- John Haigh
TWENTY ONE
I HAD NOT GOTTEN a second of sleep after Frank had shut my door and I was certain that my fatigue was evident in my features. My eyes dropped at the sides and my walk was begrudging. The second I had seen the brightness of day, I pulled out my phone and called Diana. I left her 27 missed calls, and a text filled with worry.
Once I walked into the clinically white backroom, I noticed that Frank was absent. In his place stood Hank and the two other team members who I usually saw.
Hank had on a wry smile on his lips and gauged my grey demeanor. "You look very well rested, Miss Black."
My eyes focused on his smile. "Well, you look awfully depressed."
Hank winked at me. "Touché." And then he gestured at the door. "Your dark prince awaits."
I ignored his sarcastic comment and gaped at the metal doors. God, was I tired. "He's already in there? I thought I was supposed to go in first."
"Since we're all switched things up, I did so myself." He smiled smugly, his body rested against the white wall like a stain. "I even made him wait a little."
I turned to the assistants who had been pretending to be invisible. I recognised them both instantly. "How long is a little?"
Glasses glanced at Hank when he replied. "A little over two hours?"
"Make that three." Hank corrected, glancing at his watch.
I pushed open the doors before anyone could say another word. I wasn't eager to have this meeting because I knew now that Banshee was trapped inside my head. He had got in. He had manoeuvred his bulky self into the folds of my brain and I was now open to his manipulations. I hated that. I hated this. I hated him.
But I didn't want him to have to wait for me.
When I walked in, however, I sagged against the door from a cross between fear and shock. Jesus Christ. My hands flew over my mouth to hide my gasp but it was too late. It had escaped, and now, Banshee had looked up.
Hollow eyes.
He was a mess. I was used to him striding in with bruised arms and a scowl etched on his face. Today, however, he was unrecognisable. Someone had touched him. No. Someone had wrecked him. His hair was matted against his forehead, smeared with dried blood and residue. His eyes were blackened and swollen, and there was a gash above his right eyebrow. His cheeks had been hurt too, a nasty bruise kissed his hollow cheek.
I was certain it wasn't just his face that had been marred because he sat at a weird angle. Like he had slumped on the metal chair. He wasn't like Atlas today, he held no one's world. He struggled to hold his own self up.
But when our eyes had locked, he had grinned. And then the grin had become a chuckle and before I knew it, Banshee was laughing at me.
"You should see your face." He said, breathless on a low smooth laugh. He laughed like he was beautiful. "Is that pity I see? Are you sorry for me?"
I took a step closer. Eyes darting to each of his injuries. "You're supposed to be untouchable."
His smile vanished and after a moment, he closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh. "I forgot how it feels to talk to you."
I walked over to my seat behind the glass barriers. The closer I got, the worse he looked. Parts of me knew he deserved it. He deserved worse. Yet, the other parts wanted to know how, why and when it happened.
Was it Hank?
"How long have you been here?" I asked, sliding into my seat. The glass between us was now acted as a metaphorical and physical barrier and I was grateful for that. I had felt awfully naked the last time I talked to him.
"I've been incarcerated for more than a decade and these bastards thought making me wait would rile me up." He muttered, looking irritated. His one good brow was furrowed. "It's disrespectful. I only got excited."
Our conversations aren't being recorded. I reminded myself.
I had a plan. Since the only person I could trust was myself, I was going to pretend to be naíve and go along with the project for today. I would talk to Banshee, I would walk into the recording sessions along nd lie through my teeth to a faulty recorder, return home and then continue my plan to get to the bottom of this.
If they happened to be toying with me, I didn't want them to know I was smarter than them. That I knew.
Looking at Banshee was more difficult because of how damaged he looked. Someone really wanted to hurt him because the wounds were untreated. However, if he was in pain, he was doing an excellent job and concealing his pain.
"Let's go back to talking about you." I started. "Enough about me."
His eyes were lazy, they dragged accross my face. Slowly pacing to my eyes, nose, and then resting against my lips. "With you, it's never enough."
