"..the whole thing - the cries, the blood, the agony - gave me relaxation and a certain pleasure."
- Andrei Chikatilo
NINETEEN
I HAD NEVER described the men in my life in the manner one would whisper to an artist. I had always used metaphors, and similes to avoid going into details. I didn't want to give others the displeasure of seeing these men like I did, simply because I'd never do them justice. I wouldn't be able to capture all the darkness. No artist could.
And whichever artist wished to try, would have to be wielding terribly disturbed hands. Because the men in my life, just as women of the past had been, continually oppressed me and beat me into shapes that I would not have fit in on my own. If I wished to be a star, each of them would lean forward and push me into a square.
Looking at Frank through a moral lens that had been tainted by Banshee made me despise him.
"No." I deadpanned.
I moved my eyes away from him and towards a cluster of monochrome paintings at the other side of the wall. They seemed bland, lifeless and none struck me as familiar. It wasn't as though I traded art but I recognised famous paintings.
I was forced to, as a prodigy child.
That sudden thought festered in my mind. As if its bitterness had seeped through my brain cells and found its way into my mouth. Prodigy. Sad. A curse, in my opinion.
"You're not okay?" Frank queried further, shutting the door behind me. He ran his larger-than-life eyes over me in a manner that mimicked worry. "Did he touch you? Or Did he hurt you? Because if he did, we could do something-"
"You'll do nothing, because this was my decision." I said, sterner than I had intended. It had drawn the attention of Hank who leaned against a chair farther away. He lifted a brow to Frank. A symbolic - you're really going to let her talk to you like that? I had a feeling Hank didn't like me.
Simply for the sake of respect for the fact that Frank was my boss, I added softly. "No, he didn't hurt me. At least not physically."
"Oh." Frank paused for a second and I knew it was because of my tone. His eyes asked me questions that his lips wouldn't speak so I ignored them. He cleared his throat. "Well, that's good on you. Anything you want to let us in on?"
"I speak to the recorder after every session, not you." I said, as calm as I could.
I couldn't blame myself for my attitude. After being toyed with Banshee, and having my trust misplaced, the only person I felt trustworthy was myself.
Frank frowned and if I was as naive as I had been, I would call the look on his face hurt.
I heard Hank snort. "It pisses me off to say this but she's right. This way, Miss Black." He pointed to the door that led me out of the small room. "Down the hall, it's the first door on your left."
I nodded and moved past Frank. Just as I was about to pass Hank, he side stepped to block my path. Leaning down to my level, he whispered in my ear. "You better spill your guts to that goddamn recorder cause this costed me four hours of sleep time."
"The interview lasted an hour." I hissed back, unnerved that he was this close to me.
Hank chuckled humourlessly. The kind of laugh that felt slippery and made you shiver. He shook his head. "Darling, I'm talking about the sleepless night I'm gonna have knowing that I watched a man destined for bondage, walk free for an hour."
I stepped back. Jesus.
Hank winked at me. "But don't you worry, Miss Black, I'll make him suffer for it."
I hid my shock and feigned a straight face.
Glancing once more at Frank, my face turned sour.
"Aria," Franks frustration could be deciphered from the way he whispered my name. He seemed worried, and terribly curious. "Aria, if you need anything at all, let me-"
"No, thank you." I said, impassivity painted over my words.
If I spoke to Frank, I'd be so upset and overwhelmed that I would embarrass myself. I didn't want to dwell on what Banshee had said till I got home.
I slipped out into the hallway.
I shut the door behind me with an unnecessarily loud bang. I hissed at the metal door. "Traitor."
It was certain that Hank was not my favourite person.
I glanced around the musty hallway and sighed. The interview was just as emotionally draining as the others. Nothing would ever make me used to it. I trailed my fingers over the grim cobblestone walls. I was going to lie to the recorder, tell them Banshee never really told me anything and I never spoke.
I was beginning to understand that anything I said could be detrimental to me. It could be detrimental to Nicholas too, I thought naturally. Not that I was supposed to care about a convict, but it was hard not to. He seemed to be the only one with an honest tongue and nothing to lose.
My thoughts were cut short by my hands touching something damp on the cold stony wall. "Eugh." I wiped my hands on my jeans in disgust.
Stockholm prison often baffled me. The outer frame of the building, the hallways I walked, the exterior walls I had leaned on, were always gritty and unkempt. Yet, the rooms within these grimy walls remained pristine.
It was almost like the staff wanted people to think the place was hideous. They wanted to put people off it. To create the illusion of ugliness. And I wondered vaguely if that was how the prisoners were made to look. Were the prisoners like the building? Ugly on the outside but soft on the inside?
