Prompt 2: Darkness
Title: Prompt 2: Darkness
Author: deadoralive0013
Prompt by: myself XD
Pairing: Ryden
Rating: PG13 (but I’m not really sure)
POV: 3rd
Summary: (AU) Professor Ross was to interview a death row prisoner. Instead of a muscleman with tattoos and beard, he faced with a young man with an unsettling smile.
Warnings: Angst, slash, UNBETA-EDNESS
Beta: none
Disclaimer: I own the plot but nothing else...
Notes: I took a nap and woke up with this one-shot in my head. I had free time so I wrote it down for you guys…
More notes at the end of the fic.
PROMPT 2
Darkness.
There were a series of sounds of huge metal locks sliding and turning on their gears. He waited and soon enough, one final distinct sound of the biggest bars and bolts was heard. The warning alarm went off, echoing throughout the narrow corridor and the small red bulb was lighted. Below it, the big metal door slowly slid open.
Ryan glanced at his watch, letting the crimson light shine on the small circular glass on his wrist. 10 pm. Tucked neatly under his left arm was the thin folder he had been reading for the past thirty minutes. It told him the essentials but gave him nothing useful. That was why he was here anyway. He’ll put something more to write in this folder.
“Case 090706-2,” Ryan said in a clear, monotonous voice that was magnified by the confining walls and silence of the chamber. “I’m Professor George Ryan Ross and this is interview no. 112.”
“You may proceed,” said another male voice from a speaker and Ryan braced himself.
He walked past the giant door, the soles of his black leather shoes echoing on the floor. As soon as he had entered the next room, the door roared back into life and quickly sealed the only way out. Fluorescent lights flickered on to reveal an even narrower corridor. Ryan walked the short distance and found himself standing in front of another door, this time a normal looking one, made of wood and with a brass knob.
From his coat pocket, he extracted one single key. He carefully slid it in the door, turned it, and he was opening the door to the adjoining chamber.
Ryan had done this a dozens of times before but he still somehow couldn’t shake off the feeling of anxiety as soon as he opens the second door and see the small, windowless space that it leaded to. He had claustrophobia issues when he was around seven but Ryan had grown out of his fear for the most part. He sometimes laughed at himself, thinking of the silly odds that he ended up working as a researcher in such a facility that made him confront his fear at a day to day basis. Ryan thought it amusing and deliberate at the same time.
He automatically walked to the lone table at the center of the room and took his place on one of the chairs. He laid the folder on the table to take one last glance at the information sheet, and sighed, collecting his composure and setting his mind on focus. His goals were clear in his mind and he knew what words to say to get them, when, in what tone of voice, and in what level of intensity.
It wasn’t long before another door was opening, this one directly in front of the chair that stood waiting in front of Ryan. He quickly closed the folder and watched as a young man with dark hair uncertainly made his way to the table. From afar, Ryan thought he was going to interview a kid but as the other came closer, Ryan frowned at the dark bags under the man’s eyes. He was no kid.
It was a refreshing departure from the usual big-guy-covered-in-tattoos look but something about this guy was making Ryan feel uneasy. He wasn’t sure if it was the plain white shirt and loose pants, the way he lifted the chair off the floor to adjust it before sitting himself down without making the tiniest sound, or the way he was smiling pleasantly. Ryan had his share of weird psycho-personalities gracing his company on this very table but nothing had made him feel like there was… something. He hated it even more that he couldn’t even put a name on it.
“Urie, Brendon,” Ryan forced himself to say to get his flow back.
“That’s me,” the guy said with a smile, almost kindly.
“I’m Professor Ryan Ross and I’m here to ask you some questions,” he continued, feeling himself getting calmer by the moment. “I assume you’ve been informed of the consequences should you chose to not cooperate.”
“I’m dying in a week,” Brendon blurted out, his smile widening than ever. “But yes, good professor, I’ve been informed. No need to go by this so rigidly my friend. I’m here. A guy like me could use a good talk.”
Ryan was taken aback. It’s one thing to not flinch at the prospect of dying in seven days but to be able to smile at him as if to ask for a normal, friendly chat was beyond him. Most of the people he had interviewed either says “you wish” or “fuck you” after he had made his intentions known.
“Well, that’s good to know,” Ryan replied, recovering from the momentary shock. “How old are you?”
Brendon smirked at him. “Why don’t you check your little folder, professor? I’m sure it’s in there somewhere,” he said, glancing at the said folder in front of Ryan.
