even though the night may be black (it could never be as dark as my soul)

-a story of manipulation and the fall into insanity, not love-

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there's a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the center of the flames.
...

"tell me, can you hear the voices now?"

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She never thought

she would end up here.

Broken on the floor with

a head filled with voices and

the white noises of insanity.

SHE DIDN'T KNOW how long she had been here, locked up in the darkness and with him as her only contact to the human world. She could clearly remember her first encounter with him. He had been her patient. It was only suitable to assign the world's most notorious serial killer of the century to her. She had been the best psychiatrist of her generation, never failing to amaze the world of medicine, curing her previous patients as much as he turned his therapists insane. She didn't know she would become one of them. It was a wonder that he had been captured though that may not be the right word.

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For decades he had committed every thinkable crime and some that the human mind could not even comprehend from its gruesomeness and bloodiness to its cruelty. Always leaving a sign that it had been him, curved into the skin of his victims.

'Who was the killer? Why did he do this? How could someone be so cruel? Was he mentally ill? Did he have ties with the Mafia? Why did nobody capture him yet? Where did-'

These questions were asked on broadcasts, every show, and live stream on the internet. The number of crimes started to go up so high not just in Australia but worldwide that he could not be called a national risk and danger anymore. The whole world now knew of the things he did, the people he killed, the bloody messages he left. And at that time of panic, the attention he told them his name. This time not carved into their skin but artfully painted in a dark red to a wall next to his last victim.

Damon.

A beautiful name for the devil himself.

It didn't matter how many millennia of files and birth certificates were looked through, how many people were interviewed and falsely accused of the thousands of crimes he committed. He let the public and special forces for a very long time in the dark, let them wander through many false clues always running around in circles. It was like he was laughing at the combined efforts of every nation. Many smaller criminals took him as an example trying to be like him.

The most terrifying awakening for the public was a few years ago when he showed a flicker of his power. His sources were enormous and his partners and contacts reached through many governments to some of the presidents themselves. These were hard times. You could trust nobody anymore, was the person sitting next to you corrupt? Were they reporting every little of your movements to him? Were you on his list? Would you be the next?

Damon appeared on every internet platform, every smartphone, on every monitor, on every TV even on Times Square in New York. He was anywhere and everywhere at the same time. And he told everyone the same thing:

"there's a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the center of the flames."

The reaction was how he predicted and planned it to be. Panic, the population turned to their government, many even took the illegal way towards underworld gangs and mafias. Both promised help, safety, and protection. Both couldn't provide them. Over time he gathered many followers who followed his every order, his army. It was whispered among scared faces he even had his inner circle though he didn't trust anyone.

He let himself be captured while he was on his highest reign. Nobody understood why he just stood there after an anonymous call led the police to the warehouse, why he smiled at them with his eyes eerily empty and cold- so ice-cold it sent a shiver through the police forces. Quickly they gathered around him and he let them take him to prison, to court where he never pleaded guilty. He was the case for every doctor, therapist, and psychiatrist. Many came to the conclusion he had a mental (antisocial) disorder in which an individual manifests amoral and antisocial behavior, shows a lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships, expresses extreme egocentricity, and demonstrates a failure to learn from experience and other behaviors associated with the condition. The public only heard one thing: psychopath. They told the judges of their hypnoses, pleading for insanity so they could experiment more on him.

The judges who were later assumed as corrupt sentenced him to the longest every condemned time before Chamoy Thipyaso who was sentenced to 141,078 years in 1989 for fraud. Damon, whose last name still nobody knew, was sentenced to over 400,000 years not in prison but a psychiatry. Many doctors tried their luck but his personality, his behavior, something about him made them all kill themselves or their families. They all went insane after a few sessions.

Elena's pov

I, Elena, had been their last hope but I had failed, had been blinded by his smiles -I now knew they were full of sick anticipation-, his words that had spread through my veins like poison, his promise to tell me his secrets but Damon used our sessions to skillfully continue his web of lies and hallucinations all covered up under the fact that he 'opened up' to me. We, as human beings, often use the method of influencing or controlling someone or something to our advantage, often without anyone knowing it. We also tend to deny the truth only seeing it when it is too late. As a psychiatrist, I should have noticed his manipulation from the beginning, using it to my advantage, to outplay him in his game. But I didn't. Even the guards were in his pockets, like marionettes and he was their master.

I didn't wake up in my comfortable bed but in an empty room without any windows and just one lamp hanging from the ceiling. I didn't know how long I was sitting there, chained to the wall, waiting for something to happen. After what felt like hours, he came in but didn't say anything. Just standing there, silently with a plate of food in his hand. He left without giving me any.

92 days since her capture

Dear Diary,

he talked to me today and gave you to me trying to bribe me. He said that it's our anniversary, now I can add illusional to my memorized list for his folder that is probably still laid on my desk at home. I do not know how long I have been here. Are some people still looking for me? I hope so. It was stupid of me to believe that he changed. I assume he's trying to isolate me from the world. But I won't give up. He will never break me.

Yours truly,

Elena

182 days since her capture

I looked at my bony arms and fingers. Damon, he was the only person I saw and the only name I recalled, gave me a piece of bread and a glass of water every day. Vaguely remembering from the lectures in my university that a lack of human contact could lead to an abnormal behavior we normally wouldn't show, a small part of my mind knew that the craving for a conversation with anyone -even him- was a consequence of my loneliness.

The moments when he would bring me my food became the ones I looked forward to all day. The moments when he would suit himself on his make-believe throne in front of me so I would have to look up to him became my favorites. The moments when I tried to talk to him became important. The moments of silence and loneliness though I dreaded with a deep hatred.

