I did it for him
The monotone voice echoed though my thought and clashed with the creak of leather as he leaned forward, "Why don't you like talking about it? Aren't you proud of what you've done?" I couldn't hold back the giggle that bubbled up from inside of me, "Of course I'm proud of it." He paused to scribble something down onto the blank white paper on his clipboard. "Then why won't you tell me about it?" I scowled at his arrogance, "Because I didn't do it for you."
Pause- more scribbling- pause.
He took a breath as if he were about to speak but changed his mind, closing his mouth again. "Who did you do it for, Angel?" "Riley." I answered without skipping a beat.
"Riley? The man you killed?" "Yes," I answered, "Riley."
I shivered as the autumn air blew straight through my layers of clothes and all the way down to my bones. His grip on my hand tightened to an almost painful level, but I held my tongue. "The leaves are almost black." He didn't reply, not like I expected him to. The sun was shining brightly in the early morning, through the bare oak and cedar trees and onto my cold cheeks, the warmth almost making this trip worth the walk and chill. Almost.
"It's cold out today."
He spun around, his grey eyes flashing red, his grip on my hand not loosening. "Shut up!" after a split second pause he turned back to the trail and continued to walk. I began to wonder where we were going, but out of fear I kept my mouth shut tight. I decided to focus on the bouncing of his hair as he walked, the brown wisps barely reaching his collar.
In my thought, I didn't realize we had stopped. I ran into him, immediately jumping as far away as our linked hands would allow and bracing myself for whatever reaction he would throw at me. In spite of what I expected, he spoke softly, "We're here." Slowly, I opened my eyes, peering around at the woods around us seeing.. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only the same trees, leaves, and sunshine stood around us. I felt a pang of panic in my chest, realizing that was all I saw. No glimpses of warm houses or playing children through the trees. Only more of the same trees, leaves, and sunshine. And Riley. Riley.. a bit too close to me.
I laughed softly, hiding my fear, "Wow, we're really far from the park." He laughed too, somehow mockingly, "Yeah, you're right, we are." I chewed my lip, wishing for nothing more that someone, anyone to walk through. Even a stray dog, or a squirrel. The trees, void of their leaves, were too quiet and the wind, having calmed down, was too still. Even the warm sun, previously comforting, was sickeningly sweet in the crisp autumn morning.
I caught a glimpse of light out of the corner of my eye, looking over to see a small, but very sharp blade hanging loosely from Riley's fingertips. "So what's out here? It seems kind of boring." I took a step back to hopefully settle the nausea overwhelming me. I kept smiling, hoping to convince him we were playing a game. To maybe convince myself it was all a joke.
A smile crept to his face and at that moment I thought I would vomit, at that moment I realized, for sure, that it wasn't a game and that he wasn't just trying to scare me.
He grabbed my arm hard, and I knew I should run. He backed me against a tree but I still couldn't get my feet to go in the right direction. His arm went up to my neck, the hand with the blade to my lips. "Sometimes I'd rather die than have to listen to you talk anymore." He slid the blade across my lips and I hissed in pain, "You just don't know how to be quiet do you?" I didn't know what to do and I didn't know if I was supposed to reply. I stayed quiet. He laughed again, that same sickening, out of place, almost joyful laugh. "There's no reason to be silent now," he teased, "we're going to have fun." "Okay, Riley," my voice shook.
The sun was no longer on us, the bright light bounced off of the trees around us but Riley and I were in a patch of grey, the faux safety of the sunlight only inches away. He was coldm spiteful, mean: his anger emanating from him with that red look in his eyes sickened me. He dragged the knife down my throat, giving me the opportunity to shove him away, causing him to fall to the ground.
"So you're saying it was in self-defense?" I scowled at the interruption, shifting and listening to the protest of red leather. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, yes."
"But didn't he hit his head when he fell? He was unconscious, correct?" I cleared my throat, "Yes." "Then why did you have to stab him? Couldn't you have ran?"
He lay on the ground, motionless for a while. At first I knelt beside him, terrified of what had and would happen. Again, I caught a glimmer of light. I picked up the blade, carelessly dropped on the cool, spongy floor, and shifted its weight in my palm. I looked down at him, helpless, vulnerable, almost like he was sleeping. I raised my arms above my head, pausing for a moment before bringing them down and—
"You stabbed him 13 times?" "Yes." He flipped through papers, "And the third ruptured his heart, correct?" "Yes." "Did you know that at the time?" "No," I lied. He scribbled down more. I vaguely wondered exactly what it was he was writing.
I pulled the knife out of his chest, amused at the sucking "pop" it made when it finally was free. I smiled, enjoying the vibrant red all around and the sweet metallic smell mixed with the scent of autumn.
"What about your own injuries?" "He did it before he fell."
I stood, looking down at him before sinking the knife into my stomach.
"Why didn't you mention it, then?" "I forgot."
"You're done for today, Angel." "Really?" "Yes."
As I smiled he faded to white. The whole room faded to white. I became painfully aware of the rough white fabric binding my upper body and the soft rubber under and around me. The dim lights, the iron door with more white rubber padding. The door creaked open and the room dissolved into a dimly lit restaurant, complete with red curtains and carpeting.
A man walked towards me holding a plate filled with delicious looking food sprinkled with a white, bitter powder. The man had grey eyes that flashed red and brown wisps of hair barely reaching his collar. "We're going to have fun," He cooed.