At that, I looked away.
Because whenever he looked, really looked at me, my skin would ache, itch, split open and let out all the oxygen I had gathered since birth. This wasn't romanticism. It was the truth.
And when he had touched me the night before, I was certain that G-d had been demoted. I had never felt fear that way in my life.
"Talk to me about your father." I muttered. "We've both never mentioned them."
"I haven't because I didn't have one. I'm a bastard."
"You had a mother." I queried. This was new information.
"She was never really mine. She found me and kept me." He lifted a hand and rested his face on his palm. "Frankly, she could've just let me die."
I glanced up at the gravelled ceiling. "You were innocent then."
Banshee snorted. "I was born with the Devil in me."
I scowled. "How can you believe in the Devil but not believe in God?"
I knew that was a stark change in subject but he just kept contradicting himself. It irritated me.
Banshee shrugged. "The Devil just seems more realistic. I'm certain he owns the world. He owns me."
I shivered unconsciously and flipped topics just as fast.
"Do you think the fact that you didn't have a father made you any different?"
"No. No one could love me. The only difference having a father would make would be that I'd have had to buy two bullets."
One for mama.
One for papa.
I zoned in on one of his phrases and shook my head. "You're not unlovable. God loves sinners too."
Banshee snorted before tilting his head back and laughing so loud that I jolted in my seat.
A few seconds had passed before he tilted his head to the left and spat. It was reddened. Tinged with blood. "Aria, that's blasphemy."
"It's law."
"Law?" He repeated, looking incredulous.
"Don't mock me."
Banshee shook his head. "I wouldn't dare."
"There's nothing you wouldn't dare to do."
A ghost of a smile crossed his features. Despite his marred face, he was more chipper than usual. It wasn't so hard to talk to him.
He leaned forwards slightly. "Tell me about your father, Aria."
Because my father meant a little more than nothing to me, it wasn't difficult. "Well, he's dead."
"Oh?" Banshee smiled with his teeth. I noticed his jagged teeth were slightly worse. They were all stained red, and he was missing a couple at the corners. "You're a bastard too."
I winced. Sometimes Banshee said things so far out of line that it was ridiculous. Many a time, they were odd and brazen.
"Don't call me that."
He ignored me and sat back against his metal chair, his fingers ran across his lips.
"Did you kill him?" He finally asked, fire alight in his eyes.
I gasped, heart racing up to my throat.
I wanted to scream. "No!"
He tensed for a split second. Sat up, and then nodded slowly, eyes narrowing to small slits at my vehement answer.
He searched my face. "It wouldn't shock me. You look like you've killed a man."
Jesus.
My heart stopped beating.
Within seconds, I felt all the blood rushing from my face. I was impaled by his words. I felt like a star that had exploded on itself and died.
Was I truly that transparent? I tucked my hands underneath my thighs to hide how much they trembled. I knew now that I was irrevocably stupid for talking to Banshee, for accepting this job. Especially since I carried a secret that was so dangerous.
Banshee fed off my reaction and frowned. He glanced at my eyes and I was certian he could hear my heart beat.
And like a light bulb had clicked on, Banshee let out the smallest gasp. "You have."
And for the first time in my life, I had shocked him. When my widened eyes met his, I saw that his bruised lips were parted ever so slightly.
Then they curved into a smile. He looked like someone had taken him up to the sun and set him alight.
"Aria," He was breathless, "What I feel towards you now, is akin to adoration."
I felt bile rise in my throat.
"Tell me everything." A trail of blood trickled down his nose when he whispered, "Enlighten me."
__________
Not-so-fun fact about John Haigh: John Haigh commonly known as the Acid Bath Murderer, was an English serial killer. He was convicted for the murder of six people, although he claimed to have killed nine. He battered or shot his victims to death and used concentrated sulphuric acid to destroy their corpses before forging papers so he could sell the victims' possessions and collect substantial sums of money.
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