I was only following God's orders.
-Joseph Kallinger
TWENTY THREE
SEEING SOMETHING THAT you swore to keep away from danger stand on the front lines of your own war was like death. My mouth was agape, and I didn't want to comprehend the reason why Diana would be here. It was beyond shocking. I closed my eyes and shook my head vigorously. "This cannot be happening..."
I heard a shuffle on the ground and knew she had stepped forward. Softly, her hand grazed my shoulder. "Aria, let me expla-"
Within seconds, I had shrugged her hands off me and spun right around. Her touch was meant to be one of comfort but it felt like the opposite. My head was still spinning on its axis from what Banshee had asked me, from what he had prophesied, so I couldn't possibly deal with her and Nicholas in one mindfuck.
One stone at a time, Aria. Killing two birds with one stone is impractical. One never really dies.
I grabbed the door handle and tugged it marginally. "I'm not finished with the interview." I muttered to the silent room. I could already imagine what Hanks face looked like. His mean mug would be tightened further, eyes in slits revealing how irrevocably upset he was because I was bypassing procedure. I couldn't just walk in and walk out whenever I wished. But at this point, I didn't care.
I pitied Diana, she might have expected happiness from me when I saw her but it really was tragic because those feelings were no longer things I was used to. Emotions like that came to me like water in a dessert. Rare, and often hallucinatory.
I took one deep breath, walked in and closed the door behind me.
My eyes widened when I noticed Banshee was still sat at the table. He hadn't moved yet, but he wasn't statuesque. No. His head was down and his hair fell over most of his features. However, between the strands of hair, I could still his eyes. and his eyes were focused on his wrists. He had pulled he orange sleeves of his uniform upwards and I could see that his injuries didn't stop there. It travelled all the way to the indentation of his elbow.
I felt sickened knowing it was self-inflicted. I wanted to know why he did it. There had to be a striving force behind it and it was neither guilt nor sadness. I remembered the way he cracked his knuckles when he punched the wall. How much force he had used to damage himself. It had to be anger. Frustration. Something red.
His eyes were hooded, and his lips were parted in an o. It took me a while to realise he was whistling. There wasn't anything particular about the action, but the tune itself struck me as vaguely familiar.
I stood against the white wall. He knew I was here yet he didn't acknowledge. He probably wanted an explanation.
But Hell, he had pushed me to the edge and I was still teetering at the cliff. I couldn't even breathe because Banshee had single handedly taken my breath away.
But I was going to have to face the music. I would tell him I had no idea what he was talking about and I had left because I thought he was going to hurt me.
Gingerly, I walked back to my chair. "I've heard that tune before."
Banshee glanced up at me for a few dire seconds, eyes revealing nothing but emptiness.
Then he looked down.
"Whatever the fuck that was, don't do it again."
I took that sentence as an invitation back and I moved to my chair. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, placed my hands on the table and met his gaze. I tried to convey any emotion but panic in my features but I knew it was futile. Banshee could read me like an open book.
He sat up too, slowly rolling his sleeves down. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "You've heard it before. I hummed it once. I always heard my mother humming it." His eyes were still bare, not that there was ever any light in them. But whatever he must have felt earlier on had died. I had killed it by leaving the room.
I couldn't tell if I was relieved or dissapointed.
"I hummed it while I dug her grave."
"To mock her?"
"Mockery?" He scoffed. "Not my style. It's the only thing of hers I couldn't get rid off. The fucking song is trapped in my head. She mocks me."
It seemed to me that his mother played a larger role in his life than I had imagined. It irked me more than usual because of the relationship that I had with my mother and the dark wretched secrets that lay in between them.
I drummed my fingers on the table to hide the fact that they were trembling. From guilt? shame? terror? I couldn't pin point what exactly overtook me. "I've been meaning to ask," I began. "You once said that you regretted not killing your mother sooner, yet you loved her wildly?"
He tilted his head to the side as if to ask - so?
I gulped. "It doesn't add up."
"Aria..." He breathed. "You can't possibly understand everything."
Anything to avoid talking about me. My voice matched his. "Yet, I want to."
Banshee scowled; my question clearly irritated him. "My mother gave me feeling."
I rose a brow in confusion.
"Emotions. That's something I never fucking asked for. I used to be void of them. I could send a kid to the hospital and feel nothing. But she changed that. Once I realised I had begun to feel something for her, it threw me off. And as the days passed, it got worse. More intense." He grew frustrated as he spoke, almost as if he were reliving those moments of realisation. "Had I killed her sooner, perhaps I wouldn't have felt anything when I killed her. I wouldn't have craved what I felt. Fuck. I might never have..."
My heart stopped. "Killed again?"
He stopped short as though shocked by his own revelations.
But as quickly as his shock registered, it fled his face. "That's bullshit."
I let my guard down for a moment. Was it possible that Banshee would rather have never killed? Was that his regret? "If you could go back in-"
"Stop." Banshee interjected.
My words ended on my lips.
"Just fucking stop." He looked irritated, like I was a pest that just couldn't take the hint. "When you start something, you have to finish it. Wrap it up and place a fucking bow on it."
My heart rate picked up again. It wasn't over. "I don't understand."
"You fucking do." He bored his eyes straight through mine. His eyes grabbed at everything inside of mine and took it away from me. All my inhibitions and willpower. "One second you have me thinking you hold life in your hands, and the next you remind me of your mediocrity. You're afraid to tell me what your eyes have already confessed. Why?"
