Prologue. (El Morris)
I never thought I could do something like this.
I never thought about it.
I just wondered from time to time if there wasn’t another way to escape from the people who had caused me so much pain.
That’s all I wanted.
“Mr. Morris, are you still here?” comes a voice as cold as ice, a manly voice, directing my thoughts back to what’s happening here and now.
I glance at the man standing in front of me. His posture immediately shows that he’s a detective, and his curious eyes, devoid of any fear, that he’s the best.
“Yes,” I answer the man slowly, shifting in my seat.
The chair creaks as I move, making an unpleasant screeching sound that bounces off the concrete walls of the interrogation room and echoes.
The man, who has been standing by the wall the whole time, finally pushes himself away from it and, walking very slowly, approaches the chair, then sits down, gently spreading his legs.
I look at him again with unwavering eyes. Besides, there is nothing to give away, because the detective already knows everything.
After all, he has “figured out” who I am.
Detective Emmet Drake.
“Then I’m waiting for an answer,” Detective Drake says casually, leaning back in his chair.
I frown.
I grin.
“What answer?” I ask Emmet. He looks at me sternly, and I just giggle innocently. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear what question you asked,” I apologize, further irritating the detective.
“I asked why Adrian Wolf was the first victim?” the detective repeats his question.
I’m momentarily confused.
But it only takes me a few seconds to remember why I’ve heard the name “Adrian.”
Then I smile crookedly.
Adrian Wolf.
The man who ruined my life in first grade. The guy who thought popularity was everything, but I proved him wrong. No matter how popular you are, no one will ever remember you after you die. They’ll just say, “Wow, that guy was a good guy,” but they won’t even know why they’re saying that.
Yes, he was a damn idiot, I tell myself. He needed to be taught a lesson.
“Mr. Morris…” the detective sighs.
“I hear you,” I say, “and I’m still here.” I add after a minute, shifting my gaze from his face to the table with the photos of people I’ve killed in cold blood.
“I’m still waiting for an answer, why..?”
“Because he crossed the line, Mr. Drake,” I cut him off in midsentence, answering the question he so desperately wanted. Then I slowly raise my gaze again and stare into the man’s green eyes. “He crossed the line.” I repeat it after a few seconds, as if to confirm what I just said.
Detective Drake frowns.
“What line?” he asks, unconsciously moving toward me.
I yawn, as if the conversation is not interesting to me.
“Maybe you want to answer me?” I suggest to the detective, whose irritation with the current situation is only growing. I can “smell” it. “Because you, Detective Drake, are the expert,” I tell him, with a faint hint of contempt in my voice.
The tension in the interrogation room is almost palpable.
I don’t look away, trying to prove that I can look the person who has put me here in the eye without showing the slightest bit of fear.
Never let others see your fear.
Those were my father’s words when he taught me how to behave in a given situation. But the most interesting thing is that I used them, even though I thought his words were a complete waste of time. But it turns out they were very useful to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten this far.
“You dare to talk to me in that tone, boy?” the detective asks, standing up from his chair.
“Yes, I dare, detective,” I say to the man.
He takes a deep breath, probably not wanting to punch me in the face.
And I enjoy every moment of his restraint.
I smile again.
“Is it too hard for you to control yourself, sir?” I ask another question, as if I were a detective, not Emmet.
The man gives me a look full of hatred, as if warning me that: “Either you shut up or you’re done for.”
"No," he finally retorts. "It’s not really difficult for me to control myself. I just don’t like it when children explain to me what I should do." The word “children” pierces my heart so deeply that it feels like it’s going to pierce it.
I swallow hard.
"You’re pathetic, detective," I hiss, and detective Drake just laughs triumphantly.
"I see you’re losing your temper now," he tells me, stepping closer to my side of the interrogation room. "So you’re not as smart as you think you are. And now, dear Mr. Morris, I would like to ask you, what line did Adrian Wolfe cross to deserve such a brutal death?" the man asks again.
I stare at Emmet for a long time, as if testing his strength, but finally I take a deep breath.
“This story is too complicated for you to understand in one murder,” I tell him.
The detective looks suspiciously at my hair from head to toe.
The air in the interview room cools, as if preparing for the inevitable horror.
“What I mean is, you need to know how I killed each of my victims, why I did it, why at that time, so you can understand my crimes and my thinking.” I explain reluctantly.
For a second, I think Emmet Drake is just going to laugh or say something stupid and mock me again, but instead, the man just waves his hand at me, urging me to start.
“Well, then I’m going to listen very carefully to another psychopath’s story,” the detective decides, but I just chuckle darkly.
“Oh, no, that’s where you’re wrong.” I warn Emmett, forcing him to look me straight in the eye. “I’m not just an ordinary psychopath.”
“So, who are you, Mr. Morris?” Detective Drake asks indifferently.
I smile darkly.
“I’m the best,” I correct the man, looking around the entire interrogation room for the fifth time. “And I want to advise you not to sleep, because anything can happen in one minute. Even a person can die.”
Thus begins the story of a boy who proved that bullying has consequences.
Whose confessions to Detective Emmet Drake changed his entire life and thinking.
Made him realize that the world is not just a good place, and that bullying is a much bigger problem.
But this story is not just about bullying.
It's about the people who thought he was weak...
But later begged him for mercy...
Thus begins the story of El Morris...