I reached the last door and pushed into a small white room. A severe contrast to the hallway I had just walked. It was an office, with browning files littering a desk table at the corner. In the middle of the room were two arm chairs, and a coffee table.
On one of the sofas, a man was sat there, eyes focused on an iPad. I licked the perspiration off my lips and cleared my throat. "Is this where I record?"
He jolted as if I had surprised him and spun in his chair. He looked new. His shirt was buttoned to the very top, and a stationary blue tie hung around his skinny neck. His eyes were impossibly big, and blue. He was a man with attributes that mimicked Diana's worst date-mare; birdy and thin. "Oh shit. Sorry, you bloody well startled me. Hi, Hello! I'm James."
He was adorable if I had the time to compliment him.
I eyed his outstretched arm and involuntarily wiped my hands on my jeans. He was leaking. James' suit was cheap, but not as cheap as my outfit. I couldn't judge him when I was here because I was this close to abject poverty.
I pretended not to notice his hand and smiled. "I'm Aria. Are you the person recording me today?"
James took a second to retrieve his arm before clearing his throat. "Uh, Yeah." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck to conceal the rejection. "I mean; why else would I be here? This set up isn't for a date, is it?"
Excuse me?
I glanced at the anti-climatic two sofas and coffee table. I rose a brow. "Okay.."
James reddened. "A joke. It was a joke. A terrible one." He clarified, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Sorry."
My brows remained lifted.
James looked mildly defeated after a moment. It was clear he had not a single clue to what he was doing. "Look, I'm new--"
"I can tell. So um, Where's Mirabel?"
"— and I've never really done this before. Mirabel isn't here today. I'm sure you know because she hasn't been doing this for a while."
That was one thing. I had only recorded with Mirabel twice since my first day. Every other day had been different people, randomly assigned to me. I would talk to the recorder, and they would nod in silence. It was routine. James, however, was the chattiest.
The randomisation often upset me because I had assumed that this was important. The literal most important part of my job was to tell the 'guys at the top' everything Banshee said. The big WHY. Yet, I was being assigned men like James to do this duty. It made what I was doing feel redundant and God, did I hate the feeling.
I clasped my hands together and let them drop beside me. "Alright then. Should we jump straight into it?"
James nodded quickly. "Oh gosh, yes. Let me just drop the-" He scuttled to the coffee table and set the recorder down. With jazz hands, he gestured to my seat. "-recorder. Okay. All set and ready for you."
"No introductions? I mean, there's a normal procedure that-"
James waved my words away with a slender hand. "Nah. I'm sure they know who you are. Just go straight into it. Pretend I'm not even here."
"Sure." I mumbled. The seat felt rubbery underneath me. I cleared my throat and once James gave me the thumbs up sign, I took a deep breath, and the lies came out easier than the truth ever had.
"Tonight, Banshee asked me to see him. I had seen him in the morning already so it came as a shock to me." I noticed James nod absent mindedly and reach for his Ipad. "He wanted to talk to me without the security measures. He was unchained, and there was no barrier between us. Just me, him, and our words between us."
James looked up. "Woah. Is that safe?"
"No, but I didn't care. I'm naturally curious and wanted to know why he wished to see me a second time." I shrugged. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above us was a siren song.
"You didn't care that he could kill you?" James brushed back a strand of hair. James was the kind of man who would be handsome when he was older. Like Billy Bob Thornton in 2003, I thought.
I noticed he was looking at me like I was daft. I frowned. It wasn't usual to interrupt me during the recordings. "I knew he wouldn't kill me."
He scoffed, and then gestured to continue.
"I walked in there and he didn't hurt me. He didn't even speak to me. All he wanted to tell me was that I—"
I paused.
This interview felt different. The informality of it all struck me on a twisted chord. James was scrolling through something on his Ipad, leisurely crossing his legs. He hadn't even noticed my pause.
"James?"
"Hm?"
I narrowed my eyes. The chair squeaked when I leaned closer to him. My eyes were focused on the matte black recorder. "Can I grab a glass of water? I'm so fucking thirsty."
Mirabel had told me that cussing was forbidden on the tapes.
He glanced at me quickly. "Sure. There's a fountain down the corridor. I'll be here."
I stood up and walked towards the door. James didn't budge. I pulled open the door and closed it shut, remaining inside the room but James still had his eyes set on the iPad. In fact, he had begun humming, thinking I had left the room.
This confirmed my earlier suspicions and I felt cold.
"It's off." I announced. My voice loud as the blows of a hammer on metal.