“The information is not provided in the file,” Ryan said. “According to my little folder, you have no legal documents. No IDs, no passports, no license, no anything. At the five occasions that you were asked about your age, you answered 17, 25, 30, 21, and 49 in chronology. “
“Ooh. Good memory too,” Brendon said as clapped his hands and smiled lazily.
“Too?” Ryan asked before he could stop himself.
“Yes, too” Brendon answered with a nod. “I have my thoughts about you too, professor. The first one is for me only and the second is that you have good memory.”
It was his eyes, Ryan decided. Brendon’s eyes were intense dark brown orbs. They were bright and beautiful but it gave off the impression of being scrutinized with the simplest stare.
“People say I have nice eyes,” Brendon said suddenly, resting his chin on his palm. “Do you think so, professor?”
Ryan blinked as he realized he was staring. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
Brendon just smiled at him with a shrug. “The sixth age would be 26.”
“Is there a particular reason why you’re not telling us how old you are?”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Brendon told him. “I say one thing and you’ll think I’m lying. I’ll try to explain but you wouldn’t understand. I’ll tell you the truth and it wouldn’t do you any good. What’s the point of it, professor?”
“Fair enough,” Ryan conceded, “but don’t you think this would be a good time to set some things straight since your execution is just around the corner?”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t want to voice out your concerns?” Ryan asked.
“No, you got that wrong. I mean I doubt that I’ll be executed,” Brendon explained patiently. “But that’s okay. People think all prisoners garner some sort of illogical, immense hatred towards the government and society as a whole. It’s a common misconception.”
“And for good reason,” Ryan said. “It’s natural to feel negative emotions, say hate, towards a person or an entity that has caused one some form of suffering, be it unjust or just.”
Brendon slouched in his seat. “You think it’s okay for me to hate others because I’m a prisoner, professor?”
“I didn’t say that. I was merely stating that it’s a natural reaction. “
Brendon suddenly leaned forward. “So, me not being angry about it is unnatural, right? Do you find that odd, professor?”
“I… I don’t know,” Ryan answered uncertainly. “But… you’ve committed your crime in front of thirty eye-witnesses. I don’t think you feel that your incarceration is unjustifiable.”
“Certainly not,” Brendon agreed.
“So let’s talk about it then,” Ryan said, a little irritated that the supposed prisoner was doing all the questioning. “Why did you do it?”
“Ahh…” Brendon was smiling again as he returned Ryan’s gaze without hesitation. “Are you sure about that professor? I don’t think talking about my ‘crime’ would do your temper any good,” he said, air-quoting the word ‘crime’.
“June 23, 2008 on h e roof deck of Kramer building. Tell me about that day,” he pushed. He massaged his temples and breathed deeply before looking back at Brendon. He could do this.
Brendon sighed. “Five people. I stabbed five people to death and pushed their bodies off to the streets.”
Ryan clenched his fist. “Why?”
“Asking why I did it would be exactly like asking me my age,” Brendon told him.
“Mr. Urie, just answer the question,” Ryan said in the calmest voice he could muster, which was pretty calm.
But Ryan wasn’t calm at all. He didn’t understand why but he felt like behind this small talk, in between the nonsense words they were telling each other, Brendon was telling him something. It was like he was talking to Ryan indirectly and the message was taunting. He had training. He had done this a lot. Yet, this prisoner was pushing him so discreetly yet clearly that Ryan can’t even confront him head on without admitting defeat.
“We’ll get to that, professor. Don’t worry,” Brendon said. “But let me make things a little more interesting here first. I fear no pain, torture, or death. You have no hold on me, professor.”
“So what are you saying? That I have to talk to the judge for you in exchange for the information I want? I’m a researcher, not a lawyer.”
“No, professor. I’m much classier than that,” he said with a smile.
“What do you want then? I can arrange a meeting with the council but-t “
“For every question you ask,” Brendon cut him off, “you’ll answer one of mine first.”
It was Ryan’s turn to laugh. “You think I will play your game, or that you’ll get anything from this whatsoever?”
“You have no choice.”
Truthfully, Ryan knew that and he was actually waiting for this time to come. Prisoners… or just people in general, they all want to feel like they have some sort of control. The idea was to give them that feeling of assurance and their guard would be down. Ryan was almost disappointed that this guy was not as unpredictable as he thought.
“Okay. But I will not disclose any classified information,” Ryan said.
“No problem,” the other said.
Ryan shifted in his seat. He knew the people in the other room who were watching this conversation were having a field day. Urie had never agreed to anyone to answer any questions about the incident. When he was brought to court, he pleaded guilty of all the cases filed against him, not even putting up any excuses at all. The prosecution was elated and immediately reported their ‘triumph’ to the media while Ryan and his colleagues were drawn to the case with great interest.
