I was hiding in the back corner of the room. The shadows eclipsing me from her view, but she still knew I was there. I was backing off from her a bit. She’s strong right now; I’m frail. Soon the moment will come when I strike. She can’t be resisting for much longer; I only need a single opportunity. Then I’ll overtake her, make her world spin until she can’t see straight. It’s easy to win when you can warp people’s thoughts. I target her insecurities the second she lets her guard down. Right now, she’s alone; she’s aware. She senses me here and pushes me away. If I stay at bay, she’ll think she has control. That’s what I need. She needs to feel ahead of me, so I can sneak ahead of her. When her friend approaches, I perk up. She won’t be thinking of me if he’s around. This is my chance. Carefully, I snake my way to her side. She notices me, but before she has time to build her walls, I place my hand on her shoulder. Her breath hitches for a moment, but the boy doesn’t notice. We’ve played this game many times before. She’s learned how to hide me from everyone. What she doesn’t realize is that makes my job even easier. The boy doesn’t see me on his own. If she doesn’t tell him, then he won’t help. What she sees as strength allows me to kick her knees in and knock her down farther. Craving more of a reaction from her, I decide to remind her of all the little things she hates about herself with a few whispers while wrapping my long cold fingers around the back of her neck. I can feel her heart rate pick up, and I know her eyes have widened when she turns her head to the floor. Each reaction feeds my need for power over her. Winning today’s game, I remind her of all the ways she’s screwed everything up. My words become fire that blaze through her mind, incinerating every shred of hope she has of pushing me away. She starts to tremble as her thoughts rush faster than she can deny them. She mumbles a rushed goodbye and runs from the building. She relinquishes herself to me once again when she leans on the cool brick in the dark night and lets a tear fall.

3/4/98

Inmate #4402 - Session One

Inmate #4402 is serving three life sentences for one charge of aggravated murder and one charge of kidnapping. He has been sent to in-prison psychologist because he is seen as a possible threat to other inmates and himself.

Foster: Please take a seat. I’m Dr. Riley Foster. You and I will be seeing each other every day at 3:30 until I observe improvement significant enough to lessen or stop the sessions. I will inform you that everything you say will be audibly recorded. This will go much smoother if you cooperate. Thank you, now let’s get started. First, would you like to introduce yourself?

Havers: Josiah Havers.

Foster: Thank you, Mr. Havers. So first I want to just get to know you. Let’s talk. How old are you?

Havers: I’m twenty-six, born in ’73.

Foster: Hm, nothing seems too special about 1973, and, yet, you’re smiling. Why’s that?

Havers: It was a good time then is all. You’re right, nothin’ too special. (laughs lightly)

Foster: You’re saying that nothing happened, but then you laugh. Mr. Havers, this doesn’t line up. Please explain for me.

Havers: That’s exactly the point. Nothing happened.

Foster: Why is it a good thing that nothing happened?

(Long Pause)

Havers: If nothing happens at all, . . . then nothing bad can happen.

Foster: It sounds like that changed. Care to say when?

Havers: Change comes in time, Doc, as will that answer. See you tomorrow.

Session Notes: Inmate #4402 cooperates well, but evades personal questions. Suggested ‘bad’ childhood experiences.

Topic(s) of interest: childhood experiences

3/5/98

Inmate #4402 - Session Two

Foster: Hello again, Mr. Havers. You left quite abruptly yesterday. Would you like to pick up where we left off?

Havers: I believe I said ‘in time’.

Foster: Okay, well I suppose we can start with this. What’s your favorite childhood memory?

Havers: When I was alone.

Foster: Any particular reason you liked being alone?

Havers: Lots.

Foster: Care to share any?

Havers: What about you? What’s your favorite childhood memory?

Foster: Mr. Havers, this isn’t about me.

Havers: Well why should I tell you what you won’t tell me?

Foster: Fine, I suppose that’s fair. My favorite memory is when I would go to visit my grandma.

Havers: Why?

Foster: Mr. Havers, I feel we should get back on topic.

Havers: Oh, but this is on topic. If you want to know me, I want to know you.

Foster: If that’s the case, I enjoyed going to my grandmother’s because she made me feel special. She didn’t care what my grades were or if my room was clean. She just wanted to be with me. Now, why did you enjoy being alone?

Havers: I could be myself.

Foster: Could you not be yourself around other people?

Havers: Of course not! Everyone has things that they hide. I didn’t hide only a few things, but I hid my entire self.

Foster: Why did you think it was necessary to hide?

Havers: (takes deep breath) When you’re not normal, you know. It’s better to hide our differences than let others tear us apart for them. I was just making everyone’s lives easier.

Foster: When did you stop hiding?

Havers: (soft) I never stopped; I just failed.

Foster: How did you fail?

Havers: (soft) The secrets build. Eventually the wall you’ve built shatters, and things come crashing down.

Foster: I’m confident that we will get to that on another day. I think we’ve covered enough for now. I will see you again tomorrow. Goodbye, Mr. Havers.

Havers: (soft) Bye.

