He felt physically sick, just as he had everyday since he arrived at this mental health facility. Although he had rationalized his actions previously, it seemed as though the longer it had been since he killed him, the more juvenile his motives had become. Now, he was left with the image of his blood stained hands and the lobbyist's vacant stare continually replaying itself in his head and he could not foresee ever being able to escape his guilt. He could now understand why people chose to commit suicide, which used to be a concept far beyond his comprehension.

He was sitting in the common room at a metal table gazing through the window at a perfectly sunny day attempting to keep his mind distracted. However, the shrieking, moaning and unintelligible conversations of others in the room kept his mind from drifting off, as though it was another aspect of his punishment. Without warning, a young girl forcefully commandeered the seat across from his, blocking his view of the window. Ignoring him, she opened a book entitled "Ghosts" and began reading. Zack studied the cover of the book unable to comprehend why anyone would read it.

"Ghosts don't exist." He stated.

The girl jumped at the sound of his voice, "Holy crap, dude! I thought you were a vegetable!"

"I had no intentions to frighten you." He said, looking at her quizzically.

"Well then, what were your intentions?"

"It was merely to state that the book that you are reading is irrelevant and dated." Zack said.

The girl paused for a moment and flipped her book back and forth, observing the cover. She shrugged, "Looks new to me!" She giggled.

"You have clearly misunderstood my meaning. What I was attempt…"

"I know what you meant. I was making a joke," she lowered her voice, "Do you know what a joke is?"

"Yes, however, I didn't find it particularly funny. I also didn't find your last statement funny either."

"Fair enough." She said, rolling her eyes. With that, she slouched back into her chair and resumed reading. Zack exhaled loudly, still unable to see out of the window. Without looking away from her book, the girl asked, "What do you want?"

When he didn't answer her question she peered over at him. He was craning his neck and putting his body in awkward positions in order to be able to see around her. She slammed her book shut and rose from her seat. Zack smirked, thinking that he would now be left alone, until he realized that she was leaning down next to his chair with her nose an inch away from his. She grabbed the side of his chair and with a quick jerk, pulled both him and his chair two feet over. She smiled and strode back to her seat victoriously, leaving Zack bewildered.

"You don't appear to have any psychopathic tendencies." Zack stated.

"This, coming from a psychopath…" she smiled at him and quietly giggled to herself.

"I am not a psychopath. I am emotionally disturbed and suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That is when a person goes…"

"Everyone knows what PTSD is. Don't think you're special just because you know the name of a psychological disorder."

"I don't think that I'm special just for that. I'm special for numerous reasons."

She looked at him astonished and in a mocking tone said, "That's right! Because you're mommy's special boy!"

"You are very defensive."

"And you are really annoying. I am obviously trying to read. See? Book. Eyes. Reading…"

Zack stared at her as she went back into her book, obviously perturbed. He shook his head and continued to look out the window.

A moment later, the girl let out a growl, "Damn you! You got me so upset, that I can't concentrate."

"Perhaps that is because one requires brain, as well as a book and eyes for reading." Zack said flatly, still staring out the window. When there was no response, he looked over at her and saw the look of shock on her face, "I'm sorry. That was extremely rude, wasn't it?"

"It's fine." She said, letting her face drop, "Everyone in here has the right to be a little defiant at one time or another. My name is Amy."

"I'm Zack."

"It's nice to meet you, Zack."

"So, why are you in here?" he asked.

She looked at him, and then looked down at the book in her hands, "I… have some… issues." She giggled, "Well, I guess that is putting it mildly."

"You don't have to answer if you don't feel comfortable."

She smiled, "How about you?"

"I killed a man."

"What?" she said sounding astonished.

"I killed a man." He repeated.

"And they put you in a mental health facility rather than jail?"

"Like I said, I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Well, who did you kill?"

Zack sighed and rested his head in his hand, massaging his eyes, "I'd rather not say."

"Sounds juicy." She said, turning her body toward him.

"What?"

"Ugh, never mind."

Zack looked at her puzzled by her lack of disdain. Virtually every person who knew about his situation immediately judged him or told him that he would rot in the bowls of hell for all eternity, which didn't seem to bother him considering there was no inferno of doom created for the sole purpose of punishing the evil. Amy however, didn't seem to be the least bit bothered by what he had done, she looked intrigued.

"I am surprised by your lack luster reaction to what I have done." He stated.

She smiled and rolled her eyes, "Well, there are plenty of people here who have murdered more than one person in their day. While I don't believe what you did is right, you are one of the few non-psychotic people my age in here who I could potentially fill my desperately lonely days with." She said over-dramatizing the last few words.

"You are a very strange person." He said, looking at her sideways.

"Coming from you, I believe that that is a good thing."

They both laughed.

"How long have you been here?" Zack asked.

"About five years."

"Five years? You look to be about twenty two years old; that would mean you were approximately seventeen when you were brought here?"

"What are you, a psychic?"

"There is no such thing." He stated.

She tilted her head, waiting for him to make the realization. After a moment, he sighed, rolled his eyes and let out a mechanical sounding laugh. She wasn't sure whether the laugh was genuine or mocking her, but either way, she accepted it.