“Then this is my first question. The people you’ve killed, did you choose them or were they randomly killed?”
“They’re chosen,” Brendon answered almost bored. “My turn, what is your favorite color?”
Ryan had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. He succeeded but Brendon was smiling at him like he knew. “Blue. How did you choose them?”
“I chose those whom I found interesting. I worked to get information about them and then planned the incident.”
“You’re pretty blunt,” Ryan commented.
“Thank you. Now tell me the name of your pet,” Brendon said.
“Hobo, she’s a dog.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised that Brendon knew he had a pet. Asking his pet’s name was a trick question that would lead him into admitting the fact that he had a pet and that her name was Hobo.
“Was that a bonus?” Brendon asked.
“Consider it a parting gift. Was there a particular reason for killing these people or were there different reasons for each of the murders?”
“They interest me,” Brendon said. “What were you in high school, the popular kid or the geeky loser?”
“Geeky loser,” Ryan said. “Why do you kill people who interest you?”
“Because I want to get to know them,” Brendon said briefly.
“Your answer needs elaboration.”
“And by ‘know them’ I mean really know them, professor,” he added. “Do you know that killing a person, becoming his or her murderer, is the best way of getting to know someone? The intimacy that the killer and the victim share is so powerful… it reveals to the killer his deepest fears, desires… everything.”
“I’m sure I’ve heard of that reason from a movie or some TV show,” Ryan said, ignoring the way his stomach twisted as Brendon explained himself.
“I’m sure you have,” Brendon said. “What did you have for breakfast?”
“Coffee,” Ryan said.
“I haven’t had coffee for a while,” Brendon said wistfully.
“Why did you immediately admitted your crime during the trial?”
“I wouldn’t want to tell a lie now, would I? I did it and there’s no reason to deny what I’ve done,” Brendon said. “Would you come back here and bring me Starbucks before seven days?”
“No,” Ryan said.
For a man who was having the most bizarre, most surreal conversation of his life, Ryan thought he was doing really well. His study was mostly in the field of sociology but he knew a friend or two from the psychology department that would be very interested to pay Brendon a visit if they could hear all these things now.
“Did you consider the law at all, planning these murders?”
“Of course,” Brendon said. “Admitting my crime and going to jail for it were all a part of the plan. That’s the law, right?”
“Roughly,” Ryan said. “Were you not afraid to go to jail at all?”
“Not really, no.” Brendon smiled thoughtfully at him, unconsciously combing one side of his hair with his fingers while seeming to think of a way to phrase his thought. “Professor, if you wish to get something out of me that would be useful, I suggest that you change your focus. There are other things to ask me aside from June 23.”
“But that’s the only thing I want to ask you about,“ Ryan said. “Unless there are things you want to share with me? I’d be happy to hear about them.”
Brendon seemed like he was considering something before he was suddenly standing up. He walked to the one-way mirror, inspecting it with his hand. “What is the name of the research that this interview would be used?”
“I cannot give you the title and the proponents but it’s about criminal intent.”
“A descriptive study I presume?”
“Yes,” Ryan answered a little surprise that Brendon seemed to be versed in the language of research.
“Then let me tell you about my criminal intent,” he said, still facing the mirror and watching Ryan through it. “When you feel the life of your victim slowly drifting away from the bloodied body, you feel something. It’s a feeling that nothing else can evoke unless you see someone dying in your arms, sometimes pleading with their last breaths. ‘Help me’ or ‘Please, have mercy’. They say all different stuff but in the end, they just… lie there quietly, almost as if I they did not suffer. Knowing that person and then seeing him die, it feels like I did his life justice by ending it like that. I’ll be a living witness to his death.”
“I’m not quite sure I understand,” Ryan said.
“And I don’t expect you to,” Brendon said with a smile. He walked to him and gently stroked Ryan’s hair. “Because you’re not a killer. You will never understand.”
Ryan quickly stood and distanced himself from Brendon. “Please keep your distance, Mr. Urie. The security here might use drastic measures if they think you’re a threat to my safety.”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, raising his hands in the air for good measure. “I’m in my pajamas. I have nothing on me to use against you.”
Ryan realized that he looked stupidly scared. He was shaking slightly and there was sweat building up on his forehead. “Just go back to your chair.”
“You liked it, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“When I touched you, you liked it.”
“No!” Ryan said looking disgusted.
“Fine. I’ll stop it,” Brendon said. “Who’s turn is it… mine. When was the last time you’ve been to the observing room of this chamber?”
