I can hardly stand the sight. The smell makes me want to vomit. The noises are too loud! I can’t take this anymore. Please, make it stop. All of this is running through my brain when I walk into the room.
The entire room is covered in a heavy layer of red. Chunks of matter are scattered around the floor.
I’ve done it again. It’s too late. I can’t be stopped. I deserve to be battered and fried.
“Detective Fox!” someone shouts. I snap out of it and back to reality. “Are you enjoying your first day back?” It’s the deputy. He is always cheerful and charming. I think his name is Charles.
“Yeah,” I say in a faint whisper. I rub my face and breathe deeply.
“Look, I know it’s hard. Coming back after something like that, but we are proud of you. All of us,” he states, walking off.
I walk further into the police station. It’s small, but it’s all we need for this medium-sized town. A medium-sized town that hasn’t seen a murder as grizzly as the one a few months ago. One that I witnessed, personally.
Once at my desk, I sit down and wait for the next order. Orders being another death or just some paperwork. Please be paperwork. My partner walks over to me with a grim look on his face.
“They are reopening the Clark case,” he says. “They found new evidence. I think they will want to talk to you. I can’t believe that you’ll have to go through that again, your first day back.” He is now angry.
“No! They can’t do that,” I shout, standing up. Everyone is looking at me. My partner puts his hand on my shoulder, and I quietly sit back down.
They are going to know. Maybe this will finally be the end.
“Fox! Interview room. Now!” a deep voice yells at me. It’s the director.
I walk over to the interview room. I look through the door and see my therapist sitting at a table arguing with the director. I sigh and open the door.
“You can’t do this, we have worked hard on her recovery and this will push her back!” my therapist yells.
“I don’t care! Finding this murderer is more important!” he shouts back.
“It’s fine, really,” I say weakly. “I can try to help.” They both look at me. I see the sadness in my therapist’s eyes.
“Start from the beginning then,” she says. I know this story. I’ve told it a million times. Making a lie become the truth.
“I walked into the house,” I started. “We had a call about a girl who could not get her friends to answer the door in days. I went to check it out, thinking it was just a miscommunication between friends.”
My stomach starts to turn.
“The first thing that set me off was the smell. It was rotten. So rotten. I follow the scent into the living room. It’s covered in blood.”
I stop. I can’t do this.
“Come on!” The director yells at me. “We have to find out the truth! Did you see anyone leaving? See anything that could be useful or are you a waste of my time?”
“She is me and I am her. She knows all and I know very little. What I do know is that she is evil. The evil within me,” I whisper.
I’m fading away.
Oh no. I can feel it growing. The evil within. I’m changing. I can hear the voices, all the deeds they are planning. It’s so intense. Make it stop! Please!
“I am the truth!” I shriek, throwing my hands onto the table. I start screaming, but it’s not me. It’s her. I can barely hear my therapist talking to me, trying to calm me down. It’s too late now, I’ve been replaced by it.
“Feeling the blood rushing out of their bodies and seeing the light leaving their eyes was the best part,” it growls.
“What are you talking about?” the director questions, taken aback.
“I am talking about murdering those innocent girls for the fun of it,” it answers.
“She’s having some kind of psychotic break,” the therapist insists. “I knew this was a dangerous idea. We need to take her to the hospital now.”
“No! We are finally getting somewhere,” the director protests. “I always knew it was you.”
“I am the devil,” it screams.
“That’s it. We are leaving.” the therapist grabs me and pulls me out of the room.
“They are taking you to the loony bin. It’s where we will spend the rest of our lives,” it tells me.
“Good, that’s where we belong,” I respond.