first time. The way it pounded in my head, Emilia I can’t even express to you how I felt. It was all so new to me.”

“Did you go beyond bugs?”

The question stirred around in the room as it filled with silence. I licked my lips and shifted in my seat bringing my ankle up to my knee.

“A cat. The girl, Lia, was telling me about her orange cat. I asked her to bring it to me one day. I don’t quite recall how it was approved by her parents but suddenly in my hands was this orange cat.”

“Mr. Cliff…” Emilia started. Her voice was quiet and unsettled. “What did you do to this animal?”

My mouth formed into a toothy, wide smile. The look was eerie and highly unsettling.

“I ripped it apart. I first found that silencing it would be my best choice. So I squeezed the life from its throat. At the time I didn’t fully grasp at the knowledge of what I was doing. But I guess I had broken its neck.”

Emilia sent an audible gulp down her throat.

“Brace yourself, kitten it gets better.” My voice was crumbling lower as my description grew. “After silencing the creature I grabbed scissors from the kitchen. Unfortunately, they were dull so when I made a small hole I was able to put my fingers in and rip the skin apart. My room was instantly filled with the aroma of death. It’s insides spilled onto my floor and my hands up to the elbows were covered with blood. The blood was thin and slippery. I enjoyed running my hands over its entrails and even sliding them through my fingers. Then, I plucked its eyes out and even tore out its vertebrae.”

“How did Lia take it?” Emilia asked slowly. She was clamping her jaw together to keep from being visibly uncomfortable.

My mind pondered on the image of the cat a little more before I answered.

“I just gave her another orange cat from the block. No big deal.”

Emilia’s brows furrowed. “Why did you give her another cat? And why did you have to kill her cat? Why not the one from the block?” Her questions were empty of concern but filled with curiosity.

“Well, if I didn’t give her some kind of cat back then the parents would’ve suspected something. And where’s the fun in killing something that wasn’t given to you? The art of experimenting is that you shouldn’t have to hunt for your next victim. Instead you should simply wait for an opportunity to present itself. Now, there, of course, is no harm in tying a few strings and bending a few rules. The cost of learning something new is far greater than the feelings of some child.”

“Did your father ever find out?”

I uncrossed my leg and stretched giving a one word response. “No.”

Emilia nodded and took out another cigarette to light. I scratched my forehead waiting for the next question.

“Did anyone at your school find out?” she asked in a monotone.

“No, but they were also a part of one of my experiments.”

The end of the cigarette lit and she flicked closed the open flame. The white addiction laid gently between her two fingers and she then became interested in the conversation again. “What kind of experiment?”

“Kids are easy to manipulate and scare. During story time the teacher would make her voice go a certain way to frighten my classmates. So I began learning how to do the same. I also learned that silence is frustrating to some.”

“So your experiment was to irritate your classmates?”

“In a way. I was doing this to see how people of that kind reacted in certain situations. I found when one person yawns, a multitude of others yawn. If something unsettling happens they will have a reaction as if something is crawling down their spine or some will even exclaim making a certain noise.”

“By ‘people of that kind’ you mean those with emotions correct?” Emilia asked, reviewing the information in her mind.

“Indeed. I also found it interesting how my father handled things. Most days he would come home with a worried look on his face and eat very little, but if he came home and I said something bad that happened at school he would eat nothing at all. I created a small page full of tally marks and dates of when my father would eat or not eat. Near the end of his life he hardly ate anything. However, later in life I found that it is due to depression.” I said, giving Emilia little of my attention.

She was able to retain it, and right as she was about to ask another question, her voice caught causing her to cough abruptly. Her chokes were alluring to me and I watched as she rubbed her eyes, swiping away small tears.

“Excuse me. Smoke must’ve gone down the wrong way.” She started to laugh slightly embarrassed. “Before we move on and end our conversation I’m curious. The days before your mother was taken, she still beated you no?”

I felt my jaw crack as my mind hazed over with numbness. My breathing was slow and the pace of my heart was dangerously low. “Yes. What about it?”

Emilia drew in some smoke and closed her eyes thinking about what she was going to ask. “What did she do to you?”

Emilia’s voice changed and her eyes had a glassy tint to them.

“She abused me. There’s nothing more to say.” I uttered sharply.

“I think there is. Come now Mr. Cliff. What horrible things did your mother do?”

There was, unexpectedly, a knock on the grand door behind Emilia. She grumbled to herself quietly before saying, “Come in!”