“What?!” Ryan asked, feeling panic rise up his throat. Last week? Five days ago? “What are you…”
“Relax,” Brendon told him. “Aren’t you going to ask your question?”
Ryan ignored him. He quickly walked to the wooden door and searched his pocket for the key. Brendon watched him from his seat as Ryan accidentally dropped the key once before finally unlocking the door. He threw it open and stared at the security camera in front of the big metal door that’s blocking his way.
“I’m going out. I feel like my safety is being threatened and I want to get out,” he said to the camera. He waited but no one was responding. This agitated him more.
“That door will not open.”
Ryan darted behind him to find Brendon leaning against the wall and watching him with an amused smile.
“What the hell is happening?” Ryan asked him, not bothering to mask his anxiety any longer. The walls around him felt suddenly a lot closer, the space getting smaller and smaller. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks while his lungs worked double time for air. He just wanted to get out. Before he knew what he was doing, Ryan was removing his coat and loosening his tie as his breaths become more labored.
“Panic attack?” Brendon asked as he walked closer.
“Get away!” Ryan exclaimed.
“Funny thing about claustrophobia, fear of enclosed spaces or being trapped, is that it’s all in your head. You’re literally mind-fucking yourself right now, professor,” he said.
“Shut up!”
“I never thought I could get your anxiety disorder back, let alone actually trigger a panic attack. You were just what, six at the time…” Brendon paused thinking, “Alice, was it not? That’s the name of your baby sitter.”
“Stop it,” Ryan muttered, gasping for air. He forced himself to get up and slowly made his way back to the questioning chamber. He found himself looking for windows, doors, anything that could get him out. He saw the door from which Brendon came from and dashed to it only to find it lock. His insides sank. “No… no… Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out…” he chanted.
“She was a bitch, I know. I mean, to shut you inside the dark basement? Poor little Ryro…” came Brendon’s voice. He walked towards the Ryan who was curled into a ball, hugging his knees. He had waited for this day for too long. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered to Ryan’s ear as he surround him with his arms.
Ryan found himself succumbing to him, resting his head against Brendon’s shoulder and gripping his shirt. “Let me out, let me out, let me out…”
“Sshhh…” Brendon said, putting a finger on his lips. “It’s okay,” he whispered, feeling Ryan’s harsh breaths against his neck. He smiled. “You will suffocate, professor. But not if you behave and do everything I tell you to do.”
“Please! I don’t want to die… let me out! Please!” Ryan said, closing his eyes. Cold fingers were suddenly under his shirt, gently caressing his chest downward.
Ryan wanted to fight. He wanted to tell himself he’ll be okay, but he was hyperventilating and the fear was eating him alive. Somewhere in his mind he knew he shouldn’t be clinging on to Brendon like a little child but it was his only comfort. He knew letting him touch him was something he shouldn’t allow but he could care less.
“Come here,” Brendon told him and gave him gentle kisses on his face.
“I’m dying. I can’t breathe,” Ryan said.
“Sshhh…” Brendon said impatiently. He angled his head before finally leaning down and claiming Ryan’s lips.
Ryan groaned in protest, pushing the other away but he was too weak. He felt his head getting light, dragging him slowly away from consciousness while this criminal continued to take advantage of his vulnerable state. He couldn’t think clearly. Bad memories from so long ago were popping up in his head to haunt him and open the wounds of his childhood.
“Stop,” he said barely audibly and pushed Brendon away with feeble hands. “Please…”
“You are beautiful, Ryan Ross. You caught my interest like no other person had. All these… the murders, the research, this meeting, I planned them all.”
“Stop it… let me out…” Ryan continued to mumble and barely able to process anything. His eyes were heavy and he struggled to keep himself from falling. “You… it’s impossible…”
“Of course it’s possible, Ryro. It’s happening!” Brendon said and he laughed. With one push, Ryan fell on his knees. “My intent , professor, is satisfaction and you will feed it. You are mine now.”
Ryan could almost see Alice beside him, hear her laughing as she closed the door of the basement to leave him alone in the dark. To die. But Brendon was there and he was touching him. Ryan was helpless.
“Who are you?”
“I’m no one really, but to you, I’m case 090706-2.”
Darkness was eating his vision from all directions and Ryan was falling deeper into his nightmare, too weak to put up a fight but too indignant to surrender. The last thing that he saw was Brendon’s smiling face, innocently evil.
