when I said I was on a hiatus, I didn't lie. I was. I wasn't just seeing your messages to update and ignoring you. I had so much on my plate. A light in my life turned off and I needed time to adjust to the darkness.
Thank you for waiting <3
_____
She kept begging and pleading and pleading and begging [for the life of her unborn child], and I got sick of listening to her, so I stabbed her."
— Susan Atkins
TWENTY SIX
THEY ALWAYS SAY THAT WHO WE ARE and what we believe in are a composite of our memories. Did that mean that amnesiacs become hollow shells once they forget? Did that mean that the elderly died before their hearts stopped? Does that mean that I don't know who I am? I asked because my memories had been warped by years of repression and the slow hand of time. I didn't know who I was, or what I was capable of.
In the span of days, I had come to the realisation that I was both a murderer and a victim; and that every choice I had believed to be mine was turning out to be staged from the moment I saw that advert.
Fuck.
On entering the white office, I instantly noticed Frank. I wanted to feel relief, but after my new found knowledge, I knew that trusting him was a chore. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, head tilted up, and lips drawn into a straight line. Eyes, however, were hooded with moon crescents underneath and remained on me. His tousled hair fell across his furrowed brows and his shirt was crumpled. Unlike other days where he carried concern in his big eyes, Frank Trellis looked completely and utterly tired of my shit.
It seemed as though I was draining him in the same way he drained me and hell, I matched his facial expression internally and externally. Ignoring his sharp eyes for lack of better judgement, I slumped against the wall and looked at my feet.
"You can go in, Miss Black." An assistant said. Her smile was genuine but wavered when she noticed the darkness underneath my eyes and the slack in my jaw. "On second thought, if you don't want to do the interview today, I'm sure we can let you g—"
"I'm fine."
"Oh—" The woman looked away quickly, understanding that her concern was neither needed nor necessary. "Well, if you need any kind of assistance, I'm always here to help you."
Just as I opened my mouth to prolong the conversation, Franks voice cut through mine. "She said she was fine." Rather than look at the assistant he was addressing, his heavy lidded eyes challenged me. He smiled, a small plastic little toy. "I'm sure she's just dying to get in there."
My eyes flashed infinitesimally. Something was going on with him. I plastered on a fake smile and nodded in faux agreement. "In fact, Mr Trellis, I am."
Just like that, his smile slipped and he gazed blankly at me for a few intimate seconds before pushing up from the wall and leaving the room with a bang that resonated through the small white office. There had been disbelief and disappointment in those eyes, and I had no idea why.
The assistant's voice jolted me out of my confused daze. "I'm sorry, Miss Black, he's been like that all morning."
I waved her apology away. "I don't care." I muttered, heading straight for the metal door and pulling it open.
And the second I stepped into the interview room, my shutters closed and I was stone again. Because the man sat in front of me was a sculptor and I knew he would do anything; go through any obstacle; break his hands and callous his fingers just to carve me into a vulnerable image. He wanted me to trust his intellect, that my sculpture would be worth my destruction. And for some reason, I had agreed to let him. I had handed him the hammer and chisel, and asked him to do to me as he wishes.
That decision to trust him, I knew, was regrettable. But I wasn't taking it back because it was all I had to hold on to at the moment.
Nicholas hadn't looked up when I walked in but I knew that he knew I was here. I walked over to my chair and slid into it without a noise. Clearing my throat, I said the one thing that had been circling my mind all hours of the night. "Why me?"
Nicholas looked up, left eye swollen so tight that he couldn't see through it. It was purple, bruised and suffering from neglect. I didn't acknowledge it this time, gasping only due to shock. "Easy. You're a murderer."
I tasted bile in my mouth. "Don't say that."
"Now how does that feel? Ugly, I imagine. Yet you say it to me all the time"
Did he hate when I said that?
As though he read my thoughts, he started. "Don't get me wrong, I don't give a fuck what you call me." He pointed a finger at me. "But for you, it hurts. Reminds you of a story that you try so hard to neglect."
I shook my head. My nightmares never gave me the freedom to neglect that story.
"It's the truth, Aria, and it's always fucking bitter. Humans always beg for honesty but the second it's dished without remorse, we cower away from it." He flexed his wrists against the handcuffs. "Let's nip it at the bud. You killed a man, and for whatever reason it was, that makes you a murderer."
