Another week had passed and I was once again, welcomed into the quiet room. A different smell wafted into my nostrils as I inhaled the scent of lavender. The door behind me closed and I found my way to my destined spot. Something in the room was off and my senses heightened with intrigue.

“Mr. Cliff. Let’s cut right to the point. The fourth murder you commited,”

“Allegedly,” I cut in. Emilia stared at me as she rolled her way to the side of the fireplace. She was keeping her distance and I could smell tension oozing from her presence.

“Right,” she said in a faint voice, “The fourth murder you allegedly commited was a a thirteen year old girl. Paige was her name. This case brought up a multitude of questions. Such as the connection between you two, how you officially killed her and how no one was around to witness it. The overall incident was deemed a suicide yet it hides away in the back of your file.”

“Paige was it?” I asked, letting the name roll from my lips. “This one I have no recollection of reading in the papers.”

Emilia knowing I wasn’t going to go further began pulling together the scene. “Female, thirteen years of age, past of depression and medical abuse. She was found by her mother after starving to death. This took place around four years ago.” Her tone became grave and anyone could tell this case pushed her to some kind of limit.

“Ah yes,” I said, pretending to know little. “I do recall reading a small article about this. Wasn’t it stated that she had a past for fasting to unhealthy limits? In her diary I believe.” I said with a coyness in my tone.

“When the cops arrived at the scene they found no sign of a struggle. With permission from her mother, they went through her diary and found multiple entries evolving around, depression, anxiety and even the moment when her mental illness began.” Emilia said, giving more information to the case.

“Which was…” I asked, tilting my head slightly. My pupils were enlarged and I clenched my teeth together refraining myself from smiling. This action was becoming quite easy every time I had to cover up the truth.

Emilia went on to say, “It said, and I quote, ‘ there was a boy in my class today who called me fat. He said I was so fat that he would never like me. But I like him. I promise that starting today I will never ever eat again. I will become thin and stay beautiful so that one day he will like me.’”

“Young love, “ I said, letting the short phrase rise into the room. Emilia frowned. A simple action that went unnoticed.

“Mr. Cliff, she goes on multiple times saying how she ‘missed lunch’ would purposefully ‘not eat the treats in class’ and ‘lie to her parents about eating dinner.’ This poor girl was starving herself. Until her parents found out.”

“Well, good. Her parents found out. What did they do about their problematic child?”

“She wasn’t ‘problematic’ she was hurt.” Emilia snapped but quickly calmed herself continuing, “They started her on therapy and medication but soon because of this she began to think there was something wrong with her.”

“Forcing her into this depression and anxiety phase.” I said adding to her statement. “Sounds like a normal reaction that many in society go through.”

“So it would seem. Well, since she thought this, she tried to kill herself by overdosing. She did this twice. She was constantly forcing herself to throw up and would wear weights when she needed to go to the doctors. She was killing herself. Therefore, this poor girl needed to be watched constantly.”

“So, how in the world could I, a man with no connection to her whatsoever, be linked to her death? She obviously had a past with trying to commit suicide, she was depressed and thought it was okay to starve herself.”

“But don’t you see Mr. Cliff! This is exactly the type you would seek to kill. She contributed nothing to society, she was already willing to die, and she was alone at the time of her death.”

“You just pointed out all the basic items for a suicide. Besides, you can’t connect me with this death. You only want to. Ms. Emilia I believe I am being put up for this image of ‘Murderer’ Because you can’t cope with the fact that the next generation is fucked up and pushed to the brink of madness. Sometimes kids push through, and unfortunately other times kids decide to fall.”

Our voices were raised to the point of shouting and we both sat back in our chairs. Each slightly defeated.

“I just don’t understand.” Emilia said letting her voice fall.

“No one does. We can’t see the pressure. We can’t feel what they feel. Instead we stand by and hope that they are strong enough to take it.”

Emilia was speechless and deterred. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the recording device. In a fit of anger she threw it onto the coffee table and began to wheel herself to the window. In my own way of reacting, I closed my eyes and sighed.

It was going to be a quiet session today.