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NOTES:
One and a half ice ages after… I finally posted a fic! I know I could have posted an update of my ongoing fics but… I’m afraid this is all I can manage with the time I have. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! :)
I’ll write more notes tomorrow… or some other time. XD
Author: deadoralive0013
Prompt by: myself XD
Pairing: Ryden
Rating: PG13 (but I’m not really sure)
POV: 3rd
Summary: (AU) Professor Ross was to interview a death row prisoner. Instead of a muscleman with tattoos and beard, he faced with a young man with an unsettling smile.
Warnings: Angst, slash, UNBETA-EDNESS
Beta: none
Disclaimer: I own the plot but nothing else...
Notes: I took a nap and woke up with this one-shot in my head. I had free time so I wrote it down for you guys…
More notes at the end of the fic.
PROMPT 2
Darkness.
There were a series of sounds of huge metal locks sliding and turning on their gears. He waited and soon enough, one final distinct sound of the biggest bars and bolts was heard. The warning alarm went off, echoing throughout the narrow corridor and the small red bulb was lighted. Below it, the big metal door slowly slid open.
Ryan glanced at his watch, letting the crimson light shine on the small circular glass on his wrist. 10 pm. Tucked neatly under his left arm was the thin folder he had been reading for the past thirty minutes. It told him the essentials but gave him nothing useful. That was why he was here anyway. He’ll put something more to write in this folder.
“Case 090706-2,” Ryan said in a clear, monotonous voice that was magnified by the confining walls and silence of the chamber. “I’m Professor George Ryan Ross and this is interview no. 112.”
“You may proceed,” said another male voice from a speaker and Ryan braced himself.
He walked past the giant door, the soles of his black leather shoes echoing on the floor. As soon as he had entered the next room, the door roared back into life and quickly sealed the only way out. Fluorescent lights flickered on to reveal an even narrower corridor. Ryan walked the short distance and found himself standing in front of another door, this time a normal looking one, made of wood and with a brass knob.
From his coat pocket, he extracted one single key. He carefully slid it in the door, turned it, and he was opening the door to the adjoining chamber.
Ryan had done this a dozens of times before but he still somehow couldn’t shake off the feeling of anxiety as soon as he opens the second door and see the small, windowless space that it leaded to. He had claustrophobia issues when he was around seven but Ryan had grown out of his fear for the most part. He sometimes laughed at himself, thinking of the silly odds that he ended up working as a researcher in such a facility that made him confront his fear at a day to day basis. Ryan thought it amusing and deliberate at the same time.
He automatically walked to the lone table at the center of the room and took his place on one of the chairs. He laid the folder on the table to take one last glance at the information sheet, and sighed, collecting his composure and setting his mind on focus. His goals were clear in his mind and he knew what words to say to get them, when, in what tone of voice, and in what level of intensity.
It wasn’t long before another door was opening, this one directly in front of the chair that stood waiting in front of Ryan. He quickly closed the folder and watched as a young man with dark hair uncertainly made his way to the table. From afar, Ryan thought he was going to interview a kid but as the other came closer, Ryan frowned at the dark bags under the man’s eyes. He was no kid.
It was a refreshing departure from the usual big-guy-covered-in-tattoos look but something about this guy was making Ryan feel uneasy. He wasn’t sure if it was the plain white shirt and loose pants, the way he lifted the chair off the floor to adjust it before sitting himself down without making the tiniest sound, or the way he was smiling pleasantly. Ryan had his share of weird psycho-personalities gracing his company on this very table but nothing had made him feel like there was… something. He hated it even more that he couldn’t even put a name on it.
“Urie, Brendon,” Ryan forced himself to say to get his flow back.
“That’s me,” the guy said with a smile, almost kindly.
“I’m Professor Ryan Ross and I’m here to ask you some questions,” he continued, feeling himself getting calmer by the moment. “I assume you’ve been informed of the consequences should you chose to not cooperate.”
“I’m dying in a week,” Brendon blurted out, his smile widening than ever. “But yes, good professor, I’ve been informed. No need to go by this so rigidly my friend. I’m here. A guy like me could use a good talk.”
Ryan was taken aback. It’s one thing to not flinch at the prospect of dying in seven days but to be able to smile at him as if to ask for a normal, friendly chat was beyond him. Most of the people he had interviewed either says “you wish” or “fuck you” after he had made his intentions known.
“Well, that’s good to know,” Ryan replied, recovering from the momentary shock. “How old are you?”
Brendon smirked at him. “Why don’t you check your little folder, professor? I’m sure it’s in there somewhere,” he said, glancing at the said folder in front of Ryan.
