The Prisoner Project

EIGHTEEN

"I will in all probability be convicted, but I will not go away as a monster, but as a tragedy."

- Joel Rifkin

EIGHTEEN

I NEVER TRULY UNDERSTOOD how much protection the thick pane of glass between us had provided until I sat before him without it. I could smell him, it was a heady combination of sweat, blood and dirt. The smell repulsed me as much as it fascinated me. I could see all parts of him. If he reached over to hit me, if he spat at me, if he yelled at me, if he lost all control because of something I said, I would feel it all.

The reality of it had begun to terrify me.

I was certain though that if Banshee did touch me in the slightest, I would be burnt so badly that I'd have bruises to show for it. He, to me, was the embodiment of danger in itself and touching him would resemble touching a lit dynamite.

I shifted my eyes from my hands and up into his ardent eyes. He was smiling, a small patient smile that irked me. His tongue darted out to swipe his lips and I saw a peek of his jagged teeth. His words were slippery. "Heaven helps those who help themselves, Aria." He leaned forward. "Let me help you."

Ironic because he was the farthest thing from heaven. I sighed, sitting ram today straight in my metal chair. "I promise to believe you if you promise to say the truth."

"Even if I spat lies straight from hell, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference." He chuckled lightly. A distinctive sound. "But I'll promise, to humour you."

I knew that that was all I'd be getting and for me, that was enough.

"Thank you." I whispered.

Nicholas stood up, and slowly started strolling back and forth, his hands in his pockets. I had thought he was coming towards me but that wasn't the case. He simply wanted to abuse his freedom as much as he could.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then he paused and looked up at me. "They never really got it right, you know?"

"Who?" I muttered after momentary silence. He wanted me to interact, not just sit and listen. He wanted a conversation. He wanted me to talk to him like a man I'd just met.

"The pigs. They never really got the number right. They say I killed 39 but I killed 40." He brushed a hand in the air in explanation. "I wanted an even number. Something clean cut. But I also wanted it for myself."

"So you didn't confess to one?"

"Yes. I murdered her because I saw her as a power-move in my game."

He stopped strolling and turned his back towards the wall, leaning on it. His body was lean, malnourished but still big enough to frighten. "She was five. Five years old. I saw her right as I was about to turn myself in. She was playing in the emptied park, and her mother was on the phone as few feet away." Nicholas closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "God, I remember it so clearly. She was tiny, and so helpless. A little bit like you are now."

I shivered in my seat, eyeing the emergency exit door beside me.

"I only had to reach over the fencing to do it. I grabbed her neck with one hand and twisted it back with the other." He mimicked his words with his movements. His hands were up, grabbing onto the air and squeezing. "I was so aggressive that I heard her spine crack too."