Emilia lit a cigarette and opened the window. The outside world spilled in and I looked to her direction. Emilia was a stubborn woman but she couldn’t help but let her sensitive side slip out. Was it because she was comfortable around me? Or because she knew I wouldn’t do anything with it.

We both understood that the other truly didn’t care. We both understood that the other was damaged and destroyed. But we both also knew that there were different ways to deal with it.

I dealt with my pain through cold blooded, meaningless murder.

I dealt with it by watching Paige die.

Her mother was an old acquaintance of mine from highschool. We graduated in the same year. She tried to reach out to me in various different ways. Though, I ignored her outstretched hand. What would have happened if I didn’t? What would have happened if my heart, this beating muscle inside my chest, filled with compassion? Would I be normal?

No. I can’t expect that one occurrence could transform me into a normal man. Afterall, it took my mother eight years to turn me into a monster. It took my father one trip down the stairs to ignite my bloodlust.

Paige was a very simple girl with a complicated philosophy on life. She couldn't erase the fact that she thought she was ugly. I entered her home with no issue. After all, I simply had to bring a casserole and say, “Your mother called me yesterday.”

Ah how the innocent give in so quickly.

The scene played in my head. She opened the door for me, letting me in. We sat on the living room couches and started talking. During this time she unknowingly shared her dark past. The way her stomach growled at the sight of the casserole. The way she ran off for a few moments and came back with the stench of vomit.

I brought up the topic first asking, “Are you sick child?”

She shook her head and cleared her throat. “No, I’m just fat.”

“Fat?” I asked leaning forward in the chair. Its legs creaked with my motion. She looked me right in the eyes and told me her story.

“A boy in my class called me fat. My mom says I’m fine but now every Saturday I have to meet this cranky old woman.”

I laughed lightly at her explanation. She smiled hearing my laughter and continued.

“It’s true. And recently I haven’t been taking my pills. They are supposed to help me eat but I don’t want to eat. In fact, I haven’t eaten since Tuesday. Before if I did eat I’d go to the bathroom to throw it up.”

“When you say Tuesday, you mean yesterday?” I questioned.

Paige shook her head tiredly, “Two weeks ago,”

“Why my child, that is quite a long time.” I said, chuckling. She smiled proudly but began to sway in her seat. Shaking her head, trying to focus, she continued. “My doctor said that if I continue to not eat I could go into shock and die because my body isn’t taking in the things it needs.”

I hummed to her explanation. Just by watching her I knew she was losing conscience.

“Do you want to die?” I asked, dropping my voice into a hushed whisper.

I watched as she thought about the question and hints of maturity shot through her eyes. This girl had thought about dying before.

“I’d rather d-die beautiful than awake a-and become ugly. Maybe in heaven I’ll be truly loved.” She responded, beginning to stutter.

“Perhaps,” I said standing up. Her body was shaking and her eyes were losing focus.

Her body was losing her fight. Her organs were shutting down as her stomach was folding in on itself. She was dying. I knew by her reactions and convulsions that it had been much longer than a few weeks.

“Don’t fight the urge child. Just let it wrap you up.” I spoke to her ear and sat on the ground beside her chair. I wanted to be close as I watched the life slip from her leaf like body.

“I hope…” Her eyelids drooped down and her body fell toward me. I grasped the girls shoulders and gently dropped her to the floor. I too, then laid beside her. While doing so, her body became stiff and she was gradually becoming cold, but she wasn’t dead yet. Instead she was shutting down.

The scene was beautiful. Her hair intertwining with the carpet strands. Her skin slowly ghostly as the cells in her body lost oxygen. She was motionless and still. An hour passed as I sat watching her until the final moment when she stopped breathing. I bent down and smelled her hair taking in more of the vile smell that haunted her corpse.

What a beautiful sight she was.

I sighed knowing that I wasn’t welcomed into the home anymore. I grabbed the casserole and left the home, wiping down the doorknob and countertops on my way out.

“Mr. Cliff,” Emilia said, finishing her cigarette. “I must apologize for being so harsh and out of mind. I was just upset because that poor mother now has to continue life without her child.”

