The passage loomed ahead of me, dark and dank as ever. I shuffled along in my shackles, my arms held tight by the two uniformed rednecks beside me, like I was some kid caught stealing in a candy store. I mentally cursed them, and my inability to fight back.
We stopped in front of the door and one of the rednecks twisted the key into the hole, opening the door. As usual, the banality of the room was only compensated by the fact that this is the only time I ever get the chance to leave my cell.
She was already sitting there, files open on the table. I rolled my eyes and shuffled to the seat in front of her. The door slammed behind me, and we were left alone in the windowless room, shutting out the outside world.
"We meet again, Paul," she smiled.
I didn't answer, staring at her like I always do. This was her third visit, and I wondered how long was she going to keep at this.
Typical of her behavior when I didn't respond, she flipped the papers in her files. Then she looked back up, and said, "Has anyone visited you in the past week?"
I narrowed my eyes at her because she knew fully well the answer to that question.
"Very well. So how are you coping with your situation now?"
I mimicked her sarcastically, "Very well."
She just looked at me resignedly. "Paul, if you want me to help you –"
"I don't need your fucking help, doctor."
"Do I have to remind you yet again that you're turning 18 next month? If you don't give me sufficient material for your trial, you will be trialed as an adult, facing life in prison, or a death sentence. If that's what you want, fine. If not, you do need my help," she said, her voice hardening.
I smirked. Look at her go, channeling the role of Psychiatrist of The Week, trying to be tough and all that bullshit. For someone who supposedly graduated from Harvard, she really has no clue. Coming here, trying to second-guess my behavior and all my secrets… what a fantasy that was.
Putting on a pleasant tone, I said, "Alright then. What can I tell you which you can use to help me?"
She looked relieved, thinking she had gotten through to me, a laughable thought. "You can start by telling me about your parents."
I rolled my eyes, even though my insides felt like it had clenched into a knot. The very mention of them makes me want to vomit. That, or punch something.
"What's there to tell? I've told you everything about them last week. Why, doctor, did you lose the file for that session?"
She ignored that and said, "How do you feel about your parents, Paul?"
I paused, unintentionally thinking about that answer even though I was actually starting to have fun ridiculing this woman.
What did I feel?
Anger. Hate. Regret. No, wait, regret isn't part of it. There was nothing I had done to them that could make me feel even a tiny smidgen of regret.
"Why do you care?" I asked.
"I don't. But do you?"
I widened my eyes in mock surprise. "Whoa, doctor! Are you implementing your psychomindwording technique? Because really, I am not impressed."
She sighed. "I'll go straight to the point then. Why did you kill your parents?"
That was easy. "Because they deserved to die."
"Why did they deserve to die, Paul?"
I exhaled, looking up at the ceiling.
"Because they don't deserve to live," I said, then cracked up at my joke. I'd rate that around 6 over 10 on my Humor Scale. Been neglecting that for a long time, but damn, it felt good to laugh.
"Why don't they –"
My eyes snapped to hers, and I said spitefully, "If you're going to ask why don't they deserve to live then you might as well leave. Don't come in here and pretend that you know nothing, because you're not only insulting my intelligence, but also yours. So please. Ask me something you really don't know."
She stared at me, not even flinching at my change of tone. Then she flipped the pages again, even though I know damn well that she didn't need to look at her notes. They're all prepared, in her mind, before she even stepped into this room. Freaking psychiatrist techniques.
"How do you feel about Jack?"
The familiar knot in my stomach returned, only this time a stabbing pain accompanied it. I never knew how I feel about Jack. There's this part of me that hated him, and then there was this part, so remote and untouchable, that felt something akin to love for him. It was fucking stupid, this unexplainable feeling.
"Nothing. I don't feel anything for that sniveling coward," I said, harder than I intended.
"So you don't feel anything even when I tell you that Jack is now living with an adoptive family?"
No, bitch. Of course I feel something. Relief, because he was now with people that could love him for who he was. Envy, because I never had that chance.
"Well, good for him then," I scoffed, trying to show that I didn't care
The look on her face told me that she saw past it, though. But she didn't comment on it.
"I talked to your neighbors, the Reiserts. They said that Jack used to be a quiet boy, until your family came back from a vacation in Carmel last summer. They said he changed afterwards, he became happy and well-adjusted. Can you tell me what happened in Carmel that could have triggered his change?"
I fixed my stare at the edge of the table, remembering that summer. In spite of myself, I smiled remembering the girl who had so much potential, but foolishly let it all go for the companionship of the dead. And she even helped that twit Jack, thinking that he would be saved from all of troubles of the dead. I should have told her, that all the troubles in this life?
They don't just come from the dead.
She was hot, though, man, was she hot. Too bad I could never see her again. I might have rocked her world – maybe even her bed - in some other time.
"He made some friends," was all I said in response to the question.
I could tell she wasn't satisfied, but I didn't elaborate. She paused, before saying slowly, "After a while though, the Reiserts said Jack changed. He became withdrawn, even more so that he used to be previously. Do you know why this happened?"
I swallowed, suddenly disturbed by the possibility that she was edging to the truth. But it was ludicrous. No way was she capable of discovering something so…hidden.
"No, I don't," I lied, staring at her again, challenging her to challenge me.
She didn't say anything, but picked up a paper and slid it across the table to me. I glanced at it, and it was a photocopy of a brochure of some sort. It had the picture of a building, but I didn't read the caption. Let her tell me what it was.
