11Date: September 18, 2011
Time: 3:00 p.m.
Bright, fluorescent lights shined down the hallway, reflecting off the polished tile floors. The slabs of reflected light approached fast then drifted away, to be replaced by a new one. The walls were painted a nostalgic grey, and that combined with the lights created the effect of the walls closing in. It closely resembled a prison.
Very closely.
It was silent aside from the steady, rhythmic tapping of somebody's heels and the low buzz emitting from the fluorescents. A few flickered slightly, the eerie lights tossing shadows about. However the heels did not falter in their pace, stepping with ease and resolve. They had a destination and were not planning on turning back. These heels were attached to a pair of long, slender legs, sheathed in nude nylons and covered with a tight fitting steel grey skirt, topped with a fitted suit jacket. The woman had curves galore, and she knew this, her hair tied up into a professional brunette bun. Sleek glasses framed her stormy grey eyes, and if one were to look at her in this scene, they'd think the place was built just to match her, like some sort of fashion accessory.
Hanging from her arm was a large black bag, its contents currently unknown.
Beside her walked a young man, probably in his mid twenties. He strode awkwardly, heavily intimidated by the woman's steely eyes and coldblooded demeanor. He himself had light brown hair that fell just below his ears and blue eyes that shined out from his worried face. He was clad in a pair of sky-blue scrubs, a tag hanging down from the bottom of his shirt to reveal his name: Toris. He nervously fiddled with a ring of keys in his hand, trying to pretend the woman he was escorting was simply a pretty little girl who just didn't speak much; not this sexy, ice cold panther.
Her task today was to shed some light on the most troubling case the world would never know. Countless detectives and investigators had tried to crack it before her, and every single one of them had gotten nowhere.
She was going to be the first.
"Are you sure you wanted to see this one?"Toris inquired, approaching a heavy looking door that was marked with a C-89, "He's been known to act unstable."
She nodded briskly, "Believe me; I've dealt with unstable people. I can handle anything he throws at me."
Toris still looked uncertain, but he began to file through the supply of keys to find one belonging to C-89. The woman noticed somewhere in the back of her mind that his hands were shaking, and though she assumed it was from the room's chill, she couldn't help but be tempted to query.
"Mister Toris, are you afraid of this patient?"
Toris froze slightly, but his hands picked right back up their pace, "N-no…he just worries me. Then again, all of our patients worry me. They're all quite unsound." A loud clatter reverberated through the halls as the nurse's digits failed him and the keys plummeted to the floor. He breathed out an exclamation, apologizing for his mistake multiple times.
The woman however, she could care less how sorry the Lithuanian (judging from his accent) was. She wanted to know why the patient was worrisome. With ease, she bent down and picked up the ring before he could, and held it out to him, "Has he said something troubling to you?"
Toris, looking a little ashamed, accepted the keys. "No…see, some patients simply refuse to talk about their troubles. So we give them a journal that they write in, and then we read whatever they write while they're sleeping. This one…at first he didn't write. But when he did…he dumbfounded all of us." Finally locating the correct key, he slid it into the lock.
The woman saved this bit of information to the filing cabinet of her mind, resolving to somehow get her hands onto this journal.
"There's a television in here like I asked, right?" She inquired, shifting her position slightly.
"Oh…no not yet," he wrestled with the knob, "But I can jump right on that if you like."
She sighed, should've expected this, and fixed her glasses, pushing up on the bridge with a slender finger, "Yes, I'm going to need it." She didn't even bother to hide the annoyance in her tone, to which Toris flinched at. It wasn't his fault; most visitors didn't request a television. It easily slipped his mind. Silently, he pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking simply from the sheer weight of the thing.
A ray of light penetrated the inky black room, lighting the floor to reveal a cream colored carpet starting at the doorframe. Toris stuck his hand in and felt along the wall until he found what he was looking for, and within a few seconds the room was illuminated. Remaining passive-faced, the woman stepped into the room, her clacking heels being dampened by the cheap carpeting.
It was by no means lavish, though she wasn't expecting it to be. The walls were simple, nothing at all adorning them, not even a window to provide natural sunlight. Her cold eyes quickly ran along the room, examining it to the fullest extent. A silver toilet sat on the farthest right corner, and a very small table was in the center. On the surface was a paperback book, a pencil sitting close to it.
"I'll be right back with the television…" Toris mutters, closing the door with an audible clang.