In walked an Officer from the NYPD.

“Hello?” Emilia asked, unlocking her chair and turning. “Oh! Mr. Scribs, do you have it?”

“Yes I do, here you are.” He outstretched a small envelope to Emilia. She took it immediately and tore it to reveal its bearings. Mr. Scribs’ gaze shifted from Emilia’s giddiness to my solitude.

“Mr. Cliff I presume.” He said softly walking past Emilia and taking my hand. I smiled thinly and tried to regain attention on Emilia. Unfortunately, Mr. Scribs had other plans. “How was being interrogated? You were in a hot pan for a while yesterday huh? I heard all the big guys talked with you. Boy oh boy were they angry.”

“They truly were” I said, catching his eye. The man was tall and old. Around the age of Emilia and I. His white scruffy beard contrasted with his green eyes and his round belly lifted everytime he laughed.

“Have we met before?” I asked in a hushed voice.

The man's smile fell for a second but he pivoted to the front of me so Emilia couldn’t see his face. “Only briefly, back a couple years in April.” He then turned and gave Emilia a bright smile. “Catch up with you later ‘Milia,”

She looked up from her letter and nodded. “Yes, thank you Theo.” The man then walked out giving us both a wave.

“So you know Theo?” Emilia asked, stuffing the letter into her back pocket.

“Not really, he and I met under odd circumstances. He’s an interesting sort of man.” I answered, smirking slightly. “ and you know him how?”

Emilia’s poker face became present and she hid her smile well. “Oh, he and my husband knew each other.”

“Really? I would’ve assumed you two were closer due to him fetching your personal mail.”

Emilia shrugged letting her eyes fall onto my nose. “It’s a letter from my daughter.” The sound she produced was shallow.

“Nothing from your husband?” I asked, pressing into the matter.

Emilia remained still, not even blinking. “No, I’m not expecting anything from him.”

Her attitude on this was almost unreadable. The way she held herself was dark and there was a tinge of secrecy behind her words. “Now where were we?”

I clicked my tongue taking note of the time. “Can’t we end here for today?” I asked with a need for space.

“No. Mr. Cliff I want to know what happened in those two weeks. Your mother was with you before she was taken away and when the authorities saw you they didn’t even recognize your face.” Emilia burned out her cigarette which was now down to the yellow strip. “You are free to take as much time as you need. I understand that this topic may be hard for you.”

I stood up and walked to the window. “It’s not hard for me.” I said closing the curtains making it so the light from outside couldn’t be seen. I walked over to the door flicking off the lights. “I just don’t appreciate the way it makes me feel.” The room was now swallowed in darkness with cracks of light bleeding from underneath the door and curtains.

I straightened my back and leaned against the wall next to the clock.

“Mr. Cliff?” Emilia asked softly.

My shoulder blades slid down the wall and, as my knees buckled, my ass laid on the floor. I stretched my legs and rubbed my face taking my glasses off in the process. As I looked around the room, though without the assistance of my glasses, I was blind. My body laid limp on the ground as I thought of where to begin. Emilia sniffed in and I was able to distinctly pinpoint her location.

“It was dark all the time.” I felt my throat want to close as my memories came crashing to my mind. “My wrists always burned and my feet always cold.”

I envisioned myself in the small room. All the blinds closed, every sound mute. I was lying horizontally on the bed with my back against the painted wall. My hands bound up in zipties, my feet forced to hang off the edge with no covering.

“I would first smell her.” I said remembering the smell of honey and vanilla. “She would creep into my room and cover my eyes with a red ribbon. Before she did that though, she would say, “We do not change society. We must blend in.” She repeated that over and over.” I rubbed my thumbs together as my throat dried out.

“She would then take my clothes off. Bringing up my shirt to the nape of my neck. She would pull down my pants and I would be exposed to the bitterness of her touch. Her hot breath made my chin sticky and she would then say my name “Gorgie”. ”

I felt my stomach drop as I heard her voice in my head.

“What was she doing to you?” Emilia whispered begging me to continue.

“It varied. The days she wore her white lab coat she would examine my body. Touching my fresh wounds and asking me questions I couldn’t answer. She wouldn’t remember hurting me so she assumed I did it to myself. She would squeeze my stomach crushing my insides. She would grasp my shoulders and slam me into the wall in which I was forced to lean against.”

I thought back to the dents in the wall. The way the paint chipped around it. I thought about her crushing my insides making me vomit all over myself because of the pain.

