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"Why'd you do it!" A man shouted again, slamming his hands against the table in what seemed to be an interrogation room. He was a middle-aged man, somewhat husky with brown salt and pepper shortly cropped hair with a matching bushy mustache. Dressed in the uniform of an officer of the law, he was staring angrily across at another fellow.
The man across from his was younger, likely late twenties and thin. His gaunt face was lacking in emotion yet his emerald eyes glittered with amusement. Licking his lips, he smiled at the officer crookedly, "Do what," his eyes flickered to the nametag on the cop's uniform, "Sergeant Wilson?"
This visibly angered the officer, Wilson, and he pointed a finger at the man across from him, his arm shaking with rage. His mustache twitched as he screamed, "You know exactly what you did you, you sick pig!" In reply, the skinny man grinned further and ran his fingers through his matted, coal black hair and drummed his fingers repetitively against the wooden table.
Looking down for a moment, he gazed at where he tapped rhythmically before raising his head once more, "What is this, oak? It's quite nice actually, probably a tad expensive but wort-" He was cut off by the Sergeant who banged his fist against the table. He had been here nearly an hour and this madman would not say nothing yet readily admitted to his crimes.
"Stop playing games! We know you killed those children, in fact you f***ing admitted to it!" He huffed for a moment, his shouting winding him, "Just tell me why. Why did you do it?"
"Stop playing games? This is all a game you see, just one big game." The killer replied, almost merrily, "You ask me why? I ask you why not?" He tilted his head to the side, looking at the officers face before he narrowed his eyes. Sergeant Wilson, taken aback by the response did not immediately have a response, as the madman slowly began to smirk like a cat.
"You seem familiar," He hissed softly and his smirk became a grin as Wilson's eyes widened slightly, "Wilson.. That name rings a bell, did you by any chance happen to have a daughter?" He cackled as he finished, the look of anguish of the policeman's face evidence enough.
"She was a sweet girl." The madman cooed.
"Shut up you don't deserve to speak of her, she was an angel!" Wilson's voice cracked and his eyes grew watery, only feeding the murderers glee.
"An angel? Oh yes, a little angel.." He paused, as the sadness started to turn to wrath and smiled sinisterly, "But boy, could she scream!" He howled in delusional joy, throwing his head back.
A horrible scream echoed out and the mad laughter was cut off by a large hand clamping around the criminals throat. Sergeant Wilson, tears running down his face yet hatred etched across every ounce of his being, shook the thin man violently yet he smiled still.
"I hate you! I hate you, you're dead, I swear it you're a dead man!" The cop's hand shot to his holster and he ripped free a revolver, standard issue in their small town. Quickly pointing it against the side of his daughter's killer, he breathed heavily with his gun hand shaking uncontrollably.
"You killed my little girl! You killed her in cold blood!" He smashed the gun across the madman's face, blood quickly pouring from his nose like a faucet, yet his eyes twinkled as blood ran over his grinning teeth. "Now I'n going to kill you the same!" The Sergeant boomed, the veins in his neck seemingly ready to burst through the skin.
"Do it," The bloodied man urged, his tongue flickering out between his teeth and tasting the crimson coating them, "Kill me. I dare you. In fact, I WANT you too." His voice was rasp, the hand clamped around his throat barely letting him breath in.
Wilson's shaking hand pulled back the hammer of the gun which he pointed under the chin of the vile man, the soft click sounded like it could have been the gunshot the two were so quiet. They remained there, silent, eyes locked on one another, Wilson's full of rage and anguish while the madman's full of excitement. A minute passed, then two and still the trigger was not pulled.
"DO IT! KILL ME! C'MON, LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!" The Psycho yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, "KILL ME! DO IT. DO IT. PAINT THE ROOM RED, GET YOUR JUSTICE. KILL ME." He continued, screaming and shaking crazily in the chair he was strapped to. Yet the bullet did not come.
Slowly, the Sergeant lowered the gun and took a step back, shaking his head at what he had become. He was a police officer, a symbol of order, he was not like the killer infront of him. Turning away, he made his way to the door, the madman behind him still laughing maniacally and uncontrollably as he exited leaving him alone, long after still cackling.
Still laughing.
And laughing.
And laughing.
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was bored so i wrote up this quick little thing, give yo thoughts and criticism i suppose |