The woman fixed her eyes on the wire frame bed against the back wall, the only things on it being a pillow, a blanket, and the very man she came to see. His body sat propped against the same wall, his legs folded and hands gone lax in his lap. His shoulders slumped pitifully, and he stared at her, an expression that some would say emotionless, but she knew better.
Stepping even farther into the room, she shrugged the black bag onto the table gracefully and sounded a simple greeting, "Hello, Emil."
Emil blinked, a small chunk of grey-blonde hair being jarred by the movement and falling over his right eye, "Hello."
She folded her arms, not even attempting a smile, "Do you know who I am?"
"Do I?"
That answer took her a little by surprise, but she did not let it surface, "No, I'm sure you don't. My name is Jennifer Klein." For a moment, he just stared at her, right at her. As if he were trying to make sure she was telling the truth. Finally, he spoke.
"Good for you." She couldn't pinpoint if he was being allusive or simply difficult.
"You know why I'm here?"
"Of course. I'm not stupid, you know," As he said this, he seemed to get this far-off look in his eyes, as if he could see something just beyond her shoulder.
"I never thought you were," She looked around, then gestured towards the empty spot on the bed, "May I?"
"Why not?" He replied and again, she was unsure of what his words were portraying. Silkily, she steps over and smoothes her skirt under her as she lowered her rear down to the mattress. Her legs automatically crossed at the ankles, and she placed her hands in her lap. She didn't speak, instead staring at the paperback that sat on the table. It had no title, and this led her to believe that it was the all-telling journal. It seemed almost unused; the spine's slight creasing the only indication that it had.
"This is your journal, correct?" She confirmed, leaning forward to gently place her manicured fingertips on the glossed cover.
He followed her hand, "Yeah. What of it?"
She absently moved her fingers around on the cover, "May I read it?"
He shrugged, turning his attention back to the adjacent wall, "Go ahead, everybody else does anyways."
Klein picked the thin book up and turned it over in her hands, inspecting the outside for anything. What she might find, she didn't know, but it was in her nature to check and double-check everything just in case. "Doesn't that upset you? To know that your journal isn't private?"
He shrugged, "Yeah, I guess."
She flipped open the pages, fanning through until a certain page caught her eye. Why it did? She wasn't quite sure, but she trusted her instinct on it and began reading, "Why do you continue writing in it, then?" Her eyes peered through her glasses, reading the delicate handwriting with much precision, on the lookout for anything that might mean something.
Date: I really don't know.
Time: …I don't really care.
You know...I don't even know why I write in this.
He seemed to weigh this question carefully, either that or he was weighing his answer, letting it sit on his tongue before he replied, "Probably because I'd rather talk to it than to anybody else."
I know that you people read what I'm writing…yet I am still scribbling away. Does that mean there's something wrong with me?
"And why is that?"
This answer came late as well, but he replied nonetheless, "People are so quick to judge. This book doesn't judge. Plus…I just…I get really lonely. Since I refuse to talk to these nurses, I write to the book."
My dreams and hallucinations have gotten worse lately. No. Not hallucinations, just day-dreams. Nothing more than that. In these dreams…I keep seeing them. They're still running, still trying to get away but I know they never will.
"Oh?" She countered, trying to keep him talking.
"It's stupid I know."
I can still hear them screaming, begging to be let out. I can feel the pain. My eyes burn with their tears.
"I wouldn't say stupid."
Why do they still torment me when they promised I'd be fine?
"But it is."
I already live with my own guilt of getting out alive.
"What makes you think so?"
So why must I bear their pain as well?
The shadows won't leave me alone, so I've resolved to living in complete darkness.
I'm so lonely.
"Look, lady, not to be rude or anything but why should I talk to you?"
I miss them so much. Even Mathias, with his stupid hair.
What I wouldn't give to be able to see that hair again.
Not in a dream, not in my memories, but to actually see it. Same thing goes for Lukas…him and his stupid insistence on me calling him 'Big Brother.' Honestly, I'd say that in a heartbeat if he were here.
Klein smiled slightly, "Because I am your greatest ally."
But I can't. They got lost with the rest of them.
For all I know they could be dead.
Just as Emil was about to question her, the door handle began to rustle, indicating that it was being unlocked and opened. It groaned as it swung open, and a television, one of the old ones that you find in elementary schools, was pushed in. It sat on a cart that was about four feet high, Toris' head poking up from behind it.
