Psychopath

Prologue

He stood there blundering, eyes wide open. His eyes were dark brown, black almost. The colour of the hole in his soul. His hair was brown, rough and scruffy while his mind was lost like a child in a candy store, it was running wild. His Cheshire cat smile was sure to give away his disguise.

As he sat there rocking himself back and forth and laughing hysterically two guards walked by hearing the ballets of laughter. Then realized it was him and ignored the annoying symphony. He only repeated three words "They were daemons" He would say chuckling

He lay there amused, but why? What is amusing about four white walls enclosing you from the world. He was only thirteen and was kept in a mental asylum "Poor Psychotic Patrick" that's what every one called him. As for me what I called him was a neighbour. He was like family. Not anymore though he's dead to me. I never realized he was capable of murder and the thought of him being like skin and blood sickens me to the stomach.

I saw it, I saw what happened. I've told the police what they need to know. I thought it would have taken it of my mind but it didn't, it's all I think of now the blood, the knife and the look on Patrick's face as if he was enjoying it, as if he wasn't traumatised by what he was doing. He didn't mind the blood oozing and squirting it all over his face. He didn't care about what would of happened when the word got out. He doesn't care what others think. He calls them daemons, his mother and father wern't, they were the most sweetest people I had ever met. Well that's what I thought. Today I'm going to visit him. They say it will be good  for him but for me this isn't my exact ideal day.

As I walked through the steel gates I could smell the prisoners and they could smell my fear. I could hear there gnarling noises from a private room the whole way down in the basement. I was frightened, no I was horrified. What If something goes wrong? What if I have nothing to ask? What if he doesn't reply? These are the things that makes me and him totally different people, its called conscience. It's as if his isn't there or he was born without one but me I know mines is there. I feel guilty if I forget to tell my Mother good night or if I forget to pray. See this is the term that keeps the sane from insane.

The squealing door opened, in dragged a young boy wearing a uniform that matches his aura, black. His hair was just long enough to hide one of his dilated eyes. The lighting in here mustn't be the same as his room. He was in a straight jacket. His arms wrapped around him as if he was hugging himself so tightly that they emerged into his skin. It's been long since I have seen him, he didn't have long hair and he was much smaller and not so attractive.

Looking at white walls, a white floor and worn out shoe's is so annoying. When am I getting out of this dump? I need to walk about but I'm pulled down by the force of gravity. It's mocking me, as if it's enjoying making me go out of my head. I sometimes act as if its all a dream and when I wake up it's all way. It never is, it's a never ending nightmare. I count the footsteps that go by one by one. It's interesting actually, you can tell who it is by the speed, strength and distance of their footsteps. It's as if their footsteps are another identity, it tells you how  feeling. Today I'm getting my first visitor, I don't know who it is. If they so far as give me a dirty look I will loose it. They don't know me, so they shouldn't judge me.

As Patrick is escorted down the corridor the noise falls to a mumble and the mumble becomes silence. Large, hard slow footsteps is all that can be heard along with the clinging of the chains. As he reached the door leading to the room. He took a deep breath in.  As he entered he saw a girl around the same age as him sitting in the chair facing his. He walked slowly and precisely to the chair as if he didn't want to disturb a python that nested under the table.

She's beautiful, her deep blue eyes the colour of the sea after a storm. Her hair framed perfectly around her face. Her smile sweet, tender and unharming. Wait! I remember her, it's Alex the girl that lived next door. Her hands are so small. I could crush her like a bug. I could grab her and squeeze her so tightly that her inner organs would lay slap, bang on the floor. I would never do that, I would never hurt this delicate creature her beauty was like an artist prize position it needed to be shown. Her hair was curled it was black but not too dark. It was like the night sky and it sparkled in the light like the stars do at night. I can hear her breathing it increases when ever I make eye contact. Not one word has been spoken.

'Hello' he said mischievously

'H...Hi' she stumbled

'Don't worry, I won't bite. Promise' he teased

'Thanks' she said sarcastically

'Sarcasm, ahh are you fluent' he joked

'Yeah also in bitch, bull shit and ninja' she replied

'Ahh, well at least you can take a joke. The guards are bastard and can't' he said

Silence fell again and she didn't know what to say, again.

'So watcha reading' he looked at the book on the desk

'Oh Moby Dick' she said.

'Ahh classic, I'v read it' he smiled

'Oh, did you like it' she asked

'Yeah but if you had asked me before I read it, I would not once had thought it had been about a whale.

'Me too' she told him.

The conversation grew stronger but then an hour had passed and it was time for Alex to leave. She headed for the door and turned back to wave.

'Will I see you again' he asked

'Same time next week' she replied

One hello started a friendship that not once would be forgotten, especially not by Patrick. Alex was all he could think about all week.

Months went on and Alex kept up her promise she visited every week with a new book they both would read together. Patrick dreamed of the day he would get out and they both could have a day out in the fresh air. But he apparently was mental and the truth is, he didn't kill his parents.

When he was little he was adopted. But little did he know, he had a twin. A twin brother. His name was Darrel. Darrel had ran away from home to find Patrick but when Patrick's mum and dad didn't accept him. He killed them, leaving Patrick to take the blame. One thing he didn't plan on was Alex figuring it out.

'Patrick?' asked Alex

'Yeah?' he replied

'Remember the night of the murder, how did you clean up so fast. I saw you covered in blood and in clothes. Then while you were escorted out you were clean and in boxer shorts'

'It... it wasn't me' he admitted

'But I, I saw you' she protested

'That was my twin, I had over heard my parent talking before he, he killed them. Then I went upstairs and blasted music while studying' he told her

' You, you needa tell them. Your innocent, you can get out' she said.

'What good will that do me they'll just think I'm even more insane' he replied

'I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have blamed you without asking' she insisted

'Its okay, I woulda done the same thin...' he was interrupted by a kiss that lay perfectly on his lips.

He returned the kiss. One kiss had begun an on going love.

--------------------------To be continued---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------