Session Notes: Began to respond in cryptic answers. Clearly, he was not ready to say anything specific. Pushing further would have only caused him to close off more. Beginning to reveal a bit more about his past, no specific details. In time, I believe he will divulge more. It might take a bit of work, but progress will be made.

Topic(s) of Interest: being alone, childhood experiences, secrets, what needed to be hidden

3/6/98

Inmate #4402 - Session Three

Havers: Hey, Doc.

Foster: Hello, Mr. Havers. How are you?

Havers: Other than the fact that I’m in prison? Decent enough. You?

Foster: I’m doing fine, thank you. Today, Mr. Havers, I would like to talk with you about your life as a child. Describe for me a normal day when you were six or seven.

Havers: I would wake up in the morning and get myself ready for school. I would get on the bus, spend the day at school, then take the bus back home. When I got home, I would go to my neighbor’s until it was time to go to bed.

Foster: Why did you stay away from home so late?

Havers: I didn’t want to be there.

Foster: Why did you not want to be home?

Havers: Because my house was not my home.

Foster: Mr. Havers, we aren’t going to get anywhere if you come in here every day and talk to me in riddles. What do you mean it wasn’t your home?

Havers: Home is supposed to be a safe place where you feel comfortable.

Foster: And you didn’t feel safe?

Havers: (defeatedly) No.

Foster: What about your house wasn’t safe?

Havers: It’s hard to be safe when you’re six and dependent on your stoner mom because she’s all you have. My father left when I was two. I never knew him, but I got to know the woman that cared more about getting high than taking care of her son.

Foster: Were drugs the only problem?

Havers: The drugs weren’t the problem. The problem was when the drugs were gone. No drugs meant no happy. Now I’m not saying it was good when they were there, but it was certainly worse when they weren’t.

Foster: What would she do when she was sober?

Havers: Well she needed to blame her screwed up life on somebody. I was the only one around. Hit, slap, burn, kick, cut, you name it. (bitter laugh) She loved torturing me. Naturally, I tried to get away. I went somewhere where I felt safe. (incoherent mumbling)

Foster: I’m sorry. What was that?

Havers: (another bitter laugh) Nothin’.

Foster: So to feel safe, you went to your neighbor’s.

Havers: Exactly.

Foster: What was your neighbor like?

Havers: He lived alone. Maybe mid-forties. He always seemed more than happy to have me over. He didn’t have any kids of his own, and he wasn’t married. We never talked about my family, and he never came over, but he knew. He knew not to bring it up. He knew why I wanted to get away. He made me feel like I belonged somewhere, like I wasn’t alone.

Foster: You trusted him?

Havers: I did.

Foster: Thank you, Mr. Havers. That will be all for today. You may go. (Door click, diminishing footsteps)

Session Notes: Inmate #4402 has uncovered a classic factor leading to the potential development of a murderer: physical abuse during childhood. Inmate #4402 says to have found a source of support as a child but appeared reflective and reminiscent when asked if he trusted his neighbor. There could potentially be more significant events that took place at a later date concerning the neighbor. Still has not brought up being alone.

Topic(s) of Interest: being alone, secrets, what needed to be hidden, neighbor

The casket in the front of the room is shut.  I can just barely make it out through my blurred vision.  No one seems to be distressed in the very slightest.  I don't even know most of the people here now that I think about it.  I look to the back of the room; he is sitting there, and even worse, he's smiling.  How can he be smiling? Does he feel no remorse?! He did this! Oh! Who am I kidding?! He couldn't care less; he never gave a second thought to what happened to her unless it was to find a new way to make her miserable.  This is just one step up from everything else he put her though; he put us through. I turn back again and walk to the front of the room. No photographs or flowers are to be found for her anywhere in the room.  She never took pictures. She didn't want people to see the bruises, burns, and cuts.  Probably also the reason the casket is closed. He arranged this: the death and the funeral, so I wouldn't be surprised. I was the one who found her that day.  The day he did this. I saw her then, and it wasn't a pretty sight.  It took all of my strength to not dash away sick.

Glancing around the room, I noticed the colorful projection of sunlight through the stained glass windows.  The light danced over the chatting people, contrasting with their dark clothing.  Ironic how Earth, which has already stolen this amazing woman from my life, can so well reveal the truth that people try so diligently to mask.  I place one hand atop the smooth polished wood of the casket as another tear rolled down my already damp, puffy face.  I feel him walk up behind me as I whisper a choked "Mom" to the woman hiding silently within the wooden prison as if expecting her to save me.  Now it's up to me to save myself just like I should have for her.  As I inwardly vow to make this my duty, the man biology calls my father pulls me away roughly by the wrist.

7am: wake up

9am: go to church

11am: go to the store- buy trash bags, rags, bleach, gloves, and saw

12pm: go home

1pm: get body out of freezer and take to basement, proceed to cut into pieces, put in trash bag

5pm: clean blood from floor

6pm: drive bag to Old Jones's Creek, dump bag

8pm: return home, make dinner

9pm: iron slacks for work tomorrow

10pm: set alarm, go to sleep

Everyone remember that Disney Cinderella story? Well that’s only part of it. You see, they only gave us Cinderella’s perspective to make it a little more children friendly. Let me tell you how everyone else saw it.

