Nick's P.O.V

The guard has a tight grip on my arm as we walk down the dark, narrow hallway, and the handcuffs are rubbing against my skin with every step. We come to the last door of the hall, and he lets go of me long enough to get it open. He pushes me inside, where a man in a fancy suit is waiting at a large table stationed in the middle of the room.

I'm not surprised. There've been many fancy suits walking their way through here lately, each one of these rich jackasses trying to "get through to me." But, see, the thing is…if they would actually open their fucking ears and just listen, we wouldn't be going through this problem right now.

The guard unlocks my handcuffs, but the shackles remain around my ankles, as always. I, routinely, take a seat across the table from the mysterious man, immediately taking up his offer for a cigarette. I lean in as he lights it, and then I take in a long, deep drag as I sit back in my seat.

"So, by now, you obviously know why we're here," he remarks, crossing his hands on the table and staring earnestly at me.

I remain silent, pushing some of the irritating cotton material of my orange jump suit from off my neck, and then taking in another drag of the cigarette.

"You want to tell me about Mr. Marino?" he inquires.

I cringe, knowing how much Joe seriously hates that name. But still, I remain silent. The man shifts in his chair, and I can tell by now that he's getting somewhat impatient with my lack of conversation.

"Nicholas-."

"It's Nick," I seethe, my lips pressing tighter against the cigarette as I inhale again.

"Fine...Nick…if you don't talk, I can't help you."

I chuckle, sprinkling some of the ashes onto the floor, despite the ashtray that's sitting directly in front of me. "What do you care? You still get paid either way."

He looks somewhat taken aback, and then shifts in his chair again, uncomfortably. "That's true…but if I honestly didn't care, I wouldn't even bother showing up here."

I scoff and sprinkle out more ashes, and I'm praying I can make this cigarette last as long as possible, because they never offer seconds.

"Have you ever really loved someone?" I press, and I can practically see the man's ears perk up as if he's a fucking fox in a field who's just scented its prey. "I mean, have you ever loved someone so much that you'd do absolutely anything for them, no matter what they asked…anything?"

"Um…I suppose."

"Exactly," I state. "Now if you understand that, I don't see why this whole interrogation needs to go on any longer."

"Nick, listen…I just need to know the truth," he insists. "All of us are aware of the fact that most of the deaths of all those girls were the actions of Mr. Marino."

"His name is Joe," I stress.

"Excuse me- Joe," he corrects himself. "But what the court doesn't understand- and what we'll probably have a hard time getting the jury to understand as well- is why, and more importantly, how, you got involved in all this."

"No, what you want is for me to rat Joe out."

"It's a little too late for that," he states. "There's more than enough evidence tied to him…and you, too."

I remain silent again, and when I look down I notice my cigarette is almost used up, so this little charade better not go on for much longer.

"Personally, Nick, what I'm having a hard time understanding is how you- a previous straight A student, top scholar of his class, student body president, first-placer in all science fair contests- ended up like this," he emphasizes, and I can feel the blood beginning to boil beneath my skin at the thought of my past. "I mean, you had acceptance letters coming from colleges all over the world! You had so much ahead of you, kid, but for some reason you involve yourself with this sick psycho and ruin your life. You had the opportunity to be something!"

"Just, stop!" I shout, rising up out of my chair, my hands banging against the metal table, and from the corner of my eye I can see the guard is quick to jump into action. I sit back down in my seat, non-verbally letting him know I'm good now, and he backs off. "That's not me anymore. And don't you ever talk that way about, Joe, again. You don't know him like I do, and that's why all you "hot shots" don't understand him."

"Oh yeah, you're right…he brutally murdered- some of which were raped- nearly 15 girls over a span of four years," he says, sarcasm evident in his voice. "What's not to understand?"

I roll my eyes, my gaze averting over to the other side of the room, my hand trembling slightly as I bring the cigarette back up to my lips, the faces of those girls flooding back into my memory…the look of terror on their faces…the pleas and screams and tears…the limpness of their bodies when their hearts stopped beating…their warm, warm blood…

"Nick, I'm not here to hurt you," the man says, bringing me back to reality. "But, quite frankly, these are some pretty heavy accusations against you, and I'm afraid we're up against the death penalty here. Please…just tell me what happened so I can at least work up a decent case for the trial."

"You want to know everything?"

He nods, eagerly, and then finally turns on the tape recorder that's resting in the middle of the table, facing me. "Yes…everything."

I sigh, and take a deep breath, knowing that if I have to start from the beginning, there's no hope in me getting to smoke a cigarette the whole time.

"Well, it all started three years ago, when I was 18…" I begin. "It was close to the end of school, around graduation time. That was around the time Joe had been living in that old house on the other side of town, and I'd always pass by there on my way home. Now, of course, everyone knew that Joe wasn't up to any good, even I did. Everyone just figured he was just this weirdo creeper who snuck into girls' rooms at night and stole their underwear and shit like that, on account of he was a real keep-to-himself type bastard. But unlike everyone else…I wasn't scared of him."

"What do you mean?" the man asks.

"I was entirely intrigued by him," I reiterated. "And despite the fact that I hardly ever saw him come out of that house- during the day at least- there was something that drew me to him, like there was this inevitable connection between us. I think even he saw it, just by the way he'd stare back at me whenever he'd catch me sitting across the street from his house, watching him. And it didn't matter that he was a lot older than me; I was the one who felt the need to know him…to get close to him…

…And, god, was I hungry for it."