"That's the brochure to the Leysin American School in Switzerland, found at your home. The principal of the school said Jack was supposed to be enrolled there this semester. However, there were no records of Rick Slater making any arrangements for Jack's enrollment."
She looked at me, as if expecting a response. When I silently looked back at her, she said, "Did you arrange for Jack's enrollment, Paul?"
"What do you think?"
"Why?"
I snorted. "Because the farther he is from me, the better."
"Was there any specific reason why you would want to send Jack away, Paul?" she asked again, her voice patient.
"I already told you my reason," I said, shaking my head as if to demonstrate that she was incompetent.
"It wasn't because you found out that Jack was sexually abused?"
I gritted my teeth, knowing that Jack must have told her. Pathetic fool. Always talking when there was no need to talk. Idiot.
"Maybe it was. Why don't you go and ask him, I'm sure he has many wonderful things to tell you."
"I did. But now I want to know what you have to say," she replied.
"I already said what I had to say! God, are you dumb or what? They should have picked me a better psychiatrist, you're obviously too old for this," I sneered.
Actually, she wasn't that old, maybe around her 40s, but based on the amount of makeup she put on her face, it must have occurred to her at some point. Vanity. Our good doctor has her sins too.
Her powdered face flushed, but she cleared her throat and regained her composure. Then she dropped the bombshell.
"Were you sexually abused, Paul?"
I let out a short laugh. "Of course not."
She leaned over from her chair, putting on a concerned look. "Paul, you don't have to hide anymore. Jack has told me everything, and now –"
"Jack is a fucking idiot, okay? He talks too damn much. I have nothing to do with that freak," I snapped.
She ignored what I said and continued, "Paul, whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. You were a victim and you have the right –"
"I was NOT a FUCKING VICTIM, okay? Stop pretending to be a fucking Miss Know-It-All!" I yelled at her face, feeling my rage starting to surface. The shackles cut at my flesh, and I shook at them irritably.
"Okay, Paul, calm down," she said carefully, moving away from me. "If you say you're not a victim, then I guess I have to believe you."
I sat back in my chair, glaring at her. "Yeah, you do that. Is it time for me to go?"
"No, Paul, we have 15 minutes left. I have another question to ask you."
How the hell would she know we had 15 minutes left without even looking at her watch? Stupid bitch.
"Whatever."
"Do you love Jack?"
"No, I don't," I retorted, more so to annoy her than to answer her question.
"So arranging for Jack to get away from his abuser, that's not love?"
"Call it whatever you want, doctor. Clearly you know better than me."
"Paul, I'm trying to help you here. Repressing your emotions will not bring any good to your situation," she said in this supposedly understanding tone.
God, she pisses me off.
I looked at the walls behind her, refusing to cooperate. I could wait another 15 minutes without talking, that's for sure.
She continued relentlessly. "Could it be that what you're feeling for Jack is more than love?"
I kept quiet.
"He's not your brother, is he, Paul?"
I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time, my silent vow making way for a sarcastic remark. "And here I thought you had a file for each of us. I feel so insulted."
"I'll rephrase. He's more than a brother, isn't he?"
I shook my head, even though my defensive walls felt threatened.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I replied, my voice sounding strangled.
"Paul. Jack is your son, isn't he?"
Stunned, I gaped at her. What the fuck -!
"You were abused by your mother as a child. So badly abused, that she gave birth to Jack. You can deny it, but the resemblance is uncanny. You must have thought that the abuse stopped when you got older, but then you found out that your mother was abusing Jack and you lost it. You may have said that you hated him, but a part of you knew he was your son, and that was the part that wanted to protect him, wasn't it? That's why when your parents stopped him from going to the boarding school; you stabbed them to death, didn't you? Your mother, for the evil that she had done, and your father, for not stopping her, am I right? Paul?"
There was silence as she gave me a pitying look.
My ears were ringing, listening to her fucking voice droning on about things she wasn't supposed to know. This was a secret and she blathered on as if she knew even a single thing that I had gone through. And she was sorry for me. This bitch, felt sorry for me.
I lunged at her.
She shrieked, toppling back in her chair as the table turned, papers flying everywhere. Even with the constricting shackles, I managed to straddle her and grabbed at her throat.
"You stupid, fucking, LYING BITCH! SHUT THE HELL UP!"
She gargled as air to her lungs was cut, her hands grappling around to push me away. I gripped her throat tighter, all the rage and shame and hatred coursing through my blood, making me feel superhuman.
"You know NOTHING! You are a FUCKING LIAR!" I shouted at her, relishing the pleasure of watching her face slowly turning blue.
Die, bitch, die.
Suddenly there was a painful jolt to my back, and I stiffened, electricity crackling through my body. Yelling in pain, I let go of her and fell over to the side, before rough hands gripped me and another jolt of pain shot through me, this time from my chest. I went limp, my body weakening from the attack.
"Diane! Are you alright?"
"Yes, ouch, I'm fine. Nothing permanent…"
"He could have killed you! Insane son of a –"
"No, Eric, he's just not well. I'm going to inform Judge Donaldson that he's unfit to stand trial. He needs therapy, not jail…"
The voices around me faded as I sunk to the floor, darkness enveloping me. The last thought I had for the moment was how safe I felt in the dark, even with the realization that the secret that I had kept so carefully was now revealed in the open light for the world to see.
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Aina