I am the Villain | ✔

one

If you didn't read in the description, this will be a dark short story. There is nothing too descriptive, but be careful if you are easily triggered by mentions of violence, abuse, rape, or eating disorders. Some mentions will be vague, others more obvious.

Thank you for starting this, and I hope you enjoy it,

JadeQueen100

Harold Jannot snapped the thick file closed and shut his eyes with a sigh. He had seen many things over the years at his work, but this file redefined what he considered to be gruesome.

What would drive a person to do such a thing? How could someone do that and live with themselves? Are they insane?

These were the questions that Harold had to find out. At first, he wasn't sure why they didn't bring in someone more professional, someone younger, but Harold knew that his experience would be key to understanding this. He stood, buttoning his jacket and stuffing the file into his already full briefcase. Taking the briefcase, Harold grabbed his car keys off the chipped kitchen counter and hurried out to the driveway where he drove carefully to the prison.

Harold entered the building and, after going through the necessary security measures, was quickly shown to an office. Harold was to speak with the warden in charge of her while they brought her down to her down to the room that the two would be speaking in.

"They tell me you're the one who'll be speaking with her," The man said with a slight Southern twang. "Seein' how psycho the psycho is."

"You could say that," Harold agreed, dipping his head and offering the man a tight smile.

"Well, you can call me Warden Henshaw. There will be cameras on you at all times and guards waiting in case she snaps," Henshaw said, a more serious look glinting in his eyes.

"Has she snapped before?" Harold asked, wanting to know as much as possible about the woman. After all, he only had a limited amount of time before it was too late.

"No, but you saw her file, didn't you?" The warden replied with a raised eyebrow. Henshaw had read the file as well and he was disgusted. He certainly didn't envy Harold who had to spend the next twelve hours with the psycho. Henshaw just wanted her to be given the death penalty and be done with it.

Harold nodded, wincing slightly at the reminder. Harold wasn't disgusted; he was unsettled. He had dealt with horrible, horrible people, people who did deserve to be locked up, but this... this was different than all of those, he could tell. But was it different? Or worse?

"I think I should speak with her now," Harold decided, readjusting his grip on his briefcase.

"Yeah, you don't have much time, do you?" Henshaw said. "Well, let's get ya down there. The guards should have her down there by now."

Walking quickly down the halls, Harold could hear the shouts of the inmates and the guards. He passed by cells where men flung themselves angrily at the bars, cells where the inmates swapped words faster than Harold could keep up with, cells that were silent, almost eerily so.

It didn't take long for Harold to get to the interrogation hall, he had been there other times in the past to speak with others.

Entering the room, Harold saw her. She was of medium height with broad shoulders. The woman was in her twenties, according to the file. On her square face rested a small nose, arching brows, and full lips. Her eyes were closed so Harold couldn't see the color. Her hair was already shaved off in preparation for that evening. It seemed premature to Harold, but he knew that he was only in there for legal problems. No one really expected him to change the ruling. The woman had already confessed to killing them.

"Calandra Racano," Harold called, entering the room.

Her eyes snapped open and Calandra gazed at him blankly with watery blue eyes. She sent a jolt of familiarity through Harold. He quickly dismissed his thoughts. No, she wasn't her.

She began to take Harold in the same way he did with her. Calandra looked at the man. He was probably in his fifties or sixties, his brown skin wrinkled slightly. His eyes were just a shade away from black and his dark, curly hair had small patches of white. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short either. Normal, she supposed. Yes, that seemed to fit him. He appeared to be a normal man. She bet he had a normal life to match his normal appearance.

"My name is Harold Jannot," Harold told her finally when he realized she wasn't going to say anything. He made his way towards the table slowly, not wanting to startle her or make her feel threatened. He pulled the metal chair away from the table, scraping it on the cement floor.

The sound of the dragging chair snapped Calandra out of it. She hardened her gaze and cleared all the uncertainty, all the fear, all the doubt from her face.

"I suppose you're here to confirm their decision," Calandra surmised.

"Not exactly," Harold replied, leaning forward in his seat to set his briefcase down. "I am here to get know you."

"Get to know me?" Calandra snorted. "Or get to know why I killed those people?"

"I find that the two questions share the same answer," Harold said, leaning back to look at her.

"Here," Calandra replied. "I'll save you some time and answer them now."

"Oh?" Harold responded, raising a brow. Yes, this case would be different.

"I killed those people," She said, leaning forward with a ferocious glare. "Because I am the villain."