The sparks in his eyes ignited as he tilted his head and pursed his lips. "You're a sinner. Just like me."
I let his words beat against the wall I had put up around my emotions and willed the film of tears in my eyes to dry up. "I'm no sinner. I repented."
"So?"
"So my sins are forgiven."
His brows rose. Really fucking high. He looked incredulous. "So you believe that to be your 'get out of jail free' card? I murder a few men, say sorry to God and I'm off the hook. Fucking ace."
I sagged against my own inner self. This wasn't the conversation I wanted to have. "You'd never understand."
"No, you're wrong." He quickly interjected. "I do understand. Much like you, I've repented too." He said, emphasising on the word. He said it like he had told a joke. And on seeing my confusion, he had chuckled. "Don't fret, I didn't do it recently. I was a kid when it happened."
"Your mom—?"
"Not necessarily. It happened at school." He elaborated. "Do I not look like a Catholic School choir boy?"
The shock registered in my features without barrier. This was new, this was fresh information and it suddenly made all his knowledge of God make sense. It made me understand him a little better. Still, I was shocked. "So you do believe in God?" I reiterated once I saw his eyes narrow. "Or did."
"No. Never. Not once." He spat like he had tasted piss. "I didn't even know what the fuck I was doing then. I just remember that I had done something terribly wrong and one of the 'Sisters' had made forced me to confess my sins and repent."
"Forced?"
"It was either that, or an exorcism." He joked. "I wanted to do it. It was at the time my mother stopped hitting me and I wanted to make a deal with G-d. I gave Him an ultimatum. If I did this shit, will he fix her?"
"By fix her, you mean—"
"Get her to beat the fuck out of me again."
I closed my eyes and cringed. Disturbing. "Christ."
"You see the thing is that I repented but in vain. I quickly realised that all religion tried to do was cheat me out of my good aim." He chuckled. "It's a scam."
I shrugged, pulling the neck of my jumper higher up. I had noticed his eyes flicker there once or twice, sliding from my exposed collar bones to my neck. "Well, that's not what I believe."
Nicholas smiled when he noticed that I had noticed him looking. "The truth is a hard pill to swallow." He said, humour laced in his voice.
Dismissing his argument for another day, I went to the main reason I was there instead of hiding away in my room. I started slow. "I wanted to tell you today that you were right."
My affirmations gave him light and he sparked. His lips pulled apart and for the first time, I was grateful for his smile. It meant he was softening towards me and perhaps, he would help me.
"I know." He whispered, voice sounding satisfied with my revelation. He reached up to tuck a stray hair behind his ears and sighed when it flopped right back. "Good thing they cut this mane before they kill me."
I winced. It was true, Banshee was dying soon. Nothing short of what he deserved. "Why do you never cut it?"
"It's a Samson thing." He grinned. He had meant Samson and Delilah, I recognised the biblical reference. Before I could lose my train of thought, he brought it back to me. "Aria, elaborate. Tell me how I'm right."
"Everything you said makes sense." Instinctively, I looked back at the cameras. I was internally grateful that our sessions weren't being recorded but still, I didn't want to look suspicious. My voice dropped in tone. "I've just been trying to connect the dots."
"And you want me to fill you in on the missing pieces?"
I nodded, lip between my teeth from worry. "I just need you to tell me a few things."
Banshee slipped back in, replacing Nicholas. His demeanour went dark and he leaned back against the chair. Arm stretched forward on the table. "But you won't tell me anything?"
Quite vehemently, I shook my head. God, no. "I can't trust anyone at the—"
"Fuck you."
Taken aback, I physically flinched. Confusion marred all parts of my face and I felt inherently torn apart by his words. I had literally lost all my pride by asking him for help instead of quitting, and now he was refusing? My voice was a stutter. "E-Excuse me?"
"Fuck you." He said, again. More casual than the first. His head was rested on his palm. In his eyes, were mysteries and mayhem. He grinned like a sadist when he noticed my despair. "I told you everything you needed to know. That someone told me shit about you, gave me a goddamn file about your fucking life, and yet you don't trust me."
