The Prisoner Project

NINETEEN

"..the whole thing - the cries, the blood, the agony - gave me relaxation and a certain pleasure."

- Andrei Chikatilo

NINETEEN

I HAD NEVER described the men in my life in the manner one would whisper to an artist. I had always used metaphors, and similes to avoid going into details. I didn't want to give others the displeasure of seeing these men like I did, simply because I'd never do them justice. I wouldn't be able to capture all the darkness. No artist could.

And whichever artist wished to try, would have to be wielding terribly disturbed hands. Because the men in my life, just as women of the past had been, continually oppressed me and beat me into shapes that I would not have fit in on my own. If I wished to be a star, each of them would lean forward and push me into a square.

Looking at Frank through a moral lens that had been tainted by Banshee made me despise him.

"No." I deadpanned.

I moved my eyes away from him and towards a cluster of monochrome paintings at the other side of the wall. They seemed bland, lifeless and none struck me as familiar. It wasn't as though I traded art but I recognised famous paintings.

I was forced to, as a prodigy child.

That sudden thought festered in my mind. As if its bitterness had seeped through my brain cells and found its way into my mouth. Prodigy. Sad. A curse, in my opinion.

"You're not okay?" Frank queried further, shutting the door behind me. He ran his larger-than-life eyes over me in a manner that mimicked worry. "Did he touch you? Or Did he hurt you? Because if he did, we could do something-"

"You'll do nothing, because this was my decision." I said, sterner than I had intended. It had drawn the attention of Hank who leaned against a chair farther away. He lifted a brow to Frank. A symbolic - you're really going to let her talk to you like that? I had a feeling Hank didn't like me.

Simply for the sake of respect for the fact that Frank was my boss, I added softly. "No, he didn't hurt me. At least not physically."

"Oh." Frank paused for a second and I knew it was because of my tone. His eyes asked me questions that his lips wouldn't speak so I ignored them. He cleared his throat. "Well, that's good on you. Anything you want to let us in on?"

"I speak to the recorder after every session, not you." I said, as calm as I could.

I couldn't blame myself for my attitude. After being toyed with Banshee, and having my trust misplaced, the only person I felt trustworthy was myself.

Frank frowned and if I was as naive as I had been, I would call the look on his face hurt.

I heard Hank snort. "It pisses me off to say this but she's right. This way, Miss Black." He pointed to the door that led me out of the small room. "Down the hall, it's the first door on your left."

I nodded and moved past Frank. Just as I was about to pass Hank, he side stepped to block my path. Leaning down to my level, he whispered in my ear. "You better spill your guts to that goddamn recorder cause this costed me four hours of sleep time."

"The interview lasted an hour." I hissed back, unnerved that he was this close to me.

Hank chuckled humourlessly. The kind of laugh that felt slippery and made you shiver. He shook his head. "Darling, I'm talking about the sleepless night I'm gonna have knowing that I watched a man destined for bondage, walk free for an hour."