( edited )
—"He was raised from the ashes of hell, and set on the path of destruction.
He was a paradox, a riddle, a black sheep in the herd of Christ.
He was not evil, and he was not good. He simply was."—
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E L I J A H I S H M A E L V I T A L
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His hands were trained on the table in front of him, eyes remained blindfolded. Blood had dripped from his hands, and onto the floor as he tried to pry his wrist off of the chains.
But, it was no use.
"F..." he cursed inaudibly, feeling the chain clogging his wide wrist that was once made for shooting guns and training hard. He heard water dripping from somewhere he was founded, sitting down on a rusty, metal chair that was just made to make someone uncomfortable. Soon after, he noticed the desk in front of him. Felt it was more likely, due to being blinded by sight at the time. Just like any other interrogation room, he now had an idea of his whereabouts. "-Well, look who is moving around like a coward." His jaw ticked as the young man pulled on his wrist, more harshly than intended.
Tock,
"Why don't you release me, and we'll talk man to man?" The young man stated, his shoulders tensing as his body language screamed 'rigid'.
Tick,
His eardrums were all of a sudden. Filled with the noise of the door creaking open, and footsteps were taken his way, slow and long;
"Mr.Vitale. Have any ideas on why you are here?" A man's voice made him cautious at any moment, the voice held a modern accent. "Blindfold off, please."
The young man suddenly saw light, which caused him to squint his grey orbs. He winced at the pain his eyes were giving; "Kept, I'm being kept here. Which is illegal, black Brit." Elijah spat in hatred, tensing at the hand on his shoulder, looking up, his cold eyes stayed put on the guards.
A chuckle left his mouth, "Whose the 'coward' now?" He emphasized the word 'coward' by making his accent British. Just like the black man that stood in front of him.
Tock,
"Diagnosed with schizophrenia at age fourteen," he paused, gazing towards the young man with his black eyes. The black man had smirked knowingly. This was the reaction he keened on; "A crazy psychopath in one's language,"
Elijah pulled harshly on the restraints that were holding him back from smashing the black Brit's head into the brick wall, his jaw clenching in frustration while the muscles in his body become apparent. "Just like I love, an allergic reaction going on, huh kid?"
"Don't call me a kid," The young man spat, pulling on the chains once again, the veins in his arms bulging out. He squinted his eyes, wincing as the black man sighed deeply. He took out a black leather case, placing it on the table.
The black man clicked the case open, the young man furrowed his eyebrows looking expectantly.
Tick,
A woman, nearing the age of forty or so; entered the interrogation room, closing the door behind her. To the young man, she was familiar as his breathing started to get more tense and rapid. "Don't be hard on him. I have some acknowledgments." Her overly cheerful voice stated,
YOU ARE READING
A PAST TO FORGET ✓
Mystery / Thriller[a psychological fiction] A ruthless, heartless man was what Elijah Ishmael Vital was in the eyes of the outsiders. And that was his identity. For a man so adept at what he had done, killing and jeopardizing humans, his eyes were remarkably soft...
