The Confession Of Zakary Jameson

Chapter 18

"There is no great genius without a mixture of madness."

-Aristotle

Zakary Jameson

The back seat of the stolen Chevy Impala smelled like death. I didn't care, though.

Ben sat in the driver's seat, watching me. He had been doing it for almost an hour without saying anything. Just watching. Truthfully, I liked my hallucinations when I at least could have a conversation with my tormentor. This one-sided stuff was just uncomfortable.

I lifted my head a little from where it rested on the seat that I was laying on, my long legs bent so I could fit.

"You going to say anything, or just be creepy?" I asked.

Ben smiled and shrugged.

"What is there to say? You're a mess. Cops are looking for you, you're losing your mind, living in the back of a stolen car...You may as well give up, bro. This little thing you've got going with that Fed is kind of pointless. Your...game, you called it? I don't think a game is much fun if both parties are dead by the end of it." He told me. I rested my head back on the seat and closed my eyes, wishing knives scraping away at the inside of my head would stop, or at least dull.

"Neither of us are dead, Ben." My 'brother' shrugged.

"Looks like neither of you are far from it."

Grasping the top of the seat with both my hands, I slowly sat up and looked out the window. We were parked behind an abandoned 711 on the edge of the city, far from where I was known the most, where most of my crimes had gone down. I ran a hand through my matted hair and glanced into the scratched rearview mirror.

My skin was ghostly pallid, almost gray. Blackish-purple semicircles hung under and around my colorless eyes. My lips, where they weren't cracked and bloody, were only a few shades darker than my skin. I parted my lips, surprised at the pearliness of my teeth compared to my bright red gums. Blood crusted the edges of my nostrils and inside my ears. I knew I was sick. I could feel it in my head. In my gut. All over.

I had to get moving again.

As I climbed over the seat, Ben flickered rapidly, like a strobe light, and disappeared. I took a seat in where he had been. There was a better feeling in the air once Ben was gone. It was lighter, less depressing. I don't know. Maybe that was just my madness talking again.

It took only a moment for me to hotwire the car, a satisfying rumble emanating from the engine. Some song I had never heard began to play on the radio. I cranked up the volume and pulled out of my hiding placing behind that eerie gas station and onto the main road leading into the city.

It was time to plan my next stike. The final one, maybe. It had to be big. I had to go out with a bang.

* * *

-1 month later-

Agent Alexander Donovan

There was a knock on my house's front door. Sam rushed to open it since I was busy going over my numerous pages of notes on Jameson.

Samantha returned to where I sat at the kitchen table with Kolver following close behind. I smiled, not having had seen my friend since the hospital before my surgery. Kolver sat in a kitchen chair beside me, tossing a stack of papers in front of him. My wife retrieved us a couple of Cokes from the refridgerator, then went to help Trevor with his homework in the other room.

"It's been a while." Kolver began, opening his soda and taking a sip. I did the same and nodded.

"Too long. Physical therapy is killing me. But no bother with that now, we gotta get work done." I replied.