“The information is not provided in the file,” Ryan said. “According to my little folder, you have no legal documents. No IDs, no passports, no license, no anything. At the five occasions that you were asked about your age, you answered 17, 25, 30, 21, and 49 in chronology. “
“Ooh. Good memory too,” Brendon said as clapped his hands and smiled lazily.
“Too?” Ryan asked before he could stop himself.
“Yes, too” Brendon answered with a nod. “I have my thoughts about you too, professor. The first one is for me only and the second is that you have good memory.”
It was his eyes, Ryan decided. Brendon’s eyes were intense dark brown orbs. They were bright and beautiful but it gave off the impression of being scrutinized with the simplest stare.
“People say I have nice eyes,” Brendon said suddenly, resting his chin on his palm. “Do you think so, professor?”
Ryan blinked as he realized he was staring. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
Brendon just smiled at him with a shrug. “The sixth age would be 26.”
“Is there a particular reason why you’re not telling us how old you are?”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Brendon told him. “I say one thing and you’ll think I’m lying. I’ll try to explain but you wouldn’t understand. I’ll tell you the truth and it wouldn’t do you any good. What’s the point of it, professor?”
“Fair enough,” Ryan conceded, “but don’t you think this would be a good time to set some things straight since your execution is just around the corner?”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t want to voice out your concerns?” Ryan asked.
“No, you got that wrong. I mean I doubt that I’ll be executed,” Brendon explained patiently. “But that’s okay. People think all prisoners garner some sort of illogical, immense hatred towards the government and society as a whole. It’s a common misconception.”
“And for good reason,” Ryan said. “It’s natural to feel negative emotions, say hate, towards a person or an entity that has caused one some form of suffering, be it unjust or just.”
Brendon slouched in his seat. “You think it’s okay for me to hate others because I’m a prisoner, professor?”
“I didn’t say that. I was merely stating that it’s a natural reaction. “
Brendon suddenly leaned forward. “So, me not being angry about it is unnatural, right? Do you find that odd, professor?”
“I… I don’t know,” Ryan answered uncertainly. “But… you’ve committed your crime in front of thirty eye-witnesses. I don’t think you feel that your incarceration is unjustifiable.”
“Certainly not,” Brendon agreed.
“So let’s talk about it then,” Ryan said, a little irritated that the supposed prisoner was doing all the questioning. “Why did you do it?”
“Ahh…” Brendon was smiling again as he returned Ryan’s gaze without hesitation. “Are you sure about that professor? I don’t think talking about my ‘crime’ would do your temper any good,” he said, air-quoting the word ‘crime’.
“June 23, 2008 on h e roof deck of Kramer building. Tell me about that day,” he pushed. He massaged his temples and breathed deeply before looking back at Brendon. He could do this.
Brendon sighed. “Five people. I stabbed five people to death and pushed their bodies off to the streets.”
Ryan clenched his fist. “Why?”
“Asking why I did it would be exactly like asking me my age,” Brendon told him.
“Mr. Urie, just answer the question,” Ryan said in the calmest voice he could muster, which was pretty calm.
But Ryan wasn’t calm at all. He didn’t understand why but he felt like behind this small talk, in between the nonsense words they were telling each other, Brendon was telling him something. It was like he was talking to Ryan indirectly and the message was taunting. He had training. He had done this a lot. Yet, this prisoner was pushing him so discreetly yet clearly that Ryan can’t even confront him head on without admitting defeat.
“We’ll get to that, professor. Don’t worry,” Brendon said. “But let me make things a little more interesting here first. I fear no pain, torture, or death. You have no hold on me, professor.”
“So what are you saying? That I have to talk to the judge for you in exchange for the information I want? I’m a researcher, not a lawyer.”
“No, professor. I’m much classier than that,” he said with a smile.
“What do you want then? I can arrange a meeting with the council but-t “
“For every question you ask,” Brendon cut him off, “you’ll answer one of mine first.”
It was Ryan’s turn to laugh. “You think I will play your game, or that you’ll get anything from this whatsoever?”
“You have no choice.”
Truthfully, Ryan knew that and he was actually waiting for this time to come. Prisoners… or just people in general, they all want to feel like they have some sort of control. The idea was to give them that feeling of assurance and their guard would be down. Ryan was almost disappointed that this guy was not as unpredictable as he thought.
“Okay. But I will not disclose any classified information,” Ryan said.
“No problem,” the other said.
Ryan shifted in his seat. He knew the people in the other room who were watching this conversation were having a field day. Urie had never agreed to anyone to answer any questions about the incident. When he was brought to court, he pleaded guilty of all the cases filed against him, not even putting up any excuses at all. The prosecution was elated and immediately reported their ‘triumph’ to the media while Ryan and his colleagues were drawn to the case with great interest.