First of all, that big mansion Cinderella lived and served in? Yeah, that was the prison. Why was she in prison? Hm well I do wonder where dear Cinderella’s mother is; I believe she’s “gone”. As for the chores, Cinderella was made to work in the laundry room and the kitchen.

In her “family” life, her evil stepmother and stepsisters were actually just the warden and her cell mates. Sure, maybe they weren’t the nicest, but they were in prison, were they not?

Now Cindy here was a little messed up in the head. She always had been. (That’s kind of why she offed her mom. Whoops!) She was competent enough to get through the court system without being given a mental evaluation though. Ironic, right? So, in this mansion of hers, the poor girl was always seeing these mice. What better to do than give them names? And just like that, we’ve got Jaq and Gus!

Now please just try to picture this how everyone else saw it. You’ve got this woman sitting in her jail cell, in the laundry room, or in the kitchen not only talking but singing to the walls, floor, or into her hands! Not exactly something you see every day.

Here’s where the story really gets good.

I surely hope you recall the scene when Cindy’s little mice are remaking her dress for her. Now give this a thought: if she’s in prison and the mice are imaginary, then what really happened? Well here’s what the others saw. They were minding their own business until some of the other women found Cindy. She had been left alone in her cell. When her cell mates came back, she was laying on the floor laughing slightly, blood dripping out from all over her flesh. She had gotten ahold of a plastic toothbrush and broken it. She’d used it to tear at her skin. She must have imagined that it was going to make her beautiful.

After that day, she was no longer an inmate, but a resident of the infamous insane asylum. But of course that’s not the way Cindy saw it. So now we get into the magic.

So when her fairy godmother comes to save the day with a new dress, everyone else saw a cut up, bloody girl being put into a straightjacket. The magical carriage was just any old county transportation van. The Prince’s ball? Nothing special, your everyday mental ward.

Now the last mystery remains: who is the Prince, and what are the magic glass slippers? The answer may (not) surprise you. Cindy here wasn’t exactly trusted to be out of her straightjacket alone, but a girl’s got to shower, right? So everyday, a young nurse came in and helped her put on clear shower shoes and take her into the showers.

I think Cindy’s imagination just got a bit carried away with the wedding. Who can blame her?

The envelope sits on the table in front of me.  This one piece of paper is the difference between a life of success and one of failure.  Sure, there are other options, but they don't matter in this moment.  This is my life. People say you decide your future, but they're wrong. You don't. Other people who don't know a thing about you other than what you can pack into one application do. And my life has been decided. But the judgement is still unknown to me. Ignorance is bliss. And safety. And staring me down in the form of skillfully creased white paper. It taunts me to open it, to gain the knowledge of the judgement. The judgement that I had no control over. These lines of ink are what're going to tell me if my life will go up or down. This doesn't seem fair. Why have I put so much energy, time, and devotion into something just to come begging to someone, and still give them the opportunity to tear it away from me? It doesn't make any sense. But that's just how the world is. Nothing makes sense, and there's nothing any of us do about it. We just go along like machines. So my only option: let this paper determine my life? Why try to break the system now, I guess. But I lack the nerve to face my future dead on. Staring at it is like staring through the fogged glass of a car window on a cold day.  I can't see through it, but it has the potential of showing me so much of the world.  Slowly, I grab the letter and rip the seal.  My eyes fall closed to be shielded from the life-altering words on the opening page.

Dear applicant,

           We are sorry to inform you...

With those six words, my breath halts.  The car has crashed.  The glass is shattered.

Let me compare you to my new iPhone.

You light up the room when you are near me,

Brighter than the flashlight could do alone,

And your voice is smooth, not choppy like Siri.

Static clouds every song I try to play

Speakers lack your music's velvet caress.

Even with this fancy HD display,

Your picture is blurred to match all the rest.

With you I'll always hold more memories

Than I can with this metal rose gold tint.

And for your lock, you've given me the keys;

You don't need a number or fingerprint.

Even if my charger breaks when I try,

Unlike this batt'ry, you will never die

His eyes glow when he thinks of a new idea.

His smile could outshine the sun, but only you seem to notice.

He's the most sincere and genuine person you know, whether he sees it or not.

But he has secrets.

He keeps things hidden behind this facade of the perfect boy.

You'd never even notice on your own.

He has problems with himself and with his family.

And you beat yourself up because you think you can't help him,

Ignoring all the times he tells you you do.

You want to be his protection,

And keep everyone and everything from hurting him,

The amazing guy you have seen so many times before.

But you can't be with him forever, no matter how much it hurts to leave.

And when he's off living his life and fighting his battles alone,

Flashes of his laugh swarm your mind.

You can see his eyes, filled with so much passion about the simplest thing. 

Its almost blinding.

But you love it.  You can't look away.

You can't bear to spend one less second without that.

Because he's the torch that illuminates even that darkest regions of your mind.

...Even when not even he realizes.