2011

The room smelled of formaldehyde and men's deodorant. There was no furniture, so he sat on the bare floor, facing the bare wall, completely and utterly motionless. Until I shut the door behind me, I noticed the slightest movement of his neck, an acknowledgement of sorts.

"I was wondering when you'd finally come see me." His voice was quiet and soft. I noted at least three bone fractures in his left arm, as well as a number of bruises along his upper torso. The boys certainly did a number on him, I made sure of that.

"Well, I'm sure you know the old expression. If you want something done-"

"You've got to do it yourself. It's good you've come to realize that the goldfish just get in the way of things."

"What?"

"The goldfish. It's what I like call the...normal people." He accentuated the word "normal" as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. I didn't reply at first, but when I opened my mouth to do so, he interrupted me again.

"You know I'm not going to tell you anything. I certainly didn't say anything to the alcoholic with a stomach ulcer and three separate mistresses."

"Four, actually. You didn't see the left hand." At that, he laughed.

"Oh, I saw plenty of it. Too much, I'd say." He turned to face me. His eyes were so remarkably void. "But you're not him, are you? No, no, you're...the Iceman."

"And what does that make you?" He grinned like a shark would.

"I'm the ape that rubbed two sticks together."

Neither of us said anything for a while, but he suddenly stood up and cracked his neck and exhaled forcefully.

"Alright, if you reeeeeeeeally want me to, I'll talk." Instinctively, I straightened up, but my face stayed the same, I made sure of it. "But, Miss Starling, it's not going to be that easy." He began to walk around the room, stretching his arms. I exhaled with an air of frustration.

"What do you want?" He stopped, facing the wall again, but I could tell he was grinning.

"Tell me about...him. And start from the beginning, take care not to leave anything out. I'll be able to tell if you do."

I sneered.

"Will you?" He turned to face me again.

"I'm not your little brother." The sneer turned into a scowl, and he smiled the sort of smile I'd give to Sherlock when we were younger. The kind of smile I'd give when I knew I was right. I took a deep breath, and frustration bubbled up in the front of my skull.

"Fine."