“I understand,” I said standing up and coming toward where Emilia was. Honestly though, I didn't. Who cared about a single life? If someone wants to die, let them. Emilia's frustration was incomprehensible to me. I couldn’t understand why or how she could put so much thought into the past.

“It’s not right you know.” She began. I was now beside her and she watched as her smoke was drawn out by the window. I was listening while examining her neck and broad shoulders. The skin looked soft and easy to manipulate. “It’s just not right…” She repeated. “A mother shouldn’t have to see their child buried.”

I was quiet, unable to answer. Emilia lowered her hand and crushed the butt into the hand of her chair. “This world is tainted with evil Mr. Cliff. I just hope you aren’t leading a part of it.” She looked up to me and I locked eyes with her.

“Ms. Emilia. We all are evil, and sometimes we can’t help but let it show.”

“Was that a confession?”

I smiled at her trying question and bent down kissing the top of her head.

“No,” I said in a low tone while moving away from her and sat down once again in my spot. From that little moment, Emilia had her stubbornness return. She wheeled herself over leaving the window open and placed herself near the small table holding her notebook and pen.

“Let’s try something different again. In the past we did personality questions, We’ve simply talked and I also experimented with emotional attachment.”

I nodded slowly only slightly understanding her words.

“So today I would like to go out. And seeing as we have roughly over forty minutes left. I’m having you be my assistant. I’d like to see you outside and interacting with the world.” She said smiling.

Stunned and unnamused I frowned at her.

“Mr. Cliff. We are going to your home.” Her sentence was cold and I could see she was enjoying my silence.

“Am I allowed to refuse?” I asked knowing my rights.

“Of course! But that will only give the cops reason to believe you are hiding something. Remember Mr. Cliff, Society is afraid of you and the police are looking for any inch of evidence they can find.” She looked me directly in the eyes and continued to smile. She had full control over me in this situation.

I weighed my options carefully. I wasn’t afraid of her finding any evidence for there was nothing to find. But I was more on the side of not wanting her to invade the privacy of my home. For her to observe me in a different light. Though seeing her in delight from my uncomfortableness was interesting. I could almost say, her sociopathic tendencies were shining through.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Well, I guess it would be amusing to have some guests. Though I do warn you, my home is a mess.” I said putting on a thin smile, wrinkling my cheeks.

“No problem,” She said and began to wheel herself from the room.

It was basic small talk on the way there. The air was still and the sound of traffic overflowed our ears. People rushing and pushing past, cars moving down the road. No one but the deft could escape the chaotic sounds of life.

I kept my eyes to the ground copying the vast majority of the crowd. Emilia was content and had no problem moving through the crowded areas. My mind was very still. I had a hollow feeling growing inside my body and that empty space inside me grew as we walked into the apartment's elevator.

Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes of being fake.

The ding of the elevator system sounded and the metal box opened us up to a long monotonous hallway.

About halfway down, a flustered woman was digging through her purse looking for her keys. She looked up and instantly gave off a bright smile.

“Hey! Mr. Cliff, good to see you. How’s your mother?” Her voice was shrill and agitating.

“She’s doing well, Ms. Briggs,” I answered smiling. In the corner of my eye I saw Emilia watching us interact. The woman found what it was she needed and stepped toward me coming uncomfortably close.

“You know I called you last night. Were you not home?” She asked in a hushed voice. Her words were suggestive yet light.

“Unfortunately,” I sighed tiredly, “I pulled an all-nighter at work. Never even came home.” Emilia coughed beside me and Ms. Briggs and I both drew our eyes to her general direction. “Ah yes, I have a meeting taking place right now. Please excuse us.” I said grabbing Emilia's wheelchair handles and pushed her past the woman. Her eyes watched us and I observed as Emilia started to giggle.

The woman stepped into her apartment slamming the door behind her in annoyance.

“Dear me, seems someone has a short temper.” Emilia said, now calm from her personal laughing fit.

“Ms. Briggs is an interesting woman. I hear her get up and walk to my door at night. She calls about twice a week and is always trying to enter my home.” I say pulling out my apartment door keys.