I looked at the pen and my notebook in my hand. The things he gifted me, the things he thought would make me happy. I smiled.

I needed him.

No, you don't, my mind screamed at me.

364 days since her capture

Dear Diary,

he told me I am the only one he doesn't plan to kill. He said that he only trusts me. He said that he loves me. He is freeing me he said and wanted me to meet his inner circle. I trust him too, I think. He talks to me a lot now and our meaningful conversations last hours. It's difficult to remember what was before him but I trust him when he said that he took me away, hid me from the bad people. That they also mistreated him and hunted him just because they did not understand his art.

I love him, I think.

(No, you don't my mind sobs.)

Yours truly,

Elen

365 days since her capture

dear diary,

he made me kill her. it should be a statement he said to announce me as his queen. i stapped her in the shoulder over and over and over because he didn't tell me to stop. why didn't he say anything? why didn't i stop? why? why? why? Why? but he doesn't feel remorse so I don't. the woman slipped me something as i walked by his side to the car. but he noticed and that was reason enough to end her life. because she grazed my elbow and let the note fall into the bag he gave me. i don't know where it went but i am curious.

'Curiosity killed the cat' comes into my mind. i vaguely remember it being a saying in my old world before him, whatever that means

yours,

El

456 days since her capture

He took me to live with him in a gigantic mansion, gifted me with gowns and shoes, and looking out of the window I can watch the sun and moon playing their game of hide and seek, see the leaves of the trees fall slowly to the ground. But I can't feel the air gazing at my skin, I can't smell the scent of nature itself.

There are so many rooms but I stay in ours. He doesn't like me wandering around so I don't. At night I relive my first crime, my first murder. After that came many things, he made me do to the people who defied him. I hear their screams, their cries for mercy but I don't feel anything. No regret, no anger, nothing. I feel empty but he told me now I am like him. Now that we are alike, we will be equal. I think he is happy now. With me at his side loving and accepting every part of him, the dark and as the greyer parts.

The walls are talking. They are always whispering secrets to each other at night. Seeing shadows move eerily slowly in my direction, gliding through each defense, I tense. They corner me and whisper commands in my ear. Dark red colors splattered around each thought they provoke in me. I am used to the white noise in the background, influencing my every thought.

They tell me to go down the stairs so I slowly walk down the stairs to his office. Slowly opening the door, I slip in. Looking through many documents I stop when I finally find it. The voices are yelling now for me to read and understand what is written there.

It is an old article with a picture of a young woman happily smiling at the camera. She doesn't look like me at all but I can feel a pull towards her, a connection. The title says proudly:

How this young woman could escape the most terrifying psychological illness: Stockholm Syndrome!

Intrigued I continue slowly reading, comprehending every word and its true meaning.

Stockholm syndrome is a psychological and emotional response to an unforeseen traumatic event that occurs when hostages or abused victims develop a positive bond with their captors or abusers. It is often influenced by imbalanced power dynamics in abusive relationships, kidnappings, and hostage-taking scenarios. The victim tends to develop a connection and attachment with their captor(s). Instead of being afraid or fearful, the victim starts to empathize and sympathize with the abusive individual.

The paper slides out of my hand.

459 days since her capture

Dear diary,

The article I found made the white noise deafening, made the walls carve in on me it made him mad. After he found me consciousness on the ground, he was furious. He didn't talk to me for three days. I know the meaning of my feelings for him though I can't help but wonder why he would be so mad when he knew they were lies. Lies the enemies spread about him, lies they told to get me to doubt him. I would never do that, I loved him with all my heart.

(We know, my mind mumbled sadly, they won as they did with him.)

Goodbye,

E

460 days after her capture

He took me to my old home of 456 days. Before he gave me my bloodstained gun so I could protect myself- even though the danger came from myself more than others.

"Do you trust me?", I asked, smiling at him calmly.

"Only you", he answered amused. But did he really when there was only one bullet in the gun? I decided to listen to the last command the voices, shadows, and walls gave me, I told him the truth. I handed him the gun.

"I can't live without you anymore, Damon."

I didn't mean that in a romantic and warm sense. Every memory of the people I had killed for him while the reality became drowned out by the whiteness of madness. So, if she didn't want to live anymore at least they would walk together into the gates of hell.

"I know, my sweet Elena", he said as he gripped his gun a bit tighter.

Together we walked through the doors into the room where I lost my sanity and my heart. It was still as dark as it had always been, the emptiness filled with a chair sitting before the old chains. He seated himself in the familiar position we had been so many times before, him on his make-believe throne and me on the ground before him.

"Here we are again," he said.

"Here we are again," I repeated softly.

Standing up I leaned in for a hug while slowly slipping out the item I had snatched before.

"I love you, Elena," Damon murmured in her hair, "you can never leave me."

'I love you too, Damon,' I said.

And then, as quickly as I could manage, I drew the pocket knife and stabbed him right in the heart.

I looked up, expecting to find shock, anger or betrayal only to be met with amusement. And calmness like he had expected me to betray him all along.

Tears spilled from my eyes, a flood of everything I had held in all this time, all the grief, all the anger, all the love. Sobs racked through my body as I looked at him, this guy who had utterly broken me with his love.

And then he placed the gun against my head, cold metal against my forehead.

"We will see each other again when the world is on fire and we are watching from the center of the flames."

Then, as he pulled the trigger, I twisted the knife.

And finally, as all became dark, the white noise stopped.

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The End

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