I watched as cars went by in the window and sighed to myself, thinking of all the insignificant people out there whom I hate. It had been maybe a month since I have gotten out of that humiliating mad house. I had been there for five, maybe six, years. I couldn't be sure and in truth, I didn't care. It's still my life wasted.

I lived in a stark white solitude for five years. The thought kept winding its way around my head. Five years I was locked up, while these idiots below me drove about in their cars, milling around, stabbing each other in the back and lying through their teeth.

I did not envy them. In a sick sort of way, that white room with deafening silence had been mine. During that time, I thought mostly of life. My life. My imprisonment. During and before my crime life.

While I still had a face.

I turned from the window and my attention became focused on the small mirror tucked away in the corner. I glared into it, staring at the scars on my temples and cheeks where that idiot left the incisions and thread. Almost immediately upon arriving at that mad house, I had been admitted to the clinic. My wounds had split open during the altercation with the police and they wanted to make sure I had no infectious disease. The skin never did heal properly.

My face has changed so many times, it is almost a stranger's face to me now. I was never a movie star looker, but I did have some…attractive attributes. I was what some might call handsome. I had smooth skin, jutting cheeks, a strong chin. This was years before now. Before I left home. Maybe, had I not turned to a life of crime, I could have found a doll of my own.

I experimented when I was younger. There was one dame that stood out particularly. Sweet, nice, caring. Hard to think she even talked to me. I think she saw something. Something that kept her talking to me, something that let her say yes when I offered to take her to get some dinner. There was one problem.

Her old man.

He hated me and stopped us. At that point, he could. We were just starting to leave home; her going to college and me…trying a much different career field. I found out years later, she had married and had a kid.

I also came to think of a young woman in my early days of villainy. Over in Cardiff, I remember her as a tool in my grand scheme and an outlet for my misery. It almost seemed like too soon that she had outlived her purpose. I found out too late that she had a secret. A secret that still almost makes me regret her murder. Almost. I have never been the same since. Now I realize that was a crucial turning point in my life.

Because of her and my anger, the inexperienced lad who lived off of bruises and secret nightly stands…metamorphosed into a superior being that lived off of blood and stolen souls.

Souls.

I sold mine that night. I sickenly turn away from the window and gaze back out the window.

'I wonder how many others have lost theirs'

The stink of smoke and the mutterings of utter intoxication surround me. I sit at a small table in the shady corner and absently drink the dark liquid. I was trying to drink the memories away. It was to human for me to relive these shadows, as it resurfaced feelings that I didn't want to feel. Feelings I worked hard to get rid of. Sadness, longing, loneliness. Most people don't believe I feel these things. I usually don't, but they unfortunately crop up every now and again.

I look up to see someone enter the bar.

'But those feelings are gone quicker than they appear'

My eyes have become glued to the man who just walked in. And oh how I ached to stalk up to him and wrap my fingers around his pale throat. But an idea came to me in a flash of inspiration. I melted into the shadows and waited for him to loose his sobriety. And those minutes ticked by at an agonizing rate, making me burn with red, hot anticipation. My feet tapped and unnatural, erratic rhythm and my fingers twitched.

Maybe two hours passed before hi finally tried to hobble out. With the grace of an expectant tiger, I followed him out and watched as he turned into a dark ally and passed out against a wall.

I walked up to him and dragged him back to my old abandoned flat. It was bleak and out of the way and perfect for what I was about to do.

As I carried him into the empty living room, I tied him to a chair and waited in the shadowy threshold.

He started to stir.

As he lifted his head, groaning, he looked around in the dimly lit room. But when he noticed he was tied to a chair, even his alcohol soaked mind started to panic. AN dhe started to jerk in his restraints.

"I wouldn't do that"

He looked us as I stepped into the dim moonlight. His eyes widened in delicious panic and fear.

"Ch-chonny?"

My lips curled into my smuggest, sadistic smirk.

"Hello doctor"