asylum [kai parker] editing/rewriting

One

While I was walking, I remember there being a dark presence. The idea of someone staring at me sent chills up my spine, and to this day I am able to still pinpoint that feeling. It was as if two eyes were creating holes in the back of my head, and these eyes never wanted to break contact. It is a feeling I had felt when I stood before that fireplace and watched the match fall to the carpet. The presence itself made me dread turning around. Something forces me to turn. That was a decision I do not remember making, but I am aware of turning on my heel and stopping Nick by following through with those actions.

Nick looked up at the cause of those feelings, and immediately he began answering the questions that had drowned my rational thoughts.

"Yeah, that's him. He hasn't spoke. We estimated his age. I'm guessing around twenty, but your dad seems to think it's higher. Do you want to bet on it? I think everyone here has a say in it. DNA test results will be back eventually." The deputy chuckled, trying to raise another conversation with me. "But so far we have no clue who he is."

The particular person he had been referring to sat on one of the benches, hands cuffed together. He was quiet, and it was clear he was paying very close attention to the surroundings. His hair was a dark, dark brown. But his eyes contradicted this, coming out as a darker blue-green as opposed to brown. The attire he wore matched his overall impression, appearing as dark and unruly. From the leather jacket to the torn shirt and black skinny jeans, he looked like an evil mess. But even upon glancing, this evil mess seemed to startle me more than I would have thought was possible. Intimidation radiated off him, and I didn't need to see a muscle or height difference to feel threatened.

The man's gaze stayed completely locked with my own. At least, that was until an arm grabbing hold of me disrupted my vision.

I did not look away until a disgustingly wicked grin pulled at the stranger's lips. It is then that I let Nick continue to pull me into Dad's office. And even when I looked away, I continuously glanced back to catch sight of what the stranger did long after. To my surprise, He lifted his cuffed hands and waved one of them ever so slightly. It was only a small shake, but I, like the entire station, was lured into wanting any sort of answer I could find on the man.

Dad was perched behind his desk, tapping his pen lazily on the table as he watched the interaction between the potential criminal and I. When I entered, Dad then went back to typing on his computer. He fumbled with the keys, clearly searching for information on the stranger he had previously been looking at.

Nick looked at him, and he also seemed to be in the same boat as I was.

"Simone, go wait outside. I'll be out in five." Dad ordered, sending me back to the lobby with a wave of his hand. I remember how angry and curious I felt in that moment, but I also know what lengths he had to go to in that kind of job.

However, forcing me back to that lobby was the worse thing any father could have done. Sitting across from the mentally disturbed stranger was the worst place I have ever been in my life. From what I could see, he was fumbling and trying to hold a newspaper with his handcuffed hands. Upon closer examination, I was able to get past the initial sight and look deep into what truly was in his hands. He stared at me a few times, but then his eyes would flicker back to what he had been reading. That's when the smile finally showed again. But he stayed silent, nonetheless.

The back of the newspaper read 2000, which happened to be a very prominent year in my life. I was four at the time, and by the looks and glances it was easy to determine what edition that newspaper was. It was from the week I killed them.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, standing up and quickly ripping it from his hands before more shame could corrupt my thinking.

He raised his hands in defense, but what followed was by far the most sadistic thing I had experienced up to that point. The stranger moved his hands across his neck as if he were imitating a knife sliding across one's throat. The gesture meaning kill.

Scoffing, I folded the newspaper and clutched it to my chest, refusing to read the headlines. It seemed to be a habit of mine.

I ignored his further movements, heading to the door while I was still on my feet. There was the loud noise of a door, followed by the booming of Dad's voice. "What is your name?"

"I can't remember," the man squinted mockingly before continuing, "You have nothing on me, Sheriff, and by law, you can't keep me here." It was most definitely a challenge.

Dad's hands clenched as he turned to his deputy. "There is nothing we can do," he concluded. They had held the man for too much time already. It was getting to the point where such captivity could result in a kind of court case.

After that, they decided to let this man walk. They removed the cuffs without another word, refusing to look at the stranger, for anger could not go against the constitution they followed.

As a result, the man walked. He walked right out the door without a single glance back in the officers' direction. But that didn't mean I did not see the glare that went to me as he walked out the front door.

"Maniac." Nick whispered under his breath and returned to his desk.

Instead of conjuring up a response, Dad passed me and headed out. His eyes followed the stranger as long as they could until the man was out of sight. Only then did he let me come outside and get inside of the car. And even later on, as we drove home side by side, Dad was still just as quiet as he was in the office.

When I made it inside our small, isolated cabin I set the newspaper down at the table and waited for a response. All I needed was some indication that Dad could still speak. Thankfully, I was reassured as this newspaper stirred more curiosity within the sheriff.

"What is this?"

"That man had it and was reading it in the lobby when you sent me out." I sighed, making some hot cocoa before the lack of heat got to my limbs.

"Well, I think it's time to retire for today, don't you think?" Dad quickly dismissed the articles and my own publicized headline. He muttered a goodnight, heading across the kitchen. Of course, I let my mind travel back to when I was younger. My mother's existence came up once again as Dad continued walking. I found myself staring at her picture in the article as well.

Dad was peculiar. He had his secrets. In fact, that man had more secrets than anyone else I knew. Sure, I knew of his wife's death, and I was aware that his daughter and wife died during the birth. But other than that, I had no knowledge of what went on before my appearance.

After he was out of the picture and my hot chocolate was drained completely, I was able to retire to my own room. All I had inside that room was one white dresser, a white bed, and a few pictures. But the worst thing I had decided to put in my room was the published article of my family's death. It had been there for years. Those were years where I would stare at the page until my mind went blank enough to fall asleep.

But that night I did not look at the pictures any more than I already had that day. I flipped the page and came across another article. Articles that I paid absolutely attention to.

However, the article I turned to is more engrossing than mine. It happened to be the one regarding the Parker family. Malachai Parker, the one responsible for taking the lives of his family members, is mentioned throughout the entire page. It is a name I had been called on a few occasions, and it is a name that makes me understand why my school behaves the way it does.

Any realizations or previous thoughts my mind had contained were quickly forgotten when I looked at one of the pictures on the bottom left corner. It was a picture holding a familiar face. A picture holding only a glimpse of something that triggered a question.

As I looked at the faint outline of Malachai Parker in the corner of one of the pictures, my stomach flipped uncontrollably. From that angle, I saw a resemblance. A resemblance I should have been far more concerned about that night.