James jolted in his chair. "God, you scared me!"
It took me five steps to reach him. Arms akimbo, I towered over him with a straight face. This wasn't funny. Frankly, it was worrying. "James, you never turned the recorder on."
"How do you--"
I snatched it up from beside him and brought it to my lips. "Because you didn't stop me when I cussed. You didn't pause it when I left. Because I'm not a fucking idiot."
His eyes darted from me to the recorder with wariness. He sighed after a moment. "I don't know...I must've forgot."
"You're lying." I deadpanned, tossing the recorder to him.
He caught it sloppily and held it to his chest. "Careful!"
"Do me a favor and answer these." My mind was racing. Primarily because I was still paranoid from my meeting. "What's going on? Who are you? Are you even the one supposed to be doing this? What's all this?"
James stared at me for a few seconds and then sighed again. He dropped his Ipad on the coffee table and turned fully to face me. He answered one question. "Yes, I was assigned by Mirabel." He pointed to the chair.
I stood in silence, waiting for the rest. This was serious.
James changed pace. "How about you sit down and we start over? "
"How about you answer my questions before I get you fired on your first day?" I hissed, taking a step closer.
This sparked a fuse in him. He got up, placating me with his voice and hands. "Woah. Woah. Woah. Take it easy."
I couldn't believe it. It was 12 am, too late for me to have to comprehend whatever the hell was going on.
I watched him stalk over to his desk at the corner of the room and dig through his drawer. I was just about to spit fire at him when he muttered something that made me freeze.
"Excuse me?" I said, barely audible.
James spun around. Eyes wide, because he hadn't expected me to hear him. "Nothing."
I shook my head vehemently. "No. What did you say?"
"I..."
"James, please."
"Fuck it. Fine." He muttered before revealing the AA batteries in his hand. He had come in with a dead recorder. James folded his hands across his narrow chest. "I said that it makes no diference if I set the recorder up or not."
That's what I thought I heard. "What does that mean?"
James sagged a bit. "Exactly what it means. Christ. They don't even listen to the recording. We just hand the damn thing to them and they toss it with the rest."
There it was. That sordid hand of paranoia reaching around my neck. Speeding up my heart rate. Making me feel like a mouse in a maze trap. "Who's we?"
"Everyone. Everyone she sends in here to record you. Nothing ever happens afterwards." He shrugged. "Why do yo think she assigns clueless interns like me for this oh-so-important job? After the third time of 'nothing happening', we all agreed that if she assigned to do this, we'd just not bother with this bad boy." He tapped the recorder with his fingers.
"It's such a fucking hassle to set up as well. Who the fuck uses a recorder anyway? It's so...archaic." James tilted his head in the direction of his iPad. "That's what people use in this modern day."
He hadn't noticed how pale my face had become. I was leaning against the back of his chair and my head was spinning. I felt like I had just gotten off the most sickening rollercoaster. "So I haven't actually been recording my sessions for the past few days?"
"If it isn't Mirabel in the room with you, I'm afraid you've just been having a solo conversation, Miss." James shrugged.
I was torn. I didn't know if I should be upset with James, or myself. Was it entirely their fault? No. The truth was that if they truly listened to the tapes like Mirabel had claimed, then they would realise it was all empty tapes. The fact that this had happened for days proved James right.
This was the scariest part.
"Are you alright?" I vaguely heard James ask. "Do you want to sit down or something?" He came forward, with a bottled water in his hand. I hadn't even noticed him grab it.
I lifted a finger, halting him. "If you're not recording my sessions, why...am I here?"
James paused a few feet away from me. "Frankly, Miss, I was going to ask you the same question." He placed the bottle in my hands. "The fact that you don't know either kinda rings warning bells for me."
What am I here at SSCD for? What the hell was going on? I thought. Thoughts dotted in my head like stars on a night sky. Like unfathomable constellations, I couldn't figure out the truth. I was completely lost in space.
And suddenly, like a meteor, Banshee's words crossed my brain.
"What are you hiding, Aria?"
"I was given a file on you, Aria."
"You're the star of the show."
Something was awfully wrong. I lurched forward towards the door faster than I thought possible. "Excuse me. I have to leave."
____
Not-so-fun fact about Andrei Chikatilo: Chikatilo murdered everything and derived sexual pleasure from it. He often mutilated his victims, such as gouging their eyes out because he believed they contained a snapshot of the last thing they saw, eviscerating their stomachs, chewing off their noses, and cutting out tongues and genitals. Chikatilo died on Valentines day.
I'm sorry for the super late update.