“She would open my mouth and count my teeth. Pour boiling water down my throat. She would scratch my bare skin over and over until I bled. Other days, when she wasn’t wearing her coat, she would sit beside me rubbing my arms and legs. She would rub until my skin was thawed and burned. When she did that she cried and repeated my name.”

I stopped not wanting to continue. Emilia and I listened to the clock ticking beside me.

I was lost in my memories unable to escape the hold that I was placed in. Emilia rolled over to me, coming closer. In her eyes were tears and her throat had lost all moisture. She wanted to comfort me but knew that her efforts would go wasted. She knew the emotion I felt within me was forgein. She knew that she had compromised my idea of being above everyone and everything.

“The day they found you. Your closet door was ripped from its hinges. Can you explain that?” She asked in an almost inaudible voice.

The clock beside me swung and I listened as it chimed ten times.

Ten times it chimed, ten times… the same amount of time my mother's fists came slamming against the door.

“I had been released. My mother cut the ties and locked me in the room. I couldn’t make it out the windows because they were nailed shut, so I thought that hiding in the closet would be a way to release myself. But when my mother returned home and she wanted to look at my back. She…” My voice trailed off as I looked in the direction she would’ve come from. “Came in calling my name. “Georgie, we do not change society, we must blend in.” She knew I was in the closet. She pounded against the thin wood. The whole door shook. The first four times the door just rattled but on the fifth and sixth time I heard the wood splinter. Seven, eight, nine… By the last strike the door was torn from its place and she grabbed my neck. My head was cracked against the wall and I lost conscience. When I awoke, I was in new clothes but tied back up on the bed.”

I twisted my neck hearing it crack a few times before twisting the other way to have the same occurrence.

“Your mother wrote on you. Do you remember that?” Emilia asked.

I breathed for a few seconds coming back to my senses. I felt something raise my hairs but I brushed off the feeling.

“Mr. Cliff, what you felt was fear. Back then as a child you could feel slightly more than what you can now. At this age all you get is a little tickle going down your spine. In fact you may not even feel it. There is a hollowness in your chest. That is called numbness which is connected to sadness. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I am Not O.K.” My voice was cold and hard. The tone making anyone’s soul shake within their chest.

“Pardon?” Emilia asked, taken aback by my seemingly submissive side.

“You asked me what my mother wrote. On my skin she wrote, ‘I am Not O.K.” ”

I felt my eyes close and my brows flinch. “The first time she wrote that she was singing.”

Emilia’s chair creaked as she laid back realizing I was just continuing with my tale.

“What was she singing?” Emilia asked.

“Three blind mice, Three blind mice.” I began slowly. My low voice filled the space between us. “See how they run, see how they run. They all ran after the farmer’s wife.”

I stopped and decided not to finish, but Emilia took over. Just as slowly as I had started she finished the small tune.

“Who cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life, as three blind mice.” We were both silent after she finished the song. Uncomfortable air wrapping us closer together.

“I hardly feel that emotion now.” I started quietly. “As a child I knew I was above others because I didn’t have to deal with what they did. But with my mother around, I gagged on the air. With my mother I felt as if Death was holding me. But now?”

I grunted standing up. I maneuvered my glasses back to my nose and flowed my fingers through my hair. “Now when I think back I hardly feel anything.”

“Do you not feel that tightness in your chest? That electricity running across the thinness of your skin?” Emilia asked, skeptical.

I placed my hands on her armrest and knelt down in front of her so I was looking up to her face. The years were defined greatly as her wrinkles casted shadows across her defining features. The bags under her eyes were low and heavy. The wisdom behind her pupils were fractured and shattered.

“No, instead I feel as though everything inside me is dead. I feel as though my insides have disappeared and there is no need to exist. I feel, as though my head is heavy but all I can do is smile as I hear the thumping of my heart get faster in pace. Those memories excite me Emilia because they made me into what I am today. I’m better than normal people, I’m better than you and I’m better than my mother. I am not afraid of anything anymore because I have survived death by the hands of the one who gave me life.”

I stood and placed my hand against Emilia’s cheek. Her warmth matching mine and I softly rubbed my thumb from her nose to just under her eye lightly pinching the skin.

“I am perfection.” I then walked away from Emilia and gave a backhanded wave as I left the dark room.

Emilia sat alone in the darkness looking to where I had once sat.

“No Mr. Cliff. You are faulted beyond recognition.”