Whisper of Blood

Prologue

The flourescent lights flickered with an odd buzz as Dr. Barbara Jones walked down the gleaming, white hallway of Down's Institute for the Criminally Insane. Her white crocs, a mandatory requirement by the institution, squeaked loudly against the tiled floor.

It was silent, eerily so, making the loud squeaks of her slippers grate against her ears, irritating her. Dr. Jones made her way down towards the only room in that hall; the one room that belonged to one of America's most dangerous criminals.

The lock on the steel door clicked loudly and slowly opened - controlled by the main security office of the institution - revealing a stark white room, no more different than the hall outside. It was sparsely decorated; with only a few pieces of furniture to be seen: a steel bed frame with a single, thin futon and white pillow, as well as a cool slab of steel that served as a table with a single plastic chair. And sitting on his bed was Johannes Chrisenberg.

Dr. Jones entered the room quietly, the only sound being her rubber shoes squeaking loudly against the polished floor, clipboard held tightly against her chest. She dreaded having to check in on the patients, even if it only occurred once a week. She was terrified at having to face these notoriously insane patients, fearing that one of them might suddenly snap and kill her. And there was one in particular she feared the most.

Johannes Chrisenberg heard the large steel door open, but he made no move to avert his eyes from the stark white wall before him. Nor did he bother to acknowledge the doctor, acutely aware of her obvious discomfort at being near him. He heard rather than saw her approach him. He much preferred the loud click of heels to the annoying squeaking with every little movement.

"Good morning Johannes." Greeted the doctor, her voice strong and steady. A stark contrast to her racing heart, sweaty palms and tight grip she had on her board. Still she continued on, she couldn't let him see her being afraid.

"Good morning doctor." He greeted amiably, a sort of smirk present on his lips. Barbara ignored it, keeping up her outward façade of indifference. Discomfort and fear was bubbling in her stomach and rolling off of her in waves. His smirk widened, and they both knew he felt the obvious fear and discomfort that she was desperately trying to hide. Amusement danced in his onyx eyes.

A tall, wide, and unbreakable glass wall separated them. Apparently, he couldn't be trusted not to lash out at the doctors or at anyone in particular. Dr. Barbara pulled the chair that was placed along with a table at the center, seating herself in front of him as she waited patiently for him to take a seat.

Johannes stood and walked slowly towards the table and chair placed directly in front of Dr. Jones. His eyes dancing in amusement as he took in her scrubs that were decorated with bears. Hugging bears. He chuckled.

"Shall we start Barbara?" He drawled, her name rolling from his tongue like sweet honey. She amused him, greatly. The way her nose slightly scrunched up in annoyance, or the way her brow furrowed when she thought deeply about something. Even the way she bit her lip or averted her eyes when she caught him staring at her. Oh, how she amused him greatly. Even Barbara knew that.

Barbara's - how many times have I told him to call me Dr. Jones? - nose scrunched up slightly in annoyance, a frown on her lips. She was not amused. At all. She sighed in surrender, having quickly learned that there was no point in getting upset, opening her clipboard to begin their interview. She wanted to get this over with.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Chrisenberg?" Barbara asked politely. The sessions always started with the standard how are you? Or how was your day? It was protocol.

"I'm fine." A beat. "How many times have you asked me that question Barbara? 2,989 times perhaps?" He asked as an after thought, mocking her. Subconsciously, he began scratching his arm. A tic of his that he had developed in middle school and somehow had never gotten rid of.