Witchcraft

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Judas sets the bowl again on the floor, and this time I don't wait for him to move to get it. He takes several steps back rather quickly, as I reach for the bowl, and examine the contents inside.

"This is incredible." I say, and I actually mean it. "To grow your own food in your house. I mean it makes sense, but it's still incredible." 

He says nothing, but I notice he doesn't leave either. He has no other reason to stay down here, and yet, he stands there, staring at me like he can't decipher what I am.

I look up at him, and force myself to smile. I feel my stomach bubble up a strong feeling of disgust, but I don't let it show.

He is a cruel man, but he is also a victim in so many ways. He is what he is, because of how he's been treated. We are responsible for his viciousness, not him.

And yet, I fear him nonetheless.

I have no doubt that he won't kill me. I know why I'm here. His loneliness has turned him mad, if I were him, I'd kidnap the first person I saw too.

Companionship is something people take for granted. Not many know what it's truly like to be as lonely as he.

I move over and sit on the old couch. I place the bowl of vegetables in my lap, and take out a piece of melon. While staring at it, I speak up, "I know you have no plans on letting me go." I look up at him, my eyes settling on the scar wrapped around his neck, "If that is the case, then we should get to know each other. We should at least become acquainted. If you won't talk, then I will begin first," I set the melon back in the bowl, and begin my introduction, "My name is Emery, I'm twenty-three years old. I have two brothers, Conrad, and Tyler. My older brother, Conrad, was the one that shot you last." I hesitantly beckoned to the scar on his eye, "I was there when he shot you. I saw your dead body."

"I do not die."

"But you don't live either."

He leans against the staircase, putting his hands in the pockets of his tattered coat. "Is it fulfilling?"

"What is?"

"Seeing me dead."

I stare at him. If anyone else were to ask me that, I'd be offended at the condescending nature of the question. But Judas asked the question so genuinely, that there wasn't nothing of malice, or contempt in his tone. 

He actually sounded curious.

I clear the regret in my throat before responding with a very stern, "No." My eyes drop to the floor, as I suddenly find it hard to look at him, "There is nothing fulfilling about seeing a man dead."

He ponders my reply. I see him think, his eyes digging into me, but not really seeing. He's lost in thought, and I'm incredibly uncomfortable. I didn't expect him to call me out in such a way that he didn't really understand he was calling me out.

The shame I feel is immeasurable, despite him keeping me locked up in the basement, I suddenly feel like the bad guy.

"I never attempted to kill you." I feel like I have to admit it. I want him to know. Maybe that'd make him trust me more.

Instead, he simply replies, "Not yet you haven't. You will."

When he begins to leave, my pride forces me to refute his most-likely true accusation, "I won't."

He stops, stares at me for a long quiet moment, and responds the same sentence he has told me before, "I am a lonely man, I am not a stupid one."

I believe him. A man who has been alone for so long, and yet, still has an articulate vocabulary. Keeping me here is not an act of evil to him, it is an act of desperation. It doesn't make it any less, wrong, or me any less wary of him, but it is reasoning.