Emil looked at the T.V. skeptically, for he had not had the pleasure to view one for months now, and then watched as Toris plugged it in. He didn't particularly like Toris, the man worried way too much about everyone, never truly thinking for himself. That way of living gets a man killed.
"Thank you," Klein said as she stood up, closing and placing the book back on the table. She was obviously not thankful, but Toris buys it and nods, scurrying out of the room with a few worried glances sent back over his shoulder.
Klein took the one graceful step to her black bag, and pulled a single videotape out of the folds. She kept a passive expression as she turned and held the dark rectangle of plastic up for him to see.
His eyes widened.
That can't be…
"Judging by your facial expression, I'm assuming you know what this is?" Klein explained, "You don't want to know how hard it was to retrieve this footage."
Emil nearly sputtered, but instead he managed to get out, "Is that…?"
"Your video? Sure is. It's quite the depressing thing to watch."
He continued to stare at the plastic box, as if it was throwing him into a whole different world. "It was quite the depressing thing to film." He said simply.
She weighed it in her hand, almost scrutinizing it, "Even though all of the 'experts' say this is a hoax, I am having an extremely hard time believing it is."
He just about perked up, but she briskly turned around to the television before he can get anything more than an utter out of his mouth.
"Let's watch it together, shall we?" She suggested, though it was clear that Emil had no choice in the matter. Efficiently, she pressed the tape to the mouth of the cassette player, and it automatically slid in. In the same motion, she applied pressure to the power button, and the monitor blinked to life, accompanied by a fuzzy noise. This noise quickly goes away as the VCR begins to read the tape, readying the system for playback.
Emil has his eyes glued to the screen. He can barely remember anything that happened after that night, and the memory of filming this video was hazy. Honestly, he hoped it would stay that way, but as Mrs. Klein steps to the side to lean against a wall and let Emil watch, he knew that he would have to watch either way.
He didn't want to…he couldn't face the memories head-on again…
The screen goes pitch black, but there is a muffled noise in the background, as if someone is messing around with the camera. A moment later, there is a slight popping noise, and the screen begins showing images. The camera is filming in night vision, so everything is green and undefined, but it would take an idiot not to spot the bloodied face staring right into the lens, right through the screen, and right back into the heart of whom it belonged to. Emil stared fixedly back at himself, horrified of what could possibly emit from his mouth.
"I don't even know where I am…" The bloodied Emil whispered hoarsely, "I can't tell where north is…all of the stars have disappeared."
He paused for a moment, as if trying to think of something else to say. He swallows thickly, "They're gone. Every last one of them…Last I saw of Lukas was him holding onto Mathias. They were coming for them. He knew that. I knew that." Another pause, "I wonder if they're going to come for me?"
Emil choked, the memories coming back as fresh as when they had happened.
A single tear can be seen sliding out of Emil's pinched eyes, clearing a trail through the blood and grime that coated his cheeks, "I'm so afraid…I can hear them whispering…But never can I understand what they're saying. Sometimes they mimic Lukas or Tino, occasionally Mathias…" He opens his eyes and looks behind him, almost as if something had made a noise, then he looks back at the camera. He almost has a smile on his face, but it's rueful and depressing, "I've always been afraid of dying alone."
A high pitched whistling noise begins to build up in the background, and Emil snaps his eyes shut once again, squeezing them tight. More tears leak out, and he whimpers slightly, "I'm so sorry…I never told any of you how much I—"
The screen went black. The video was over, the battery must have died.
But Emil knew exactly what he was going to say.
Klein stepped forward from the wall and ejected the tape, putting it back into her black bag.
They are both completely silent for a moment.
"Why did you come here?" Emil inquired quietly, staring at no specific spot on the floor. It made no sense…what did this woman want from him? To laugh at his suffering? To take pity in him? To get him to tell her his story and then turn around and call him a liar?
"I came to get the truth," She responded honestly, "I want nothing more than that. I don't believe any of the stories that say you killed the four other men…Don't ask me why, it's an instinct."
Emil could only shut his eyes and try to dispel the terrifying images that kept popping into his head, images he did not ever want to remember. He almost didn't notice Mrs. Klein leaning forward until he cracked open his eyes and was met directly by her own sterling orbs, glowing from determination and another emotion that he could not pinpoint, but sure as hell scared him shitless.
"Tell me," She whispered fiercely, "Tell me exactly what happened in that forest."