“Then this is my first question. The people you’ve killed, did you choose them or were they randomly killed?”
“They’re chosen,” Brendon answered almost bored. “My turn, what is your favorite color?”
Ryan had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. He succeeded but Brendon was smiling at him like he knew. “Blue. How did you choose them?”
“I chose those whom I found interesting. I worked to get information about them and then planned the incident.”
“You’re pretty blunt,” Ryan commented.
“Thank you. Now tell me the name of your pet,” Brendon said.
“Hobo, she’s a dog.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised that Brendon knew he had a pet. Asking his pet’s name was a trick question that would lead him into admitting the fact that he had a pet and that her name was Hobo.
“Was that a bonus?” Brendon asked.
“Consider it a parting gift. Was there a particular reason for killing these people or were there different reasons for each of the murders?”
“They interest me,” Brendon said. “What were you in high school, the popular kid or the geeky loser?”
“Geeky loser,” Ryan said. “Why do you kill people who interest you?”
“Because I want to get to know them,” Brendon said briefly.
“Your answer needs elaboration.”
“And by ‘know them’ I mean really know them, professor,” he added. “Do you know that killing a person, becoming his or her murderer, is the best way of getting to know someone? The intimacy that the killer and the victim share is so powerful… it reveals to the killer his deepest fears, desires… everything.”
“I’m sure I’ve heard of that reason from a movie or some TV show,” Ryan said, ignoring the way his stomach twisted as Brendon explained himself.
“I’m sure you have,” Brendon said. “What did you have for breakfast?”
“Coffee,” Ryan said.
“I haven’t had coffee for a while,” Brendon said wistfully.
“Why did you immediately admitted your crime during the trial?”
“I wouldn’t want to tell a lie now, would I? I did it and there’s no reason to deny what I’ve done,” Brendon said. “Would you come back here and bring me Starbucks before seven days?”
“No,” Ryan said.
For a man who was having the most bizarre, most surreal conversation of his life, Ryan thought he was doing really well. His study was mostly in the field of sociology but he knew a friend or two from the psychology department that would be very interested to pay Brendon a visit if they could hear all these things now.
“Did you consider the law at all, planning these murders?”
“Of course,” Brendon said. “Admitting my crime and going to jail for it were all a part of the plan. That’s the law, right?”
“Roughly,” Ryan said. “Were you not afraid to go to jail at all?”
“Not really, no.” Brendon smiled thoughtfully at him, unconsciously combing one side of his hair with his fingers while seeming to think of a way to phrase his thought. “Professor, if you wish to get something out of me that would be useful, I suggest that you change your focus. There are other things to ask me aside from June 23.”
“But that’s the only thing I want to ask you about,“ Ryan said. “Unless there are things you want to share with me? I’d be happy to hear about them.”
Brendon seemed like he was considering something before he was suddenly standing up. He walked to the one-way mirror, inspecting it with his hand. “What is the name of the research that this interview would be used?”
“I cannot give you the title and the proponents but it’s about criminal intent.”
“A descriptive study I presume?”
“Yes,” Ryan answered a little surprise that Brendon seemed to be versed in the language of research.
“Then let me tell you about my criminal intent,” he said, still facing the mirror and watching Ryan through it. “When you feel the life of your victim slowly drifting away from the bloodied body, you feel something. It’s a feeling that nothing else can evoke unless you see someone dying in your arms, sometimes pleading with their last breaths. ‘Help me’ or ‘Please, have mercy’. They say all different stuff but in the end, they just… lie there quietly, almost as if I they did not suffer. Knowing that person and then seeing him die, it feels like I did his life justice by ending it like that. I’ll be a living witness to his death.”
“I’m not quite sure I understand,” Ryan said.
“And I don’t expect you to,” Brendon said with a smile. He walked to him and gently stroked Ryan’s hair. “Because you’re not a killer. You will never understand.”
Ryan quickly stood and distanced himself from Brendon. “Please keep your distance, Mr. Urie. The security here might use drastic measures if they think you’re a threat to my safety.”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, raising his hands in the air for good measure. “I’m in my pajamas. I have nothing on me to use against you.”
Ryan realized that he looked stupidly scared. He was shaking slightly and there was sweat building up on his forehead. “Just go back to your chair.”
“You liked it, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“When I touched you, you liked it.”
“No!” Ryan said looking disgusted.
“Fine. I’ll stop it,” Brendon said. “Who’s turn is it… mine. When was the last time you’ve been to the observing room of this chamber?”