I feigned ignorance but I could hear my voice tremble. I hated myself for it. "I don't know what you're saying..."
"You're pushing me away from you. Really fucking hurling me. Yet, you think I want to talk to you about my dead mother?"
"It's what's more important."
He stopped. Froze on the words that left my mouth. His eyes were animated, looking at me like I was the epitome of stupidity. "Do you think, for a second, that I matter more in the long run?"
He was frightening me to the bone. Why on earth would I be important? Whatever I had done was years ago. I was innocent until proven guilty. I was blameless.
Banshee had been watching me in silence. He heaved a sigh when he saw I had become pale. If I reached beyond the stars, I would say he looked remorseful.
But that was impossible.
His voice was small, as thought I were a child. It was careful. "In this prison, who do you trust the most?"
I would've lied or avoided the question but I didn't even have the strength to.
I looked within myself and searched all around me. I looked for the only person who gave me the most transparency and clarity. My interior and exterior. My skin and my veins. I dug my fingers into my heart and flipped the blank pages.
It was the only word in there.
One word scrawled in my own blood.
NICHOLAS.
As if he knew what I was thinking, he permeated my thoughts. He muttered, voice nearly inaudible. "So tell me, Aria, did you kill him?"
I looked up at Banshee.
And I nodded.
______
Diana had the ocean in her eyes. She was glancing at me, shiny eyes fleeting from the security screens to the fear in my eyes. She had seen Banshee, I could tell, and she had watched the interview. Despite my confusion from her being here, I hadn't completely derailed my thoughts from what I had just done, my hands remained limp at my side.
She pulled back and glanced at my face, taking a big step back. She was that kind of girl, the one who needed space to speak. The one who brightened a dark room. My polar opposite. "You look fucking terrified. Was that him in there with you? Was that Banshee?"
Banshee had taken my breath away. And with it, my sense of reasoning. I nodded, half-heartedly. "What are you doing here?"
She looked uncertain for a moment too long and then she sighed heavily. "Frank thought it'd be a good idea for me to come."
It was at that point I had begun to notice everyone else in the room. It was no longer a blurry vision. Instead, I saw colours and figures against the white walls. The room suddenly seemed smaller. Claustrophobic.
Like adhesive, my eyes stuck on Franks. He looked tired and half crescent moons lay underneath his green eyes. In a way, his fatigue made him look innocent. I couldn't place the worry in his eyes as being fake. It was genuine.
Beside him, the two assistants played deaf and dumb, eyes trained on the screens and their files. Frank leaned away from the wall, tilting the monochrome painting in the process. His full brow lifted, and his lopsided smile returned. Very faintly. Almost warily.
"I figured you'd stay."
I remembered my threat of leaving but I didnt acknowledge his words. I could feel familiar emotions I always repressed bubble up. Anger. "You brought her here? To the prison?"
His eyes fell and he switched his vibe from wariness to seriousness. The air was thick with tension. "I asked her to come. But before you get upset, please listen to me. We need to talk."
"Frank." I muttered.
Diana blocked my view of Frank. She looked different. Her hair was tied in a bun, her eyes had softened and she too, was serious. It was bizarre because she was nothing like me. She smiled often and much. She laughed. She fell in love. She had healed, at least better than I had.
So what was this?
"Yes. He brought me. We need to talk." She deadpanned. "You weren't answering your phone too. Do you know how worried I was?"
"I was mad at you."
"So was I."
"You had no reason to be."
Diana looked at me for a second. She stepped back. "God, you actually look sick. Are you really okay?"
I sidestepped her and focused on Frank. Accusations were all over my features. Why on earth should I trust you? I asked with my eyes. "Is she even allowed to be here?"
Frank looked frustrated. "No. I pulled some strings."
"Then she needs to leave."
Diana sighed.
Frank took a step forward, placating. "Aria, you're looking at me like I'm some kind of traitor. This isn't a war. I know Prisoner 143 might have said thing to you that have scared you so I know you're not acting irrational. No. The problem is that you think I've got something to do with Diana's letters."
He looked torn. The mere fact that I trusted Banshee more than him looked like it ate him up. "All I've done here is help you. My job includes keeping you sane so I called her. I merely asked her to phone you. The other day you seemed out of sorts and I was worried cause you wouldn't let me help you. She insisted she come herself."
I was shocked that I want disbelieving.
Diana lifted a hand to hush Frank. She faced me. "Aria, you look like a fucking ghost and I can tell your shit is going through the roof. Clearly, you have unanswered questions. I'm here now."
I'm here now.
I didn't realise how much I had actually missed her until I had heard those words. She was here. My loneliness had begun to betray me because I almost sagged in relief at the thought that I wouldn't have to be alone with my thoughts for once.
I had someone to talk to.
Someone who didn't terrify me.
I suppressed the instant panic attack I was about to have on remembering what I had allowed Banshee to know. I was a hypocrite. I had pushed Diana away for telling someone she thought she loved about me, yet I was here telling a psychopath the one thing I was ready to die with.
Guilt choked me.
I grabbed Diana's hand quickly. "For how long?"
Frank looked up. "One night only."
And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt like I was about to be granted clarity.
Besides, no one had asked me why I walked back into the room.
____
AN: who's him?
Not-so-fun fact about Joseph Kallinger: This serial killer murdered three people and tortured four families. He wanted a family business it seems - he committed these crimes with his 13-year-old son along as an observer.