Emilia hummed in amusement and I turned her around after swinging the door open. I took Emilia in and wheeled her just past my kitchen. She was looking around taking in the new area. The lights were on and windows drawn open. Medical supplies still laced the floor but it had been cleaned in a rushed attempt. My mother laid on the couch watching the television screen.

Emilia laid eyes on another woman sitting in the chair beside the couch. Their eyes meeting in an unsteady gaze.

“Mr. Cliff?” called the woman taking a stand. She had a hispanic accent but her english was modest.

“What is it Ms. Wadsworth?” I asked from the front door trying to pull my key from its slot. Once released, I stepped to Emilia and frowned at the room. “No need to worry dear, she is simply an acquaintance. Thank you for your time but your assistance for today is no longer needed.” I said reaching into my pocket pulling out a lump of cash.

The woman crossed the room nodding politely to the therapist then grabbed the money and rushed out of the apartment.

“Forgive her, she is timid when it comes to conversation.” I explained.

“You seem to know a few people in this building. That’s very interesting.” Insight dripped from her lips and I knew she was taking mental notes of everything.

“We can continue our conversation in my bedroom if you’d like.”

“No,” Emilia said abruptly. “I’d rather stay here and simply watch you. Occasionally I’ll ask questions but for now just pretend like I’m not here.”

I looked at her confused but nodded and walked around the apartment. I picked things up and placed them into drawers. I walked into the kitchen and looked through my cupboards. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“No thank you, after all we have just under thirty minutes left.” I nodded again and grabbed myself a glass filling it with water from the tap. Emilia began looking around.

As I chugged down my glass of water Emilia wheeled herself up to the couch where my mother laid.

I felt the muscles in my shoulders stiffen.

“Hello Ms. Cliff. I understand that you probably can’t hear me. Nor can you respond.”

My mother didn’t move.

“Your son has kindly invited me into his home. He is making interesting progress.”

I set down my glass and walked from the kitchen still watching the interaction. I leaned against my bar and listened as Emilia spoke.

“I have many questions for you. But unfortunately with you in this state it would be pointless for me to ask. I’ll leave you be for now. Thank you for sharing your time.” Emilia finished. She backed away in her chair and turned toward me. She was wearing a proud smile and I watched as it grew wider with her next question. “Why so far away Mr. Cliff?”

My eyelids grew lazy and I decided not to give a response.

“I see I have made you uncomfortable.” She looked back to my mother smiling. “How about we talk about another suicide.” The television cracked and a grunt sounded from the throat of the half dead woman.

“Mr. Cliff. Twenty blocks from here a woman was found slaughtered in her home. Yet, with no sign of a struggle and the weapon layered with her finger prints, it was ruled a suicide. You, being the last person to see her alive.”

I turned away and dragged a stool from under my bar and sat atop it. It creaked under my weight but I regained my focus on Emilia's image.

“Twenty minutes left.” I said. Emilia locked her jaw and shifted her weight to one side, resting her head onto her boney hands.

“Samantha Howle, age twenty-three. Found in her bathtub with her throat slit open and her wrist cut twice, each. She died quickly but in the last few moments she suffered under tremendous pain. She did have a motive to kill herself, we found in her journal entries that she was raped by a man from her last apartment complex. In fact because of him, she had a stillbirth and two forced abortions.”

“You say I was the last to see her?” I asked, taking in this new information.

“Yes, you had lunch with her and she left the restaurant crying. What were you meeting her for?”

I sucked in my apartment’s air then answered with honesty, “She used to live across the street. I would wake up and open my curtains to see her watering her plants. I never really knew her until she invited me to lunch.”

“She used to live across from you?” Emilia asked, lifting her chin with her finger.

A ‘thump’ was suddenly heard from the next room over. I smiled and explained “Noisy neighbors. My apology.” Emilia hummed in understandance.

“Uh, Where were we?” I said to myself , “Ah Yes, she lived one window down from my view.” I answered. “She moved out about three months ago and I never heard from her until she got into contact with me, via letter. She told me she wanted to talk and invited me to lunch. It was a innocent gathering.” My voice was tired and I could hardly recall the woman’s face. How long had it been? I traced out the timeline in my head and figured it was about three months after Paige’s death.

