A Discussion of Monsters

"What type of man does it take to be evil? Is it a condition? A sickness? Can any of us just be evil for being what we are? Maybe that's what it is." The form sat on the window's edge, peering out from the pane of glass to the rain softly pounding outside. 

"Is that why they hunt wolves? Shriek at snakes? Rats? Are they just... evil." As if answering his own question the man saw, wet soaked in the rain, a small brown rat in the garden. He peered closer - all but pressing his head against the glass. 

It scampered around, digging small holes in the earth looking for seeds. Its tiny ears tilted this way and that as it smelled the air and moved through the flowerbed. "Maybe evil is that deceiving." He thought to himself. "But on the other hand, look at it. Its just a small animal, we are all animals. How could we call it evil?" 

"You ask a lot of questions John." Came a voice over his shoulder and to the right. He turned his head, all be it calmly to the new presence in the room as the stranger continued his verbal invasion. "You ask all these things of Evil, as if it's the real thing that caused you to do this. Your 'condition'." The voice was male, smooth as oil. A soft chuckle following along the observation as if it were a joke. 

"What do you know? Maybe it is." John turned back to the window and closed his eyes. 

If it were a cop he would have been dead by now, or arrested. Either one would have been fitting enough for him. But by the relaxed manner that the form had slipped out from the shadows and simply leaned against the wall nearby he knew it was probably only a reporter,  or maybe a morbid and curious fan. Maybe even a negotiator if some sort sent in to try and smooth talk. 

"Men are complicated things. They always need something to blame don't they?" The other man mused as he looked down, his eyes trailing over the floor. He saw the tresses of golden hair in the fading light of the window, and the red blood staining it. "Oh who was this? A lover?" 

"Leave her." John warned and shivered from the thought. "Just leave her." 

"Well there isn't much more that could be done to her. You saw to that." 

His matter-of-fact attitude aggravated and terrified John at the same moment. He turned, red bloodshot eyes glaring at him. He who simply looked back innocently. 

"What in hell do you want? Are you just some sick nut?" John barked, quickly losing his patience. This was obviously not a negotiator. He pushed too many buttons for that. 

There was a pause between them, as if the other man was debating. "Umm, excuse me... was I the one that killed this lady, and her husband. Three dogs and don't forget little old Mrs. Clarkston? No. I'm merely stating the obvious here John, please do try and keep up." 

John approached him, arms out. In one swift move he lunged - clasping the man by his silk polo shirt and slamming him up against the wall. Oddly the other man didn't seem to mind, or wince as John stared him down.

"How do you know about them?!" John screamed. Anger and fear in his eyes. Something the other man seemed to simply feed from. 

"Because I watched." He said simply as if it were the only answer logically possible.

With a finger he reached up and placed it carefully on John's lips, telling him to hush as a flashlight beam looked in the now empty window. The man, with very little effort moved John farther away into the darkness of the room. "They'll find you if you keep yelling."

"It's only a matter of time anyway." There was some sort of relief in his voice. John seemed willing to be caught, killed if necessary. Anything to stop his own manic hunt on humanity.