"Because you lied to me. With your fucking eyes, and words, and reactions. If you had a file about me, you knew I had a sister, you knew I was an orphan. You knew about Hugh. You know he's dead."
He paused, momentarily taken aback. "You think that's the only lie I've ever told you? I've been incarcerated for murdering innocent masses and yet you think I'm an honest man? Fucking stupid."
Don't call me stupid. Please. I hid my shiver with a grimace. "You pretended like you didn't know."
"No, I didn't fucking pretend." He muttered, as though he couldn't comprehend my stupidity. "I've never claimed to be anything but the man you've seen. Everything I tell you is for a reason. I know how this shit works. Like I fucking said, I've done this before."
"You're a li—"
His voice was a hiss. A vicious venomous voice that caused me to shiver and close up. "Call me a liar and I'll break you."
I'll break you. I knew, from the bleakness in his eyes, that he meant it emotionally, physically and mentally. And at that point, it completely dawned on me that I had given him enough power to destroy me. I couldn't help it when a lone tear slipped from my eye. He had my heart in his hands, figuratively, and he was toying with my emotions.
I only looked up when I heard Banshee gasp.
His eyes were widened and his mouth apart. He looked shell shocked. "Tears." — was all he said. His voice was breathless and I could see the rise and fall of his chest. "God, I can't remember the last time I saw someone cry." He leaned forward, and his hands moved to the glass. His fingers traced my face through the pane and he chuckled humourlessly.
Disturbed, I wiped the tear from my face hurriedly.
"Tears, to me, signified craving, longing, desperation and desire. It's a release." His eyes moved to mine, pinning me down. "Last I saw someone cry was years ago. It was the woman before you. She cried like she wanted to rip out her own heart and hand it to me."
"What did she want?" I whispered, voice low so as not to break him from this train of thought. His reaction had disturbed me but his information was steadying me.
"She wanted my help. She wanted revenge. She had told me it was the only way she could die peacefully." He said, eyes fleeting from my left eye to my right and down to my reddened nose. "She had given me an ultimatum."
"For wh—"
"She was the only woman who had intimidated me with the force of her passion." He said, with a slight smile. Then he looked away at the wall behind me. He looked through me. "Aria, love, you're in too deep."
Boom. Boom. Boom. That was what my heart felt like against my rib cage. Irrationally, I felt betrayed by his emotions towards her. "Who was she?"
And as though my question had broken the camels back, he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I don't know anymore." He muttered. "Last time I physically saw her was about five years ago. Now, I only hear her voice."
Did I remind him of her? Or did she have something to do with me? "Do you remember how she looked?"
Banshee dragged his eyes back to me with renewed hunger. "Give me one reason why I should tell you."
I was grasping at straws. "Because you're on death penalty and you've got nothing to lose."
Banshee laughed. Lips pulling into a boyish smile and then turning garish when his teeth were exposed. "Keep repeating my words back to me and see where that takes you."
"Nicholas, please, I'm asking for one thing."
He flinched at my name coming out my lips. "No." His voice was knife sharp. "You're asking for a great many things. You just don't know it yet."
"I'm begging you."
"Only because you're not saying the right words." Banshee shook his long hair. His eyes danced with mischief. "Have you learnt nothing today?"
I paused and took a moment to calm myself and think rationally. And then decided that life was just unfair as that. To obtain something, something of equal value must be sacrificed. I would have to play his game.
"What if I give you an ultimatum."
He blinked, once and then again. "An ultimatum."
"Pretend you're an honest man, and tell me the truth about everything I ask you."
He sat up, eyes a vermilion hue. "And?"
"I'll tell you anything you want. I trust you."
His voice bounced off the walls. "You trust me?"
I nodded. "Utterly and completely."
And just like that, I was looking at a bullet. At least that's what it felt like. Usually when he looked at me like that, my skin would ache, itch, split open and let out all the oxygen I had gathered since birth. But when he looked up this time, the ground tilted. And when he had smiled in agreement, Banshee split the world in half.
Because he knew too, that I was now playing his game on his field by his own rules, for what I hoped was for my benefit.
"Deal."
But this time, something other than his excitement had made my spine cold. I had no idea whether I had imagined it but just as he had said the word, I swear he had looked up at the security cameras.
And he had smiled.