“Why did she leave the place crying?”

“She was upset.” I answered. “Ms. Howle, had the ability to over-empathize. Any pain someone felt she felt as well.” The memories of her started to slowly come back. She was a short woman with thick glasses. Always wearing a pencil skirt and button up blouse.

“How did you communicate?” Emilia asked. The question instantly brought back the meeting at an outdoor patio. The restaurant was small and simple. She was extremely quiet bouncing her eyes from me to what was in front of her.

“She had a lined paper journal.” I replied recalling the fact that Ms. Howle was mute.

“Go on,” Emilia said. “Ten minutes left.”

The scene came alive in my head. We were sitting across from each other. In between us sat a small rounded table with a white covering. Menus placed neatly before us and water glasses filled to the brim. “She,” I began slowly, “Was very patient with me. I arrived late due to overstaying at work. I was going over some papers and lost track of time.”

Emilia pulled out the recording device reminding me to be careful with my explanation. “We were only there for no more than thirty minutes. She wanted me to stay quiet about what I had seen.” The television cracked and I looked away from Emilia, adjusting myself on my stool.

“What did you see?” Emilia pressed.

“I saw her getting raped.” I answered in a grim tone. “As I said she lived across the street. One night I stayed up late grading papers and when I went to close my blinds I caught a glimpse of her with a man. At first I thought nothing of it until he slapped her across the face.”

“How did that make you feel? Why didn’t you report it?” Emilia asked leaning closer in her chair.

My chest fluttered with adrenaline but I kept my composure as I quickly flashed on the scene.

Her hair flowing over the edge of the bed, her mouth gaping open as the man took advantage of her. She was limp and small compared to him, struggling beneath his grip. When she tilted her head up in a desperate attempt to scream, I caught her gaze with mine. I frowned and closed my blinds not caring to see more.

I continued, ignoring Emilia’s question.

“She moved out about three days after the incident. I never saw her again until a letter in the mail showed up. She asked me to lunch, as I’ve said and this invitation shocked me and I was even more so when I came to find she was mute. But that didn’t stop her from writing to me of her illness. She explained to me what happened that night and that she would appreciate it if I kept it quiet.”

Emilia nodded, taking in the information quickly. I was running out of time and had no intention of discussing this in our meeting next week.

“The waiter came by taking our orders I believe.” I said, remembering a handsome young man with greased back hair and bright smile. Samantha wrote what she wanted and the waiter left with a polite nod. “We ordered and she suddenly became very sad.”

“Why?” Emilia asked, pressing her brows together and pursing her lips.

“No idea,” I lied. The clock on the wall chimed and our time was up,“She got up and left the table. I never saw her after that.” I finished.

I smiled and got up from my stool and stepped toward Emilia.

“Mr. Cliff. I have the sneaking suspicion you are hiding something from that story. Why don’t you tell me what really happened?” I bent low and put my mouth next to her ear, as I had done before.

“I didn’t kill her.” My voice was deep and forceful even in its quiet state. Emilia was stone cold at my words and I wheeled her out of my apartment.

“Today was fun. Can’t wait to see you again next week.” I said closing the door.

I walked away and entered my room cackling to myself. The scene once again came to life. Her handwriting was neat and I admired her long brown ponytail. She was wearing a grey suit and black high heels.In an attempt to explain, she wrote down what happened acrossed the street that one night.

Pleased to meet you Mr. Cliff. I would like to start out with explaining a little about me. My name is Samantha Howle, I used to live across the street from you, about one window down.

I have a mental illness called Hyper-Empathetic. Put very plainly, I feel what others feel.

What you saw that one night, was a man I am helping. He had slept with me because he was lonely. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt me. And I’m not going to press charges.

I would like for you to keep this quiet as well.

She slid her journal across the table to me and I examined her words. Slightly fascinated by her illness I tested her.