“What?!” Ryan asked, feeling panic rise up his throat. Last week? Five days ago? “What are you…”
“Relax,” Brendon told him. “Aren’t you going to ask your question?”
Ryan ignored him. He quickly walked to the wooden door and searched his pocket for the key. Brendon watched him from his seat as Ryan accidentally dropped the key once before finally unlocking the door. He threw it open and stared at the security camera in front of the big metal door that’s blocking his way.
“I’m going out. I feel like my safety is being threatened and I want to get out,” he said to the camera. He waited but no one was responding. This agitated him more.
“That door will not open.”
Ryan darted behind him to find Brendon leaning against the wall and watching him with an amused smile.
“What the hell is happening?” Ryan asked him, not bothering to mask his anxiety any longer. The walls around him felt suddenly a lot closer, the space getting smaller and smaller. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks while his lungs worked double time for air. He just wanted to get out. Before he knew what he was doing, Ryan was removing his coat and loosening his tie as his breaths become more labored.
“Panic attack?” Brendon asked as he walked closer.
“Get away!” Ryan exclaimed.
“Funny thing about claustrophobia, fear of enclosed spaces or being trapped, is that it’s all in your head. You’re literally mind-fucking yourself right now, professor,” he said.
“Shut up!”
“I never thought I could get your anxiety disorder back, let alone actually trigger a panic attack. You were just what, six at the time…” Brendon paused thinking, “Alice, was it not? That’s the name of your baby sitter.”
“Stop it,” Ryan muttered, gasping for air. He forced himself to get up and slowly made his way back to the questioning chamber. He found himself looking for windows, doors, anything that could get him out. He saw the door from which Brendon came from and dashed to it only to find it lock. His insides sank. “No… no… Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out…” he chanted.
“She was a bitch, I know. I mean, to shut you inside the dark basement? Poor little Ryro…” came Brendon’s voice. He walked towards the Ryan who was curled into a ball, hugging his knees. He had waited for this day for too long. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered to Ryan’s ear as he surround him with his arms.
Ryan found himself succumbing to him, resting his head against Brendon’s shoulder and gripping his shirt. “Let me out, let me out, let me out…”
“Sshhh…” Brendon said, putting a finger on his lips. “It’s okay,” he whispered, feeling Ryan’s harsh breaths against his neck. He smiled. “You will suffocate, professor. But not if you behave and do everything I tell you to do.”
“Please! I don’t want to die… let me out! Please!” Ryan said, closing his eyes. Cold fingers were suddenly under his shirt, gently caressing his chest downward.
Ryan wanted to fight. He wanted to tell himself he’ll be okay, but he was hyperventilating and the fear was eating him alive. Somewhere in his mind he knew he shouldn’t be clinging on to Brendon like a little child but it was his only comfort. He knew letting him touch him was something he shouldn’t allow but he could care less.
“Come here,” Brendon told him and gave him gentle kisses on his face.
“I’m dying. I can’t breathe,” Ryan said.
“Sshhh…” Brendon said impatiently. He angled his head before finally leaning down and claiming Ryan’s lips.
Ryan groaned in protest, pushing the other away but he was too weak. He felt his head getting light, dragging him slowly away from consciousness while this criminal continued to take advantage of his vulnerable state. He couldn’t think clearly. Bad memories from so long ago were popping up in his head to haunt him and open the wounds of his childhood.
“Stop,” he said barely audibly and pushed Brendon away with feeble hands. “Please…”
“You are beautiful, Ryan Ross. You caught my interest like no other person had. All these… the murders, the research, this meeting, I planned them all.”
“Stop it… let me out…” Ryan continued to mumble and barely able to process anything. His eyes were heavy and he struggled to keep himself from falling. “You… it’s impossible…”
“Of course it’s possible, Ryro. It’s happening!” Brendon said and he laughed. With one push, Ryan fell on his knees. “My intent , professor, is satisfaction and you will feed it. You are mine now.”
Ryan could almost see Alice beside him, hear her laughing as she closed the door of the basement to leave him alone in the dark. To die. But Brendon was there and he was touching him. Ryan was helpless.
“Who are you?”
“I’m no one really, but to you, I’m case 090706-2.”
Darkness was eating his vision from all directions and Ryan was falling deeper into his nightmare, too weak to put up a fight but too indignant to surrender. The last thing that he saw was Brendon’s smiling face, innocently evil.
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NOTES:
One and a half ice ages after… I finally posted a fic! I know I could have posted an update of my ongoing fics but… I’m afraid this is all I can manage with the time I have. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! :)
I’ll write more notes tomorrow… or some other time. XD