“My mother is dying.” I said, looking her directly in the eyes. Within seconds her eyes were flooded with tears and she started to sob. Her choked breathing caught others attention.

Knowing the obvious scene she was putting on, she stood up and clasped my hands nodding then walked away quickly. The occurrence seemed to be nothing more than her saying goodbye but within my hands and her swift and careful movements she had handed me her address and the location of her key.

The entire situation made me smile mysteriously. My food was brought out to me and I sat there eating in silence.

Was she worth keeping around? Feeling sad and emotional for others is pointless. You aren’t helping them. Maybe I should step in... I checked my time on my wrist and paid for the meals leaving her order untouched. I also politely tipped the man a little extra and left the restaurant in a solemn mood. Hundreds of people rushed by and colors of all kinds flooded the streets.

Five o’clock rush hour. Now would be the perfect time. I have approximately fourty-five minutes to get the job done and get home.

Her apartment was conveniently close and I found the key easily. Slipping it into the lock I looked over my shoulder noting no one was around and no video cameras to spy on my figure. I turned the knob and entered.

Rushing water filled my ears and the bathroom door was open. I peered in and took in the sight of Samantha laying inside her tub holding a thin blade. She noticed me and closed her legs while balling up to hide herself.

I stepped in the bathroom taking in the small space. Tinted green walls and subway tiles. A small sink with a cracked mirror above it. In the small right corner stood the toilet which was directly next to the deep white tub. Ms. Howle was inside hiding her scars and watching me closely.

Neither of us made a noise.

I walked past the tub and sat on the floor beside her right shoulder. She let out a quick breath and showed me her arm. Lines flowed up to her elbow giving me the reality of her illness. I assumed that after she would give in to her emotions she would drift into depression cutting herself. The lines captivated me and I grasped her hand. It was soft, wet and tense.

“You know, my mother used to beat me.” My words sent chills down her spine and hairs raised on her arms. “She would throw things when I did something wrong.”

I heard Samantha’s breath hitch. She shook her head begging silently for me to stop. The motion caused me to smile.

“People are so sad. Everyone is depressed. A young boy at my school commited suicide a six months ago.”

Her chin quivered and warm tears streamed down her cheeks.

“We all should just die.” I said calmly. “We all should do exactly like you... Take this blade,” I raised her hand into the air as her other arm crossed over her body. “And cut ourselves.”

Within a swift motion I layed the blade onto her wrist and wrenched it back making her bleed. She started to become shallow and her toes curled in a pained reaction, but she didn’t resist me.

“Yes, that’s it.” I hummed putting the blade just under the cut area. “Do it again. Do it because we are in a sad world.” She swiped herself this time and more blood began to pour out. It dripped down the length of her arm and dropped into her dirtied water. The smell she gave off was exhilarating and I wanted more.

“Why are we alive?” I continued letting my voice go childish. “Why do we live only to suffer?” My questions flowed as she changed the hand where the blade was and positioned it to her other arm. Once, then twice. The blade was slid across her now leathery skin. “We should just die.” My words made her shake. Her hands went fluttery as blood seeped out of her wounds.

Time was ticking away and I had to finish.

“Come on, you know what you need to do. Do it for me.” She was losing grip of the blade and her fingers were numb. I grabbed her arm again and raised it to her throat.

“Do it.” I hissed. My aggression started to seep from my mouth and I couldn’t wait any longer. The blade was slowly crossing her neck but not deep or fast enough for my liking. So, I gripped her elbow and pushed down on her low arm forcing the blade deeper and slashing out of her neck. She gagged on her blood and passed after a short minute.

The smell of her blood flooded the room and I quickly got up, becoming aware that rush hour was almost over.

Being careful to not leave footprints and knowing that the steam and water would rinse off my prints I left the room putting the key in its original place.

I made it home avoiding the street cameras and paid my neighbor while taking a seat beside my mother. Everything was quiet and I sat thinking about Samantha Howle for the rest of that night.

The memory of that day made me cackle for I couldn’t get over how easy it was to feel good.

I kicked my closet door, then went to lay on my bed. “Poor Samantha.” I sang, “Bless your soul for being tainted.”